The Last Taboo: Second-Person Narration

By Thomas S. Roche, www.thomasroche.com

I was originally brought on board here at Write Sex to be the “taboo guy,” sort of the William S. Burroughs of sex-positive erotica-writing instruction, the Luis Buñuel of the twenty-page blowjob scene or, in my fondest imaginings, the Lou Reed of the 1,500-word spanking vignette.

But for better or for worse, nowadays I’m not as much of a freak as I occasionally play on webcam. I’ve lately been obsessing more over appositives than ass-fisting, more about emdashes than emetophilia. Therefore, in this month’s column you won’t be reading about how to make your vampires sparkly but still spooky. I’m about to talk about a real literary taboo: second-person narration.

In case you’re not clear on what I mean by second-person narration, think “You unzip my dress” as opposed to first person, “John unzipped my dress,” or “I unzipped Mary’s dress” as opposed to the third person “John unzipped Mary’s dress” (or for that matter, maybe Mary unzipped her own goddamn dress — why does John have all the agency here?)

Got it? The “you” character may be the main character (most commonly) or, occasionally, a peripheral character in the action, an observer. This technique has been used intermittently in literary fiction. Commercial fiction, on the other hand, has historically been rather hostile to the technique — though the technique occasionally does show up on the best-seller lists.

With erotica, second-person narration has become much more common than it was ten years ago; similarly, it’s also much more common in erotica writing than it is in any form of commercial genre fiction like science fiction, fantasy, horror, crime fiction, or romance — though it does show up, occasionally, in all of those. To digress briefly, my view is that it works well in erotica, and is more common in the genre, because of a major change of culture. In the 1990s and 2000s, literary erotica has become less something people buy in sleaze shops and read by flashlight, and more something people use as a guide for developing their own sexual lifestyles, fantasies and behaviors — and sometimes even those of their sexual partners. But whether that’s right or wrong is a biiiiiiig long conversation I don’t have time for at the moment — so, hold that thought for some future date.

Second-person narration also works better in short stories than in novel-length works — in my opinion, because of the need for — or “habit of” if you prefer — writers to provide concrete character change throughout the length of a novel in order to make the thing feel like a satisfying feature-length whole. Short stories, on the other hand, are snapshots in time, and there not always the need to have backstory about “you,” as the main character, the way there is for a novel. As such, some of us very much like to put “you” in the story.

As one of the second-person technique’s most enthusiastic practitioners, I have to admit that — not to overstate it too much — you could be taking your creative and commercial life in your hands using this technique. A lot of readers find it alienating — and I mean a lot. The reasons for this I can’t really say; I hear it’s distracting; I hear it’s pretentious; I hear it reads like one of those Choose Your Own Adventure Books. Chris Baty, in his book No Plot? No Problem, the handbook of NANOWRIMO, even goes so far as to hold forth rabidly against second-person narration, essentially forbidding its use. I hope to someday meet Chris, so I can punch him hard in the mouth for that.

Regardless of whether you, or my many detractors, or Chris Baty or Kevin Costner’s character in Bull Durham think “pretentious” literary techniques blow chunks, it should be said that second-person narration has shown up magnificently in some important literary works written in English and other languages. Whether you like them individually or not, there’s no denying that, say, Italo Calvino’s If On a Winter’s Night a Traveler, Jay McInnery’s Bright Lights, Big City, Faulkner’s Absalom, Absalom!, Tom Robbins’s Half Asleep in Frog Pajamas, and the works of Julio Cortazar, John Barth, and Jorge Luis Borges — just to name a few — are works of note, “pretentious” or not.

I recently experienced one of the most powerful books I’ve ever read: Rape: A Love Story, by Joyce Carol Oates; far from being a hot ravishment fantasy, this novella is the most hard-boiled thing you’ll ever read; I found it much like having Oates smack me in the face with a lead pipe for 140 pages. But the “love story” of the title hinges precisely on the periodic use of the second person; for me, that technique is devastating. It brings an immediacy to that story that left me with nightmares and a bizarre feeling of melancholy hope. For all that the novel is brutal and violent, it is also at times bizarrely and disturbingly sensual.

Joyce Carol Oates notwithstanding, that is what attracts me to the second-person narration. To me, there’s a sensuality, an intimacy, that comes from describing another person’s experience. When we are reading or writing fiction, just where our consciousness “exists” at that moment is a matter of some mystical speculation for me. Why, then, would putting myself explicitly in the reader’s head prove more sensuous and immediate than putting myself in the head and body of an “I” character who is clearly not me?

Fuck if I know. But I know that every variation I try gives me a new chance to experience the fact of fiction anew.

Sure, if you’re trying to produce a commercial product that people will read book after book, second-person narration — or any unusual literary technique — may be a liability. If you want to be safe, you’re probably better off sticking with first-person or third-person narration. Readers are familiar with those, and you’re unlikely to raise any eyebrows.

But if as a writer you’re trying to “stand out” in terms of technique, stylistically unusual factors in your work — second person narration just being one very minor possibility — are your playthings.

And, perhaps more importantly, every different technique can give you a whole new perspective on fiction writing.

Writing is a learning process; to learn, you experiment.

And then…you unzip your dress.