A few comments came in late on the last post, so you may want to check them out before or after you read this.<\/p>\n
On April 29, 2011, Jill wrote, Shakespeare would spell words differently or make up words to make his sentences sound “pretty” and Daphne du Maurier never said the name of the narrator in Rebecca<\/u>.
\n I have a story and I never want to describe her appearance because I want anyone to see themselves as her. With this and the other examples, do you like it or not? Who else did things like this?<\/i><\/p>\n
I don\u2019t know examples of works in which the main character isn\u2019t described although there may be many. In some genres – romance, for example – physical description is pretty much required. Mystery as well, I think.<\/p>\n
As a reader, I\u2019m not sure. I\u2019m reading a novel now, The Good Son<\/i> by Craig Nova (high school and above), which is told from alternating first-person POVs. I don\u2019t remember if one of the POV characters is described, but I\u2019ve fashioned a mental picture of him anyway. He\u2019s a he, obviously, and I still manage to identify with him. So far I find him the most sympathetic character in the book.<\/p>\n
Jill, I\u2019m not sure if you\u2019re making a distinction between identifying with a character and seeing oneself as that character. The first can happen, usually should happen, the second can\u2019t and probably shouldn\u2019t.<\/p>\n
One of my favorite books when I was growing up was Anne of Green Gables<\/i>, and one of my favorite moments was when Anne breaks her writing slate over Gilbert Blythe’s head . I identified totally with Anne, but in real life I never would have hit anyone\u2019s pate with anything, regardless of the provocation. My delight in Anne\u2019s defiant act was complete. She surprised me and I loved her for it, but I couldn\u2019t have seen myself as her.<\/p>\n
We go to books, in part, for alternatives to our narrow selves. After reading Anne of Green Gables<\/i>, even if I still couldn\u2019t avenge myself physically, maybe I could figure out a satisfying retort to an offense. At the least, I could take pleasure in imagining what Anne would have done.<\/p>\n
As we write, our characters make decisions. They can\u2019t be Everyman because each man acts differently. As a reader – and a writer – I slip inside selves other than my own. My characters behave differently from me.<\/p>\n
In most cases, I guess I\u2019d rather have physical description than not. We\u2019re physical beings and we form impressions of people, rightly or wrongly, based in part by looks. And other people respond to us on the same basis. I\u2019m very short, four-foot-ten-and-a-half, to be precise. This perspective affects me profoundly. My life probably would have been different, for better or worse, if I had seven more inches. I like being short, but I wouldn\u2019t pass up a chance to be tall for a day, just for the experience. When I make a character tall I have to think about that decision and be aware of it as I write.<\/p>\n
Long ago on the blog I mentioned a memoir, Autobiography of a Face<\/i> by Lucy Grealy (also high school and above), who had some sort of cancer as a child that left her face deformed. It\u2019s a book of suffering. Appearance, like it or not, is important.<\/p>\n
I read Autobiography of a Face<\/i> when I was preparing to write Fairest<\/i>, in which Aza, my heroine, is ugly. There would be no story without her ugliness. Still, readers identify with her, and we identify with Lucy Grealy, too. Appearance, no matter what it is, doesn\u2019t stop us from entering an emotionally appealing character.<\/p>\n
Contrariwise, in an early draft of A Tale of Two Castles<\/i> I gave Elodie a big nose. My editor asked me to take the nose out and I did. She felt it would be off-putting to the reader. And maybe she was right. Unlike Aza\u2019s ugliness in Fairest<\/i>, Elodie\u2019s nose had nothing to do with her story. Not, I hasten to say, that a big nose is ugly. It\u2019s a strong feature, which is what I wanted for Elodie.<\/p>\n
What I don\u2019t care for is a description of the main character that\u2019s plopped into a first chapter because the author feels it has to be there. So the main is made to look in a mirror. In first person she\u2019s forced to assess herself. In third, we\u2019re just told what she sees.<\/p>\n
I don\u2019t think there\u2019s a rush. You can get to it in a later chapter and wait for a spot where the description belongs. I\u2019m proud of the way I did it in A Tale of Two Castles<\/i>. Elodie is considering buying a cap from a mending mistress, who tells her ingratiatingly that she\u2019s pretty. And she thinks:<\/p>\n
I wished I could subtract her lie from the price of the cap. I wasn\u2019t pretty. My eyes were too big, my eyebrows too thick, my mouth too wide, my jaw too pronounced. But if you were in an audience, even standing behind the benches, far from the mansion stage, you would still be able to make out my features.<\/i><\/p>\n
That\u2019s it. I drop in a little earlier that she\u2019s tall for her age. We don\u2019t have to include a great deal of detail if the story doesn\u2019t call for it. In Fairest<\/i>, which does call for it, Aza\u2019s brother first calls attention to her looks by calling her ugly, and she often thinks about her appearance, so the reader can visualize her clearly and see her the way I want her to be seen. But in many stories, we can give a few hints and let the reader fill in the rest.<\/p>\n
In both examples from my books, a comment by another character introduces the description. You can use this technique too. For instance, Neil, not known for his tact, could tell Marisa she resembles a kindergartner’s stick figure drawing. Warren could pipe in, “Yeah, and your hair looks like you were electrocuted.” Kind Tomasina might say, “I wish I had curly hair, and I’d die for hazel eyes.” That’s probably enough.<\/p>\n
But there are other ways. In The Wish<\/i> the hook is simple. Wilma thinks about her name, describes herself in thoughts as looking like a Wilma, then goes on to explain what she means by that. In Fairies and the Quest for Never Land<\/i>, an old photograph leads into the description. You can use action. A character can be especially suited or not suited for an activity, like a sport or a role in a play, by virtue of his looks. <\/p>\n
As a reader, I rarely think about the main character\u2019s description once it\u2019s given. I\u2019m inside him, peering out, remembering how he looks only when the subject comes up in thoughts, action, or dialogue.<\/p>\n
A few prompts:<\/p>\n
\u2022 Look at a few of your favorite books and notice how the author handled introducing the main character\u2019s appearance and how detailed or sketchy these descriptions are. Then revisit some of your own old stories and think about how you did it. If you decide you might have been more inventive and you\u2019re in a revising mood, try a new way or more than one.<\/p>\n
\u2022 Leonard is at a Halloween party dressed in a spacesuit. Without removing a bit of his costume, find a way to describe him. Find another way. And another.<\/p>\n
\u2022 Carlie Werme, Tony Foote, and Blair Bratt are each teased unmercifully by their classmates about their names, and each responds differently to the teasing. Write a scene for each one, showing how he or she reacts. If you like, bring them together as an alliance and write what happens. Write the first meeting of their club and cause an argument to break out. Show how each one argues. Keep going. See what happens when they confront their tormentors as a group, but don\u2019t let their individuality get lost in their united front.<\/p>\n
Have fun and save what you write!<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
A few comments came in late on the last post, so you may want to check them out before or after you read this. On April 29, 2011, Jill wrote, Shakespeare would spell words differently or make up words to make his sentences sound “pretty” and Daphne du Maurier never said the name of the […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":[],"categories":[174],"tags":[],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/gailcarsonlevine.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/160"}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/gailcarsonlevine.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/gailcarsonlevine.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/gailcarsonlevine.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/gailcarsonlevine.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=160"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"https:\/\/gailcarsonlevine.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/160\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":438,"href":"https:\/\/gailcarsonlevine.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/160\/revisions\/438"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/gailcarsonlevine.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=160"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/gailcarsonlevine.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=160"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/gailcarsonlevine.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=160"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}