On Becoming a Novelist

The most appealing thing about this book is that, unlike many others of its ilk, this is not a book about how to write, rather it is a book about what it means to be a writer. It is a balanced analysis of the writing life and all that is required of an aspirant to embrace it fully. Gardner doesn't bother with niceties, and tells the reader up front that to be a writer is to take on a most challenging commitment that may guarantee no reward besides personal fulfillment, with even that being sometimes elusive.

Gardner covers all of the basics, such as how a writer must be sensitive to college, the advantages and disadvantages of a college education, and the trials of the publishing world. However, The most interesting moments in the book show more are those that focus on those aspects of the writing life that almost defy description. One of the most striking passages deals with how a writer views the world with a sort of detachment, searching for raw material in every experience, even those that are gruesome and horrifying.

This book is essential reading for aspiring novelists, if not aspiring writers in general, so they may see the life that awaits them and decide if they really are cut out for it. show less

This had the *longest* sentences. It's a rolling, conversational read from one of the greats. The book is ostensibly geared toward newer writers, but frankly I think it would have been a bit much if I'd read it at that stage. As it is, I enjoyed the reading quite a bit--particularly the last chapter, titled "Faith"--and recommend it to writers at pretty much any stage of their abilities or career.

It's a shame Gardner is no longer with us. He's vastly opinionated in this book, and I kept wondering what he'd have to say about the pandemic.

About 15-20 years ago, I read other Gardner works: Grendel, Freddie’s Book, and Nickel Mountain, as well as The Art of Fiction.

I confess I’m intimidated by Gardner. I want to like his work more than I do. It’s kind of like my view on The Beatles, Elvis Presley, cilantro, and hoppy beer – I can respect the craft but they’re never going to be my favorites.

The first section of On Becoming a Novelist focuses on “The Writer’s Nature.” Gardner writes about his own experience:

“I worked more hours at my fiction than anyone else I knew, and I was lavishly praised by friends and teachers, even published a little, but I was dissatisfied, and I knew my dissatisfaction was not just churlishness. . . . I had by this time already show more faced the painful truth every committed young writer must eventually face, that he’s on his own. Teachers and editors may give bits of good advice, but they usually do not care as much as does the writer himself about his future, and they are far from infallible; … But now nothing was clearer than that I must figure out on my own what was wrong with my fiction.”

I can relate. Gardner articulates my own struggles as a writer, and how I have to learn to trust my abilities to develop my craft.

Yet my chief complaint against Gardner is his passionately superior world view about what constitutes true literature. Even as he describes how a writer must figure out her craft on her own, I get the sense of Gardner hanging in the background, ready to point out where her mistakes are. Even when he compliments the work of other writers, nothing ever quite measures up. There’s an ideal that cannot be reached.

Still, I appreciated On Becoming a Novelist, and I’m keeping myself open to its lessons. The trick is to take what is useful for me and to disregard Gardner’s critical edge. show less

"Novel-writing is not so much a profession as a yoga, or “way,” an alternative to ordinary life-in-the-world. Its benefits are quasi-religious - a changed quality of mind and heart, satisfactions no non-novelist can understand - and its rigors generally bring no profit except to the spirit. For those who are authentically called to the profession, spiritual profits are enough." (pg 145)

This is the best book I have read on the creative task of writing. So much of what John Gardner describes in this book rings true to my own experiences. He writes in a way that is personal, honest, and encouraging without disguising the difficulties of writing a novel (both technical as well as psychological).

I recommend this book to all writers show more everywhere (whether they be working on poems, short stories, essays, or novels). Gardner's explication of the creative method is useful, inspiring, and strikingly accurate. show less

"Novel-writing is not so much a profession as a yoga, or “way,” an alternative to ordinary life-in-the-world. Its benefits are quasi-religious - a changed quality of mind and heart, satisfactions no non-novelist can understand - and its rigors generally bring no profit except to the spirit. For those who are authentically called to the profession, spiritual profits are enough." (pg 145)

This is the best book I have read on the creative task of writing. So much of what John Gardner describes in this book rings true to my own experiences. He writes in a way that is personal, honest, and encouraging without disguising the difficulties of writing a novel (both technical as well as psychological).

I recommend this book to all writers show more everywhere (whether they be working on poems, short stories, essays, or novels). Gardner's explication of the creative method is useful, inspiring, and strikingly accurate. show less

This is less a book on writing craft than a book on the writer's mindset, and as such it's a valuable companion to all the other books on writing that may be cluttering your bookshelf.

Raymond Carver's introduction is helpful; it makes a convincing case that Gardner was actually a nice guy and a great teacher, not the swaggering egotist that he appears to be. Consequently, On Becoming a Novelist is much more palatable than Gardner's other book on writing, The Art of Fiction.

