Part 3 (1/2)
n.o.body believes for a second that Laverne weighed four thousand pounds. In speech we hear it said about an object that ”it weighed a ton.” We exaggerate constantly. It's a way of communicating quickly, and often effectively.
Comparison to a known quant.i.ty or quality is sometimes a useful form of exaggeration: Archie was Wilt Chamberlain tall.
Bruce wafted me around that dance floor. If I'd shut my eyes, he could have been Fred Astaire.
Exaggeration can be especially useful when dealing with children. Here's Nanci Kincaid again: The worst thing about George, though, worse than his nasty mouth, full of missing and broken teeth, worse than his fleas and sore spots, was the fact that he was missing one eyeball. He had an empty hole in his head. You could poke your finger in there and he wouldn't even twitch.
Reproving someone who is late, a layman might write, ”I've been waiting a long time for you.” That doesn't characterize either the speaker or the latecomer. ”I've been waiting forever for you” is an exaggeration-and also a cliche. It doesn't characterize. Here's how an experienced writer, Rita Mae Brown, did it in her novel High Hearts: ”Girl, my fingernails could grow an inch just waiting for you.”
In The Best Revenge I needed to introduce a character who would prove to be influential, a tough lawyer named Bert Rivers, who is short and bald. If he was described as short and bald, that would be a movie-house ticket taker's description. Nick Manucci, in the company of his lawyer, Dino, sees his opponent's lawyer for the first time, and says: ”This distributor has a lawyer so short you wouldn't be able to see him if he sat behind a desk. And he's Yul Brynner bald. But when he shakes your hand you know this dude could squeeze an apple into apple juice. Every time Dino opens his mouth, this lawyer p.i.s.ses into it.”
That's not the author talking, it's a character talking, and therefore an acceptable exaggeration. It also characterizes the speaker.
Can you characterize more than one person at a time? Of course you can. You characterize the speaker as well as the person spoken about. A novice writing what first comes to mind might write, ”My father is a pompous judge.” That's telling the reader, not showing him. Here's the way it was done in the voice of a character named Jane Riller in The Best Revenge:.
My father is still living, but less and less. Judge James Charles Endicott Jackson, his ”appellations” as he called his full name, that tall, lean, hollow-cheeked man who had made such a religion of the law, preached from the head of our dining-room table each evening of my young life.
A character would not likely say, ”My mother always gave in to my father.” That's telling the reader. Here's how Jane Riller says it: When they stood next to their car at the bus station, for a moment I thought my mother was going to leave the Judge's side long enough to come forward and say a few words more than good-bye. But it was only the wind ruffling her dress, not a movement of her body that I saw. I admired her as one would a pioneer farm woman, someone who had lived a life no longer possible. What great and unacknowledged actresses the women of my mother's background were; to avoid shattering the fragile innocence of their spouses, some of them simulated not only their o.r.g.a.s.ms but their entire lives.
Jane's snapshot of her mother also characterizes Jane. It shows what she, as a young woman, rebelled against. She wanted to go out into the world where you could experience everything. Note that the paragraph starts with a visual image-the parents standing next to their car at the bus station-and ends with the character's conclusion. Had the order been reversed, the effect would be lessened. Also note that Jane is characterizing not only her mother but a whole cla.s.s of people.
Can characterizing a whole cla.s.s of people be done by a beginning writer? Here's another example from Nanci Kincaid's first novel to demonstrate that it doesn't take decades of experience to use the techniques that writers have developed over centuries: Migrant kids know they are white trash, so they never speak a single word the whole two weeks they come to school. The rich kids will not sit by them at lunch. They invite each other to birthday parties held at the swimming pools in their backyards. The rich daddies usually go into politics. They slowly get bald and fat and buy up everything for miles around. When the legislature is in session Tallaha.s.see swarms with them. Mother says half of them have girlfriends put up at the Howard Johnson's.
Is it possible to characterize with a single word? In a work in progress, I wanted to reintroduce two characters who've been in several of my books, the lawyer George Thoma.s.sy, and Gunther Koch, a sixty-year-old Viennese psychiatrist. Dr. Koch is lecturing Thoma.s.sy, a successful trial lawyer, about how to detect jurors who might disadvantage Thoma.s.sy's case. The lawyer reacts to being lectured: Thoma.s.sy didn't take this kind of s.h.i.+t from a judge, why the h.e.l.l should he take it from this accent.
