You have good instincts and a strong narrative voice. This is both blessing and bane. I was so captivated by the sound of your prose in the opening section that I didn't notice until the second reading that you'd committed some serious blunders. Usually blunders of that nature result in bad prose right out of the gate. But you manage to keep the flow moving, whether you're describing external action or roaming around inside Kemal's head, a neat trick and one not even imagined by many, let alone mastered. Unfortunately, (this is the bane part), when you slip out of that voice and lapse back into stock Romance prose, there's no way you can hope to get away with it. You've already tipped your hand: you're better than that.
You seem to have created a good set-up for your characters, fulfilling one of the requirements of the romance genre, which is to force your hero and heroine into close proximity under circumstances not exactly of their choosing. That these circumstances are neither tortured nor unrealistic is a definite plus.
I'll confess that it's been a long while since I actively researched the Historical Romance field to figure out what was publishable. I don't know for certain what conventions are considered carved in stone, and what situations offer flexibility. At one time it was almost a sacrament that the stories be told from the heroine's point of view throughout. The hero and his story were crucial, but only as they impacted on the heroine. So you're off the reservation from word one. Personally, I'm just fine what that, but I'm not a publisher, so I'll leave it to you to make the shifting points of view work. It's a respected device in genre fiction though I find it much easier to work with when there are major scene breaks, as in the break between Kemal in the desert and Wynn on the boat. It gets a bit stickier when both characters are in the same scene. You haven't done it badly, but I'm not sure if it's possible to do it elegantly, without the form calling attention to itself. One solution is that strong narrative voice, the story's voice, one that has the power and authority to manage both points of view equally. That's a very different narrative approach, however, but quite efficient at bouncing back and forth from mind to mind.
The relationship with her father is a little confused, but I'm willing to allow that there is as yet unrevealed information about him, and the nature of their trip, that will fill in a lot of gaps. For one thing, despite her endless worrying about his mental health, every time you let him open his mouth, he sounds downright jaunty. Even impish, as though he knows far more about his daughter than she's guessed about him. The hint about the sketchbook leads me to think there's more to the old boy than meets the eye. Perhaps enrolled in the work of Empire, disguised as a member of the National Geographic Society? Or, as with Sherlock Holmes' brother, Mycroft, The Diogenes Club, some expedition of which always managed to show up to study local archeology just at the time the rabble were fomenting revolution. That would be cool. We'll have to wait and see.
But it's a decent set-up; running with this set-up and fashioning a plot with it is, of course, a quite different proposition. I believe you have a good plot in mind. Whether you will be able to tell the story, I'm not yet sure. There are some red flags which I will wander through in no particular progression or sequence.
First, a point about unintentional meanings creeping into your sentences. What I liked about your opening scene was the economy of your sentences, how they did exactly what they were supposed to with clarity and precision, one of the reasons your dialogue, narrative and exposition all balanced so well; when everything does its job, things don't get in each others' way. The following examples stand out, and you really don't what them to, but it's what happens when you don't keep track of what you are referring to.
WHAT I MEANT TO SAY, WAS...
Almost as soon as her feet had touched the dock, they were accosted by a gentleman with a turban and a great beard.
A foot fetishist? Personally, I hate it when guys in turbans accost my feet.
Kemal's keen eyes picked through the crowd of people and pack animals that moved through the busy port, hunting for white skin.
White slavers, all? Now that's a nasty crowd! Though maybe we should let the pack animals off the hook.
This one is just scary.
It took an incredible amount of self-control for Wynn to keep her bottom lip attached to the top, such was her shock at the ease of her father's consent.
Besides, why the self control? Her jaw dropped in shock.
This one's not a howler, but could be much clearer.
"My darling, I know you speak only out of concern for me, but please put at least enough trust in your old Papa to look after our finances."
Syntax suggests that he's asking her to look after the finances, which is silly in context. Much clearer is:
"My darling, please trust your Papa to look after the finances."
In these sentences you seem to be objectifying elements that are really qualities.
He scowled at the path his thoughts had taken.
"Bad thoughts... bad thoughts. Now stay... stay..." Maybe he should put them on a leash.
Hunger began to gnaw at him,
And he just sits there and passively takes it?
Mr. al-Malik returned to them, success evident on his face.
That bit about success is a far too interpretive for me. Show him in action, let your reader figure it out.
Mr. al-Malik returned, clearly pleased with himself. "The deal is made."
Her father frowned, causing a shadow to pass over his face.
How about Her father frowned.
Now to the blunder in the first section, which, as I write this, I'm not totally convinced is a blunder. Or, maybe I'm not sure what blunder it might be. As I observed, the entire section might be a violation of the Romance code, which seems not to bother you and certainly doesn't bother me. But in that case, you don't need to hurry through it just to get him hooked up with his future inamorata. You can use this section to actually tell his story, which you haven't done now. You've referred to it. Not the same.
Consider this line:
The man called out behind him, "You ought to watch your step, boy. This city is crawling with my agents. If I have my way, you'll be dead before sunrise."
In a scene that threatens to spill over into action, this is a cruel thing to do to your reader. It's phony foreshadowing, since nothing comes of it, a gun that never gets fired It thwarts expectations in a most unsatisfying manner.
