Establishing and Structuring Humorous Novels

Copyright 2020 by Gary L. Pullman

For me, Mark Twain is the most humorous humorist that ever wrote humor.

I think part of the reason that he's humorous is that he constructs a plot that provides a sense of progress and a series of burlesques unified through character, setting, and situation. Often, the titles of his books themselves identify or suggest the conceit: A Connecticut Yankee in King Arthur's Court, Life on the Mississippi, A Tramp Abroad.

For example, the idea for A Connecticut Yankee in King Arthur's Court (traveling back in time to set up a continuous contrast between the medieval and the modern) establishes the basis for sustained, continuous humor, satire, parody, and burlesque.

In addition (Twain usually progresses from general to specific), the chapters themselves of his novels suggest the same structure and the same elements: “Camelot,” “King Arthur's Court,” “Knights of the Round Table” . . . “The Eclipse,” “Merlin's Tower,” . . . “The Tournament” . . . .

Internally, each chapter is also structured:

Chapter I (Camelot): the countryside is described; a girl appears; the protagonist approaches the town; a detailed description of the town and several of its residents is presented; Chapter II (King Arthur's Court): The protagonist exchanges dialogue with an old man; the protagonist exchanges dialogue with a page; the protagonist and the page arrive at Sir Kay's castle; the narrator presents a philosophical conclusion (i. e., one of the novel's themes).

This threefold structure indicates, with increasing specificity, the sense of progress, which unifies the story while introducing topics for humor. By the time readers finish the story, the foibles of the novel's characters and the folly of their times (and their view of the world) will have been thoroughly examined, criticized, and lampooned.

In the actual paragraphs of the story, Twain uses many devices to spoof the targets of his humor, including mistaking Camelot for an “asylum”; similes (“as lonesome as Sundays,” “made him look like a forked carrot”); incongruous diction (“”her own merits in . . . respect” to being “a spectacle”); derisive adjectives (“windowless,” “wilderness of thatched cabins,” “crooked alleys,” “unpaved,” “troops of dogs and nude children,” “reeking wallow”); contrast (“a noble cavalcade . . . glorious” vs. “the muck and swine and naked brats”); evaluation (the old man's use of Middle English confirms his status, in the protagonist's eyes, as an inmate of the 'asylum”); personification (“comfort his very liver,” “let that shudder its way home”); metaphor (“he was pretty enough to frame”); incongruous description (“shrimp-colored tights”); and a play on words (“”he informed me he was a page,” but, the narrator says, “you ain't more than a paragraph”).

Twain's technique could be used to set up a variety of other opportunities for humor through such contrasts and conflicts between opposing types of characters:

• A genius among fools
• Hercules among the Amazons
• The experiences that occasion various proverbs
• A sane man on a ship of fools

Scientist Turned Ghostbuster (and Vampirebuster)

Copyright 2019 by Gary L. Pullman

Are you afraid of vampires?

Do you sleep with a cross or a crucifix around your neck?

Does your house (and your breath) smell like garlic?

Do you keep a bottle of holy water on hand?

Are you careful to be home by dark every day?

Could an unsuspecting guest stumble upon a few wooden stakes and a mallet stashed in your dresser?

If so, you need not fear bloodsucking dead people any longer!

A scientist has come to the rescue with a mathematical proof against the possibility of the existence of vampires!

University of Central Florida physics professor Costas Efthimiou starts with the human population on January 1, 1600, which was 536,870,911. On this day, the first vampire appears and bites one person each month. On the first day of February, there are two bloodsucking freaks. On March 1, 1600, there are four vampires. In 2.5 years, there are no more humans to feed on, because everyone on the planet has been turned into a vampire! There's no food left for the bloodsuckers, so they die of starvation. (On the downside, there are no more people, either.)

Not even doubling the human birthrate (if such a gambit were possible) could save the human species, Dr. Efthimiou says: “In the long run, humans cannot survive under these conditions, even if our population were doubling each month. And doubling is clearly way beyond the human capacity of reproduction.”

So, there you have it, thanks to Professor Efthimiou: there's no need to fear the existence of vampires. If there were, both vampires and humans would have disappeared in mid-1603. Since we humans, at least, are still here, there obviously are no such things as vampires.

For some folks, ghosts are scary phenomena, too, but there's no need to worry about these spectral beings, either, another scientist says.

Dr. Brian Cox, a physicist, has proved there aren't any ghosts, either. If they did exist, they'd be entities of pure energy, since, by definition, they're incorporeal. According to the second law of thermodynamics, energy is always “lost to heat”; therefore, ghosts, as beings of pure energy, would soon drift apart and cease to exist. 

