Reviewstack: Cavadonga by Pablo Baez

An Open Critique

This is a critique of the wip: Cavadonga by

Pablo Báez

Pablo asked if I’d take a look at the WIP he posted, and I quickly saw his piece as something I wanted to write about, as it gave me a chance to talk about attempting something brave and difficult in fiction.

It’s not easy to take feedback, and part of that difficulty is the author’s common duality that vacillates between insisting we’re the greatest writer who ever lived and the worst who ever lived. Anything that suggests we’re not better than Shakespeare leaves us worse than the hairball spewed by Dan Brown’s cat. Intellectually, we know better. Emotionally, we know nada. It’s not easy.

Nor is it easy to give feedback. For one, each and every one of us believes we know more than we do and also less than we do. (Notice a trend?) We are absolutely certain about things we’re entirely wrong about, but our most ignorant opinions are usually based on a reality we’ve sensed within the story, something we’re reacting to but have failed to identify, let alone solve. A clever author can see past our limits and understand the underlying problem.

If only we were more consistently clever, this would be so much easier.

Let’s talk about Cavadonga.

Pablo Baez

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Now, let’s discuss: Cavodanga.

“The strokes, his eyes, her lips, lights, and swings. She could feel his piece, he could feel her peace. Shoulder, hip-dip, swing-pull. Thin strings being pulled as the star lights pools below, as above all across the tapestry that held the planets arrayed; the dance floor winked with each jump.”

—Pablo Baez

Read: Cavadonga.

I love how this story opens. The rhythm of the writing becomes the music in the club, and I can feel the movement of their dance. The writing is sensual and smooth.

Baez is clearly someone who’s worked at perfecting his art. He takes chances and attempts things that novice writers have been told can’t be done. It’s against the rules. Stop. You can’t do that. Here are the rules. Follow them.

Baez head hops, and yes, you can head hop—as long as you can pull it off. He’s writing from a god’s-eye-view, knowing truths about numerous characters that none of the POV characters would know, and his is an intimate god. This isn’t removed and cold. He’s in their heads and in their heads and in their heads.

Baez ignores the white-space rules that help is delineate differences and switch between characters.¹ He’ll move from her POV to his in a single paragraph, and the fact that he’s breaking rules is the point. Usually, I’d say that the only rule that matters is that what works rules, but thinking about this story has changed my mind. That’s the ultimate goal. Yes. But until a story is in its final form, it really doesn’t matter if something doesn’t work. The attempt is what matters, and then—if it’s not working—the solution.

Here’s a thought for you. What makes a great writer? One answer is the willingness to make the attempt and then the effort to avoid the easy solution. The easiest solution is to follow every rule you originally and intentionally broke. The lazy solution is to take something brilliant but fatally flawed and replace it with something boring that works. The choice to follow the rule you broke can be legitimate, and perhaps Baez would do well to occasionally take the easy path and follow the rules. That’s not the go-to solution, however. If you’re making the effort to do something different, then figure out how to make it work.

You Might Deserve Compensation

You can break the rules, but usually, you can’t just break the rules. Your reader may need for your style to accomplish what the regular rules would usually handle. We’ve seen this exemplified in the works of Cormac McCarthy. His heavy use of conjunctions compensates for his lack of commas. His frequent use of backwoods dialogue helps distinguish between speaker and narrator, even without quotation marks.

Baez’s story opens with the seeming promise of an easy, sensual, literary read—but that’s not really what’s going on. Instead, he’s offered us an assurance that he knows what he’s doing so that we’ll have reason to give him the benefit of the doubt when the story starts to challenge us.

This is where the challenge begins, but the question is whether Baez has compensated for the rules he’s broken, and (if not) can the reader survive without a little grace?

Their eyes held by the invisible bridge of energy that ran straight from their stomach. Could he be more than a one night stand? How can you tell? (1)

You want to dip out?, as he danced. Say yes, baby. I shouldn’t be out. Whatever, I ain’t scared… (2)

What?, she heard him. She turned and parked it up, as she looked back at him, and pressed some more. Letting go made her feel pleased, soon to be satisfied, she hoped. Please, God, let this one be a good one for me. (3)

Un Hijo en la Disco by Jowell y Randy feat Casa de Leones started to blast through the speakers.

Buy me a drink?

He heard her crisp and clear. Eyeing the floor. Spotted the bar. What do you drink?, he raised his voice, and lightly grabbed her elbow. She likes feeling his touch on her skin. (4)

I don’t drink beer, papi. She ground on him, jean on cotton skirt, everything up a la Lazarus. Blood flowing. She felt him, that isn’t metal. Hairs on end her skin tightened.

Ok, I’ll be right back, he smirked. (5)

(Note: I switch to address the author directly as I comment.)

(1) This is a good transition into her intimate first-person headspace.

(2) Until just this moment, I thought the italics were his thoughts as they’re connected to his speech and actions. They make more sense coming from her, though. If we’re still in her head, then follow the white-space rules here. If they’re his, it’s too soon. We just entered her headspace.