Now consider this line that follows shortly after:
This slave trader was only one of the many enemies he had made in Tripoli. All had threatened him in a similar matter, and sooner or later someone would follow through.
This is the heart of the blunder, the DUDE, YOU SHOULD HAVE BEEN HERE EARLIER WHEN SOME CRAZY STUFF WENT DOWN flaw (as well as more phony foreshadowing). Kemal has been busy since he's been in town, but to pick up his story here, in this way is like a Post-Game Wrap Up show that talks about the 80-yard kickoff return, the goal line defensive stand and the winning touchdown pass in sudden death overtime, without showing us any video.
For that matter, the missing prolouge that's begging to be told is years behind us. It doesn't need explaining (that will come later), but to actually show the defining scene of Kemal's mission, where his parents are killed and his sisters taken, would sure kick things off to a rollicking start. And catch your readers' attention. After that you cut to Kemal in Tripoli, where, instead of telling us about his quest, you show him in the midst of it. It's a story in its own right, this exploration he goes through in each new city, learning who the usual suspects might be, planning his moves, going through the steps, each one of which escalates the action, his risk, and (need I remind you?) your readers' growing involvement in his situation. And then, as with all stories, you make it all count. You give it a third act (everything needs a third act), when one, or two, or perhaps an unaccustomed alliance of rivals decides to kill him, and he has to fight his way out of a situation that makes the reader wonder "Wow, what's gonna happen next?" It's the only question you want out them, and you never want them to stop asking it. Having him slink passively out of town at night, not having to avoid threats because they never materialize, isn't going to hook anyone.
One last red flag, then I'll shut up. This is what I call the STAND BACK, I'LL FIX THIS flaw. This passage is as good an example as any:
"What good fortune!" said Papa, a light in his eyes like she hadn't seen since the onset of Mama's illness. "The only dragoman in the Levant not working for the Sultan, and he has come to our personal rescue! Good fortune, indeed."
Mysteriously good fortune, in Wynn's opinion. She didn't mention that if he had planned as thoroughly as he should have, they would not be in need of such a luxury as a personal dragoman.
You do this a lot, and, in fairness, so do most Romance writers. Doesn't make it good, and if you really want to break the conventions of the genre, start here. What you've done is neglected to create a three dimensional interaction with three dimensional characters. To compensate, you, the author, are stepping in and telling the reader what they need to know, since your characters aren't doing their job. Just because you pretend that it's their internal thoughts and contemplations doesn't change the fact that in the real-world present of your story, your characters aren't coming up with the kind of interactions that let the reader intuit their natures, their relationships and their inner motivations.
Here's a much more blatant example:
"It's magnificent, isn't it, darling?" he remarked, beaming at the scene. It was the most words he had strung together in several days. And Wynn might have agreed with him, might have been able to admire the wonderful oddity of the port, had she not been so preoccupied with her concern for Papa's mental state. She had always dreamed of traveling the world, of seeing strange things like the scene that was laid before her. But this was not an adventure, and certainly not a holiday; this was her father fleeing from his grief, and dragging her along with him.
"You aren't still sulking, are you?" he asked grumpily, when she failed to respond. She bit her lip as her heart clenched at the unfairness of his remark. She was not, and had never been, the sulking type. They had exchanged angry words when he had first mentioned his ill-timed Levantine expedition, but once she realized he wasn't going to change his mind, and that there was no way she could let him go alone, she quietly accepted her fate.
Come to that, she had done nothing but care for him the entire journey, bringing him food, keeping his cabin neat. He hadn't once acknowledged her; every time she went to him he was absorbed in his sketchbook, typically mumbling to himself. Whenever she tried to make him speak with her, he put her off.
"No, Papa." Let him see how he liked being answered in two-word sentences.
Two passive, non-committal words for four paragraphs. Lots going on, mostly thinking. How much more engaging, to have a conversation like this (note that I don't completely do away with the explanatory embellishments, but with a real conversation, there's something to embellish):
"It's magnificent, isn't it, darling?"
"I suppose," she muttered, staring ahead. Of course it was a beautiful view, but it just made her angry.
"You aren't still sulking, are you?"
"Sulk!? I don't sulk."
"Well, then, whatever word you wish for whatever you are doing."
She sensed an unaccustomed sarcasm in his voice, as though he was teasing her.
"Well, I must say, you're suddenly talkative."
"And what do you mean by that?"
"You've spent the entire voyage in your cabin. You've hardly spoken to me at all."
"You haven't been the most pleasant company, my dear. Perhaps I felt you wanted to be left alone."
"That's not fair!"
That's enough. I'm starting to make stuff up, but that's what happens when you let your characters take over the job of being who they are. Pretty soon they're doing unexpected things; they're making their own decisions and dealing with unintended consequences... you know, sort of like a plot.
I suggest you go back to this story, and train yourself to recognize all those points where you are stepping into the scene and doing the heavy lifting for your characters. Imagine what the scene would look like if your characters were expressing their feelings to each other, rather than you just expressing them to your readers. It would mean that you'll have to flesh out their motivations and drives, not just as abstract descriptions of what they want and don't want, but as qualities that drive each action they take, each word they speak.
They might surprise you. |
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