Americana Literature: Using Regional Settings
When Europe declared James Fenimore Cooper the first genuinely American author, one who wrote in a style indigenous to the new culture and explored topics inclusively North American, Americana was born. This was a literary style genuinely rooted in the American experience.
There are those of us who are writers and readers who feel that a sense of place is as important as plot, characters, or any of the other elements in fiction. Within the setting is a sense of identity and place, a historical and cultural context, local symbolic and thematic depth, deep authenticity and immersion, and a sense of community and belonging. These elements are indeed found in all great works of literature, no matter where they are set. What makes Americana different, however, is that it focuses upon the experiences and places that make Americans different from anywhere else in the world, even different from each other. Again, all great writers do this regardless of where they are from or where their stories are set. Great writers do not trade in generalities; they excel in specifics. Americana is specifically American.
So, how do we position ourselves apart from general world or bland American literature? We focus intensely on regional settings (and there are numerous regional settings in America). We look for feelings associated with American geography, the vast and expansive variety, and we focus narrowly on a small frame of that, the setting where our story begins and ends.
To do this, we must research the geography of our story’s setting in depth. We need to know this, fictional or based upon an actual place, as though we grew up there, lived there, raised our families there, and died there. To create that sense of reality, look to not only streets and waterways but also to obscure but essential things such as topographical maps, climate data, and even crazy things like historical land use. This gives a greater understanding of the physical environment. If it is a real place, go there and walk it. Whether you are writing about the vast deserts of the Southwest, the thick forests of the Pacific Northwest and Atlantic Northeast, or the undulating and sometimes formidable mountains of Appalachia, you must know the terrain, not just the roads, to describe it so that it comes alive. If it is a real place, note natural landmarks to use in your story (rivers, valleys, mountains) or human structures (old train stations, old mills, skyscrapers, monorails) and let these settings become intertwined with your characters becoming a character unto themselves, filled with conflicts, emotion, and possibilities. If it is a fictional place, you’ll need to create this same sense of atmosphere, and to achieve the reality that literature demands, you’ll need to make it accurate to the point that you even confuse it with reality.
Search your location for sensory details that are indigenous to this particular place. A small town in Iowa differs from a small town in Tennessee or Florida. Chicago is different from Miami, New York City different from Los Angeles. The prairies of the Midwest have a different feel than the fields of Kentucky or Virginia. Each is their own version, with their own lifeblood, making them distinct from anywhere else. As you write, craft a vivid picture of the surrounding landscape. Describe the unique colors. The setting of the sun looks different in Malibu than it does in Oklahoma and different in New Mexico. Look at the vegetation. Go as deeply as the leaves' shapes and the bark's textures. Trees and vegetation change with latitude, longitude, elevation, and climate. Explore it all to make your story real. Explore light and shadows, elements that are completely different in Santa Rosa Beach, Florida, with its view of the Gulf of Mexico versus an open plain in Montana or an alleyway in Detroit. Look at how the light makes shadows. The feeling of that light will affect your characters.
Don’t limit yourself to sight. Use all the senses. Add touch, sound, and smell. Incorporate local sounds. This is why it is so important to visit and simply sit and listen to the whistle of a distant train, the cacophony of heavy traffic, the sound of laughter, anger, or tears, the echo of church bells, and the intrusion of music on nature. While you’re there, close your eyes and just breathe. Do you smell the salt from the ocean, the cloying of the desert, the smell of a hot dog vendor, the distinctive odor of fresh cut grass, the smells of restaurants close by, the fishiness of the waterway? Include these. This makes your area like no place else. Billy Joel sang of a New York state of mind. Every place has its own. Capture it. If you must invent the place, construct it with all your senses, making it alive and vibrant. Make it real even to you. Become, if you must, schizophrenic.
No place lives in a vacuum. Your characters are in a continuum of time, influenced by not only their pasts and futures but also the past and future of the setting. History shapes the locals, and every place is different. Let the history of the past reveal itself in the present. What is the influence of the location’s founding, the legacy of displaced or enslaved people, and the impact of farming, ranching, cultivation, and industrialization? From one part of town to another part of town, things change, even if they are barely nuanced. It is better to live here than there. Whether it is better or not, it is more comfortable for a character to live here or there. It’s all subjective. Look at the cultural landmarks, what people celebrate with their festivals, where and what they eat, and their local traditions. These are their local and indigenous values. Across the U.S., universal celebrations such as Christmas and Thanksgiving are all celebrated differently, with different decorations, foods, and customs.
Speech identifies a character. Travel the coast of Virginia inland and listen to the change and different lilts of the local voices. Listen for the intrusion of those accents that are out of place, those that have migrated in. In your character’s dialogue, reflect the local speech patterns, varying it among classes. Include colloquialisms, accents, and slang. Make it clear when a character is “not from there,” not by telling the reader but by letting the reader hear the character for herself. Use local expressions. Note regional references. These all give your readers a sense of place.
Really immerse the character in the setting. Let him feel the pots and pans or the texture of the tree bark he holds to as he pulls himself up from the gully. Note how aspects of the setting affect a character’s life. The ghosts of an old farmhouse will fill a young boy with spirits different than another boy in an inner city. Both worlds will haunt and inform the characters, but each will be unique.
Dark days send many into depression; sunny days make many happy. This is because the world can reflect the inner world of the characters. Which influences first doesn’t matter. The importance is that they run parallel. Use that. Settings are symbolic of a character’s state of mind. A messy house is a messy state of mind. A storm outside could reflect the tornado within a character’s thinking. A winding road can symbolize the character’s journey to finding herself. Use the landscape to reflect what is happening within a character without telling the reader you are doing it.
We grow, and we change. These are the seasons of a character’s life. These seasons are also within the setting. Use the pace of each season to reflect the passing of time and shifting moods. Show birth, death, decay. See newness in signs, buildings, and neighborhoods. Watch them grow old, watch them have rebirth, watch them die. This is all going on within the characters, as well. They are, by default, a reflection of where they are from. By will and force, they can change that. Either way, note that in the arcs of your characters.
Just as different people feel varying reactions to the sounds and smell of an approaching thunderstorm, so do characters each feel distinctly different and personal about the very same things around them. No two characters will look at an unmade bed the same. Every setting has a telling tapestry of histories, cultures, and socioeconomic references. As you write, show how different characters experience an area. A cattle rancher in Montana will view the cattle and the ranch differently, with a distinct sense of comfort and love, than maybe a person visiting from Lombard Street in San Francisco. The person from San Francisco may love the area, as well, or be amused by the foreign smells, but the cattle rancher in Montana has his world swirling in his blood. He is not an observer as the visitor might be; he is part of the world. Show the difference. Feel the difference. Emote the difference. And, if, as in this example, your story crosses multiple communities or subregions, use differences and similarities to push your story subtly forward. Explore the opposing and parallel histories, cultures, and landscapes. These are all a part of the setting.
As you write, be specific. Nothing vague is allowed. Give the names of roads, diners, buildings, historical places, natural outgrowths. Allow the reader to sense it with his memory senses. Tickle your reader’s nose with specific sounds, sights, smells, tastes, and touch. Doing this makes this place—different from anywhere else on earth—come alive. All great writing is also regional writing. Find your region, know it, feel it, absorb it, and tell about it by having your characters live it. This creates a sense of a unique time and place, a place like no other.
