Wisdom's Kiss (84 page)

The problem was, at the point in my outlining I didn't have any way to tell this scene, to get all these pivotal details across to the reader. Tips wouldn't describe it; he's far too modest. Trudy wouldn't because she didn't know how amazing it was; Tips did stuff like that every day. I needed someone not only to describe the dive but to make it larger than life, to point a proverbial finger and say, "Look at this kid! This kid's amazing."

By doing that, however, wouldn't I be tipping my hand? The boy's a great acrobat; a hundred pages and six years later we meet a young man who's a great acrobat ... It wouldn't take a rocket scientist to connect those two. Yet I didn't want connections drawn until the time was right—I didn't want readers learning Tips's true identity until Trudy did.

The solution: describe Tips with all the marvel and enthusiasm that he merited, but do it while hoodwinking the reader with other prose. That passing-through-nowheresville observer ... perhaps I could make his voice so extreme that Tips's genius would go unnoticed, a drumroll disguised by clashing cymbals.

So I started writing and Felis started bragging, and the more he bragged the more I liked him, and the more details about Tips I could add, because every detail ended up camouflaged within Felis's preposterous hyperbole.

And oh, did Felis pay off. Every one of his entries provides subtleties I could not convey any other way. The blow-by-blow description of Tips's sword fight, and Dizzy and Tips's escape from Froglock (neither of which, by the way, Felis actually witnesses; he just describes them) ... the details of the Sultan's Throne of the Globe d'Or ... how Dizzy for years managed to fake the circus persona ofViolet la Riene ... the subtext of protocol infighting in the standoff between Escoffier and Handsome the dog ... None of these could have been told any other way; certainly not as effectively as Felis describes them. Using him, I felt rather like a pretty girl saying within earshot of a big dumb guy, "I bet no one in the world is strong enough to carry this piano up to my apartment." "Ha!" says Felis/dumb guy. "Just watch me!" Not only does he end up conveying massive pianos of critical information, but his narcissism makes the information delectably digestible (unlike, say, the encyclopedia, where the information is tasty but dry, like biscotti). I made myself a rule, broken only rarely, that Felis had to brag about himself at least once per paragraph. It's a bit of a contradiction, really, that Felis's boasting ends up revealing so much about all the other characters, but perhaps that's what makes it so much fun.

Even the structure of his prose reveals something about Felis.
Elsewhere
I describe how punctuation can enrich a character; Felis's character development is accomplished in part by length. With every sentence, Felis conveys his unceasing self-regard and his concurrent disinterest in the needs of others, particularly the needs of the reader, who is left figuratively (and at times literally) gasping for air, trying to make it to the next period.

You might think that writing Felis would be hard, but actually it was just the opposite. When Felis interrupts his breathless description of Tips's sword fight to endorse calisthenics, or in the midst of Tips's heartbreak chides the boy for not complimenting his new outfit ... Felis made me laugh harder than any character I've ever written, and more than most characters I've ever read. Besides, he'd undoubtedly take full credit for his prose. He wouldn't even mention me.

I'm afraid I can't remember exactly when I decided to fuse him with the fairy-tale Puss in Boots, but it was quite early, as was Felis's name. "Felis" is a genus of cat and also a proper name; "el Gato" is, of course, "the cat" in Spanish. Felis's preferred nickname, "The Booted Maestro," deliciously reflects the original "Puss in Boots" title, "The Master Cat; or, Puss in Boots." Felis himself does an excellent job explaining the
overlaps
between himself and fairy tale; you can also read the
original 1697 story
for yourself. Of particular note are the story's two hardhearted morals; Charles Perrault knew far too much of royal life to view the world unsullied. (At least one scholar of fairy tales observes that "Puss in Boots" has a third, implied moral, much valued by felines in the centuries since: don't kill cats.)

As for Felis's
memoir title
, yes, it is supposed to resemble a circus poster. ("All Boasts Real" is my sister's favorite line in the book.) I'm hopeful that readers will, over the course of
Wisdom's Kiss,
read the title more than once and in doing so discover
deeper insights
into this crazy dude. But no, I don't know what the "Fist of God" is. I have a sense that it's a circus act involving shooting someone out of a cannon, but it might also be a troupe of performing soldiers ... It's the words that matter, however; not their meaning.

More Commentary on Characters
>

Author's commentary on Temperance, Queen of Montagne, a.k.a. Teddy
>

In her own way, Temperance,
nicknamed Teddy
, was as challenging to write as
Tips
. Like Tips, Temperance has a big secret that can't be revealed until late in the story. Beyond this, Temperance—being physically absent from most of
Wisdom's Kiss
—is a character told through others, and their biases make it difficult to present her accurately, and thus for readers to understand her, sympathize with her, or even (I fear) remember her.
>

Dizzy, of course, has no patience whatsoever with her meek and bookish older sister; behold how Temperance is presented in
Queen
of All the
Heavens
. But Queen Ben, for all her expressed concern about her granddaughter, isn't much better: saying in effect "I don't care what others say, I'm sure you'll be fine" isn't the strongest vote of confidence. I, the author, knew that Temperance was kind and well-intentioned and earnest, but I couldn't figure out how to convey this information without either giving away that she was being courted by a spy or, in my coy obfuscation, making it obvious that something was suspiciously rotten in Montagne. Thus, no letters from Temperance, or any "Meanwhile, back in Montagne..." prose. (I did briefly have a letter from Temperance to Ben included in
Wisdom's Kiss;
you can read it
here
.) I also enjoyed describing (and thus vicariously experiencing) Trudy's delighted surprise when she realizes how great Temperance is.
>

Like so many of us, poor Temperance has not only suffered from the judgment of her family but also internalized it: she believes she's dull and ineffectual because Dizzy and Ben believe it about her. But with the arrival of Trudy—an equally kind and forgiving soul—she has a chance to start afresh. Her interactions with Trudy don't simply show Trudy (and us readers) Temperance's positive qualities; they also show her positive qualities to Temperance herself. In
Wisdom's Kiss,
Trudy's
entry
in
The Imperial Encyclopedia of Lax
describes how Trudy bolsters Temperance's confidence, but it's important to note that Trudy doesn't bolster so much as serve as a mirror revealing to Temperance everything of which she is capable.

More Commentary on Characters
>

Author's commentary on Roger, Duke of Farina, and Hrothgar, his brother
>

Poor Roger. He's got the world's worst mother, he can't decide if he wants to be brutally ambitious or passively resistant, and he ends up spending his adulthood in love with a corpse. I'm very fond of him, but really, dude ... grow a spine.

Okay, okay, he may have been set up. It's tough playing the role of rejected suitor: you have to be sympathetic enough that readers understand why the main character fell for you, but not so sympathetic that readers mourn when you get dumped. Small wonder he collects figurines; they at least won't turn on him.

Truly, I am fond of him, and one of my bigger regrets with
Wisdom's Kiss
is that the particulars of Roger's life get lost to important characters and events. So this write-up is a chance to present without distraction the finer details and miseries of the life of the Duke of Farina.

For example, he was named—and not just Roger, either, but his two brothers as well—after the emperor, a man their mother otherwise despised. Imagine what a joy-filled childhood that must have been. (I had not realized the name Roger has so many
permutations
: Latin, Spanish, Catalan, Norse, German, French, Welsh ... sheesh. Those historic names—crazy.) The whole three-boys-named-Roger business also serves to illustrate the fawning insanity of the empire, as ambitious nobility named whole generations after the current man in charge. Although it doubtless simplified the work of Lax historians (in the way that farmers every year give newborn animals names beginning with the same letter, so they can later calculate ages), it must have made for some pretty lame birthday parties.