Eric Puchner: How to Be Funny When Writing a Novel

Is anything more embarrassing than trying to be funny and going splat? I sometimes think there’s an inverse relationship between trying to be funny and actual funniness. This is especially true in literature, I think. When you think of great comic novels and short stories—True Grit, Mrs. Bridge, On Beauty, anything by Joy Williams—you think, above all, of their effortlessness, how what’s funny about them is inextricable with their, well, novel-ness. They can’t fail to be funny, because they hardly seem to be trying to. They don’t strain after jokes so much as evoke the inherent funniness of life.

The philosopher Henri Bergson talks about “mechanical inelasticity”: something is funny when a person—or, I suppose, an animal—fails to adapt to a change in their surroundings. Think of the unsuspecting fellow who tries to sit down on a chair that’s been pulled out from under him. We expect someone to act a certain way, one that conforms elastically to the situation they’re in, and it’s funny when they don’t. As Simon Critchley puts it, in his book On Humor: there’s a disconnect between “expectation and actuality.”

This isn’t just a nifty, somewhat incontrovertible theory of humor. It’s a nifty, somewhat incontrovertible theory of what makes a novel or short story work. One might even say that a disconnect between expectation and actuality is the essential element of fiction. A young man wakes up as a beetle and yet worries more than anything about getting to work on time (“The Metamorphosis”); a wealthy couple insist on finishing their dinner at a country club, despite the fact that a tornado’s approaching and everyone else has fled to the basement (Mrs. Bridge). When my students complain about writer’s block, that they have no idea what to write about, I often encourage them to think of something funny that’s happened to them: not because I want their readers to laugh out loud—though there are far worse things a reader might do!—but because something that meets the criteria for funniness also meets the criteria for engaging fiction. The sound of laughter is the sound of a story succeeding.

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