Multiple viewpoints provide diversion from, and
contrast to, the protagonist’s perspective. They
can deepen conflict, enlarge a story’s scope
and add to a novel the rich texture of real life.
Subplots carry those effects even further. In our
workaday world, we do not live in isolation. Our
lives intersect, collide and overlap. Subplots
lend the same sense of connectivity to a novel.
They remind us of our mutual need, our
inescapable conflicts and our intertwined
destinies.
Subplots and multiple points of view are often
linked by their very natures. When you
introduce several point-of-view characters in
your story, you will be presented with the
choice to create subplots for these characters
and weave them into the main plot. How many
secondary characters and subplots you choose
to create will ultimately affect the pacing and
structure of your novel.
Of course, subplots and multiple points of view
make novels longer and more work, but
rewards for that effort are there for writer and
reader alike—that is, if they are successful.
—By Donald Maass,
author of The Breakout Novelist
WHAT MAKES A SUBPLOT SUCCESSFUL?
Choosing a subplot begins with choosing
characters with which to work. Who among
your secondary characters is sufficiently
sympathetic and faces conflicts that are deep,
credible, complex and universal enough to be
worth developing?
If none are to be found, it might be worthwhile
to grow some of your secondary characters,
depending on the nature of your novel. Do you
intend it to be a sweeping epic? If so you
certainly will want to construct a cast with
plenty of subplot potential. Is it a tightly woven,
intimate exploration of a painful period in one
character’s life? In that case subplots will only
pull you and your readers away from the main
purpose. You may not even want to clutter your
novel with multiple viewpoints.
Subplots will not have the desired
magnification effect unless there are
connections between them. Thus, the main
characters in each subplot need to be in
proximity to one another; that is, they need a
solid reason to be in the same book. Therefore,
in searching for subplots, I recommend first
looking to those characters already in the main
character’s life: family, classmates, friends and
so forth.
One of the most difficult subplot tricks to pull off
involves creating story lines for two characters
who at first have no connection whatsoever,
then merging those plotlines. For some reason,
this structure is particularly attractive to
beginning novelists. While such a feat can be
pulled off, again and again I find that novices
fail to bring their plotlines together quickly
enough. Beginners often feel the need to
present scenes from each plotline in strict
rotation, whether or not there is a necessity for
them. The result is a manuscript laden with
low-tension action.
A second requirement of subplots is that they
each affect the outcome of the main plotline.
Subplots widen the scope of the novel’s action,
but if that is all they do, then, once again, the
result is likely a sluggish volume.
A third quality of successful subplots is that
they range. In 19th-century sagas this often
meant ranging high and low over the strata of
society, from princesses to beggars, from the
palace to the gutter. Social scale is a bit harder
to pull off today. More helpful, I think, is to
portray a variety of experience. Your setting
may be restricted to one milieu, but ranging
over that milieu in all its aspects will enrich the
world of your novel.
HOW MANY SUBPLOTS IS TOO MANY?
Novels swimming in subplots can feel diffuse.
Two or three major subplots are about all that
even the long-
est quest fantasies can contain. With more
than three subplots, it becomes difficult to
sustain reader involvement. Focus is too
shattered. Sympathy is torn in too many
directions.
Readers of overcrowded novels frequently
complain, “It was hard to keep the characters
straight.” That is often due to the author’s
failure to maintain strong character delineation.
Great saga writers have a gift for creating large
and varied casts, but it is a rare author who
can make more than 20 characters highly
individual and distinct. In truth, only giant
sagas need that many characters. Novels
begin to take on breakout expansiveness with
little more than two points of view and as few
as one or, possibly, two subplots.
Proof of this can be found in some of our era’s
greatest sagas. James Clavell’s 1975
blockbuster Shōgun is a doorstop of a novel,
almost 1,200 pages in paperback. It is a
massive and immensely detailed journey
through feudal Japan. Scores of characters
appear, many of them with points of view. For
all its heft, though, there are really only two
principal points of view: John Blackthorne, the
shipwrecked English pilot-major who saves the
life of powerful daimyo Toranaga, and the
beautiful and courageous married woman with
whom Blackthorne falls in love, Mariko. Even
so, most of the book belongs to Blackthorne.
Similarly, Larry McMurtry’s 1985 sprawling
cattle-drive of a novel, Lonesome Dove, tells
dozens of colorful tales—of cowboys,
prostitutes, swindlers and such—but without a
doubt the novel’s primary focus is cattleman
Augustus McCrae. James Jones’ gigantic 1951
epic of World War II, From Here to Eternity, is
built around just two men, Pvt. Robert E. Lee
Prewitt and 1st Sgt. Milton Anthony Warden;
this in a novel that fills 860 pages in its current
trade paperback edition.
What these master storytellers know is that a
large-scale story is nevertheless still just a
story. Overcomplicate it and you lose the
essential simplicity of narrative art. Readers
identify primarily with one strong, sympathetic
central character; it is that character’s destiny
about which they most care. Have you ever
skimmed ahead in a novel to find the next
scene involving your favorite character? Then
you know what I mean. Enrich your novel with
multiple viewpoints, but keep subplots to a
minimum.
The subplots you do include should absolutely
amplify themes running through the main
plotline. They should be supportive, not wholly
separate. How can you be sure the subplots in
your novel are doing their jobs? Here is where
your purpose in writing your novel needs to be
clear in your mind. Most authors launch into
their manuscripts without giving any thought to
theme. Breakout novelists, on the other hand,
generally are writing for a reason. They have
something to say. You cannot fully grasp the
relationship of your subplots to your main plot
until you know what they are really all about.
If you do not know—if, say, you are an organic
writer—then perhaps it is best not to plan
subplots but simply allow multiple points of
view into your story, then see which points of
view grow into subplots. (In fact, it is not
uncommon for organic writers to find that a
minor story line has mushroomed out of control
and has become their novel’s main plot.)
Finally, it is worth repeating that not all novels
need subplots. There are, for instance, a great
many point-of-view characters in John
Grisham’s The Partner. Yet out of perhaps a
dozen major points of view, no character other
than Patrick Lanigan has a truly separate story
line. The entire novel is built around the
desperation of this runaway lawyer with $90
million in stolen money. Everyone else in the
novel either supports him or tries to tear him
down.
The Partner feels like it is elaborately plotted,
but in reality its structure is simple: It is about a
man digging himself out of the worst
imaginable trouble. To be sure, there are
endless complications, but The Partner has no
true subplots.
It is perfectly possible to write a breakout novel
from the protagonist’s perspective alone. So
how do you know whether to include a
particular subplot or let it drop? The answer lies
in a subplot’s contribution to the overall novel.
Is it mere diversion, as in the oft-attempted-
but-rarely- successful “comic relief” subplot? If
so, it should be cut.
On the other hand, if it complicates, bears
upon, or mirrors or reverses the main plot, then
it adds value.
None of the techniques I am talking about are
easy. Adding subplots multiplies the work
involved in writing a novel. But it can also
multiply the rewards, both for the reader and
the writer. Think big. It pays off in many ways.