When I watched The Exorcist a couple of years back, I was struck by how slowly the story opens, showing us the details of everyday life. It was a carefully calculated decision to ground the film in the “real” world before the spookery gets going.
I think the source novel, William Peter Blatty’s THE EXORCIST, does the same thing, but less successfully. It’s a hundred pages of mundane detail about Chris and Regan’s lives (and some about the priests) before anything happens; sure, there’s some odd noises in the attic, but that’s as creepy as it gets. Even after the supernatural happens, the resistance to accepting it gets comical: sure, someone fell down the steps with his head completely twisted around on his neck but that could certainly happen naturally! No, not it couldn’t.
I presume this reflects that Blatty was writing in an era when mainstream horror novels weren’t a thing — this was three years before Stephen King broke in with Carrie. So perhaps grounding it in reality was necessary — and the book’s blockbuster success clearly shows it didn’t hurt. Nevertheless I couldn’t get into it; Blatty’s oddly jerky prose style didn’t help. I do think a little more tension in the everyday stuff would have been a good idea — if you’re going to spend more than a quarter of the book in the mundane world, find some way to make it interesting.
This is, of course, a challenge lots of speculative fiction writers face when they’re setting stories in our world. Some plunge right in: the opening page of Storm Front informs us that Harry Dresden is a wizard helping people out with supernatural problems. My short story “The Savage Year” (in 19-Infinity) opens with mage Artemis West getting ready to perform magic on a job for the Secret Service. “The Glory That Was” in the same book has a robot minotaur break in on a political luncheon.
Other stories take time to build. Southern Discomfort, as I’ve mentioned before, starts with little overt magic. We have Maria’s sense of something wrong, hints that Pharisee Georgia is, shall we see, eccentric (no stop signs allowed — traffic circles instead), freakish rainstorms. Until the ravens attack as Maria’s getting off the bus, there’s nothing that seems strongly supernatural. However Chapter Two spells out that this is a town run by elves, and the person who murdered Aubric McAlister is not of mortal clay. Not a long wait.
That puts me in mind of Orson Scott Card’s old rule that the opening and ending of your story should mirror each other. Mine starts out with Maria in a bad place: on the run from the cops, emotionally closed, desperate. The final scene is all about resolving that. Likewise Let No Man Put Asunder starts with Mandy and Paul waiting for their life to begin, and ends accordingly. Maybe that’s what bugged me about The Exorcist: it starts with Chris but it’s not really a character-centered story where her personal arc is resolved at the end. Instead it switches to horror midway through and stays there.
Then again we have the priest supporting character who does indeed get a character arc. Unlike the movie, he’s not quite interesting enough to be the spine of the story, at least for me — like I said, the success of Blatty’s book certainly speaks for itself. But like I said, I didn’t find it terribly compelling, and I think I’ve identified why.
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