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The struggle between sense and tension
🕑 Added 2021-08-03 14:45:10 +0000 UTCThis is just a little bit of brainstorming that I felt like writing. If you want to peek into an author’s thought process (or mine at least), feel free to read on. Otherwise, it will likely be of little interest to you.
Note: this is written off the top of my head and will consider typos and unedited grammar mistakes, you have been warned.
Quite often, particularly around the time I write the finale to action scenes, arcs, or seasons (sorted by intensity) I run into this issue. This question. Do I sacrifice sense for tension?
In an optimally engineered scene, such a question doesn’t present itself, but I don’t think even the most skilled of writers ever consistently are able to pull off the miracle of the perfect balance of forces. I am getting ahead of myself, however. Let’s define the terms.
A situation of the utmost sense is one that obeys all previously set rules and power relations. A fire mage whose shown to be able solves the issue by using the powers to the maximum of his capabilities, be that in skill or raw power output. The kind of fire magic he uses will obey the previously shown rules of magic, relations to resource consumption, channelling, range, environment, and so on. It will interact predictably with whatever defences his targets has.
A situation of the utmost tension is one where the danger is tangible and the outcome unpredictable. The power struggle between the mage and his opponent is filled with back and forth – comes down to a hair’s width. Tension is best introduced by reasonable developments. A stone falling off a cave ceiling changing the dynamic of a fight. The misstep of a physically inexperienced mage into an environmental hazard, such as a pit or a slippery puddle of mud. Perhaps as much as pocket sand.
In many ways, tension and sense compliment each other. A complete understanding of established rules and a reader’s ability to keep faith in the sanctity of these rules allows them to forget about them actively and instead focus on what is happening exactly. It allows engagement with the specific back and forth of the fight, of the clever application and exploitation of rules, strength and weaknesses according to the designs of both fighters.
The two most common enjoyable types of combat are those between equally matched opponents and the underdog overcoming his superior. The former, I would say, is the easier to handle. Exhaustion between the involved parties will be roughly equal, their gradual widdling down equivalent, until one finally pulls off a particularly brilliant manoeuvre or a displays strength of will that puts them above their opponent.
Even there, however, we can run into the issue that commonly comes into play when two entities of different powerlevels engage.
I am certain the following situation will ring a bell:
Two fighters are facing off. One, the clear favourite, toys with the underdog. After several displays of humiliation, the favourite turns away to brag to the audience, giving the underdog a moment to recuperate, gather their strength and their will, to turn things around. The favourite continues his assault, but the underdog suddenly showcases increased aptitude for combat. Finally, the underdog lands a hit, however shallow or decisive rarely matters, and the favourite suddenly decides to take things seriously.
There are several routes things could take from there, but the construction of the average fight scene is neither what I want to get into, nor what I am criticizing at the moment. This example is merely meant to showcase a, quite stereotypical, example of sense being sacrificed for tension.
In a purely sensical world, not only would the favourite have gone all out from the start and likely crushed the underdog before they ever could recuperate, but the underdog’s recuperation and mid-fight improvement would also be exceedingly unlikely. There are ways to amend this, of course. Arrogance is a favourite trait to give to villains for many reasons and the fact that it makes it easier to have them commit mistakes is certainly not the least of them. Certain power systems lend themselves to mid-fight improvements, allowing such miracles to happen without breaking the sense of a scene.
But how much can you set up in advance? How well will things actually play out once on the page? What will the details allow or not allow?
A more specific example of the problem:
A duo is chased by a creature of insurmountable physical power. Their only escape lays past a magical barrier the creature cannot pass. The creature catches up to them just as the second of the duo passes the barrier, but catches the arm of the person just before they can make it through.
What now?
Well, in the purely sensical world, the creature of vast physical power will pull the person back out the barrier and kill them. That is as the rules dictates. An author may wish that they hadn’t made the creature quite so powerful in that moment, but they have and so they are only left with three choices.
They have to let the scene play out as it is, sacrificing initial plans that come after the duo successfully escapes. Unsurprisingly for most people, this is the route uncommonly taken, as it leads to the quick, merciless, and often anti-climactic death of characters. It may be the most realistic consequence, but it doesn’t usually make for the best story. Although that entirely depends on what the story is judged – whether its Game of Thrones, My Little Pony, or something in-between.
