IMO, that’s a huge difference.

The spying mystery remained intact and I think that was the important thing for me. Nothing got spoiled.

“Hello, Mrs. Spade. I’m Pierre Tardivel.” He was conscious of how out-of-place his Québécois accent must have sounded here — another reminder that he was intruding. For a moment, Mrs. Spade thought she recognized Pierre.

That is what drives me nuts. I found that terribly jarring.

Although at first glance, omniscient narration might seem an ideal way to involve the reader in every aspect of the story, it actually ends up making the reader feel unconnected to all the characters. The rule is simple: pick one character, and follow the entire scene through his or her eyes only.

I may have misstated it, but this is exactly what I’ve been trying to get across. My troublement comes because, well, who made the “rule” and when? The above example is a storytelling style that only relatively recently went “out of style.”

That’s much more intriguing…

I think I may have realized the first point of my irritation with third omniscient. Maybe I just don’t want to know everything.

Eva, you can use regular HTML tags to quote. < blockquote > < / blockquote > (take out the spaces).

Selah, welcome!!!

“Like porn, I know head-hopping and/or omniscient third when I see it.”

Ha!

this naturally tends to come across as “telling” rather than “showing,” which is frowned upon with equal vigor.

And the second point of my irritation with it. Yes, yes, and yes.

unless I’ve been told the internal adjustment is worth it, as I have with Phyllida and the Brotherhood of Philander.

Oh, it very much is!

Wow, this is a great discussion—both clarifying and productive.

My understanding of limited third is that it can move from head to head, showing internal thoughts and internal monologues (with or without scene breaks) so long as it is, in fact, limited to the characters who are actually players in the story. In other words, the characters pass the movie camera around, giving commentary on the action even as they participate in it.

My understanding of omniscient third is this: The narrator holds the camera — the narrator being a disembodied voice outside the story who plays no part in the proceedings, and is essentially a stand-in for the author. This narrator has all the external facts, and often knows and relates what the characters are thinking, though this naturally tends to come across as “telling” rather than “showing,” which is frowned upon with equal vigor.

I wish I could give examples, but I’m badly spoiled. When I pick up a book that features anything other than first person or very deep, limited third person POV, I tend to put it down again quickly…unless I’ve been told the internal adjustment is worth it, as I have with Phyllida and the Brotherhood of Philander. 🙂

SOME authors separate with line break, some, who do it well, ease the reader into another POV with a sentence FROM that new POV person.

I clipped a good bit of it-edit it if you want

On Writing by Robert J Sawyer

http://www.sfwriter.com/ow07.htm

New writers are often baffled when trying to choose a point of view for their stories and novels. But, actually, the choice is easy. Over ninety percent of all modern speculative fiction is written using the same POV: limited third person.

“Third person” (“she did this; he did that”) means the story is not told in first person (“I did this”), or the always-irritating second person (“you did this”). That’s easy enough. But what does “limited” mean?

It means that although the narration refers to all the characters by third-person pronouns (he, she, it), each self-contained scene follows the viewpoint of one specific character. Consider this example, which is not limited but rather is omniscient third person, in which the unseen narrator knows what all the characters are thinking:

“Hello, Mrs. Spade. I’m Pierre Tardivel.” He was conscious of how out-of-place his Québécois accent must have sounded here — another reminder that he was intruding. For a moment, Mrs. Spade thought she recognized Pierre.

In the opening of the paragraph, we are inside Pierre’s head: “He was conscious of how out-of-place . . .” But by the end of the paragraph, we’ve left Pierre’s head and are now inside another character’s: “Mrs. Spade thought she recognized Pierre.”

Here’s the same paragraph rewritten as limited third person, solely from Pierre’s point of view.

“Hello, Mrs. Spade. I’m Pierre Tardivel.” He was conscious of how out-of-place his Québécois accent must have sounded here — another reminder that he was intruding. There was a moment while Mrs. Spade looked Pierre up and down during which Pierre thought he saw a flicker of recognition on her face.

See the difference? We stay firmly rooted inside Pierre’s head. Pierre is only aware of what Mrs. Spade is thinking because she gives an outward sign (“a flicker of recognition on her face”) that he can interpret.

Think of your story’s reader as a little person who rides inside the head of one of your characters. When inside a given head, the reader can see, hear, touch, smell, and taste everything that particular character is experiencing, and he or she can also read the thoughts of that one character. But it takes effort for the little person to move out of one head and into another. Not only that — it’s disorienting. Consider this:

Keith smiled at Lianne. She was a gorgeous woman, with a wonderfully curvy figure.

All right: we’re settling in for an encounter with a woman from a man’s point of view. But if the next paragraph says:

Lianne smiled at Keith. He was a handsome man, with a body-builder’s physique.