 

Scottoline and Serritella

Copyright 2019 by Gary L. Pullman

 

In I See Life Through Rose-Colored Glasses, mother-daughter team Lisa Scottoline and Francesca Serritella are back, each contributing alternating essays—or, rather, “True Stories and Confessions.”

In doing so, the ladies employ a variety of techniques to effect humor about everyday situations to which their readers (presumably, for the most part, other women) can readily relate.

The essays tend to be short, about three to four pages, or 1,100 to 1,450 words, each. Many of the paragraphs are single sentences, but even the longer ones are typically no more than three of four.

Let's take a look at Lisa's “Lost and Found,” which weighs in at a bit under three pages.

Page 1

She starts with a rhetorical question, “Did you hear the news?” This question, of course, prompts another question in her readers' minds: what news? It also allows Lisa to introduce the topic of her essay, as she supplies the answer to her own question in the next sentence-paragraph: “They discovered a new organ.”

This fact is, very likely, news to many, perhaps most, of Lisa's readers.

Although her readers may be wondering when “they” found this new organ, Lisa surprises them by stating where it was located: “All this time, it was in your body.” (The “your” certainly personalizes her statement.)

Perhaps, as she writes her essay, Lisa imagines herself in a conversation with her readers as they (or at least Lisa) sip rose a glass of rose wine. If so, she must have imagined them declaring, “You're kidding!” because she states, “Not even kidding.” Imagined dialogue keeps the written dialogue natural.

Why hadn't they found the missing organ before now? Readers might ask. Lisa has an answer ready for them: “Maybe they were looking outside?”

Now, having introduced the topic, Lisa offers a few salient facts, as background: “Anyway [almost as if she's offering an aside, rather than context, keeping it casual], an Irish surgeon, Dr. J. Calvin Coffey, discovered that we have something in our stomach called a mesentery.”

Then, she hits her readers with a play on words, always a surefire way to get a smile, if not a belly laugh: “Before now, the mesentery was a mystery.”

Then, back to the surgeon: “Dr. Coffey teaches at the University of Limerick”—readers just know a pun is coming, and Lisa doesn't disappoint—“otherwise well known for its limericks.”

Having introduced limericks, Lisa offers the first line of a possible such poem, by way of example: “There once was a mesentery from Nantucket . . .”

Then, she defines her term. (Notice the way she breaks up the exposition as she interleaves a bit of nonsense with her straight talk?) “Evidently, the mesentery connects the intestine to the abdomen, and as Dr. Coffey explained, 'It keeps the intestine in a particular shape, so when you stand up, your intestine doesn't fall into your pelvis.” Lisa imagines a response from the peanut gallery: “Well, hell. That's a good thing.” She follows up the peanut gallery comment with a comparison: “It's like Spanks for your colorectal system.” Next, she personifies the mesentery by thanking it: “Thanks, mesentery!”

Lisa makes a claim and then offers a couple of absurd “reasons” to support it (a favorite device of humorists). “Meanwhile, I might be in love with Dr. Coffey [claim]. He has a way with words [absurd reason one]. And also if he could find a mesentery, he could find my car keys” [absurd reason two, which, being even more ridiculous than reason 1, tops the previous reason].

Page 2

We could continue to identify and analyze Lisa's techniques for effecting humor, because we're on only page 2 of a 3-page essay, but, instead, let's switch over to Francesca, who pens the next essay, the four-page “Happy Birthday to Me?”

Page 1

Like most humorists, she starts with a claim that announces her topic, planning one's own birthday. Her next sentence (paragraph two) grants a concession or two, and, in the process, acts as a “straight man,” setting up the punchline to be delivered in the essay's third sentence-paragraph: “Sure, there are years where a best friend or significant other steps up, but in my history, some years I planned it myself.” Then, the punchline, as Francesca admits, “Okay, every year I've planned it myself.”

After telling her readers that the task drives her “completely insane,” she repeats her assertion in different words: “I'm well adjusted eleven months out of the year, but when planning my birthday, I become my most neurotic self.” in her next sentence-paragraph, she intensifies her claim, declaring “It's agony.” She's creating suspense; her readers are expecting a big payoff (laughs).

Francesca changes gears, as she heads off in another, unexpected direction, and her readers put their laughter on hold, trusting the laughs will come, by and by, and that they;ll be worth the wait.

She contrasts herself with others. “I wish I could be one of those people who is like, 'It's mah birthday, bitches!” but I go in the opposite direction. I'm filled with anxiety and insecurity over every aspect of it, obsessively concerned that my guests won't have a good time.” (Notice that Francesca peppers her dialogue with slang—and eye dialect—keeping it real.)

