Exposition is an author’s way of conveying information to the reader so that they can understand the necessary elements of the story. It is tricky to do well. Ideally, exposition should be invisible. As you read, the necessary background information should be seamlessly imparted to you so you’re in a position to understand everything that occurs. When it’s done poorly, it’s blatant. The classic exposition mishap is when characters share information that no normal person would use in natural conversation. In order to impart information to the reader, characters vocalise their relationships to each other and their current status or position. This tweet pithily sums up how awful bad exposition can be:
Exposition in Fantasy
When writing a fantasy novel, exposition is even more difficult. As these stories take place in a world unlike our own, writers must inform the reader about how the world itself works, on top of imparting the regular elements necessary for a novel – character relationships, backstory, etc. The history, culture, geography and any supernatural or magic “rules” require clear explanations for the reader to understand the narrative. Fantasy author extraordinaire Terry Pratchett described exposition in fantasy novels as the “As you know, your father, the king…” speech.
There’s a tonne of poorly written fantasy out there, and as a teenager with a lot of free time, I read a lot of it. At its worst, it features enormous info-dumps that take pages to explain which detracts from the flow of the story. No one wants to read 10 pages of a worldbuilding info-dump before they even know the characters, the plot or the stakes. The common fantasy trope of a young apprentice, or a visitor from another world, serves a good purpose. By having a clueless character, the author can then have other characters explain everything to them, and vicariously to the reader.
The Joy of Re-Reading
As winter approaches, the brisk weather and limited daylight have given me a lot more time for reading. Somewhat bravely, considering the length and the fact it is currently unfinished, I decided to re-read George RR Martin’s A Song of Ice and Fire saga. I first read this series while I was backpacking through Scotland a decade ago. I had just finished The Wire TV series and was craving something that would provide that same intricate, detailed world and realistic characters.
Texts such as ASOIAF contain such depth that they really reward a re-read to reveal every detail. It’s great to be able to read the books leisurely now without being in a rush to know what happens next. Instead, I can enjoy the intricacies along the way. It’s a real pleasure to sink back into the world, and notice the foreshadowing and other small details that only a re-read can reveal.
As I make my way through the first book, A Game of Thrones, I am struck by how well George RR Martin manages exposition. I want to explore some of the ways he achieves this, and also note a few places where the exposition isn’t handled so well.
The Graceful
The way the story is structured, with each chapter being told from a different character’s perspective, allows George RR Martin to feed the reader various pieces of background exposition that would be much less natural if told from a single perspective. By jumping between characters’ points of view, we as readers are exposed to more and more information that each character can impart without it seeming forced or heavy-handed.
George RR Martin starts well by simply telling the story. The exposition is delivered in bite-sized chunks, naturally and when necessary. By getting on with the story and avoiding long info-dumps, George RR Martin adheres to the old writing maxim: “show, don’t tell.” Much of the necessary information the reader needs to understand things is on display in the character’s actions and reactions. We learn by reading the narrative and seeing what is on display.
Taking Jon Snow as an example, we quickly get a very clear sense of who he is and where he fits into the Stark family. By showing, rather than telling, George RR Martin helps us understand Jon Snow’s relationships to his family. As they are introduced, Jon and his half-brother Robb disagree about whether the Black Watch deserter died with courage as their father executed him. We see that they can disagree on a point and moments later race each other on their horses, the argument forgotten and their laughter peeling through the forest. After this, we get another telling example of who Jon is. With Lord Stark ready to destroy the direwolf pups that Jon and Robb have found, Jon makes a plea for the 5 puppies’ lives:
“You have five trueborn children,” Jon said. “Three sons, two daughters. The direwolf is the sigil of your House. Your children were meant to have these pups, my lord.”
By omitting himself, we see this selfless act and better understand Jon through his words and actions. Similarly, we are not told that Catelyn despises Jon. Rather, we see it through her behaviour. As Jon and Catelyn exchange terse words at Bran’s bedside, it is apparent there is no love lost between these two. Catelyn’s displeasure at Jon’s presence, and her husband’s infidelity that he represents, is made clear to the reader with her acidic barbs. “I need none of your absolution, bastard.” Thus with Jon Snow, we are shown, rather than told how he fits into the family.
Character interrelationships are important details of any story, but fantasy fiction, particularly that of such a large scope as ASOIAF also requires big picture worldbuilding exposition – about the geography, history and culture of the kingdom and other lands. The second chapter of A Game of Thrones sees Catelyn visiting the Godswood at Winterfell to find her husband. By locating the scene here, it enables George RR Martin to conveniently deliver background information about the history and religion of Westeros. As he sets the scene, he can gracefully dump background info – we learn about Godswood and the gods the Starks and First Men keep, as well as the Seven and the faith of Catelyn and most of the rest of the kingdom. Ned carries his sword Ice with him to the Godswood, allowing a quick historical tangent about Valyria and the Doom. The discussion of the execution of the deserter allows further information about The Wall and what lies North of it, with the concept of wildlings and the Others introduced.
George RR Martin uses these opportunities to briefly touch on these topics, rather than go into pages-long info-dumps. A sprinkle of exposition at the right moment adds colour and the reader accumulates knowledge as they read, making the process feel natural. King Robert’s visit to the crypt of Winterfell similarly allows a lot of useful background to be delivered to the reader in the form of history of the Stark family, in particular the recent history – the death of Eddard’s sister Lyanna, betrothed to King Robert.
The Hand’s Tourney is another example of how an event can be used to introduce a variety of secondary characters. Told from Sansa’s POV – an outsider and child, she knows next to nothing about the tourney or those who will take part in it. We get an introduction to the full Kingsguard, with their descriptions and background woven into the narrative. We then get to know the other tourney competitors: “hedge knights….unsung free-riders and new-made squires”. By describing these lesser characters we also receive a good chunk of geographical information about the various regions of Westeros, essential information that helps fill out our knowledge of the land and tie people to the locations on the maps at the front of the book. This also helps us to understand the power that each House holds, the characters within each House and the enmities or alliances they hold.