Hey, wait a minute! Suddenly we’ve jumped into another head, and immersed ourselves in a whole ‘nuther set of emotions and feelings. Not only have we lost track of where we are, we’ve lost track of who we are — of which character we’re supposed to identify with. Although at first glance, omniscient narration might seem an ideal way to involve the reader in every aspect of the story, it actually ends up making the reader feel unconnected to all the characters. The rule is simple: pick one character, and follow the entire scene through his or her eyes only.

Of course, we usually want some idea of what the other characters in the scene are thinking or feeling. That can be accomplished with effective description. To convey puzzlement on the part of someone other than your viewpoint character, write “he scratched his chin” or “she raised an eyebrow” (or, if you really want to hit the reader over the head with it, “she raised an eyebrow quizzically” — “quizzically” being the viewpoint character’s interpretation of the action). To convey anger, write “he balled his hands into fists,” or “his cheeks grew flushed,” or “he raised his voice.” There are very few emotions that aren’t betrayed by outward signs. (This harks back to the show-don’t-tell rule, which I talked about in my Winter 1995 On Writing column.)

Still, in real life, there are times when you can’t tell what someone else is thinking — usually because that person is making a deliberate effort to keep a poker face. If you’ve adopted the omniscient point of view, instead of a limited one, you can’t portray such things effectively. Here’s a limited point of view:

Carlos looked at Wendy, unsure whether he should go on. Her face was a stony mask. “I’m sorry,” he said again. “So very sorry.”

That’s much more intriguing than the omniscient version:

Carlos looked at Wendy, unsure whether he should go on. Wendy thought Carlos had suffered enough and was going to forgive him, but for the moment she didn’t say anything. “I’m sorry,” he said again. “So very sorry.”

“Head hopping” is limited third, from one head to the next sometimes within single paragraphs.

I must not be divining the nuances between that and third omniscient, then.

normally giving the reader a decent amount of time in one head.

That’s the trick. But third limited, as I understand it, is actually separating those blocks of time with a scene break.

I’ve read about half of Alice Hoffman’s work and I swear I do not remember her doing that.

Ann! If you’re there, hop on in with the discussion!

You are correct, it’s in the transitions, but *This is the tale told from the point of view of the storyteller who knows all the facts.*

There is your caveat right there.

“Head hopping” is limited third, from one head to the next sometimes within single paragraphs. Good authors who use it slip from one head to the next without you knowing that the tool was used-normally giving the reader a decent amount of time in one head. Then there are the stories that switch mid paragraph -even at the beginning-and you have to keep re-reading because you are confused. Although I’ve only read one book of hers, La Nora did it seamlessly.

Go read Illumination Night or Practical Magic and you can analyze how a great writer transitions. Like buttah.

A Christmas Story comes to mind as a movie who used it.

It’s one of those *cringes and waits for the fury* know your craft thingies. *ducks and runs*

Arrrggghhh!

Great POV to tell a tale in.

I’m not going to say I never wrote in third-person omniscient, but I don’t think I had much of a propensity toward it. My first efforts at writing (somewhere in third or fourth grade) were in first-person. Other characters’ thoughts were known to me, but never made it to the page.

I know I’ve gotten reamed for it in critique group a time or two, but a lot of what people see as POV switching now are things that the person can observe and remark upon in internal dialog and therefore, not a POV switch.

I don’t know. My jury’s still out on this. I liked what Ann did. The Georgian romance I’m reading right now does this, but it’s just not done well; it’s very haphazard. Maybe it’s the transitions that give it life.

There’s a trick to doing third-person omniscient and I’m not sure what it is or how to define it, although I do think that smooth transitioning is a big part of it.

In any case, I hope Ann’s book cracked open an underserved market. It may also help change the current “fashion” of not using third-person omniscient.

I’m still not settled in my mind on the issue. Certainly, it gives you freedom that you don’t have otherwise, but in thinking back and thinking about all the books I read and loved, very few of them use third-person omniscient.

But for me, it’s like “all right” and “alright.” “Alright” makes my skin crawl, but through repeated misusage, it’s made its way into the dictionary as an acceptable spelling of “all right.” How do you get over a lifetime of “all right” is CORRECT and “alright” is WRONG? That’s how I feel about third-person omniscient.

I believe Alice Hoffman (Illumination Night/Practical Magic/Seventh Heaven…) uses Third Omnicent and although it took me a few pages to get into it, it is an excellent tool when used well, and I would say that Alice is brilliant with it. It’s one of those *cringes and waits for the fury* know your craft thingies. *ducks and runs*

Great POV to tell a tale in.