In On Becoming a Novelist, Gardner steps back from the dogmatism that marks The Art of Fiction. Notably, he now admits that a PhD in English literature, accompanied by many courses in creative writing, is not a prerequisite to writing serious fiction.

Still, as with show more The Art of Fiction, it's best to approach Gardner's ideas about writing with a skeptical mind. show less

Thinking of writing a novel or becoming an honest-to-goodness novelist? If so, then this slim book by John Gardner will offer you sound advice and friendly encouragement. Of course, not every single bit of advice will apply to every would-be novelist, but there are enough nuggets of hard-won writerly wisdom from a dedicated master of the art to make this book worth your time. As by way of example, here are several quotes along with my modest comments:

John Gardner on the experience of reading a good novel: “We slip into a dream . . . We recreate, with minor and for the most part unimportant changes, the vivid and continuous dream the writer worked out in his mind (revising and revising until he got it right) and captured in language show more so that other human beings, whenever they feel like it, may open his book and dream that dream again.” ---------- Personally, after finished a good novel, I have the distinct feeling I’ve lived life through another’s eyes - my horizons has been expanded. Case in point: I traveled the long country roads with Montana detective C. W. Sughrue when he begins his journey, “When I finally caught up with Abraham Trahearne, he was drinking beet with an alcoholic bulldog named Fireball Roberts in a ramshackle joint just outside of Sonoma, California, drinking the heart right out of a fine spring afternoon.”


“A novelist is interested in playing with sentence formation, seeing how long he can make a sentence go or how many short sentences he can use without the reader noticing. In short, one sign of a writer’s potential is his especially sharp ear – and eye – for language.” --------- Gardner is insistent on how a novelist’s language is not the star of the show; rather, language is always employed in the service of story, specifically, in service of such elements as character, action, setting, and atmosphere.

“The good writer sees things sharply, vividly, accurately, and selectively (that is, he sees what’s important), not necessarily because his power of observation is by nature more acute than that of other people (though by practice it becomes so), but because he cares about seeing things clearly and getting them down effectively.” ---------- Ah, the well-tuned eye. One need not be intellectual or even an articulate speaker (many good novelists are not) but be able to develop and hone one’s unique vision and an ability to translate that vision via the magic of language into a compelling story.


“Much of the dialogue one encounters in student fiction, as well as plot, gesture, even setting, comes not from life but from life filtered through TV.” ---------- When I first started writing fiction I was 20 years removed from watching TV and reading newspapers and magazines. I suspect this had much to do with developing my own off-the-wall surreal writing and having nearly all of it accepted by publishers. My suggestion: if you want to become a writer of fiction, stop watching TV and limit exposure to other mass media since the last thing you want is your unique take on life to be infected and restricted.

“A good novelist creates powerfully vivid images in the reader’s mind and nothing is more natural than that the beginning novelist should try to imitate the effects of some master, because he loves that writer’s vivid world. But finally imitation is a bad idea.” ---------- One effective way to start writing novels is to type out a novel you love, word for word, page by page. You will develop a real feel for what it takes to write a good novel (getting the craft even into your muscles and fingers). However, as John Gardner notes, this is a beginner’s practice – at some point, sooner rather than later, you are on your own.

“What one has to get, one way or another, is insight – not just knowledge – into personalities not visibly like one’s own. What one needs is not the facts but the “feel” of the person not oneself.” ---------- This is my observation when reading a novelist like Richard Russo, who can write about men and women of any age with equal skill and depth; it’s as if he is living in their skin down to their toes.

An brief excerpt on the unique, quirky qualities of intelligence peculiar to a storyteller: “Wit (a tendency to make irreverent connections); obstinacy and a tendency toward churlishness (a refusal to believe what all sensible people know is true); childishness (an apparent lack of mental focus and serious life purpose, a fondness for daydreaming and telling pointless lies, a lack of proper respect, mischievousness) ---------- I recall how Julio Cortázar said that when he was a child, it was as if he had a grown man inside him and when he became an adult, the dynamic flipped – he was a grown man with a child inside him.

“The novelist develops an acute eye, sometimes bordering on the psychic, for human feelings and behavior, tastes and habitats, pleasures, sufferings. --------- Another point John Gardner is insistent upon: how a novelist’s business is to be primarily concerned with the details of character and storytelling and not preoccupied with such general concepts as theme or symbolic meaning. Gardner relates how concern for such subjects in school and with many teachers can be poison for the would-be novelist.

I’ll conclude this review by quoting the last short, inspiring paragraph in the book, words any writer, novelist or otherwise, will certainly appreciate: “Finally, the true novelist is the one who doesn’t quit. Novel-writing is not so much a profession as a yoga, or “way,” an alternative to ordinary life-in-the-world. Its benefits are quasi-religious - a changed quality of mind and heart, satisfactions no non-novelist can understand – and its rigors generally bring no profit except to the spirit. For those who are authentically called to the profession, spiritual profits are enough.”
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