Posted: November 7, 2024

Unearthing Character

Of all the skills writers need most, creating authentic characters is probably the hardest to nail. Each character is unique, and the techniques you use to bring them to life are so complex and layered that it's nearly impossible to talk about them in general terms. I suspect that the writers who are best at it aren't even aware of how they do it. That's why they often talk about finding a character rather than creating one.

Not being able to break characterization down to teachable principles is a source of real frustration for those of us who teach writing and those of you trying to learn it. But there may be a way to spot and study clear examples of genuine, deep, authentic character and see -- or feel -- what they have in common.

I've written before about how you can break out of your own head by reading books from earlier eras. Everybody's thinking is shaped by unconscious cultural stuff that gets steeped into our heads from childhood. And that cultural baggage is where a lot of flat, lazy characterization comes from. You can never get rid of these cultural ruts entirely, but the more you can break out of them, the less likely you are to create characters who are much the same as each other and your readers. Meeting characters from the past gives you a better chance to create real individuals.

You can refine this technique further. When I read older books, every once in a while I hit a passage that strikes me with how modern it sounds. These passages can be as simple as an offhand observation or a line of dialogue. But these moments represent true, authentic character -- individuals with views on life that aren't simply a rehash of whatever's current in the culture at the moment.

One thing that ties a lot of these passages together is that they are based on close observation rather than lazy or blind assumption. Such as this passage that caught my eye in The Iliad (Robert Fagles' translation):

He tore that Argive rampart down with the same ease

some boy at the seashore knocks sand castles down --

he no sooner builds his playthings up, child's play,

than he wrecks them all with hands and kicking feet.

In the middle of an epic battle between warring bronze-age Greek city states, with the god Apollo stepping in, here was a glimpse of something I've seen in my quiet New England village. Homer had clearly watched boys building sandcastles and then knocking them down again for fun, and he gave his readers that description without embellishment. He realized they would immediately recognize it. And we still do, nearly three millennia later.

"I am heartily ashamed of myself, Lizzy. But don't despair, it'll pass; and no doubt more quickly than it should." Mr. Bennett, in Jane Austen's Pride and Prejudice.

This quip, too, involves some close observation -- Mr. Bennett clearly knows himself pretty well. But it also shows another sign of timeless character -- it comes to the surface most often in intimate, self-revealing moments. When you're talking in public, it's natural to conform to what the people around you expect from you -- to put on a public persona. Your authentic self tends to come out when you're with someone you can be yourself with. I suspect Mr. Bennett would never have made this delightful, self-deprecating observation if he were talking with Mr. Darcy or, quite possibly, Mrs. Bennett.

Sir,

The other Day entering a Room adorned with the Fair Sex, I offered, after the usual Manner, to each of them a Kiss; but one, more scornful than the rest, turned her Cheek. I did not think it proper to take any notice of it till I had asked your Advice. -- Letter to The Spectator, Jan. 11, 1712.

The Spectator replied:

The Correspondent is desir'd to say which Cheek the Offender turned to him.

One of the great joys of the enlightenment is the triumph of wit. Wit is short, pithy, and precise. It's also at its best when it trips up the kinds of cultural conventions (a man expecting kisses from random women, for instance) that make for flabby, uniform characters. It's hard to be witty without being individual and even counter-cultural. I've often been surprised when people who lived centuries before my time make arguments that still stand today. Like the argument against racial prejudice, from Stephen Fovargue's 1767 book A New Catalogue of Vulgar Errors, that ended with, "I must beg Leave to quit the Subject, till some one has convinced me, that a white Horse is better than a black one."

So how do you learn from these modern passages in antique books? I've tried to tease out a couple of general principles for where to find authenticity in your characters -- close observation, intimate situations, counter-cultural wit. But the things that make these passages feel authentic are idiosyncratic. In fact, they might not strike you in the same way they struck me. Because you can't create authentic individuals by following the rules.

But if you read older books, be alert for the passages that strike you as strangely modern, that you immediately connect with. When a character fifty, or a hundred, or five hundred years ago says something you can see yourself saying, you're in the presence of genuine, authentic character. Steep yourself in those moments, learn how they feel, and you may find it easier to create them yourself.