Commentary: The Water Dancer by Ta-Nehisi Coates
Ta-Nehisi Coates' first fiction novel, The Water Dancer is in the running for my favorite book of the year (already).
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What I'd like to focus on here is (at least in my opinion) the impressively dynamic pacing of The Water Dancer especially compared to the traditional pacing of most historical fiction novels.
My copy of The Water Dancer is 403 pages long, which to many readers feels daunting. The "just right" word count encouraged by the publishing industry for adult commercial and literary fiction is 80,000 - 89,000 words, which is about 180 pages. The Water Dancer exceeds that word count by almost 100,000 words. Coates is able to get away with a longer book because, (surprise!) he's a proven, brilliant writer with a lot of name recognition.
All of this to say that Coates demonstrates an expert control over his narrative in that, those 403 pages -- those 180,000 words -- don't feel long at all. Every moment felt intentional, well-constructed, and served to deepen my captivity in the book's embrace. The colloquial understanding of this sensation is, "I couldn't put this book down." I don't merely want to say this; I want to explore why.
How did The Water Dancer keep me invested, attentive, and longing for more? This question can be answered in the story's plot, the characters, the magical realism that dramatically shifted the sensation of reading historical fiction (particularly what most would call a "slave narrative") away from predictable to unpredictable. Any one of these elements deserves attention, but, I would like to focus on pacing (as un-glamorous as that may sound.) But pacing is incredibly important.
Pacing can determine the success or failure of a story. Pacing affects how you feel about characters, how you understand the world those characters live in, and if the plot itself lands. Ultimately, good pacing is like hiring a wedding planner; without it, the whole experience can easily fall into chaos, making everyone feel like shit. Yeah, sure, if your mom just so happens to be an organized person, she can jump in and save the day -- but why put her in that position? Let her enjoy the day as a guest, and just hire a wedding planner from the beginning. Ideally, if the pacing is doing its thing, no one even has to know the wedding planner is even there; they can work in the background while the party goes on.
(Please note that pacing is not the end all be all-- especially for literary fiction, where experimentation and exploration are encouraged. But pacing is important for stories with a plot. You can have really impactful stories that don't rely on plot and therefore don't need to reflect on pacing as much. Just to throw that in.)
The structure of The Water Dancer is fairly straightforward. It follows the path of a hero's journey (which I won't go into here.) To explore pacing specifically, I am not going to talk about the overarching structure, but instead the structure of just one chapter. I will avoid spoilers in this exploration, even though your enjoyment of this book should never hinge on plot details.
Chapter 16 falls around the middle of the story. It's a 15 page chapter-- a deliciously manageable bite. This chapter represents a major shift in the story-- we are changing settings, Hiram (our protagonist) is beginning to explore his powers, what they call "Conduction," which is the ability to bend time and space through personal and communal memory, and he is stepping out on his own, in a new role with the Underground Railroad. He is in the process of "becoming." This is the part of the story when our hero has begun their adventure, but they are seeking guidance -- which will eventually arrive in the form of a "mentor." This moment in the narrative feels like spring-- uncertain, new, colorful and beautiful, but also dangerous.
We begin Chapter 16 with,
"Now I knew. That was Conduction. The power was still with me, even if I did not quite understand how to call it forth."
This immediately sets us up for the chapter. Hiram is starting to understand his powers, but he can't control them. We now have an expectation: whatever Hiram does in the chapter will serve to propel him closer to understanding his power. I won't say where Hiram is at this moment, but he is in a space that allows him room to breathe, to explore, to meet new people, to experience a new version of life that he has never seen anything close to before. It's a new world-- full of possibility. All of this possibility is tempting; a less seasoned writer might have detoured the story to explore that sensation for our character. But Coates does not detour; he uses this new environment to teach us about the Underground Railroad and to teach us about Hiram's work and his role. The first scene of the chapter sweeps us into a conflict, which through Hiram's eyes we follow and come to comprehend. Hiram's new friends lead the way, allowing us and Hiram to watch from over their shoulders, giving us room to learn something new about the historical moment we are seeing. The tension of this scene is not too high, but it keeps our eyes glued to the page, unsure what will happen. The immediate conflict resolves and we meet a new character who then presents the much larger conflict-- a conflict between idealism and pragmatism, which is a recurring theme throughout the story. This all happens in the span of about 6 pages.
The following scene is more personal-- less outer conflict. Hiram is battling with himself here. What he has learned from the last scene -- the recent conflict -- follows him and he reflects on his own actions, grieving the hurt he has put on others before. He feels isolated and alone. This is when his new friends present Hiram with the chance to find pleasure, security, and love in community, which is something Hiram needs in this new, unfamiliar environment. Here Hiram feels seen. The community seems to know him intimately though they have never met before; they read his expressions, recognize his pain, and pull him closer into a loving embrace. Coates leads us into a delightfully earned character-growth moment. Sometimes moments of character change appear as realizations, which don't always land, as they can feel forced. Hiram's growth is not a realization, but a deeply personal discovery -- a discovery that invites him to love, to laugh, and to share -- things that Hiram had struggled to access before. This is like the creamy center of a custard-filled pastry. After this bite, full of delicious flavors and exciting textures, our next bite delivers us back to the less delectable crust -- reality.
The next scene deepens Hiram's relationship with one of his friends, which, at the same time, introduces us to a deeper understanding of the overarching conflict. Essentially, we are shown stakes. There are serious consequences if Hiram and his friends fail in their work. They (and we) are reminded that the reality of their work is rooted in dire pain and suffering. Why Hiram and his friends do what they do is presented again; we are reminded that the world of the story is not the delicious, creamy custard we just got to enjoy for the briefest moment. All told, there are three layers to understanding here:
1) we more deeply understand Hiram's friend through his story,
2) we more deeply understand the conflict through the stakes, and
3) we more deeply understand the world around the characters through the experience of tasting bliss and then having that bliss end.
We end the chapter amidst this conversation between Hiram and his friend, but we zero in on memory -- an important theme. Hiram's friend remembers the night his mother fled from bondage. He tells Hiram,
"Lambert remembered everything from that last night."
This moment is supposed to remind us that Hiram struggles with memory; he can't remember his mother. We learn this on page 1 of the book. Hiram's struggle to remember his mother is wedded to his struggle to understand himself and his power.
Remember the first few sentences of the chapter? Remember the expectation we are set up with?: Whatever Hiram does in the chapter will serve to propel him closer to understanding his power. Though we don't have a 100%, clear cut conclusion to Hiram's search for understanding, he is one step closer. He is one step closer because he found community -- because he connected with others. The conversation with his friend points our gaze: Memory is Hiram's path towards controlling his power. This is a well-utilized return to the overarching plot -- a reminder of what The Water Dancer is all about.
While this was glossing the surface of pacing in The Water Dancer, and there is SO MUCH to explore here, I feel Chapter 16 is a clear example of Ta-Nehisi Coates' strength as a writer and storyteller. Before this novel, Ta-Nehisi Coates has largely written non-fiction, aside from the Black Panther comics. For a journalistic writer like Coates, the feat of pacing is even more impressive, as it isn't an easy task to pace your story well. Yet he does. He tells this story with masterful grace, strategy, care, and depth. The pacing may not be the most visible success of the book, but it's vital and worthy of attention.