What Are the Rules? Part 3
A First Set of Rules
by Alan Irvine

n the previous articles in this series, I examined the idea that storytelling, like all art forms, should have some guiding rules Ñnot guidelines as to how to learn to tell a story, but rules about what makes a performance good or bad, a particular story effective or not. In an effort to work out what those rules are, we compared storytelling to its close cousin, literature, looking at the differences in a written story and a spoken story. These differences give us a sense of what distinguishes storytelling as a unique art form, and point us towards at least a partial list of rules.(1)

One of the key distinctions between literature and storytelling is the difference between the act of reading versus the act of listening, and so our rules should start here. A key question we should ask is: is the teller aware of the mechanics and limitations of listening? Do they structure their story so that the audience can listen without getting lost? Listeners, who can not page back through the story to remind themselves of what has gone before, need stories with a relatively simple narrative structure, where the connections between events are always clear. This is why most spoken stories unfold in a relatively simple chronological order; such a narrative structure is easy to follow. Similarly, it should always be clear who is who and what is what. The use of pronouns, for example, becomes problematic when the audience can not glance back to the previous sentence to remind themselves of just who "he" is. Consequently, the teller must structure the story to make all connections between characters, between events clear. This can be done many ways: through proper use of words (such as using names instead of pronouns to refer to characters and objects,) gestures (pointing to where objects were "placed," looking up when addressing tall characters or down when addressing short characters,) use of space (moving from one place on the stage to another when a scene changes or a different character speaks,) tone of voice (different voices for different characters.) Does the teller provide opportunities for the audience to stop and think, to digest what they have heard so far, to reflect on the impact of events? The simplest mechanism for this is the pause. In a recent article (2) Doug Lipman discussed the importance of pauses, reflecting on a story he heard which, while technically flawless, left him feeling cold and unsatisfied. Upon later consideration, he realized that the problem was that the teller had never paused in the telling of the tale, and so Lipman was never given a chance to reflect on the story. All of the teller's work in constructing fine descriptions of places and events was lost, for without a chance to integrate what they heard, the listeners could never construct images of what was being described, never clarify who was doing what. The story became just a jumble of words with no connections to each other. The teller must remember that the listener is their captive, and can only reflect and enjoy if the teller allows them to do so, whether through employing pauses, changes in tempo, or other techniques.

A second distinction between written and spoken language is that spoken language can be much more efficient than written. While a writer has to depend exclusively on words to convey their meaning, a storyteller can also use tone of voice, gesture, movement. Thus, we can ask does a storyteller use all the communication tools available to them efficiently? Do they insist on communicating everything through words alone, or do they make use of their other tools? Do they insist on a lengthy vocal description when a simple gesture would suffice? Do they use words and gestures to communicate the same information instead of choosing just one or the other? Do they spend time in elaborate description of which characters are standing where when they could simply demonstrate those relationships by stepping from one part of the "stage" to another? Do they use five words when just one would do? When a storyteller is using more than just words, are all their techniques working in concert to achieve the same effect, or are different elements contradicting each other? For example, are they saying that a character is on the right while they are pointing to the left? Storytellers needed to be aware of the powerful techniques they have available. The sheer variety of techniques at hand allows tellers to pack a lot of meaning into few words. We should not insist that all storytellers take on a physical, dramatic style, with lots of gesture and movement and changes in voice. Storytellers must work within their own, individual styles. Furthermore, different stories demand different styles of telling. The amount of gesture and movement that might be perfectly appropriate for an action-packed adventure story could easily overwhelm a quiet ghost story. We can, however, expect that the teller will consider all the possibilities open to them and pick the most effective and efficient means of communicating.

Third, since the writer communicates only through words printed on a page to carry their meanings, the writer as a distinct presence tends to vanish from the story. The storyteller, however, is always linked to the story and the audience's perception of the story. Since the audience sees and hears the story as coming from a particular teller's mouth, the teller must be continuously aware of how their presence impacts the story. The teller's dress will impact the story. Who would credit a tender love story told by someone dressed in a clown costume? Posture and comportment will similarly influence the audience. There is a school of thought that says the storyteller should stand straight, hands at their side or folded before them, and should remain in this stance, moving as little as possible throughout the tale, so that they become invisible, allowing the audience to see through them and concentrate solely on the story. But this is impossible. The storyteller can not vanish from the story, and the effort to do so can actually undermine the story. In moments of great passion - an epic battle, a fervent love scene, the revelation of a great secret - we expect the teller to be involved, interested, passionate about the story they are telling. If they remain carefully neutral, it suggests that they themselves do not find the story particularly compelling. The teller's neutrality runs counter to the expected experience, and the audience may begin to reconsider their own involvement in the story. If the teller is not moved by their tale, why should anyone else be? This is not to suggest that the teller should never adopt a quiet stance, but rather that they must consider what stance is appropriate for each story. Furthermore, they must be comfortable with their presence in the story. Are they using language which is inappropriate for them, such as a casually dressed, folksy teller using very formal, professional language? Are they using language that makes them uncomfortable, like a prim and proper lady forcing herself to swear and curse? Are they forcing themselves to jump around the stage when they would rather be still? Are they singing a song when they would rather simply recite? Whenever the teller is uncomfortable with what they are doing, they will communicate that discomfort to the audience, undercutting the intended effect. Finally, the teller must know their limits. Their physical appearance, the sound and range of their voice, their lack of familiarity with types of language may all limit what the audience will accept from them. I am a six foot tall, bearded man. That limits how much I can act out female characters. It does not prevent me from slipping into the character of Queen Titania, for example. I know the audience will accept me in that role for a short while, disregarding my physical appearance for a period. But eventually, they will no longer be able to ignore the fact that I am a six foot, bearded man. If I stay in character beyond that point I begin to disrupt the story by insisting the audience ignore what they can not ignore. After a few seconds in character, I must return to my role as narrator and relate Titania's actions from that point of view. The audience is always aware of who is telling the tale, and the teller must take that into account.

