When a writer sits down to begin a work of fiction, one of the most important decisions is what narrative voice to use. There are so many ways to tell a story, and sometimes you can find the right approach only after some false starts. For those struggling with “first/third person” or “past/present tense,” here’s a little experiment to help model the various narrative choices: Let’s look at a fragment of the same story, told a few times over with different narrative approaches.
In the beginning, God created the heavens and the Earth. Now the Earth was formless and empty, darkness was over the surface of the deep, and the Spirit of God was hovering over the waters. And God said, “Let there be light,” and there was light. God saw that the light was good, and he separated the light from the darkness.
FIRST PERSON
In the beginning, I created the heavens and the Earth. The Earth was formless and empty, darkness was over the surface of the deep, and my spirit hovered over the waters. And I said, “Let there be light,” and there was light. I liked the light, and I separated the light from the darkness.
Using first person can be a compelling option, for several reasons. The teller and the doer being the same entity adds literal “authority” to the story (as well as braggadocio, the desirability of which is a matter of personal taste). At the same time, first-person POV can have a confessional tone, creating a setheynse of intimacy that can, in turn, facilitate a sense of trust between author and reader. This is useful when an author needs to convince their reader to believe certain outré plot elements, such as those concerning the origin of existence.
It should be noted, however, that first person is also the preferred POV of the “unreliable narrator.” Therefore, we cannot overlook the possibility that God is not giving the reader an accurate depiction of Creation. If the reader is familiar with “Fight Club,” “The Debt to Pleasure,” or “The Usual Suspects,” they could actually work against the author.
SECOND PERSON
“Let there be a vault between the waters to separate water from water.” So God made the vault and separated the water under the vault from the water above it. And it was so. God called the vault “sky.”
You said: “Let there be a vault between the waters to separate water from water.” So you made the vault, and separated the water under the vault from the water above it. You called the vault “sky.”
Second person can often sound either demanding or accusative, but here it also demonstrates an emotional intimacy between the narrator and “you” — the “I and thou” relationship.
This is less than salubrious for biblical purposes, but the problem can be neutralized by the addition of interjections of praise (e.g., “You made the vault, Hallelujah!”).
THIRD PERSON
There are many approaches to third-person POV. Perhaps the most common is Third Person Close, in which the writer tells the story either from one character’s POV, such as Milo in “The Phantom Tollbooth,” or else serially from a few specific POVs, such as the hobbits in different parts of “The Lord of the Rings.” There are others (third-person cinematic, for instance), but today we’ll look at the one that celebrates the absolute author-ity of the narrator:
THIRD-PERSON OMNISCIENT
Then God said, “Let us make in our image, in our likeness, so that they may rule over the fish in the sea and the birds in the sky, over the livestock and all the wild animals, and over all the creatures that move along the ground.”
God, who was always on the lookout for a new project, said, “I’m going to make Mankind in my image, and they can rule over all the animals.”
The animals abruptly stopped cavorting. Frantically they whispered amongst themselves about how to deter this calamity (except for Antelope, who claimed indifference). There was some wrangling as they decided who was going to confront God about his poor creational choices. Lion drew the short straw. Warily, he approached the Almighty.
“God?” said Lion. “We’ve reached a consensus that this is a terrible idea. If you go through with it, it will display such poor judgment that, eh, we’ll all probably have to stop believing in You.”
God was offended by this, but also already distracted with his new undertaking. He shrugged. “If you’re going to be fickle, all the more reason to go through with it,” He said, and then He created Mankind in his own image.
“Now, there is a good looking creature,” God said.
“Wow!” said Mankind, examining their beautiful naked selves. “Thanks, God!”
God blessed Mankind and said to them, “Be fruitful and multiply; fill the earth and subdue it.”
“We really think you should reconsider this before it’s too late ––” Lion tried again.
“Rule over the fish in the sea,” God continued, ignoring Lion, “and the birds in the sky, and every living creature that moves on the ground.”
“Awesome!” said Mankind. Turning to Lion, Mankind said, “We’re gonna call you Lion, and tell stories about how brave and strong you are.” Before Lion could respond, Mankind turned to Antelope, saying, “We’re gonna call you Antelope, and make up songs about how playful you are.”
“How lovely!” said Antelope. “Thanks. Lion and all the rest of ye, I really think you’re overreacting. Things have been changing nonstop around here, you just need to roll with it. God knows what He’s doing, this is going to be fine.”
“But wait, that’s not all,” said God, smiling indulgently at Mankind, whom he really truly loved. “I’m also giving you every seed-bearing plant and tree on the face of the whole Earth. They will be yours for food.”
“Cool!” said Mankind.
“Hey, wait a minute!” said Lion, who (like all animals) relied on those plants and trees for food. “Share a little, can’t you?”
“We can’t hear you, God’s talking,” said Mankind.
“Fret not, Lion, I’ve got this,” said God. “All ye beasts and birds, I give all of you the green plants to eat. Every green plant. You’re welcome.”
“Perfect,” said Antelope.
“Antelope,” said Lion regretfully, “this is not going to end well for you.”
Third-person omniscient POV allows the reader to be absorbed in the totality of the created world. It is effective at creating a global sense of familiarity, but is less effective at aligning the reader with one character or set of characters over others. While it encourages us to empathetically consider the lived experience of minor and antagonistic characters, it is not as effective at investing the reader in the emotional or spiritual life of a specific character. This could make it difficult for a bible-writer to direct the reader toward a clear, unilateral moral code.
In closing, it’s up to any given author to determine what narrative style works best for writing a bible. It depends on what you intend the bible to accomplish. Does the arc of your moral universe bend toward justice, or chaos, or sugary sweetness? What relationship do you wish the reader to have with the god of your creation? How do you want the reader to not only perceive but also experience the universe you have established? These are among the questions the bible-writer must ask themself.
* This essay is an abridged excerpt from “Narrative Genesis,” a paper written for an MFA program at University College Dublin, autumn 2020. Novelist Nicole Galland’s newest book is “Boy.” She will be speaking at this summer’s Islanders Write.
