While the omniscient point of view (POV) is considered a bit outdated today—with favor being given to third-person limited or first-person—it still comes up now and again. And with it there is the danger of head-hopping, or jumping from one perspective to another.
Why or how does head-hopping happen?
Omniscience is less immersive for the reader. We’re observing rather than experiencing. This is why stories today tend to lean into a singular perspective through third-person limited or first-person points of view. Even multi-POV narratives will focus in on an individual character for a section or chapter, and from there we cannot know or see into another character’s perspective.
Sometimes writers have grown accustomed to reading stories that use that tight lens, but want to be able to incorporate the perspectives and thoughts of other characters within their own work. They think it’s as simple as jumping into that character’s thoughts and saying that theirs is an omniscient narrator.
What many don’t realize is that omniscient points of view are like a storyteller who can see your entire story from start to finish and is relaying it to your reader. They may tell everything, they may withhold for suspense, but however they (the omniscient narrator) chooses to tell the story, they are in essence a singular narrative voice who is delivering the tale to us.
The omniscient narrator cannot, however, deliver direct thoughts to us with the unique perspectives and voices of each individual character. That’s head-hopping, and the line between that and omniscience can often be difficult to spot.
Let’s compare examples.
Take a look at this blurb:
Mable thought at that moment that she would never get out of bed again, but Jonah had other plans. He had picked up her favorite takeout order before heading over and letting himself into Mable’s apartment. She had given him a key for emergencies two years ago, and the gentle squeak of the apartment’s old door let her know that he had decided this was an emergency.
General, yes? We get some details. We can surmise that something is wrong in Mable’s world, that Jonah is likely a friend not lover given the “emergencies only” key rule, and he has arrived with food. The narrator is leading us through the scene just fine.
Now, let’s zoom in closer to Mable’s point of view and voice:
Mable burrowed into her bed. She could stay here, never deal with the outside again, never face her sister again. What a ridiculous fight. Their dad had died and all Anne could think about was who would get the house? The house didn’t matter. Nothing mattered.
Notice that those last few sentences are essentially what Mable is thinking and feeling—we have a direct line to her, we are in that blanket burrow with her. This is third-person limited (dipping into deep third with those direct thoughts). We’re getting some additional details around a fight that, most likely, we did witness before this scene, but now she’s in the reflection phase where she’s feeling everything. This deeper POV connection to the character pulls a reader closer to what’s happening.
Great! So let’s bring in Jonah.
Mable burrowed into her bed. She could stay here, never deal with the outside again, never face her sister again. What a ridiculous fight. Their dad had died and all Anne could think about was who would get the house? The house didn’t matter. Nothing mattered.
The door to the living room gave a gentle squeal as Jonah let himself into Mable’s apartment. Damn, those hinges really needed some WD-40—how was a guy supposed to surprise someone with that kind of noise? He made a note to himself to bring some over later.
And with that we’ve swiveled from being in Mable’s POV/perspective to Jonah’s.
This is what I tend to see when writers tell me they are going for an omniscient POV. Rather than actual omniscience, they’ve become adjusted to third-person limited and think that omniscience is achieved by pivoting from perspective to perspective within a scene. To the reader, though, it’s a jolt and can—with too much going on—become confusing.
Revising to remove head-hopping
Here’s how I’d revise that scene to still give us the details, but stay with Mable rather than jumping:
Mable burrowed into her bed. She could stay here, never deal with the outside again, never face her sister again. What a ridiculous fight. Their dad had died and all Anne could think about was who would get the house? The house didn’t matter. Nothing mattered.
The door to the living room gave a gentle squeal, and Mable heard a soft, “Shit.” Jonah must have let himself in. He would be muttering to himself about WD-40 again—he made the same note every time and never remembered to bring some.
Mable sighed. She had given him that key for emergencies. Was this an emergency? Hardly.
Can you read the difference? The changes are small and the line may seem blurry, but it’s there.