Rachael Eyre's Blog - Posts Tagged "characters"
Writing Monsters
Most Shakespeare tragedies. Paradise Lost. A Clockwork Orange. House of Cards.
What do the above works have in common?
They feature a protagonist who is thoroughly reprehensible - yet, since they're the focalising character, we're forced to view events from their perspective. We watch Iago gleefully wreck a marriage and egg on Urquhart / Underwood as he schemes into the corridors of power. A certain school of thought claims that by letting ourselves be deceived by Milton's Satan, only to be gradually disillusioned, we're enacting the Fall ourselves.
Employed well, it's a fantastic device, making for an unforgettable (albeit twisted) story. It isn't to everybody's taste, however. Some readers won't thank you for sharing the thoughts of a psychopath and may complain even when you gave them ample warning.
Today I'm going to look at one of the most controversial leads in fiction, Lolita's Humbert Humbert, and how he influenced the writing of my own monstrous protagonist, Miss Benson.
An enchanted hunter?
Lolita is simultaneously one of the most lauded and vilified novels of the last century. On discovering its plot - pedophile abducts and terrorises his orphaned stepdaughter - many declare they'll never read it. Thanks to the Kubrick film, it's filtered into popular consciousness as a teen sex pot seducing a hapless academic. Even a chunk of readers interpret it this way. This is how Humbert presents it, and who's going to doubt the word of a serial sex offender on trial for murder? Of course he'll be scrupulously honest.
Read carefully, Lolita is actually the story of a pathetic, deluded man in love with his own lies. Nabokov lampoons him mercilessly, whether through his own narration, where he's ludicrously vain and pretentious (he describes himself as a "big hunk of movieland manhood" and uses such risible gems as "the vortex of the toilet" or "the sceptre of my passion") or through tactless, down to earth Lo, who's stuck listening to his drivel ("Speak English!") This is a man who blanches at slang, swearing and anything else he deems vulgar, but thinks it's acceptable to prey upon children. He defends his behaviour by claiming there's a rare breed of demoniac girls he calls nymphets, who have knowledge and guile beyond their years, yet manages to find one wherever he goes.
Bizarrely, some readers take him at face value. They only see the suave, erudite surface, and agree with him that because Lolita has lost her virginity to an older boy, she has no innocence to protect. (How do we know this isn't one of Humbert's face saving lies? He planned to ravish her before he knew this). They prefer to recast it as an unorthodox love story, with Lo the knowing minx and Humbert her bedazzled slave.
Perhaps it's because of the inclusion of Quilty, Humbert's rival, who's far closer to the image of a "real" pedophile. Quilty's tendencies are an open secret but he's protected by his status as a famous playwright; he's bombastic, unalluring and sports a sinister moustache. Chuck into the mix Gaston Godin, a lonely old professor with a yen for young boys, and you realise what Humbert's up to. Since he isn't a sleazy crook like the one or a sad sack like the other, he can't possibly be a congenital pervert.
Write your own monster
I first borrowed Lolita aged sixteen (cue splutters from the librarian, scandalised family friends etc.) Though much of it went over my head - and likely always will - I was fascinated by its depiction of a deranged criminal with zero self awareness, and filed it away for future use. I went on to uni, studied creative writing. Although I had various projects on the go, the time was never right for a Humbertian figure. There was only one condition: she had to be female. Evil women are woefully underrepresented in fiction, possibly because they're taken as an attack on the sex when they do appear. (Saying more about the misogyny of critics, surely).
I was rummaging through my old papers, trying to kickstart a new story, when I came across a poem I'd written called Miss Amy. A morality piece about an aristocrat racking up dead lovers, it's narrated by a judgemental servant - but who was this unknown woman, and what was her relationship to Amy?
Suddenly Benny materialised: the ghastly, egocentric female Humbert I'd been brewing for years. Like him, she professes to be in love but has no understanding of or interest in her beloved; like him, she sneers down her nose at everybody else despite her inferior rank and moral turpitude. It was so liberating debunking all those hoary old governess stories! Don't tell me that The Sound of Music wouldn't be greatly improved by intrigue and sapphic shenanigans.
