Understanding "You"

Before plot, setting, or character, a reader's first contact with a story is the point of view. The narrative perspective is the corridor in which the reader steps into the story and bonds with the character. As the reader engages with the character, the point of view becomes a conduit that keeps the reader and the character connected. The most common types of narrative point of view in fiction are the first and third person. First-person narratives have the primary character narrate the events from their perspective, using the pronoun "I." While third-person stories have narrators dictating events and use pronouns such as "he," "she," or "they." Between these two relatively standard points of view is the controversial and often polarizing second-person point of view, designated by the pronoun "you."

The literary community has dismissed the second-person point of view as a gimmick. A one-dimensional hack shoved to the far back of the craft toolbox. However, the second-person point of view is more than just using the "you" pronoun. It is a highly sophisticated, complex, multi-functional device that does not behave like the other narrative forms. While first and third-person narratives have a distinct and direct line between the reader and character, second-person narratives are a fluid, amorphous form that oscillates between reader and character. Whereas first and third-person narratives generally bind the reader to the characters in the story, the second person is capable of subverting that expectation, allowing a more complex relationship to develop between the reader + character. The intricacies of the reader + character relationship, along with the hidden potential of this particular perspective, can be found at the sentence level of these narratives. 

Writers such as Jay McInerney, Lorrie Moore, and Zachary Doss utilize the second-person point of view in vastly different ways, demonstrating its unique capabilities and potential. 

Beginning with Jay McInerney and his book, Bright Lights, Big City — the first novel written entirely in second-person point of view. Briefly: The story follows a 24-year-old aspiring writer who works as a fact-checker at a prestigious publication in New York City. Set in the thick of the 80s drug and club scene, the unnamed character uses coke and alcohol to cope with the heartache of being estranged from his wife and the first anniversary of his mother's death. As he dives deeper into the hedonism of the City, his life continues to unravel.  

McInerney drops the reader into the character and the story from the first sentence: "You are not the kind of guy who would be at a place like this at this time of the morning" (pg.1). Immediately the reader is confronted with uncertainty just by reading the word "You." Who is this "you"? Is it the character thinking to themselves? Is "you" the reader? Typically the word "you" refers to a person that a speaker is addressing. However, the uncertainty embedded in the rest of the line destabilizes that notion. 

  The reader falls into a silhouette of the character and directly into their mind, forcing them to actively engage by filling in the blanks and figuring things out as the story unfolds. Initially, the reader is told what this vague character is "not," leaving them to question who this "you" really is and waiting for more to be revealed. The only other entity the reader can cling to and rely on is this unstable character, known as "you." As the story continues, the more the reader attaches to this character, the more the two of them become fused. 

On the sentence level, McInerney sustains this merger by using brisk language and the present tense, creating a breathless momentum throughout the story, as seen in this paragraph:

The night has already turned on that imperceptible pivot where two A.M. changes to six A.M. You know this moment has come and gone, but you are not yet willing to concede that you have crossed the line beyond which all is gratuitous damage and the palsy of unraveled nerve endings. Somewhere back there, you could have cut your losses, but you rode past that moment on a comet trail of white powder and now you are trying to hang on to the rush. Your brain at this moment is composed of brigades of tiny Bolivian soldiers. They are tired and muddy from their long walk through the night. There are holes in their boots and they are hungry. They need to be fed. (pg1-2)

The language moves quickly, grappling with a lost sense of time that "imperceptible pivot where two A.M. changes to six A.M." By the following line, this "pivotal" moment is where the character is coming down from a high but is "not yet willing to concede." 

Not only is there a lost sense of time, but the character is up against an internal conflict regarding what they want to do / should do. McInerney's use of a second-person point of view now puts the reader squarely in the middle of this conflict as well. McInerney condenses the channel between reader and character by squeezing the margin of mental space between them by utilizing a second-person point of view's malleable form. The reader inherently feels the pressure to decide as the character is experiencing it, creating kinetic energy between them.

The language, situation, and internal conflict all overpower the use of "you" in these sentences and plunge the reader into the story viscerally. McInerney's use of a second-person point of view forces the reader to experience everything the character does in real time. Forcing the reader to confront disturbing or uncomfortable situations facilitates the merge. 

