A Proximate Distance: Muriel Spark's The Driver's Seat Show Notes
Cordelivres Criticism Club Club Episode Two Show Notes
This post contains the show notes for the most recent edition of our Cordelivres Criticism Club podcast; check out the episode if you haven’t yet—it’s free!
And there’re a couple photos of my edition down below.
Let’s get into it!
Muriel Spark's Wonderfully Odd Approach in The Driver’s Seat
Our second meeting of the Cordelivres Criticism Club discussed Muriel Spark's remarkable, highly strange 1970 novel The Driver's Seat. We start off talking about the book’s techniques for effectively entering and exiting scenes—“getting in and out.” We highlight Spark's ability to immediately immerse readers while maintaining their engagement even as the novel does very little towards traditional exposition or, even, basic plot functioning. The unusual combination of third-person present tense with limited access to the protagonist's interiority can be observed from the opening scene, which demonstrates Spark's use of precise observations, detailed imagery, and bulldozing language to establish the story's tone and setting. The narrative style, characterized by those quick scenic transitions, is quite far away from Lise’s interiority—a very interesting approach.
Spark is focused on establishing and then maintaining this distance between reader and protagonist—often via specific language choices, such as the use of "probably" to express doubt about her appearance and age—which is atypical in third-person narration. This technique establishes an antagonistic relationship between the reader and the protagonist, creating a unique narrative perspective that is both quite uncommon and quite powerful.
Readerly Orientation in Third-Person Perspective—“A Proximate Distance”
The “in and out” approach bleeds us right into a larger discussion on the orientation between reader and protagonist—who, by the way, is a young woman named Lise—that begins with this wild opening scene in a department store. We’re suddenly immersed in a scene between her a sales girl without prior context, creating a sense of being dropped into an ongoing story. Spark's sleight of hand in aligning readers with the sales girl—thinking this shop costumer is totally insane—emphasizes how the present tense in third-person narration enhances this effect. We talk a bit about the concept of a "fictive universe" and the architecture of a focused third-person narrative, contrasting it with “omniscient” narration (which doesn't exist).
From this beginning Spark builds a reader-character relationship that is very strange and extremely cool. The Driver’s Seat is a weird book! A few things we see and hit on in the conversation:
Antagonistic Orientation: Spark deliberately establishes distance between readers and the protagonist Lise by introducing her through another character's perspective (the sales girl) before revealing she's the main character.
Narrative Distance: Within her limited third-person narration, Spark maintains distance through phrases such as "she might be as young as 29, or as old as 36”—infusing an ambivalence into things that Lise knows—in order to “slant” the narration and give the book texture.
Present Tense with Future Jumps: The present tense narration combined with jarring jumps to the future (revealing—sorry—that Lise will be murdered) creates controlled instability that keeps readers engaged despite knowing the outcome.
Minimal Exposition: Spark provides little explanation of Lise's motivations or background, creating what in another context we might call "malnourished" exposition but which, here, paradoxically strengthens reader engagement through mystery.
Immediate Scene Entry: Spark drops readers directly into scenes without preamble ("The material doesn't stain"), which risks momentary confusion but never actually loses the reader, a result of her precise observations and confident language.
Overall this approach creates a compelling yet uncomfortable relationship where readers follow a character they don't fully understand or necessarily like—making for a fascinating feel to the novel.
The Nuances of Spark's Narrative Style
The Driver’s Seat gives us a chance to talk about narrational evolution, as well, by focusing on its architectural and stylistic changes across chapters. We take a look at the increasing boldness and complexity of the narrative as the novel progresses, particularly in Chapter 3, which opens with a totally insane paragraph:
She will be found tomorrow morning dead from multiple stab-wounds, her wrists bound with a silk scarf and her ankles bound with a man's necktie, in the grounds of an empty villa, in a park of the foreign city to which she is travelling on the flight now boarding at Gate 14.
Crossing the tarmac to the plane Lise follows, with her quite long stride, closely on the heels of the fellow-passenger whom she appears finally to have chosen to adhere to. This is a rosy-faced, sturdy young man of about thirty; he is dressed in a dark business suit and carries a black briefcase.
A few things here—first the obvious jump ahead in time, one that really seems to give the game away! But also the distance maintained from Lise; she appears to have chosen to follow this guy. Most limited third-person narrations would not equivocate there, and this creates that odd, intoxicating feel to the book.
We can see how the novel's structure and style contribute to its overall impact. The narrational authority here is pretty interesting; the present tense combined with future knowledge creates a narrating entity that's seen this whole movie play out. There’s an inherent and propulsive contradiction between the immediate narration in the present tense and the forward temporal jumps that give us future knowledge which destabilizes the reading experience (in a good way!).
Despite the immediacy of present tense, Spark maintains a clinical distance from Lise, a paradoxical combination which creates our "proximate distance”—we're close to the action but emotionally removed from it (or at least from her, arguably). The present tense creates forward momentum that helps overcome—rather, weaponize—the novel's "malnourished" exposition, carrying readers through scenes without explaining Lise's motivations.
Along these lines, the use of physical descriptions is key to The Driver's Seat. Spark’s precise, vivid details about certain physical aspects—while leaving others vague—creating a sense of controlled chaos around information reveal to the reader: details often reveal character traits or mental states indirectly, such as Lise's clothing choices reflecting her erratic behavior, while giving us surprisingly little of what she actually does or (in a way) who she is. The book's use of mystery, organic storytelling, and minimal exposition, work particularly well in a novella-length format.
The narration often describes surroundings and objects in detail to contrast with the limited insight into Lise’s mind, a technique furthered by the detached, almost clinical tone, reinforcing that narrational distance. This approach to physical description contributes to the novel's unsettling, and super effective, atmosphere.
In the hands of a novelist with lesser skills, these methods would appear quite flawed approach in less skilled hands actually works effectively in this context. This is one of those great novels that breaks so many traditional workshop rules, while its compelling storytelling and intricate composition make it a masterful work of fiction. This is absolutely one to check out, especially if you haven’t read any Muriel Spark, as its approach can be pretty intricate despite the quick reading feel. A great book for our second episode, and I really had a fun time diving into this one. Lise will be sticking in my mind for a while.
Thanks so much for listening and hope everyone enjoyed the talk.
À bientôt. In the meantime, au revoir—and stay critical.
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