I was reading Code to Zero by Ken Follett, a thriller set during the launch of the Explorer 1 satellite. I was really into the story and the characters.
Then one antagonist helps an accomplice escape by stashing him in the trunk of her Corvette.
Dead stop. An internal monologue takes over.
“A Vette doesn’t have a trunk. But wait, the first generation did. That model had a trunk. When did that model run to? (Mentally checks long term memory storage.) 1963. When is this book set? (Flips back to the first chapter.) Late ‘50s. Okay, there’s a trunk. But it sure as hell wasn’t big. That accomplice had to be small or very limber, or both.”
I continue reading. The antagonist grabs the secret device to destroy rockets, a device so big and bulky that strangers ask her if she needs a hand with it. She declines, and then she puts it in the trunk.
Dead stop #2. No way in hell that device fits in the trunk with the accomplice. It’s a Corvette, not a Chevy Bel Air.
A page later, she has to get past the police roadblock. The cop talks to her, asks if she’s seen the accomplice. She says no. The cop looks over the car, and then over her shoulder into the back seat.
Dead stop #3. Slam shut book. Vettes have always been two seaters.
I did finish the book, the story had a great ending. So who cares about the car details right?
As an author, you should. Because that glaring error pulled me out of the story three times, and then set me waiting to see what other automotive stupidity lurked just around the corner. That kind of mistake is like an actor breaking the fourth wall, letting you know that you are watching a movie. Here the author is breaking that wall, letting you know you are reading fiction, and that he is an unreliable storyteller.
Mistakes of fact are easy to make. Set a story in 1982, and have the couple go see Ghostbusters, a movie that came out in 1984. Have an oil painting instantly dry. Invent a secret basement under the main altar in the Vatican, when actually the tomb of St. Peter is already there. Detail-type mistakes happen when you write about something you don’t know.
Will someone catch it? Of course they will. Because for the one item you are ignorant about, there are thousands of experts. And Murphy’s Law states that they will all read your book.
So here’s an instance where the “write what you know” mantra makes a lot of sense, even if the knowing occurs because you did a little research.
So heed this lesson. Now I have to go research Brazilian mahogany so I don’t write something stupid.