The immersive experience leads to a psychic collapse between reader + and character, which is why Bright Lights Big City is considered the standard for second-person point of view narratives. 

Where McInerney's novel uses a second-person point of view to connect the reader and character, Lorrie Morre's short stories, written in the same perspective, detach the reader from the character. This disconnect occurs by the way Moore manipulates the use of imperative mood, negating even the implied "you." The stories in her short story collection Self-Help are prime examples of this technique. Particularly the short story "How to Be an Other Woman." The story begins with a premise: "Meet in expensive beige raincoats, on a pea-soup night" (Pg. 3). 

This line is an imperative sentence. A defining feature of this grammatical mood is placing the point of view directly in the second person. It also omits the "you" pronoun — because the subject is commanded and spoken to. It is an implied "you"— meaning the existence of a "you" is strongly suggested but not explicitly or literally present.  

Moore begins the sentence with the action verb "meet" as an instruction asking to perform. This is in line with how imperative sentences are generally used: action-driven and instructional. In fact, the few lines that follow this sentence use these verbs in the same manner: "First, stand in front of Florsheim's Fifty-seventh Street window, press your face close to the glass, watch the fake velvet Hummels inside revolving around the wingtips…" (Pg. 3). This cluster of imperative clauses contain verbs—stand, press, watch— that provide mechanical direction, with no other implication or application, all directed to an implied "you." However, Moore sets up this expectation of how she is using imperative mood only to subvert and manipulate it in another passage, as seen on the next page:

A minute goes by, and he asks you what you're reading. It is Madame Bovary in a Doris Day biography jacket. Try to explain about binding warpage. He smiles, interested. 

Return to your book. (pg.4)

The reader expects an emotional reaction from the character, revealing how she feels toward his attention. But instead, Moore only provides the reader with the imperative sentence: "Return to your book." This is the first example of Moore manipulating the grammatical mood to subvert an emotional reaction. The reader and the character are uncertain about the feelings this man's attention elicits. The emotion is negated. This tactic is even more evident further down the same page in the following passage: 

"He tells you his wife's name. It is Patricia. She is an intellectual property lawyer. He tells you he likes you a lot. You lie on your stomach, naked and still too warm. When he says, "How do you feel about that?" don't say 'Ridiculous' or 'Get the hell out of my apartment.' Prop your head up with one hand and say: 'It depends. What is intellectual property law?'

He grins. 'Oh, you know. Where leisure is a suit.'

Give him a tight, wiry smile.

'I just don't want you to feel uncomfortable about this,' he says.

Say: 'Hey. I am a very cool person. I am tough.' Show him your bicep." (pg. 4)

Here the imperative sentences override whatever emotion the character feels, burying it under the instructional tone. The humorous aspects of these lines further deflect the emotional response, hiding it from the character —who is experiencing it at this moment— and hiding it from the reader. This is how Moore can negate the implied "you" within this grammatical mood. Even though a strong suggestion of "you" exists, it hovers over the line and page by way of these imperative sentences. However, the actual word "you" is unseen, completely removed from the line at the sentence level, thereby negating Charlene as a character. The absence of any emotional response further nullifies the character and, at the same time, distances the reader from Charlene. 

Readers may have difficulty connecting with Charlene as a character because so much of "her" is removed from herself. Those imperative lines instruct her to conceal her true feelings from herself and the reader. She is so far removed from who she is that she ends up standing outside of herself, as this relationship continues until its inevitable end.

Doss' approach to the reader + character relationship and use of second-person point of view in his collection of short stories, Boy Oh Boy, is highly nuanced and incredibly experimental. The overarching theme in these stories is the relationship problems between the central character and their boyfriend. The central character is constant and stable throughout the stories, while the boyfriends take on strange and fantastical guises. In these relationships, the boyfriends have a stronger presence and are more prominent than the central character. The emotional core of these narratives is that the central character is left feeling unseen by their boyfriends. 

  Doss uses a combination of craft elements such as the flash fiction form and fabulist visuals to convey boyfriends and the relationship problems in these narratives. But it is how he uses the second-person point of view in relation to the central character, that is highly ambitious and unconventional. He has found a way to include a narrative voice in the story— an allegorical viewpoint that invites the reader into the story and guides them along. This narrative voice is an extension of the central character.  