I lightly pencilled in a backstory - a cruel and neglectful mother, a dalliance with a teacher - but that doesn't really matter. Sociopaths have no conscience so they have no memory. Benny begins when the story proper begins: when she claps eyes on Amy and falls head first into obsession.
What do the above works have in common?
They feature a protagonist who is thoroughly reprehensible - yet, since they're the focalising character, we're forced to view events from their perspective. We watch Iago gleefully wreck a marriage and egg on Urquhart / Underwood as he schemes into the corridors of power. A certain school of thought claims that by letting ourselves be deceived by Milton's Satan, only to be gradually disillusioned, we're enacting the Fall ourselves.
Employed well, it's a fantastic device, making for an unforgettable (albeit twisted) story. It isn't to everybody's taste, however. Some readers won't thank you for sharing the thoughts of a psychopath and may complain even when you gave them ample warning.
Today I'm going to look at one of the most controversial leads in fiction, Lolita's Humbert Humbert, and how he influenced the writing of my own monstrous protagonist, Miss Benson.
An enchanted hunter?
Lolita is simultaneously one of the most lauded and vilified novels of the last century. On discovering its plot - pedophile abducts and terrorises his orphaned stepdaughter - many declare they'll never read it. Thanks to the Kubrick film, it's filtered into popular consciousness as a teen sex pot seducing a hapless academic. Even a chunk of readers interpret it this way. This is how Humbert presents it, and who's going to doubt the word of a serial sex offender on trial for murder? Of course he'll be scrupulously honest.
Read carefully, Lolita is actually the story of a pathetic, deluded man in love with his own lies. Nabokov lampoons him mercilessly, whether through his own narration, where he's ludicrously vain and pretentious (he describes himself as a "big hunk of movieland manhood" and uses such risible gems as "the vortex of the toilet" or "the sceptre of my passion") or through tactless, down to earth Lo, who's stuck listening to his drivel ("Speak English!") This is a man who blanches at slang, swearing and anything else he deems vulgar, but thinks it's acceptable to prey upon children. He defends his behaviour by claiming there's a rare breed of demoniac girls he calls nymphets, who have knowledge and guile beyond their years, yet manages to find one wherever he goes.
Bizarrely, some readers take him at face value. They only see the suave, erudite surface, and agree with him that because Lolita has lost her virginity to an older boy, she has no innocence to protect. (How do we know this isn't one of Humbert's face saving lies? He planned to ravish her before he knew this). They prefer to recast it as an unorthodox love story, with Lo the knowing minx and Humbert her bedazzled slave.
Perhaps it's because of the inclusion of Quilty, Humbert's rival, who's far closer to the image of a "real" pedophile. Quilty's tendencies are an open secret but he's protected by his status as a famous playwright; he's bombastic, unalluring and sports a sinister moustache. Chuck into the mix Gaston Godin, a lonely old professor with a yen for young boys, and you realise what Humbert's up to. Since he isn't a sleazy crook like the one or a sad sack like the other, he can't possibly be a congenital pervert.
Write your own monster
I first borrowed Lolita aged sixteen (cue splutters from the librarian, scandalised family friends etc.) Though much of it went over my head - and likely always will - I was fascinated by its depiction of a deranged criminal with zero self awareness, and filed it away for future use. I went on to uni, studied creative writing. Although I had various projects on the go, the time was never right for a Humbertian figure. There was only one condition: she had to be female. Evil women are woefully underrepresented in fiction, possibly because they're taken as an attack on the sex when they do appear. (Saying more about the misogyny of critics, surely).
I was rummaging through my old papers, trying to kickstart a new story, when I came across a poem I'd written called Miss Amy. A morality piece about an aristocrat racking up dead lovers, it's narrated by a judgemental servant - but who was this unknown woman, and what was her relationship to Amy?