Our final distinction between written and spoken language is that the speaker exercises a great control over the environment in which the story unfolds and over the audience's experience, unlike the writer who has no control over where and how the audience reads their work. The teller, then, has a responsibility to use that control. This requires the teller to know their stories, to know what effect they wish their stories to have, to know which environments are conducive to the stories and which are harmful to them. Before a performance, the teller must consider which stories will work in that environment. Is the performance in a brightly lit, noisy coffee house? That is probably not the environment for a quiet, chilling ghost story. Is the audience composed of rowdy, energetic teen-agers? That is probably not the audience for a sweet, gentle love story, at least, not at first. The storyteller can, after all, shape and transform their environment, particularly their audience. A story that is inappropriate at the beginning of the performance, may fit perfectly later on, if the audience has been properly prepared for it. The storyteller can settle those rowdy teen-agers down, if they start with high-energy stories, and gradually lead the audience into quieter stories. But to do this, the teller must know what effect each story is likely to have upon the audience and so must design their program to create that effect. There should be a reason that each story is placed where it is in the program. Yet even in the most carefully planned program, the unexpected, the uncontrollable will happen - lights will go out, sound system will act up, babies will cry, police cars will wail their sirens outside. While the teller may not be able to control every aspect of the environment, they can control the impact of these events on the performance and shape the audience's experience of them. A classic example is the Jonesborough train, notorious for its effect on the performances of the National Storytelling Festival. No teller can control the train's schedule, prevent it from lumbering through town, whistle blaring right in the middle of the story, but the teller can decide how they will react to it. Do they get flustered, thrown completely out of their performance? Do they remain calm, patiently waiting, then slipping back into the story at the appropriate point when they can? Once I was watching Donald Davis perform when the train came blaring by in the middle of the story. Davis did not hesitate a moment; he simply worked the train into the story, launching into a tirade against trains that was perfectly in character for the story and lasted until the train was safely away. In doing so, he acknowledged the disruption, but took control over it in such a way that the audience's experience of the story was never completely disrupted. Even in the face of a major disruption, Davis remained in complete control over the storytelling experience.

Each difference between written and spoken language, then, leads us to an important set of questions and considerations. We can distill these concerns down into a set of rules, which we can present as a series of questions we should ask when evaluating a performance:

1. Is the teller aware of the characteristics and limitations of listening? Have they told their story so that a listener can follow it as easily as possible?

2. Does the teller communicate as efficiently as possible ? Have they considered all the possible ways of communicating (word, vocal techniques, facial expression, gesture, movement, etc.) and chosen the most effective way of communicating the story?

3. Is the teller aware of how the audience perceives the teller, and how this shapes the audience's perception of the story? How has the teller taken these perceptions into account in constructing their performance?

4. How much control is the teller exercising over the entire experience of the story?

We probably should have other questions on this list as well. These rules come out of our comparison to literature, comparing storytelling to other related art forms would highlight other unique aspects of storytelling, aspects which would lead us to other important considerations. The next set of comparisons should be between storytelling and theater, the performing art storytelling most closely resembles, and, indeed, often shades into. We should also carefully consider different genres of storytelling, for each genre will have characteristics unique to those stories, which a storyteller must also pay heed to. We should perhaps compare genres of storytelling with similar genres in other art forms, such as comparing personal stories to written memoirs and biographies.

For the moment, however, this first examination yields a useful set of rules for judging performances, both of the stories we hear and of the stories we tell. In the end, they suggest that the most basic question underlying all judgements is simply how well the teller is aware of, and in command of, the basic elements of our art form.

(1) Specifically, we are talking about the rules shaping a live performance. I use the word "story" in this sense, the complete, performed work, not simply the narrative content. I am also specifically excluding audio and video recordings, since these differ from live performance in so many crucial ways they should be considered separately.

(2) "Strengthening Your Story Without Adding Words," Storytelling Magazine, Vol. 11, Issue 4, July/August 1999, pp. 26-28.