In stories such as "Godzilla" and "Cold Fish," the boyfriend disrupts the relationship, leaving the character feeling insignificant and lonely. The fabulous visuals amplify the feeling of invisibility and emphasize with a narrative voice. The narrative voice of the central character points to the degree of disconnect the character has from their reality, relationships, the reader, and, more importantly, from themselves. The character is so far removed from who they are that they cannot engage with the reader directly. This is made evident by the types of dialogue used in these stories. A combination of direct and indirect dialogue signifies the degree of presence and dominance between the central character and their boyfriend. For example, in the piece "Godzilla":

Your boyfriend decides to start a small business and sure enough the store he opens comes up to your knee. Somehow he fits inside but as much as you scrunch you can't get in. Outside, on your hands and knees, you peek with one eye through the small windows.

When you ask him who his intended customers are, he says, Just really small people I guess. (pg.17)

The narrative begins from a broad scope. From the first line, the narrator introduces the reader to the conflict of this particular relationship problem: the boyfriend pursues an endeavor in the form of a small business that does not include the central character. In the following line, the narrative vantage point narrows onto the character, bringing the reader close to the character as they attempt to fit into this new space and fail. By the end of the first paragraph, the fabulist visual exaggerates the problem by the hyperbolic and physical disproportion between the character and their boyfriend's business. The character is literally and metaphorically left outside looking in. 

Line by line, the narrator narrows the scope until it touches down to the level of just the character and the boyfriend. The second paragraph is a line of conversation between the two without quotation marks. This bit of verbal exchange is a combination of indirect and direct dialogue. 

Typically, direct dialogue is used in stories rather than indirect dialogue. Direct dialogue is spoken words straight from the character's voice. Meaning the narrator recedes from the scene as the character takes over. This shift allows the reader to engage and experience the character firsthand. Direct dialogue is indicated with quotation marks.

In comparison, indirect dialogue is the equivalent of second-hand reporting of what was said by a character. It is a summarized version of the character's speech, relayed to the reader and, in this case, by the narrative voice of the central character. Usually, indirect dialogue has no quotation marks. 

However, Doss skillfully blends the two types of dialogue in the line: "When you ask him who his intended customers are, he says, Just really small people I guess" (pg.17). The character questions what kind of customers this business would serve, to which the boyfriend responds with "really small people," unquestionably excluding the central character. At first glance, with the absence of quotation marks, this bit of verbal exchange can pass as indirect. However, upon closer examination, the line of dialogue starts in indirect and then sharply pivots into direct. It begins with the narrative voice of the central character summarizing his portion of the conversation, then taking a sharp turn into direct dialogue with the boyfriend's response. This shift into direct dialogue is evident by the tag "he says." 

Furthermore, the presence of each voice is uneven. This line of conversation carries both the character and the boyfriend's voices. The boyfriend is given more prominence by the end of the line, while the character retreats into the narrative voice, reporting the boyfriend's part of the conversation. Leaving the boyfriend with the last word literally and metaphorically. 

The section of indirect dialogue reiterates the central character's feeling of being unseen. It is almost a literal manifestation of his invisibility. The central character actively withdraws from the story by retreating into a narrative voice and then receding into indirect dialogue, removing themselves even more from themselves and the reader. The sense of the characters' invisibility is seen again as the story unfolds. In the following passages, the character is completely withdrawn from the happenings around the shop and the single line of indirect dialogue that follows:

His shop is a disproportionately large success. Small people line up around the block for his honeysuckle-scented body lotion. He is interviewed by the local news. On television, he and his shop and the newscaster look like they are the correct size. 

This won't change anything about our relationship, your boyfriend says. (Pg. 17)

Again we have the narrative voice, combined with the fabulist element, conveying the boyfriend's small business as an overnight success, products in demand, and gaining notoriety. The central character is far removed from all the action. He is watching it all happen for the boyfriend, from the outside, from a distance. The central character's presence is absent in these sentences. However, the following line features only the boyfriend's voice in direct dialogue, as indicated by the tag "your boyfriend says." The line stands out on its own, independent from the central character. In fact, there is no response or discussion from the central character. Now the character goes from being an outsider to an outcast. The central character is literally and metaphorically unseen by the boyfriend and the reader on the page. 