The Not So Graceful
By the time A Game of Thrones was published, George RR Martin was an established author with hundreds of thousands of words published. This clearly isn’t his first rodeo. The scope of the world and how well it is explained is a testament to his expertise with exposition. However, exposition in a fantasy story with such a huge scope and endless characters is difficult and there are also a handful of moments I’ve encountered where the exposition is less than ideal. Perhaps because most of the exposition is handled so expertly, the times when it isn’t so elegant tend to stand out.
As the King’s travelling party leaves Winterfell towards King’s Landing, there is a chapter where King Robert asks for Lord Stark’s company on a ride. They leave the larger group and ride off by themselves to talk privately. This manly heart-to-heart conversation is heavy on exposition. The conceit is that the two men are reminiscing on their shared past, which serves to encapsulate the history necessary for the reader to know relating to the war that led to Robert Baratheon sitting on the iron throne, and Ned’s part in assisting with his victory.
Hearing these two men recount the facts of the climax of the rebellion to overthrow King Aerys, you’d think they were recounting the information to someone who wasn’t there, rather than sharing an intimate conversation between old friends. It feels theatrical, like lines delivered in a play. The scene lacks the real-world anchor of a location such as the crypt or Godswood of Winterfell in the earlier examples and without this has no context and becomes artificial, resulting in dialogue such as:
“Do you remember the Trident, Your Grace??”
“I won my crown there. How should I forget it?”
“You took a wound from Rhaegar,” Ned reminded him. “So when the Targaryen host broke and ran, you gave the pursuit into my hands. The remnants of Rhaegar’s army fled back to King’s Landing. We followed. Aerys was in the Red Keep with several thousand loyalists. I expected to find the gates closed to us.”
Robert gave an impatient shake of his head. “Instead you found that our men had already taken the city. What of it?”
This dialogue is quite unnatural and obviously is used to inform the reader of the backstory. Who needs reminding of a wound received in war? Natural conversations don’t occur like this. George RR Martin doesn’t just use Robert and Ned’s dialogue to tell the story, but also slips facts into the unspoken narrative: The war had raged for close to a year. Lords great and small had flocked to Robert’s banners, others had remained loyal to Targaryen, etc. It’s effectively an info-dump hidden as a dialogue between old friends, and lacks elegance.
Some further awkward exposition occurs when Catelyn and Ser Roderik are en route to King’s Landing via ship. With the uncertainty of what is ahead of them, they are taking stock of recent events and planning ahead. This includes anticipating who they might meet (or rather, do their best to avoid) in the city. One of these people is Lord Baelish, aka Littlefinger. Ser Roderik mentions that “there are those at court who will know you onsight.” Catelyn immediately reacts by murmuring “Littlefinger”, and we then get a small piece of exposition delivered in the third person narrative using the device of “His face swam up before her” to launch into a brief description of their shared history and description of Littlefinger. Rather than continue to keep the exposition in the third person narrative from Catelyn’s perspective, George RR Martin opts to instead have Catelyn verbalise the exposition as speech to Ser Roderik. It sticks out like a sore thumb:
“He was my father’s ward. We grew up together in Riverrun. I thought of him as a brother.”
This seems more like Catelyn informing the reader rather than having a natural conversation with Ser Roderik. Certainly, the knight doesn’t react to any of it, responding only with more exposition: “Littlefinger sits on the small council now.” It’s an info-dump disguised as dialogue and it stands out as such.
Another scene featuring Sansa and The Hound suffers this same artificial quality. The dialogue serves to inform the reader, but when considering the characters themselves it is not a conversation that would naturally occur.
The Hound, Sandor Clegane, is a compelling character. With a scarred visage and nasty personality, he is terrifying. We first meet him when the King’s party arrives at Winterfell, where he guards Prince Joffrey and makes for a general looming threat. However, beyond his burned face and a few threats dished out to Tyrion and other characters, we don’t know much about him. As he is too minor a character to warrant his own point of view chapters, we don’t learn more about him until well into the first book. Following the Hand’s Tourney, Joffrey offers The Hound to Sansa as a chaperone to take her home safely after the banquet. Sansa and The Hound walk from the banquet to the city where they get into a cart that takes them to the Red Keep. After some minor conflict as The Hound announces his displeasure at Sansa’s empty platitudes, he then launches into a biographical tell-all, sharing the deeply personal story of how his face became scarred. This story serves to not only reveal his backstory, but also the nature of his brother Gregor “The Mountain” and why the two are at odds. With the story told conveniently just as they arrive at the destination, Sansa now has some sympathy for The Hound. Will this result in some closeness between the two characters? Apparently not, as the chapter closes with The Hound threatening to kill Sansa if she reveals any of this to anyone else.
This episode serves to give the reader the necessary background information on The Hound and The Mountain. But on reflection, would a character such as The Hound care at all what Sansa thinks of him? It seems unnatural that he would share this information only to subsequently threaten to kill Sansa if she breathes a word of it to anyone. We can forgive the conceit, but it still stands out.
The Song of Ice and Fire series is a masterful piece of writing that gives the reader a fascinating set of interconnected stories, each with enormous detail told through the eyes of compelling characters. It benefits from George RR Martin’s long experience writing in the fantasy genre. The small blips that I have written about are quite minor and don’t detract from my enjoyment of the story. Nonetheless, it is interesting to see these small imperfections, showing that even the most skilled and experienced writers sometimes fall back on less-than-ideal exposition.
Bygone Rite 