Suddenly Benny materialised: the ghastly, egocentric female Humbert I'd been brewing for years. Like him, she professes to be in love but has no understanding of or interest in her beloved; like him, she sneers down her nose at everybody else despite her inferior rank and moral turpitude. It was so liberating debunking all those hoary old governess stories! Don't tell me that The Sound of Music wouldn't be greatly improved by intrigue and sapphic shenanigans.
I lightly pencilled in a backstory - a cruel and neglectful mother, a dalliance with a teacher - but that doesn't really matter. Sociopaths have no conscience so they have no memory. Benny begins when the story proper begins: when she claps eyes on Amy and falls head first into obsession.
Not All Antagonists are Mwahahaha
Thanks to a diet of Saturday morning cartoons, we know how to spot a villain. The men tend to be massive and moustachioed, garbed in the colours of hellfire, either with a dodgy doctorate or morally bankrupt corporation. (Donald Trump would fit right in). The women are often slinky vamps, fixated with a cause; think of the ladies of Batman. Animal rights, the environment and ... being a groupie? This activism is frequently forgotten when she meets A Man - sexist stereotyping at its most odious. I prefer scenarios where she hooks up with another villain and they become a force to be reckoned with.
This is all very well for children's stories, where everyone's written to a formula, but what about fiction for adults? Looking around, it's barely more sophisticated. Authors seem unable to believe that anyone ugly could be good or devotion to a cause could be anything other than sinister. They may provide back story - a lifetime of ill treatment has made the character bitter and twisted, they're continuing the fight of their late spouse - but these are incidental. We end up with the same crude archetypes: boring obligatory serial killer, man eater who tries to beguile the hero etc. It can make reading fiction a wearing experience: this guy again?
People don't have nemeses in real life. You may think your boss is out to get you, but the likelihood is she isn't plotting some diabolical scheme. She's counting down to retirement, just like everyone else. The same goes for the brother in law who tries to outdo you at every opportunity. In all probability he doesn't know he's being a dick.
This realisation results in far more realistic and original antagonists. Perhaps the word itself is to blame: while "antagonistic" suggests someone hostile and horrible, all it means is someone who gets in the protagonist's way. In classic comic strip Calvin and Hobbes, the designated antagonists are Calvin's mum and dad - not because they're cruel or bad parents, but they're trying to put their bratty little son to bed or give him a bath.
An interesting variation is when the protagonist is the unreasonable one. As a child, you support Kitty's campaign against her mum's new boyfriend in Goggle Eyes. As an adult you realise poor, beleaguered Gerald has only two faults: he's an old fashioned Tory and he isn't Kitty's father. He has our sympathy.
Sitcoms are the best at these non threatening antagonists. In Blackadder Goes Forth, Blackadder despises Darling, the General's sycophantic aide. He's oblivious to what's all too apparent to the viewer: he and Darling are strikingly similar, with exactly the same goals. When Darling is sent to the front, their enmity ends. All Blackadder sees is a terrified man who doesn't want to die.
Most sitcoms don't have such high stakes. More usual are the likes of Gus, the vacuous and profoundly useless boss in Drop the Dead Donkey, or Dwayne Benzie, the smarmy city boy who steals Tim's girlfriend in Spaced. (Though in a typically surreal move, actor Peter Serafinowicz recycles his Darth Maul voice). You can almost see the writers filing through their memory for every jerk they've known. The Red Dwarf creators always maintained weaselly, neurotic Rimmer was drawn from life, begging the question: does the original recognise himself?
After writing dastardly antagonists in The Governess and The Revenge of Rose Grubb, I thought I'd take it down a notch for Love and Robotics. Yes, there's Nick, the mad scientist turned cult leader, but he isn't the primary obstacle to Josh and Alfred's happiness. People sometimes do more harm from love than hate, so I gave them both a meddling loved one: Dr Sugar for Josh, Gwyn for Alfred.
Of the two, Sugar is indubitably the more sympathetic. All his actions stem from his paternal love for Josh - and when he realises he was wrong, he's desperate to make amends. Gwyn by contrast is sulky and immature, resenting the new man in her uncle's life. She inflicts more damage on the budding romance than any bad guy with a vendetta. You can choose your foes but not your family, unfortunately!
