I learned an interesting technique today. In English we read a short extract from Atonement, a novel by Ian McEwan*, and a very interesting literary device rose to the surface, and I'm amazed I haven't seen it before.
Two third-person narratives from different perspectives about exactly the same event.
I had to have a go, so here's a short little story about two old friends who have arranged to meet up in a pub after eight years of no contact:
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Tony sat down at the bar and ordered two pints. Clide would be here soon, he thought, as his head raced with all the good news he had about how he had turned his life around. No more did he have to scrounge an illicit living through petty (and some organised) criminal activities, he had his own home, new prospects, but most importantly of all, he had hi own job. Becoming self employed had been the best decision of his life, throwing off the shackles and debts of gang life had given him a new lease of life, a fresh verve and positive attitude. He had even playing with the idea of offering Clide a position in his new firm, which was rapidly becoming larger and more successful with every day that passed.
He looked around the pub he had chosen. Perhaps it wasn’t the best choice, but it was certainly convenient. This was the only place in the area that allowed tabs, and he certainly wasn’t expecting his old school friend to be buying drinks after such a successful turnover of his lifestyle.
Tony heard the sound of a hand slipping on the pub’s door handle, and as he recognised the face that emerged, his eyes widened and he grinned as he saw his old school friend for the first time in eight years. He wasn’t quite as he remembered him, he walked into the room looking very on edge. Tony noticed his palms were moist from sweat, and his eyes were darting all around the room with a tense suspicion. He beckoned his friend over and pointed to the pint he had bought him and winked cheerfully as he used to at school all those years ago. Clide sat down beside him and stared with reluctance at his drink, mopping his brow in apparent discomfort.
“How have you been you old bastard?” Tony cried merrily.
“Errm, good, yeah, you wanted to speak to me about something?” Clide answered nervously.
“Yeah, I’ve got a bit of business happening and I was wondering if you could give me a hand-” Clide didn’t let him finish.
“No, Tony, I’m really not interested, you know I’ve never wanted to get involved with your work, and I’ve absolutely no interest in starting.” He gathered his coat in his arms and straightened his hat, “It was good to see you again, but I’ve got things I have to do. Sorry about the drink.” and he stormed off in a manner Tony could only describe as of loathing and disgust.
Tony stared at the door as his friend exited the pub without so much as a fleeting glance in his direction. He watched his pint solemnly at a complete loss for words.
~
Clide peered in through the window of the ramshackle pile of bricks some would call a pub. He wished he didn’t have to meet him today. Why today of all days? He’d much rather have stayed at work, eaten a sandwich and smoked. The thought of this made his nerves tense up even more; it had been three days since his last cigarette, and he had come to the conclusion that quitting simply wasn’t for him. He reached into his jacket pocket for a nicotine patch, but found nothing but the remnants of five he had already used that day. He had also forgotten to put in his eye drops, so frustrated, he pulled the little glass bottle from his pocket and applied the liquid that would apparently save his vision. He went to open the door, but his hand slipped on the moisture from some rain they had had earlier that day. He tried again and caught a better grip with both hands simultaneously, causing the door to swing open.
As he entered the pub, he rotated his eyes to allow the drops to work effectively. As he looked around, he caught a glimpse of a familiar face. Tony was staring directly at him, with a cold-hearted grin on his face. As he wandered slowly over, wiping his rain-soaked hand on his trousers, he suddenly realised why he had asked to see him, and his heart sank. Tony was always up to something, even when he was a boy he was shoplifting and stealing from his parents, and not too long ago he’d read that he had been accused of organised crime, and pleaded guilty. Clide had never wanted anything to do with his criminal tendencies ever since they were caught by their parents and Clide had had to go and work as a volunteer in the local church for three months. Tony always got away with it though, his parents weren’t exactly the caring kind to say the least. Against his better judgement, Clide sat down.
“How have you been you old bastard?” Tony asked with a cold and manipulative smile.
“Errm, good, yeah, you wanted to speak to me about something?” Clide responded with impatience. He prayed it wasn’t what he feared.
“Yeah, I’ve got a bit of business happening and I was wondering if you could give me a hand-” Clide cut him short, he had heard enough and knew exactly what he was after.
“No, Tony, I’m really not interested, you know I’ve never wanted to get involved with your work, and I’ve absolutely no interest in starting,” he said as he hastily picked up his jacket and re-positioned his hat into a more respectable angle, “It was good to see you again, but I’ve got things I have to do. Sorry about the drink.” Without looking back, he raced off in the direction of the door and didn’t look back.
“Some people never change” he thought to himself.
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If you have any pointers or opinions about this short story, don't hesitate to use the comments box below.
If you don't have any pointers or opinions, use the comments box anyway, it took me long enough to code you ungrateful bastards.
*It's also a film, which is essentially Kiera Knightly's wet dream
