If I had to choose one living author to take writing advice from, it would be George Saunders: Booker Prize-winner, New York Times bestseller, English professor at Syracuse University. Thankfully, he put out a book in 2021 that distils all that experience into actionable insight...

A Swim in a Pond in the Rain is a collection of seven short stories by Russian writers like Chekhov and Tolstoy, which Saunders has taught in his class for 20 years. Each one is followed by an essay full of wonderful analysis on storytelling – and the nature of reading itself.

But before we dive into the takeaways, note that A Swim in a Pond in the Rain is not a how-to book. Saunders would hate that description. These are simply his observations – and this Memo merely contains my condensed highlights, which I will return to again and again…

A story is not just a series of lively events. It’s not just about compelling the reader to continue and hoping the narrative rewards their time. Along the way, an alteration must take place in the reader’s mind. So, how does that happen? What turns text into a satisfying story?

Everything in a story should be there for a reason. The reader’s default assumption is that no detail has been included by chance or as decoration. “Every element should be a little poem, freighted with subtle meaning that is in connection with the story's purpose.” – George Saunders

Saunders has many memorable analogies for this principle. One is to pretend you’re a bouncer in a place called Club Story, questioning each part of the narrative: “Excuse me, but what are you doing here?” A perfect story has a good answer to that question in every instance.

A reader’s brain picks up on all sorts of things (e.g. plot points, use of language, structural devices, points of view). But elements that stick out tend to warrant a mental classification all their own. Saunders likes to label this file “Things I Couldn’t Help Noticing” (TICHN).

The point is not to avoid details that will be filed under “TICHN”; it’s to make sure they ultimately become virtues. How? By serving the heart of the story. When something feels random, it fails to be meaningful. Instead of being engaged, our brain gives us an error message.

Readers will endure all kinds of reading states – even when they can’t stand a character – as long as there’s a payoff. If I tell you a knock-knock joke with a 15-minute aside that’s irrelevant to the punchline, your brain will deduct marks for inefficiency and find it less funny.

When the protagonist of Kafka’sThe Metamorphosis wakes up one morning as a giant insect, you don’t respond by flinging the book away. Instead, your reading state shifts gear and you think: “Okay Kafka, where are you going with this?” The trick to perfecting that lies in Part 2...