The second choice, the one that I struggle with here, is to sacrifice sense. The second of the duo, against all odds, grabs their companion and holds onto them for dear life. In a purely sensical scene, they would now both be dead, dragged out of the barrier and consequently eaten, crushed, or whatever else the creature intends. However, as sense is already sacrificed, the creature is suddenly just strong enough that the duo succeeds in holding their ground. After a tension-filled struggle, perhaps the creature will lose its grip or perhaps it will take what it can get and gnaw the foot off one of its targets. Either way, the scene concludes in the most dramatic manner possible.
At what cost though?
The strength of the creature is now in question. Certainly, it’s still “strong” but it no longer is “insurmountably strong”. This calls into question previous encounters with the creature. The tension of the past is sacrificed for the tension in the present. Worse than that, the tension in the future is sacrificed. The reader, watcher, player, whatever kind of consumer, they now have the expectation of “the creature can be physically matched by 2 people” and this informs their investment in future developments.
A lot of authors fall flat when it comes to making concrete the powers of a previously mysterious villain for this reason – because it is no longer possible to allow them to just do things. I certainly disappointed myself in such a manner myself in the past. This is, however, a tangent.
Like everything in writing, particularly fantasy writing, the described situation can be twisted into an advantage. Perhaps the creature was weakened by the proximity to the barrier? Was that set-up in advance? Yes? Fantastic, crisis of sense averted. No? Well, that’s not good, but we can still work with that, as long as the duo notices and takes appropriate steps to see if they can recreate such a barrier. Oh, it doesn’t make sense that such a barrier would interact that way with the creature? The crisis of sense is back.
Every decision in writing has knock-on effects. A compromise on one rule necessitates the introduction of another or the loss of sense. If one isn’t willing to introduce a new rule, a new element to the world, then the option of sacrificing sense is the same as sacrificing investment and clarity. Much like any sort of vice, this can be okay if used in small doses. There certainly is a bit of wiggle room in the strength of the enemy and a bit of selective incompetence can be understood. The concept of suspension of disbelief very much applies here.
A boisterous villain dying because they just had to go for the monologue at the final hour, allowing someone to sneak up on them and give the decisive stab is certainly more believable than them stepping on a randomly placed skateboard and sailing face first into a conveniently placed axe hanging from the castle wall.
Anyway, if one can neither adhere to the sense of the scene nor is willing to sacrifice the sense, then the scene itself has to be sacrificed.
The creature chases the two, but does not catch up to them before they make it through the barrier.
There is a lot less tension in that. There are degrees, of course, but ultimately without the struggle, there is less power in the scene. First option induces loss, second option induces uncertainty, this last option is straightforward and, comparatively, flat.
But it makes sense. No rules were violated. No new ones need to be introduced.
Is it the hallmark of a badly constructed scene that the most sensical course of events is flat? Yes and no. Certainly, it shouldn’t be the case that something is absolutely predictable. In an optimal encounter, it is the wit of characters involved, coping with circumstances as presented, that makes the course of events unfolding enjoyable. However, compared to the tension one could achieve when compromising on the rules, the sensical scene will always fall flat.
I would personally say that a series that prioritizes the tension over the sense turns into more of a spectacle than a story though. More an arrangement of pretty visuals and popular themes than an epic fondly remembered for its own substance.
I suppose in that lays my own answer to the question. Should one sacrifice sense for tension?
No.
Even if that means that some things will turn out boring?
Yes.
The alternative is the death of stakes in any long-running series.
Have I always adhered to this?
Probably not. No scene comes immediately to mind – although I guess my stance on guns in fantasy stories could certainly be seen as me sacrificing sense. Realistically speaking, accelerating a piece of metal to supersonic speeds is going to outclass all but the most ridiculous of magic. I don’t think my Gamer story deals with this issue particularly well. It’s basically handwaved as “not all that effective”.
Besides that, there are probably times in which I reasoned myself into an illogical position. There may be variance in a character’s strength that I pondered over and deemed acceptable, when it actually wasn’t. Again, nothing comes to mind. If I had noticed it, I wouldn’t have done it though, so this may very well be a blind spot thing.
To summarize all of this: sense and tension hang in a precarious balance, where you can sacrifice one for the other but not vice versa. Sense once lost is a taint on the rest of the work.
Move with caution.
Comments
Avery Aderyn
I can only imagine how difficult it is to maintain this balance in a story that is this long. The constant increase of John's power must make it hard to create tension while still obeying the rules you've set up. Especially since John is such a smart character, you've mentioned that his greatest threats are the ones he knows nothing about. Otherwise, he prepares for the challenge ahead. I'm really impressed with how this story and your skills as a writer has noticeably increased arc to arc. I can't wait to see where this story ends!
