The Exorcist

There’s something wrong with me. I don’t mind the books other people detest, and am entirely irritated by books other people love. The Exorcist appears to be a book other people love.

The movie The Exorcist is the scariest movie I’d ever seen. That girl with her head turned all the way around?—yikes. And that scene appears in the book. I was waiting for it. Maybe that’s why it wasn't all that scary. Or maybe movies are scarier than books. Or maybe things that scared me when I was 23 don’t have as much effect on me, thirteen years later. Or maybe I was distracted by other things.

A writing instructor once told me it’s more important to tell an interesting story than to tell a story well. In his opinion, readers would forgive mistakes if they’re interested enough. And maybe that’s true, but that story would have to be extremely captivating—and this one must not have been compelling enough to obscure distraction.

That sounds really snotty. It's not as though my own writing is free from errors, but you just kind of expect more from a professional, you know?

Writing Mini Lesson, free for the taking

Let’s talk for a moment about the words “started” and “began.” Beginning writers use these words a lot, and we were all beginning writers once. “She started to cry.” “They started running.” And then did they stop? Like immediately? Because that’s the only time these words ought to crop up. If the action is continue or completed, just cut to the chase. “She cried.” “They ran.”

This is William Peter Blatty’s 5th novel. He’s not a beginning writer. Yet, I found three examples of this in two pages.

For example, on page 123 "And then, bending at the waist, started whirling her torso around in rapid, strenuous circles." 

In the next paragraph, "He fetched his medical bag to the window and quickly began to prepare an injection." 

And again on the following page, "Then looked again to Ragan as she started to arch her body upward into an impossible position, bending it backwards like a bow until her head had touched her feet."

So Regan whirled her torso? Okay. 

And the doctor prepared an injection? Good. I assume he finished this, so I don’t need to hear about how he started it unless something terribly interesting occurred in the initiation of the process. And then Regan arched her body. Great. Edit complete. You’re welcome, Mr. Blatty. For just 1¢/word, I’ll clean up the rest of your manuscript for you.

Except I really don’t want to read it a second time. As it is, I think I’ve read it twice in this one effort. Maybe I have a reading comprehension problem that’s never affected my understanding until now, but I found this book hard to read. I don’t usually mind incomplete sentences, but Blatty’s style of painting a scene with a collection of fragments didn't work for me. I had to reread sentences, paragraphs, entire pages. And I figured I’d get use to it, but even after three hundred pages I hadn’t. But not every book is for everybody. This one wasn’t for me.

Oh, and Timons Esaias says you shouldn’t describe a character by having her regard herself in the mirror. You might rewrite that bit on page 17 then, Mr. Blatty.

And Regan, when she’s in control of her own mind, reads more like an eight-year-old than an adolescent. You might—you know—fix that too.

Blatty, William Peter. The Exorcist. New York: Harper, 2013. Print.