This is all very well for children's stories, where everyone's written to a formula, but what about fiction for adults? Looking around, it's barely more sophisticated. Authors seem unable to believe that anyone ugly could be good or devotion to a cause could be anything other than sinister. They may provide back story - a lifetime of ill treatment has made the character bitter and twisted, they're continuing the fight of their late spouse - but these are incidental. We end up with the same crude archetypes: boring obligatory serial killer, man eater who tries to beguile the hero etc. It can make reading fiction a wearing experience: this guy again?
People don't have nemeses in real life. You may think your boss is out to get you, but the likelihood is she isn't plotting some diabolical scheme. She's counting down to retirement, just like everyone else. The same goes for the brother in law who tries to outdo you at every opportunity. In all probability he doesn't know he's being a dick.
This realisation results in far more realistic and original antagonists. Perhaps the word itself is to blame: while "antagonistic" suggests someone hostile and horrible, all it means is someone who gets in the protagonist's way. In classic comic strip Calvin and Hobbes, the designated antagonists are Calvin's mum and dad - not because they're cruel or bad parents, but they're trying to put their bratty little son to bed or give him a bath.
An interesting variation is when the protagonist is the unreasonable one. As a child, you support Kitty's campaign against her mum's new boyfriend in Goggle Eyes. As an adult you realise poor, beleaguered Gerald has only two faults: he's an old fashioned Tory and he isn't Kitty's father. He has our sympathy.
Sitcoms are the best at these non threatening antagonists. In Blackadder Goes Forth, Blackadder despises Darling, the General's sycophantic aide. He's oblivious to what's all too apparent to the viewer: he and Darling are strikingly similar, with exactly the same goals. When Darling is sent to the front, their enmity ends. All Blackadder sees is a terrified man who doesn't want to die.
Most sitcoms don't have such high stakes. More usual are the likes of Gus, the vacuous and profoundly useless boss in Drop the Dead Donkey, or Dwayne Benzie, the smarmy city boy who steals Tim's girlfriend in Spaced. (Though in a typically surreal move, actor Peter Serafinowicz recycles his Darth Maul voice). You can almost see the writers filing through their memory for every jerk they've known. The Red Dwarf creators always maintained weaselly, neurotic Rimmer was drawn from life, begging the question: does the original recognise himself?
After writing dastardly antagonists in The Governess and The Revenge of Rose Grubb, I thought I'd take it down a notch for Love and Robotics. Yes, there's Nick, the mad scientist turned cult leader, but he isn't the primary obstacle to Josh and Alfred's happiness. People sometimes do more harm from love than hate, so I gave them both a meddling loved one: Dr Sugar for Josh, Gwyn for Alfred.
Of the two, Sugar is indubitably the more sympathetic. All his actions stem from his paternal love for Josh - and when he realises he was wrong, he's desperate to make amends. Gwyn by contrast is sulky and immature, resenting the new man in her uncle's life. She inflicts more damage on the budding romance than any bad guy with a vendetta. You can choose your foes but not your family, unfortunately!
Character Interviews: An Interview with Alfred Wilding (Love and Robotics)
Douglas Schwartz of the Support for Indie Authors group had this recent brainwave: to run a series of interviews with fictional characters from indie novels on his blog.
It's a smashing idea. Not only is it a great writing exercise, allowing an author to fully inhabit their character, it lets readers find out what that character's about and whether they'd like to spend a book in their company.
Here is an interview with Alfred Wilding, Lord Langton from Love and Robotics. Quite a coup, considering his antipathy to all forms of media!
http://pegamoose-g.livejournal.com/97...
It's a smashing idea. Not only is it a great writing exercise, allowing an author to fully inhabit their character, it lets readers find out what that character's about and whether they'd like to spend a book in their company.
Here is an interview with Alfred Wilding, Lord Langton from Love and Robotics. Quite a coup, considering his antipathy to all forms of media!
http://pegamoose-g.livejournal.com/97...
