Learning from James

P.D. James’s “The Victim” (1973) tells the story of a man whose wife leaves him to wed someone else. Here are some of the first husband’s thoughts, early in the story:

Why, I still wonder, did he want to marry her? I thought at the time that he couldn’t resist depriving a pathetic, underprivileged, unattractive husband of a prize which neither looks nor talent had qualified him to deserve. I’ve noticed that about the rich and successful. They can’t bear to see the undeserving prosper. I thought that half the satisfaction for him was in taking her away from me. That was partly why I knew that I had to kill him. But now I’m not so sure. I may have done him an injustice. It may have been both simpler and more complicated than that. She was, you see—she still is—so very beautiful.

This paragraph is an example of a character’s metacognition. A character’s thoughts and then their reconsideration of those thoughts characterize not only in the way any thoughts would, but the reassessment shows readers another facet of the character. The paragraph shows readers two sides because it shows the character’s past thoughts and their present thinking about those thoughts. Characters who reveal change in themselves to readers are rounder than characters who do not.

The key sentences that make this possible in James’s paragraph are “That was partly why I knew that I had to kill him. But now I’m not so sure.” Similar constructions might include, “I still wonder, though I thought at the time,” “Once I felt ______, but now _______,” or thousands of other options.

In a paragraph, we might show a character rethinking earlier thoughts and reconsidering earlier events and feelings to round them.

Additionally, it is possible to borrow from film or drama: create another character to hear the confession or reassessment. This second character must exist for several reasons; hearing the confession alone is not enough. At least, consider how this second character reacts to the reassessment. How might that reaction characterize both the confider and the one confided in? What actions or plot results?

Learning from Moore

Here are two paragraphs from Liz Moore’s God of the Woods:

She saw everything. She sat on the edge of the stage that overlooked the community room, watching her campers in all of their triumphs and failures, the ones having genuine fun, the ones pretending to have it.

If she believed in a God, it was in one who functioned something like Louise in this moment: rooting for her charges from afar, mourning alongside them when they were rejected, celebrating every small victory that came their way. She noticed the lonely ones, the ones at the edge of the crowd; she felt in her heart a sort of wild affection for them, wanted to go to them, to stand next to them and pull them tightly to her side; and yet she also knew that to intervene in this way would disrupt something sacred that—at twelve and thirteen and fourteen years old—they were learning about themselves and the world. And this, too, was how she thought of God.

Consider characterization by thoughts about the divine. Characters might not believe at all or might not believe as aggressively and fervently as the most devout evangelists or believe to various changing degrees. What characters consider divine (their money, spouse, time with their phone or family, God) reveals them to readers as well. Does what characters consider divine put them at odds with some of the other characters around them? Does it make them a member of a community or organization? How do they feel about that membership? How do people important to them feel about it? If you’re writing literary realism, is there a faith tradition you want to mention specifically? If you’re writing fantasy, do you need to invent a pantheon? How might meeting aliens change your characters ideas about all of this? What other life events might strengthen or weaken a character’s resolve, whatever their position?

Moore’s paragraphs above quickly show readers Louise’s view of the world, other characters in it, the setting, and a bit about her view of herself. That kind of quick characterization is valuable for writers.

Learning from Kushner

I enjoyed reading Creation Lake by Rachel Kushner. Like all good books, there is a lot that could be said about it. From sentence to sentence the writing seems strong to me. Here are two of the elements of craft of the many that stood out:

We read, “You simply don’t like her, I didn’t say.” Kushner directly states what her main character didn’t say, which lets readers know what the character knows and is considering but doesn’t do. It’s characterization by decision-making but decisions on paths not taken. Implying options the character has shares their world with readers. The economy of expression increases the tension at the sentence level as well.

I have tended to avoid spoilers, but describing the next technique without revealing interesting plot details is difficult. You might stop reading now, though I’ll keep things abstract. The main character is involved in spying for a mysterious organization. She provides reports and tries to influence the people she watches in minor ways. Tension increases for readers and the character when her assignment changes. The change means she is no longer employed to just deceive but to actually harm. It’s a simple and direct move by Kushner that grabbed me.

Learning from Törzs

I’m still reading ink blood sister scribe, but I recommend it. Emma Törzs is a very good writer. So, naturally, we want to read her for lessons on writing good fiction. Consider this paragraph:

Joanna covered her face with one hand, her back rising and falling, but her other hand reached out and found Esther’s. Despite her grief for her father, despite her exhaustion, despite everything, Esther felt a profound sense of . . . what was it? Something expansive and dizzying, like lying on her back under a night sky sky so filled with ancient stars that she felt the thinness of her own life like a flickering candle beneath them. Awe. That after ten years, Joanna was still her sister.
Emma Törzs, ink blood sister scribe

Even without context (I want to avoid spoiling it for you) there are things to learn. The first sentence is objective and cinematic. Even an objective, cinematic sentence can convey complicated emotions. It does so through specific visual details. Readers know Joanna is feeling something powerful without having access to her inner life. And this is consistent with the point of view of the chapter because that point of view has been a limited third-person close to Esther.

The next sentence reminds readers that we’re seeing Joanna’s reaction from within Esther’s world. The first phrase, from “despite” to “everything,” could describe both women, but “Esther felt” controls the point of view, transitioning back to Esther and reminds readers which character’s inner life we do have access to, at least for this chapter. Esther can’t quiet describe what she’s feeling, which characterizes her. The nature of the metaphor she uses to try and understand her emotions matches what readers already know about her. It seems to be the kind of metaphor Esther would reach for. It is also very different than the kind of metaphor her sister would use. So, the metaphor strengthens readers understanding of the character as the character begins to understand herself. Knowing Joanna wouldn’t use a similar metaphor characterizes her. The sisters are together in a complicated moment but haven’t disappeared. Each remains themselves.

I highly recommend ink blood sister scribe.