Pain and the Problem of Description; or, Retching and Realism

May 04, 2010 11:10

While writing a book review recently, I went off on a lengthy tangent about vomit in literature before deciding that it had little to do with that particular book, which was not a major offender, but with the sheer volume of vomit I’ve encountered in recent fiction.

I am not squeamish in real life - I’ve assisted at surgeries, I’ve seen crime scenes and corpses and revolting tropical infections, I have a pair of barfing cats - but, seriously? Authors! Why all the vomit? This is like a couple years ago, when every single new piece of media I picked up contained surprise incest. I feel like every single thing I’ve picked up recently contained surprise vomit. I liked the incest better.

It’s not that I object to fictional puking per se, though I would prefer that it not be described in detail. If a book has a bulimic character, or a seasick character, or a very drunk character, or a character with a vomit-causing illness, or a character who habitually vomits from anxiety, I expect and do not object to vomiting. I also don’t object when it’s relevant to the story (or funny).

However, it’s much more frequent for characters to vomit from pain every time they get hurt. Since I read a lot of action-heavy stories, characters in them naturally often get hurt, so there is a lot of pain and so a lot of vomit. I notice this both in published and fan fiction.

I get where this is coming from. Severe pain often causes nausea, and serious physical trauma definitely can result in vomiting. So there’s clearly some attempt at realism going on.

(Vomit, like piss, may also function as a signifier for "uncompromising gritty realism." But that's a whole 'nother rant which I won't get into here. Short form: more gross does not equal more realistic; "realistic" is extremely subjective.)

However, nausea does not invariably result in vomiting, and neither does injury. I have often been injured but have never thrown up as a result. I have been in severe pain quite a few times, once to the point where I was unable to hold a pen or walk unassisted. But I did not throw up. Just saying!

I didn’t pass out either. Never have. At times like those, if I am capable of analytic thought at all, I darkly suspect that fainting from pain alone, while definitely a real phenomenon, is also a form of wish-fulfillment. (And an easy way to make a transition to the next scene. I am guilty of this myself. Though more because I like the trope You Can Barely Stand. (Link goes to TV Tropes. Do not click unless you want to lose the next three hours of your life.))

I suspect that the basis for this is that acute pain, like other intense sensations (such as orgasm) is difficult to describe. So how do you quickly and easily let readers know that your hero is in that much pain? Have them vomit!

I sympathize. Really. I too find pain hard to describe. But vomit as shorthand for “hurts that much” is seriously over-done. I wish writers would figure out alternate ways of indicating how much it hurts. (Sadly, written fiction cannot resort to the very accurate pain scale - note that the link contains completely justified vomiting, and is also hilarious.)

While the physical sensation of pain is hard to remember, which I’m sure is also part of the problem, one can recall the events and sensations which surrounded the pain and use those for inspiration.

For instance, in the case I mentioned above (an ear infection which had started to eat into the bone), there were normal activities I couldn’t perform or had a lot of trouble performing: I had to be steered into the ER by a friend because I couldn’t walk without help. I couldn’t hold a pen or read the form they gave me to fill out. I could answer questions, but it took a lot of concentration to be able to understand what people were saying. I know this was from the pain itself rather than from other results of the infection, because I do all of those things within minutes of getting a shot of painkiller.

There were things I let slide or didn’t even notice that I normally would have been on top of: I didn’t ask the doctor what was in the injection he gave me. I had a heat pack that I had been holding to my ear during the drive which I only later discovered had burned me.

There are other people’s reactions, if anyone else is around: After I got a shot of whatever it was, I remember listening in on a conversation between two medical guys which had nothing to do with me, and giggling at something one of them said. He glanced at me and said, “Feeling better, huh? That’s the good stuff, all right.”

There is how invested you are in concealing the pain or carrying on despite it. Most action heroes are extremely invested, possibly except when they’re alone with trusted loved ones. But not all of them! I recently re-read Turner’s The Thief
, which is an excellent, smart, and funny portrayal of a hero who is not at all concerned with hiding his pain and discomfort.

There are things you do to try to ease the pain. There are your attempts to distract yourself. There’s the attention you have to pay to individual movements if you’re trying to do anything. There are aftereffects. There are the things you do and notice when the pain goes away. In short, there are a whole array of actions and moments which are potentially individual and interesting, and will convey just how much your character hurts… without vomit. Or at least in addition to vomit.

My favorite writer for describing physical pain and everything around it is Dick Francis, who knew all about it. (He’s also very good with emotional pain.) If I feel procrastinatory motivated, I may pull some of his descriptions later for analysis.

The floor is open for discussions of pain, puking, and problems of description.

writing, agony far more painful than yours

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