I’m envisioning a stage play, where there’s a gun over the mantel that just sits there the whole time. There’s a murder, but the weapon used was something else, a revolver as it happens, and the rifle over the mantel never even gets mentioned by the detective. The actors all stare at it at important moments, doubtless contemplating its essential gun-ness and wondering if it might perchance be loaded after all.
There’s a big closing drawing room scene. It’s all very dramatic, the culprit gets caught, and the curtain comes down.
Then, after the applause, the curtain rises again. But not for the cast to take their bows.
The romantic lead strolls in, walks straight to the rifle, takes it down, sights along it…
…puts it back on its hooks and strolls off.
Curtain drops again.
Those of you who have taken creative writing or drama classes will recognize the phrase “Chekhov’s Gun”. (Trekkies will be anticipating Walter Koenig references, but then will be disappointed to discover that this is the only one.) For those of you unfamiliar with the literary axiom, it’s this:
“One must never place a loaded rifle on the stage if it isn’t going to go off.”
– Anton Chekhov
He repeated this in several forms in his letters — an indefatigable letter writer, Mr. Chekhov — as advice to young writers. There are doubtless those among you who, having heard it before and read it again, still don’t quite get what he means. I’ll explain further.
This is all about keeping promises to the reader.
Chekhov’s belief, based on experience, was that it’s unfair to introduce an object, and then spend time on it, if it’s not important to the story. Readers will focus on it and, later, feel unsatisfied or even betrayed if it fails to have any major impact. They invested valuable time and attention on whatever-it-was, and then at the end will be left asking: But what about the gun?
Remember: You want your readers to be happy with you because you want them to buy your next book.
Let us return to the example I began this with. You’ll note that there’s a literal gun, and it’s never fired. However, the loose end is tied off at the very end, when the gun is revealed to be a red herring. Not a particularly obvious red herring, but definitely there. It will be present in the audience’s mind, and they will be uneasy until there’s a resolution.
This variation is known as Chekhov’s Gun Declined. Mystery readers know this well, but they refer to them as red herrings. Agatha Christie was particularly fond of using them and then letting Poirot reveal their true importance, something known only to his “little grey cells”, because he alone in these stories thinks with “order and method”, n’est-ce pas?
In one of these, “After the Funeral”, nuns keep cropping up, collecting for charity at unexpected places, and then showing up as minor characters in the stage play in which one of the suspects stars. The reader expects that the actress somehow stole a costume as a clever disguise during the second act, sneaking out to commit the murder and back in time to take her bows. It’s a disappointment to learn that she couldn’t, and then at the end we find out that the nuns… well, I won’t give it away, but it’s a red herring of the first water.
Agatha Christie has sold more copies than Shakespeare, and he’s taught in schools. Go thou and do likewise without fear.
Thus endeth the lesson.
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