Her readers might wonder what sort of friends Francesca has; they don't seem very supportive. To correct this notion, she blames herself for casting aspersions on them: “It's like I forget they're my friends.”

Francesca wants her readers to remember that she's in turmoil, so she shares a fantasy: “My fantasy is that someone would throw a surprise birthday party for me, but I don't know how anyone would pull it off in real life [why not, readers may wonder, and Francesca tells them], because I'm such a nervous planner, I'd beat them to the punch. They'd have to throw it for me two months in advance to save me from the stress spiral that sucks me in each year.”

Now, she gets down to the details of birthday party planning, as she sees it: “It begins with the venue. I know I should just relax, choose a bar I like, and ask everyone to show up.”

Page 2

We could continue to identify and analyze Lisa's techniques for effecting humor, because we're on only page 2 of a 4-page essay, but, instead, let's list the other details she presents: invitations and cake.

Now, let's contrast the mom's general approach to writing humor with that of her daughter.

LISA

Paragraphs of only one or two sentences.

Rhetorical questions introduce topics, set up punchlines, or transition to new topics.

Imagined conversation between friends, Lisa herself being one of them, alternating with the identification of a topic or statement of a claim, followed by information or evidence.

Much exaggeration, but also puns, plays on words, comparisons, definitions, a catalogue (list), and examples.

FRANCESCA

Both one-sentence paragraphs and longer ones, consisting of as many as seven.

Identification of a topic or statement of a claim, followed by information or evidence, alternating, at times, with the identification of a problem, followed by a solution.

Division of a topic into related subtopics, followed by information or evidence. Items in series disguised as rhetorical questions.

Much exaggeration, but also anecdotes, digressions, repetitions, and admissions of self-doubt, anxiety, and obsession.

 

 Endings

How a humorist ends his or her humorous essay is as important as how he or she starts it.

Lisa catalogues the strange items she finds in her belly button: dog hair, “little shreds of tissue paper,” and other “foreign objects.” Her discoveries make her feel a connection with Dr. Coffey, because “we have so much in common.”

Throughout the bulk of her essay, Francesca has been concerned with the planning of her birthday party. It is only natural that she would end her essay with a description of the party itself. She has a wonderful time, rediscovers the facts that her “friends are easygoing and wonderful,” and finds them to be helpful and supportive. One of them takes 'charge of the candle lighting” and gets “everybody singing.” The result, Francesca confesses, makes “the disco dust totally worth it.”

Sample of Funny Lines

It should go without saying that a humorist must be able to write funny lines. An effective funny line sounds like an aphorism and, like aphorisms, or proverbs, for that matter, funny lines must fit the occasion for which they're written, succinctly summarizing a situation or proving a claim or just stating something in a fresh and lively manner. Here are a couple of funny lines in I See Life Through Rose-Colored Glasses:

My couch had more toenails than my cat.—Lisa

New hobbies are a great excuse to go shopping.—Francesca

Two Ways Cartoons Deliver Humor

One way to explore erotic humor is to check out cartoons online. What are the topics? How is the humor communicated?

In perusing a few such cartoons recently, I came up with quite a list of topics, including erectile dysfunction and infidelity.

Many of the cartoons communicate their humor in one of two ways: by starting with a comment or question that “sets up” a humorous response and ending with the humorous response, or punchline, itself. In one such cartoon, an older couple, apparently a husband and wife who've been married a number of years, sitting up in bed is discussing a problem:

Husband (Setup)	Wife (Punchline)
“Do you think the doctor could give me some pills to improve my sex urge?”	“No, lad; he can only heal the sick, not raise the dead.”

Bamforth & Co.

This cartoon provides a setting (the bedroom, at night); characters (husband and wife), a situation, implicit or directly stated (erectile dysfunction), and dialogue (speech bubbles in the cartoon designate the speech of both the husband and his wife).

In other cartoons, an image creates a context for which a caption, often representing the dialogue of one of the featured characters, provides a commentary or an explanation:

Image (Setup)	Caption (Punchline)
Two coed students, seated on a bench on campus, discuss another coed passing by, a male student ogling her.	“She was on the dean's list until the dean's wife heard about it.”

Playboy

 

As in the example, above, the humor is often derived from pun or other form of wordplay: “dean's list” referring, simultaneously, to an academic honor and to an actual list of names, a “black book,” kept by the dean.

The image provides the setting (a university campus), characters (the coed students and the male student), a situation (the student is on the dean's list), and a suggestion of dialogue (one coed is addressing another coed); dialogue is spoken only by one, not two characters, and it is represented outside the cartoon.