(3) All of this is making sense based on the new interpretation of part 2. The failure to distinguish between his actions and her thoughts had me really confused, but make space in part 2 and all of this section works.

(4) We’re going to be head hopping, and you need to train your reader for that. The question we’ll have to answer is whether this is the way to do it. Now we’re in his head space. “He heard her crisp and clear.” At the end of the paragraph, we break white-space rules again, smashing in her POV. Respect the white space.

Additional note: The sentence in her POV slips into present tense.

(5) Another rule you’re breaking is using speech tags (see comma) with actions that aren’t speech. However, your rule-breaking punctuation signals the intent.

Section summary: Respect white-space rules and carefully consider if those few words in his POV are the right introduction to the head hopping. Watch for switches in tense. A couple of paragraphs later: “the island-bar is set…”

I play with tenses. It’s legit to do so, even if the standard rule is to maintain past tense even if you’re speaking of things which continue to be true. However, unless this serves a story purpose, I’d just follow the rule as the reader is challenged well enough as it is.

Note:

Her stare followed him as he swam through the crowd, and ran her tongue over her bottom lip, and took a soft bite.

Her stare ran her tongue over her bottom lip and took a soft bite? This needs fixing.

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The Last Defender Against Chaos and Confusion

At this point, the story is transitioning away from our original POV couple, and this is another key point in teaching the reader how to understand the story.

Can I get two Don Q with a splash of scotch and bitters—I want two whiskeys—What is it that I’m drinking?—Can I get a um—the shaker shook, the ice chilled the shaker in the bartender’s hands, she took and expedited the orders as swift as the men that sneaked their heaters inside their companies purse—the walls washed green. The bartender scoped the bar—her attention stopped on a man with a fitted cap, a cuban links chain, shaved, full tattoo sleeve, and two diamond earrings; strobes.

As your reader, when I get to the dialog (which has no internal guide to establish the speakers), I’m going to assume it’s the original couple speaking. I assumed it was the man ordering for them. In reality, this is snatches of orders from various customers, and I don’t see this working at this point in the story. Cut the dialog, focus on the bartender. (You don’t have to call her “the bartender” the second time. The focus is still confidently on her.)

There is a sweep of attention you’re bringing us through here that works really well without the dialogue, but with it, the reader is lost. The confusion over the dialog has kept us fixed on the couple when you’re trying to deftly guide our attention away.

Let’s go back to point (4), as that was the only moment that you dipped deeply into his POV. I say it doesn’t work. Stay with his partner until you transition through the bartender.

They moved towards the VIP section.

You’re transitioning your reader and need to be careful. I’m assuming “they” references the bottle girls, and making the reader assume what the pronoun signifies is a mistake you can’t afford with the moves you’re making.

You transition into the dialog of the man speaking to the Ukrainian well, but her internal thought doesn’t work. It’s not clear, and that lack of clarity adds nothing to your work but confusion:

One more year for this nightmare to be over, mused the Ukrainian.

It’s a clunky line in an otherwise graceful paragraph.

Respect the white space when you transition to the other bottle girl. Also, the reason given for the footballer’s presence takes away from the clarity of the sentence, and you can’t afford a lack of clarity.

Mist—laser lights shot through everything and everyone—Black fit cap, man, not drinking. Full BBL on the face of the man with the dead stare, her curves drew in looks, his attention displayed in how he scanned the crowd. He smacked her ass, and continued to scan. Xavi, Xavi… let me catch you lacking, sato… , he wished, cock half hard. In that pool of flesh, the woman he came in with, adjusted her cinched dress as she moved, and made her way to the bar. (1)

Get me a French 75 and a Manhattan with Rye, ordered the man with the heart that beat inside his jeans. (2)

Rocks?

Hard.

Neat. He looked back to see if she’s looking at him, and she was, but he didn’t see her, couldn’t find her.

Rye whiskey stirred in the glass, a copper swizzle stick held by well-formed photogenic hands, micro tattoos on her fingers, her brown hair up in a checkered claw clip. She looked at the man’s lips—Nice kisser, bet he’s cheap—her way of listening, she read lips. His were full, two drinks, nobody’s with him , she noticed—vigorous shakes of gin, ice, and simple syrup shake in the shaker—the tattoos, her hair, the neckline, nose piercing, fox eyes, her lips. He felt warm soft flesh press against his back, two arms shooting around his ribs, they roped him in a tender embrace. The bartender asked, 75, Rye Manhattan up? I want tequila now. Hurry up, papi. I love this song, her cotton skirt riding up. Esclava Remix by Bryant Myers played. (3)

(1) The overall effect you pull off in this section is great, but it stumbles in this paragraph, lacking clarity in introducing characters we’re meant to follow.

(1 and 2) Is the man in sentence one the man in sentence 2 and also the man with the heartbeat in his jeans? First, they better be, otherwise you’re asking me to focus in way to many directions. Second, if that’s true, then he’s the only male you’ve centered in this section. References to “the man” makes me expect you’re talking about someone new. Just use the pronoun after you’ve introduced him.

