A couple of weeks ago I mentioned my writing group challenge for our next meeting – and gosh what a challenge! The piece we’re writing to share, should break the fourth wall and to remind myself of exactly what that is –
The method of breaking the fourth wall in literature is a metalepsis (the transgression of narrative levels), which is a technique often used in metafiction. The metafiction genre occurs when a character within a literary work acknowledges the reality that they are in fact a fictitious being. Metafiction is fiction in which the author self-consciously alludes to the artificiality or literariness of a work by parodying or departing from novelistic conventions and traditional narrative techniques.
Thank you, Wikipedia
If we were challenged to write a theatrical pieces, I’m sure we would all have a jolly good bash at it, completely confident that we know what the challenge involves, even if we’re not completely confident n the work we have written to share . However, I for one am feeling very unsure – not only if I completely get the fourth wall, but if I can do it successfully – if at all!
However… It’s obviously not “well, I had a brilliant dream last night” – but an idea did occur to me while I was sleeping. I woke up and scribbled my half-remembered adventure, and from those scribbles I’ve tried (probably not very successfully) to address the challenge
I can see you, yes, you might not be aware, but yes, I’m watching you strolling around this massive park, Der Große Königliche Park. You’re looking up at that massive church, an ugly grey edifice, threatening rather than imposing. Yes, you’re finding it threatening, and well you might! Did you shiver and give yourself a shake? Yes, I think you did.
So here you are in Germany and you agreed to meet him at an occasion in the park. Yes, you agreed to meet him, yes, him – at some sort of picnic party celebrating an anniversary which your Bijou German dictionary was not up to translating. It’s like a village fete or something similar but on a grand scale, with loads of little stalls selling cakes, kleine Kuchen. In fact you’ve just bought a schokoladen Marzipan-Torte from me, but of course you didn’t realise it was me. It’s my aunty’s stall, but you weren’t looking at me, you were looking for him, weren’t you! You were looking for your penfriend, although actually I am your penfriend and the photo I sent of ‘me’ – wasn’t me!
I thank my aunty, danke Tante, and follow you – I don’t need to be discrete, you’re only looking for one person. Suddenly you stop and you’re talking to someone – and you’re obviously excited, I can hear your voice although I can’t catch what you’re saying. It’s someone you know, a man – twenty, maybe, twenty-five and I’m guessing he’s English because you’re speaking quickly, and laughing, and he’s laughing.
No! This isn’t supposed to happen! You’re supposed to be on your own, you’ve come over here to meet me, meet the penfriend you’ve been writing to for three years now, three whole years! You’re supposed to be ‘Fremder im einer Fremdem Welte ‘ – a stranger in a strange land! We had bonded over our love of Robert A. Heinlein’s work and that’s our favourite book, isn’t it?
The man is embracing you – but wait, it’s only a brief hug and the you walk on without looking back at him, and he walks on, not even glancing at me.
It needs finishing and more work before Wednesday, and I might ask the family what they think, but at least I have written something! I will keep you updated, and report back what the other writers offer!
Lois Elsden 