The word ”accent” characterizes not Koch but the speaker Thoma.s.sy. He deprecates Dr. Koch because he doesn't like being lectured. The trace of prejudice against foreigners is especially meaningful because Thoma.s.sy has tried hard to repress his own immigrant background.
If there is a common error among inexperienced writers, it's that they say too much, they try to characterize with an excess of detail instead of trying to find the word or phrase that characterizes best.
The words you select depend on the circ.u.mstances under which you introduce the character. For instance, when we first see a character at any distance, physical size makes an instant impression. If we are seeing a character at closer range, we often notice the eyes first. What inexperienced writers often do is give us the color or shape of eyes. That's not as effective as conveying how the character uses his eyes. If on meeting a person he averts his eyes, it usually connotes something negative. Good eye contact is usually perceived as positive. Unrelenting eye contact can be negative to a shy or withdrawn character: I couldn't make eye contact with her. She was looking for invisible spots on the wall.
She said, ”I don't love you anymore,” but her eyes belied her words.
She didn't answer me. She just continued to glare as if her eyes said it all.
Another error of inexperienced writers-or journalists in a hurry-is to confine characterization to the obvious physical attributes. For females, facial features, b.r.e.a.s.t.s, hips, b.u.t.tocks, legs. For males, broad shoulders, strong arms, chiseled features, and so on. That's top-of-the-head, thoughtless writing. Such cliches are common in speech. We expect better of our writers.
Instead of cliched attributes, consider using physical characteristics that relate to your story. For example, if you are writing a love story between a woman and a man, consider the belief of some psychologists that a woman's most prominent s.e.xual characteristic is her hair. (If that surprises you, imagine a woman you think attractive as bald. Would she still be s.e.xually appealing?) The same psychologists hold that the most important s.e.xual characteristic of a man is his voice (And if that surprises you, think of a man you believe to be attractive and imagine him with a squeaky, high-pitched voice. Would he still be s.e.xually appealing?) If you want to convey an antis.e.xual attribute to your reader, consider the characteristics of hair and voice in a negative way.
There are at least five different ways to characterize: 1. Through physical attributes.
2. With clothing or the manner of wearing clothing.
3. Through psychological attributes and mannerisms, 4. Through actions.
5. In dialogue.
You'll want to avoid generalizations or similes that have been overused, such as ”She shuffled like a bag lady” or ”She carried herself like a queen.” One of my students described a character this way: ”George was a big fellow.” That pa.s.ses on information, but evokes nothing. The student was encouraged to think how he might revise his material to stir a feeling in the reader. This is what he did: When George came your way, you thought you were being run down by a truck.
We know immediately that George is a big fellow, but more important we feel his size as threatening. The writer has characterized by an action, which is far more effective than characterizing by description.
Characterization should be kept visual whenever possible: ”He walked against an unseen wind” is visual. Opportunities are available in a character's gait, posture, demeanor, and other physical behavior. For instance, there are a lot of ways that a character can get across a room. Walking is the easy, lazy answer. The writer's aim should be to pick a way that both characterizes and helps the story.
Think of the many ways a character can walk. She can promenade, take a leisurely walk, stroll. She can amble, which means to move easily, to saunter. She can wander aimlessly.
You can pick up the pace, and have a character hasten, scurry, scoot, rush, dash, dart, bolt, spring, run, or race. Each of these words harbors a nuance that can help both to characterize and to convey a visual image. You can even use a metaphor effectively, as in ”She flew to the store to get there before it closed.”
A writer who always has his characters ”walk” is missing opportunities. Variants on walking should be used with caution, however. Their overuse annoys readers. In considering the possible variations for walking, you have been doing what writers should do every day-reflect on the meanings of individual words.
It is also possible to characterize by going into great detail about how a particular character walks. Witness the following from a John Updike story: She didn't look around, not this queen, she just walked straight on slowly, on these long white primadonna legs. She came down a little hard on her heels, as if she didn't walk in bare feet that much, putting down her heels and then letting the weight move along her toes as if she was testing the floor with every step, putting a little deliberate extra action into it.