The flash fiction piece "Cold Fish" also shows the same pattern of narrative voice, fabulist visuals, and indirect dialogue. The premise of this piece is that the central character and the boyfriend want different things. 

You're ready to go home but your boyfriend is still floating on the lake, so far out he looks like a discarded T-shirt. You wave to get his attention, and when he doesn't look up, you think he might be dead. Eventually, though, he swims to shore and tells you to go home, he's going to stay here for a while. (pg. 15)

Once again, the narrative voice begins the story from a broad perspective and introduces the reader to the conflict right away. The central character wants to go home, while the boyfriend wants to stay. What seems to be a minor disagreement conveys that there is a deeper issue. The character and the boyfriend want different things. The fabulist element comes into play as the boyfriend's odd behavior of wanting to remain in the water while the character is on land. This places the couple literally and metaphorically in two different places in their relationship. 

As the narrative progresses, the boyfriend ignores the character's attempts to get this attention — the first sign of neglect and being unseen. Much like the indirect dialogue in "Godzilla," the central character's existence becomes less and less as the paragraph progresses. By the end of the paragraph, the character fades into the narrative voice as it reports the bit of indirect dialogue by the boyfriend.

As the story unfolds, the character attempts to reconcile the disruption in their relationship. The subtle fabulist elements begin to reveal themselves as the boyfriend's inexplicably strange behavior in staying in the water, reducing to leave. The magnitude of the boyfriend's strange behavior progressively affects the character's behavior. The character begins to spiral until they can no longer take the anguish and decides to confront the boyfriend in the following lines:

"This is a problem, you say to him on your next visit.

You sit, your feet dangling in the cold water. Your boyfriend's lips and fingers turning blue. He tugs on your big tie and you jump, thinking a fish is trying to pull you under.

I'm not coming back here, you say.

Your boyfriend splashes his face, pours water down his cheek. Look, he says, it's like I'm crying." (pg. 16) 

Unlike some indirect dialogue, in "Godzilla," this is a rare set of direct dialogue from the central character. The first line is the central character confronting the boyfriend about their situation and explicitly says to the boyfriend that there is a problem. By the following line, the central character retreats into the narrative voice and describes the scene. The character is somewhat in the water, trying to close the gap between them. The narrative voice notices the color change on the boyfriend's face and extremities, alluding to another fabulist visual that suggests the boyfriend is turning emotionally cold and perhaps even a fish. The boyfriend's actions push the visual suggestion further by tugging the character's big toe as a fish would to bait. It also encourages the reader to connect the idiom meaning of "cold fish," which is also the title.

The next line is another bit of direct dialogue, and perhaps the most assertive the central character has been. The line is a heroic moment for the character and the reader because it demonstrates action from the character and breaks the pattern of passive behavior as seen in this narrative and others. But the moment is short-lived. Even though the central character steps out of the narrative voice and fully asserts himself with the pronoun "I," there is still a heavy dose of uncertainty. A complete assertion would end the line of direct dialogue after the word "here" with a period. There is no need for the tag "you say" because it is clear to the reader that the central character is speaking. However, the dialogue tag is a secret trapdoor the central character can use to step back into the protective narrative voice. 

Perhaps the character steps back into the narrative voice to brace themselves for the rejection, or the character intrinsically knows the unfriendly or unsympathetic reaction they would receive from the boyfriend. 

Along with Moore and McInerney, Doss could not have achieved these narratives without the versatility that the second-person point of view offers. Its boundless form allows stories to be wildly inventive with character, setting, and plot. It challenges the reader to lean in and actively participate. It pushes the writer to level up their skillset, dive deep into the line and forge something that could never work with the other narrative types. 

Second-person point of view may begin with the pronoun "you," but the possibilities from there are endless. 

Citations:

Doss, Zachary. Boy Oh Boy: Stories. First edition, Red Hen Press, 2020.

McInerney, Jay. Bright Lights, Big City. 1st ed, Vintage Contemporaries, 1984.

Moore, Lorrie. Self-Help. 1st Vintage Contemporaries ed, Vintage Books, 2007.