How do you write satire successfully? How do you write satire month after month? How do you write satire that makes your readers laugh month after month, without the deadening déjà vu of having read the same thing before?
One writer from South Asia who has been pulling this incredibly difficult task with elán is Moni Mohsin, whose column, Diary of a Social Butterfly, in the Lahore-based weekly newspaper, The Friday Times, has spawned three books. A rich socialite notes her unselfconscious and, therefore, hilarious responses to the lives and behaviour of family, friends and celebrities.
Butterfly was conceived when Mohsin overheard a conversation between two affluent women, one flaunting her new, oversized shahtoosh and the other responding with a refusal to wear shawls because it made her look like the domestic help. She has been mining the ore ever since.
In a public conversation with writer Anuja Chauhan to mark the launch of the third book in the series, The Return of The Butterfly, Mohsin revealed, without stating them in as many words, the five rules of writing satire the right way. Here they are, baba.
5. Make your readers feel it’s about people they know, not themselves.
Every time someone reads you, they must feel it’s about someone they know. In fact, they should come up to you at parties and ask whom you based Aunty Dolly or Shankar the CEO on. And when you refuse to tell them, as you must, they must go nudge-nudge-wink-wink and tell you they know exactly whom you’re talking of, you wicked woman you. But never never never must they feel it’s about them personally. People like them, yes. Them, no. After all, no one can laugh at themselves.
4. Create a character whom people can laugh at kindly. Don’t be cruel.
Satire is about stupidity. The central figure must necessarily be unable to grasp the implication of all that is happening around him, even though he’s perfectly placed to be abreast of things. But readers must laugh kindly, not out of cruelty. For, unkind laughter turns vicious and does not leave the sense of well-being that successful satire should.
3. Eavesdrop on people when they’re shopping. Or discussing what they’ve bought. Their inner dreams are best expressed at this time.
Where do moneyed people let themselves go? At high-end department stores. All their desires and aspirations are revealed here, as they cry, try, and buy all they can to keep up with the tasterati. Pick the target ‒ Asians living in the UK? Luxe travellers? Desis from America? ‒ and follow them around, listening to their exchanges on what to purchase. You won’t need to make up lines.
2. Pick serious events and put down self-centred responses.
Bombings. Crimes. War. Epidemics. Satirists have to tread a fine line to ensure that these realities of modern living are not excluded from their work ‒ ostriches just aren’t funny after the first few seconds. But they cannot afford to turn into grim chroniclers either. The solution? Convert collective tragedy into personal farce. For instance, translate a terror attack into a lament for shopping plans being disrupted.
1. Have a go at the rich and influential. Leave ordinary people alone.
Only the wealthy deserve to be laughed at. Their money makes them fair game for humour. Not the middle-class, and certainly not those who can barely make a living. Along with the rich, make the influential the butt of your jokes too, because both have more than their fair share of resources. Even if the wealth cannot be redistributed, disdain certainly can.
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One writer from South Asia who has been pulling this incredibly difficult task with elán is Moni Mohsin, whose column, Diary of a Social Butterfly, in the Lahore-based weekly newspaper, The Friday Times, has spawned three books. A rich socialite notes her unselfconscious and, therefore, hilarious responses to the lives and behaviour of family, friends and celebrities.
Butterfly was conceived when Mohsin overheard a conversation between two affluent women, one flaunting her new, oversized shahtoosh and the other responding with a refusal to wear shawls because it made her look like the domestic help. She has been mining the ore ever since.
In a public conversation with writer Anuja Chauhan to mark the launch of the third book in the series, The Return of The Butterfly, Mohsin revealed, without stating them in as many words, the five rules of writing satire the right way. Here they are, baba.
5. Make your readers feel it’s about people they know, not themselves.
Every time someone reads you, they must feel it’s about someone they know. In fact, they should come up to you at parties and ask whom you based Aunty Dolly or Shankar the CEO on. And when you refuse to tell them, as you must, they must go nudge-nudge-wink-wink and tell you they know exactly whom you’re talking of, you wicked woman you. But never never never must they feel it’s about them personally. People like them, yes. Them, no. After all, no one can laugh at themselves.
4. Create a character whom people can laugh at kindly. Don’t be cruel.
Satire is about stupidity. The central figure must necessarily be unable to grasp the implication of all that is happening around him, even though he’s perfectly placed to be abreast of things. But readers must laugh kindly, not out of cruelty. For, unkind laughter turns vicious and does not leave the sense of well-being that successful satire should.
3. Eavesdrop on people when they’re shopping. Or discussing what they’ve bought. Their inner dreams are best expressed at this time.
Where do moneyed people let themselves go? At high-end department stores. All their desires and aspirations are revealed here, as they cry, try, and buy all they can to keep up with the tasterati. Pick the target ‒ Asians living in the UK? Luxe travellers? Desis from America? ‒ and follow them around, listening to their exchanges on what to purchase. You won’t need to make up lines.
2. Pick serious events and put down self-centred responses.
Bombings. Crimes. War. Epidemics. Satirists have to tread a fine line to ensure that these realities of modern living are not excluded from their work ‒ ostriches just aren’t funny after the first few seconds. But they cannot afford to turn into grim chroniclers either. The solution? Convert collective tragedy into personal farce. For instance, translate a terror attack into a lament for shopping plans being disrupted.
1. Have a go at the rich and influential. Leave ordinary people alone.
Only the wealthy deserve to be laughed at. Their money makes them fair game for humour. Not the middle-class, and certainly not those who can barely make a living. Along with the rich, make the influential the butt of your jokes too, because both have more than their fair share of resources. Even if the wealth cannot be redistributed, disdain certainly can.
