On Deus Ex Machina, bad writting and good writing
Hello Nephyte, no, we’re still not going to talk about you and the Corpo. I’ll let the situation simmer a little longer until it resolves. That being said, today you’ll have to bear with my ramblings on a topic that has been investigated to death, yet somehow, it still poses a problem. This rambling will be On Deus Ex Machina, bad writing, and good writing.
The concept of Deus Ex Machina (DEM) has ancient roots, going back to the ancient Greeks. They referred to it when one of the actors, lowered from a height using a platform and ropes, represented a god in the story they were portraying. The name, in Latin (blame the Romans for this one), is pretty self-explanatory—it means “God from the Machine.”
For us, it means something entirely different. It signifies “something happened out of nowhere that saved the day” or “the MacGuffin was the key to everything,” ad infinitum. Think of it this way: if you don’t have a way to solve your narrative problems, you use DEM. If you’ve written yourself into a corner and can’t find a way out, you use DEM. If what you’re writing just feels too convenient, then chances are, it’s DEM. Many writers treat DEM as a get-out-of-jail card and don’t think twice about using it. The problem is that using this device recklessly is the hallmark of bad writing.
Let me explain, Neophyte. We’ll delve into this topic in-depth soon enough, but for the purpose of this discussion: the mark of truly marvelous writing is the buildup of the plot through the characters’ actions. Much like people in the real world, characters clash, maneuver, and move, and in doing so, they build their story. It’s as basic as it comes, but you can craft truly great narratives with that fundamental concept.
Do you need an example? Take the Kingsbridge Saga by Ken Follett. By today’s standards, many of its topics might seem almost pedestrian at first glance. In comparison with some other great narratives, it appears pretty small in scope. Yet, you’re drawn in because of the characters. First, Follett makes you care, and then he makes you follow the lives of these characters. And when I say follow the lives, I mean it. There isn’t some fated destiny to face or meet; there’s just life and the characters’ wants and needs. Extraordinary circumstances come and go, yet the characters remain. I’ve even found myself comparing it to A Song of Ice and Fire by George R.R. Martin, which might sound crazy until you stop to think about it.
The backbone of the Kingsbridge Saga is intrigue—characters vying for control, power, and ambition. The key difference between the two series is the scope. While George R.R. Martin makes the reader feel like much of the world is at stake, what truly keeps readers glued to the page in his works is not just the scale and scope of the conflict but the characters and how much readers care. He even throws in brutality and gore. Ken Follett has intrigue as well, along with a lot of brutality in his work, but it’s never the focus of the scenes. It’s treated with care and managed correctly, so much so that it never feels out of place. That’s the point I’m driving at—nothing happens that feels out of place. What happens to the characters was either set in motion by themselves or other characters, or it’s the consequences of their actions and reactions to larger events in the world. Which intrude in a way that feels organic and natural, in a way that never makes you question why that just ahppens.
Deus Ex Machina, something coming in and just fixing everything because of “plot,” would have ruined these narratives. It’s the hallmark of bad writing because it’s something that has no basis—it happens with no justification, no build-up, no foreshadowing, and no excuse. It’s the hallmark of bad writing because the whiplash can cause readers or the audience to stop focusing on the flow of the story. It can cause them to disengage from your work and question everything, or worse, stop caring.
The reason writing anything is hard is that things have to have coherence and cohesion. If the flow of everything isn’t smooth, then you have a problem.
This is not to say that Deus Ex Machina (DEM) has no place in writing. I say this as an enjoyer of trashy stories that help me not to think. And let’s be real, Neophyte, we all need that in our lives. You can’t run around with your brain screeching because your inner machinery has run out of lubricant due to too much thinking.
Take, for example, that one Transformers movie set in Egypt, where there’s this colossal monster climbing over the pyramids. The solution they found was to unveil this one special cannon on a particular ship, out of the blue and nowhere, to fire at the creature and be done with it. The cannon wasn’t mentioned before, wasn’t foreshadowed in any capacity. It existed only for the ten-second clip of “Big gun shooting big monster.” And you know what? I enjoyed it. I don’t question it because writing is as much about high thought as it is about escapism and enjoyment. I have fun watching those movies despite them being objectively lacking in the writing department. Which is fine.
What isn’t fine is using DEM in a serious story, where you pretend to have a serious tone and a serious build-up, only to resort to Deus Ex Machina. That is bad writing