(3) I love the transition from his headspace to hers. Well played, until…

He felt warm soft flesh press against his back, two arms shooting around his ribs, they roped him in a tender embrace.

Keep with her point of view. You’re about to transition again and jumping back into his headspace now is just too much.

That transition? Now you’re moving into full tilt, one head to another. It’s good. You’ve got it, and you’ve taught us how to read.

Until this, which I loath with the heat of hell in August:

What the fuck is up, hijo e’ putas?, animated the host.

Just before that, “the man” just needs to be a pronoun:

People around eyed the man

I’d assumed the host was the man with the blunt, but I can see that’s not the case.

This is one of those moments when the lazy fix is the right one. Cut the tag. Start the paragraph with a boring introduction of the character and let us focus on the dialog. It can be a simple: The host called out,

You’re drawing attention to the wrong place.

Technically, the only thing wrong here is the missing space, but you don’t need all those commas. One or none will work:

It’s ladies night, all night,baby.

And then we’re back to “the man.” If you trust me to know what “man” you’re talking about, you give me far too much credit. How’s this for a suggestion?

Back at the bar, the man grabbed his Rye Manhattan and handed the French 75 to his newfound shortie. Jade eyes with the gold dress recognized Xavi, but not the candy next to him. She clutched her purse. Xavi recognized her.

Cut the comma in the Jade eyes sentence.

Voiced. I’m not a fan of your tags. They read like amateur work in an otherwise professional piece. Said blends into the background, just like your host. I gave it time to grow on me, but it’s not happening. The earlier tag, he smirked, is a classic beginners mistake. Smirking doesn’t create words. With all you’re trying to pull off, I gave you enough credit to ride it out and see. All I see now is it doesn’t work for me. Do with that what you will.

Here’s another habit that undermines your work. You introduce character action and follow it with someone else’s dialog. You’ve respected the white space here, but it still creates confusion where you can’t afford it.

Your descriptions and actions sing. Your tags croak like a dying frog.

Action. Dialog. Skip the tag.

And then the last paragraph you slap some random group of girls into Green Eyes’s space. I’d say white space, but you’re about to move into more dialog between the same two girls. Cut the background actors.

Green Eyes, put her left hand on the purse’s zipper, fingers like spider legs, still.

Papi, who the fuck’s this bitch? Who the fuck are you talkin’ to my man like that? You got me fucked up, hollered Xavi’s fling.

Girl step your corny-ass back. You don’t want none of this, threatened Green Eyes. Step the fuck back you nosy, ratty hair, plastic filled cheeks looking-ass ho’. One group of four girls shuffled their eyes from Xavi to Jade Eyes and said something in each other’s ear; nervous.

Next paragraph you’ve got Xavi slapped on the tail end of the girl’s dialog, and then you go into dialog that I think belongs to Green Eyes, but you’ve just focused on Xavi, so the brain wants to say this is Xavi speaking.

Say less. You looking fly, tho’—fixed on Xavi’s thick gold link chains…

Unless the argument between the girls is important, there’s too much focus here. It should be a suggestion not a dictation, and what’s the focus of this paragraph? Who’s the focus. You’re trying to navigate us from Eyes’ headspace to Xavi’s, and it isn’t working. On top of that, you’re throwing plot-important names at us.

The paragraph needs work—give it careful consideration and work.

Papi—This is good. This is the most anchoring word in the whole story. I know we’re back where we started.

But this, no:

Caging his heart, ribs contained the exhilarated organ that pumped massive amounts of its liquid, it escaped his arms and legs and went inwards: he could stay and fight or he could run and keep looking over his shoulder.

That doesn’t work.

The cut to the ginger? “He just hit?” That was forever ago. And we’re dipping into ginger’s thoughts? Nah. Cut him out of the paragraph. Focus on the couple. Get her into the bathroom.

The next paragraph is good but again, cut the ginger on the floor.

Vague. Cut:

others started their plans to capture the rappers attention.

Now you’re going full tilt again, and it’s working.

Ginger leaking urine. That works. It’s a good time to bring him back.

You’ve got us on a full tilt run to the end. You mentioned a possible section following this, but the action has strained the limits of the reader. Xavi getting to the exit is a good place to end, but we need clarity here. Tagged in the back. Did Xavi die?

If he’s dead, give us Melissa on her own for one paragraph at the close. Give us somewhere to land and to understand where this has left us. If he’s alive, give us one paragraph with him—and no one else’s POV.

The full tilt is confusing but not in a bad way, but we need some clarity to close.

Closing Thoughts

When breaking the rules, sometimes we have to set priorities. What experimentation matters most and why? Here, the important aspect is the head-hopping. The story depends on it, and all other aspects serve its purpose.

That means some of the rule breaking I was originally willing to give some space to prove itself, I had to advise against in the end. The story needs clarity, and some choices undermine that clarity.

The story is beautifully written and exciting both in terms of the story it tells and the form the story takes in the telling. In this case, the form is all about head-hopping.

— Thaddeus Thomas

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No One to Blame

1. This is one aspect I finally had to say didn’t work.