One author whose work I edited found a way to walk his character straight to bestsellerdom. The story hinged on the relations.h.i.+p of a husband to his wife and his mistress. The novel wasn't working because the husband and wife were characterized successfully, but the mistress seemed to be all s.e.x, a one-note characterization that failed to make her come alive. A triangle doesn't work unless all three partic.i.p.ants are characterized fully.
I asked the author to describe how the mistress would walk across the room. He said he saw her walking across the room like a young lion-a male simile that opened up a new way of characterizing the mistress. Male traits were then used to describe her elsewhere in the book. It made her come alive, which in turn made the relations.h.i.+p credible. The book went on to become the number-one bestseller for thirty-seven consecutive weeks. One can describe a way of moving that gives us a sense of personality: Henry moved through the crowd as if he were a basketball player determined to bounce his way to the basket.
The character needn't be in motion. Posture can provide personality: He had the bearing of a man who had been a soldier a long time ago.
Physical behavior can give the reader a sense of personality: tapping a finger, pointing with eyegla.s.ses, snickering, laughing, clapping hands wildly.
A broad range of psychological attributes is available to the writer. Let's look at one that can create a dramatic effect: He said nothing.
I demanded an answer and he just stood there. ”Say something,” I said. His silence was like a brick wall between us. ”Come on! Speak!”
That's an example of someone who gets his way by refusing to do something. Psychological attributes can be much more direct: She bombarded them with questions nonstop as if their answers were irrelevant.
Calvin's glazed expression said, ”I'm not paying attention. I'm listening to the music in my head.”
She was only nine years old, but she could look directly into your soul as if in a previous life she had been a Grand Inquisitor and your lies were condemning you.
Characterizing through psychological attributes can be rewarding because they often connect to the story: He dealt with his friends as if they were employees. He talked and they listened.
If you got in a car with her you'd find that her sentences were at least ten miles long.
At a party he'd come on to a woman-any woman-as if she were the only woman in the room.
Physical and psychological attributes can also be combined for purposes of characterization: As he moved slowly across the room, age and arthritis made him seem brittle, but when he spoke- anywhere about anything-people stopped to listen as if Moses had come down with new commandments.
If you develop a characteristic that's especially pertinent to your character, or original, it's a good idea to use it on the character's first appearance, to ”set” the character. For instance, if you now know that your character will first be seen walking, then gait is a characteristic that should appear right away. If the character is the kind who always interrupts other people in conversation, you might consider introducing that character as he or she interrupts. For instance: George and Mary were at the kitchen table, debating how to handle their misbehaving teenager when Alma walked in and said, ”I don't know how you people can just sit there talking instead of getting off your b.u.t.ts and giving that child of yours a lesson with the back of your hand.”
There are many ways in which characterization can go wrong in the hands of a less experienced writer, but two stand out because they are so common in rejected fiction. There is the protagonist with a weak will, and the villain who is merely badly behaved.
First, consider the ”hero” who is not heroic, who lacks drive, a will to attain his objective. Let's face it, readers aren't interested in wimps. They are interested in a.s.sertive characters who want something, want it badly, and want it now.
Test yourself. Would you want to spend ten or twelve hours with a wimpish character who is weak and ineffectual? Don't ask the reader to. A wimp in life is a social bore. A wimp in fiction is an obstacle to reader enjoyment.
I have talked to writers whose problems with wimpish characters in their work had a direct link to their own lives. There are children who, damaged by authority, become fighters against authority. There are also people who, damaged by authority in childhood, become relatively pa.s.sive adults as a means of camouflaging their aggression and anger to save their hearts and lives. Camouflaged anger is useful in stories, but it is the final unleas.h.i.+ng of the anger that attracts readers most.
In working with such writers, or with shy writers who produce shy heroes, I have found a way, once they understand the inhospitality of fiction to pa.s.sivity, to help them get rid of a wimpish protagonist who is de-energizing their fiction. I ask the writer to imagine that he is in his study with the door closed. A person outside wants to come in. The writer orders the intruder to stay out. I ask the writer to imagine a second person outside his door who says to the first, ”Get out of my way,” then comes into the writer's study without asking. The writer starts to object and this second intruder says, ”You shut up and listen for a change!”
That second person is the writer's replacement for the wimp. That's his new protagonist. I urge the writer to listen to the character, rude as he is, and then compose a letter from that new non-wimp character to the writer that is a.s.sertive, candid, and at least a touch eccentric.