Novels aren't movies, which unless they resort to clunky exposition in dialogue, are more or less all show. But novels can use allusion and metaphor, condense time and action, generalise, describe internal psychological states. And too often, in a novel, showing takes longer than telling. 'She was afraid' is better than 'She clasped her hands tightly together to stop them shaking.' Neither are especially satisfactory, but at least the first is short and to the point. (Of course, evoking the psychological state without resorting to physical symptoms is better still.) Which isn't to say that there's anything wrong with dramatisation, or the vivid illustrative action. A narrative that explains everything leaves no room for the reader; it would be as tedious as a story in which every action is described, moment by moment. And it's important to keep the character in focus, to see and feel a scene through her eyes, her reactions.
Something I'm reminding myself page by page, paragraph by paragraph, as I press on with the final draft of Evening's Empires. Here, for instance, is a pretty bad bit of tell not show:
Tamonash Pilot, Hari’s uncle, his father’s younger brother, was about the same age now as Aakash had been when he’d passed over. A stocky old man with a hawkish profile and bristling white eyebrows, dressed in simple black coveralls, so closely resembling Aakash that it was a shock to see him waiting in the bustle and flow of the elevator terminal.There are all kinds of things wrong with this, but what's especially wrong is that I'm not only telling myself what's happening, using information the protagonist doesn't yet know, but I'm telling it back to front. My first drafts are, shamefully, littered with place-holders like this. This is closer to a final version:
When he followed Bo out of the booming elevator from the docks, Hari saw his father standing in the bustle and flow of the dispersing passengers. A stocky old man with the familiar hawkish profile and bristling white eyebrows, but clean-shaven, dressed in black coveralls. Smiling now, holding out his hands, saying, ‘Gajananvihari! Nephew! How good it is to meet you at last! I am Tamonash. Welcome to Down Town. Welcome to Ophir.’Followed by a chunk of exposition that gets past the whole awkward and overly-familiar getting-to-know-you scene as quickly as possible. I guess the main rule is, whatever works.