Rocket Scientist

I haven’t talked much about writing recently, largely because I’ve been doing a good bit of it, revising, actually, which is essential but nowhere near as fun as writing.  Meanwhile, like any other bibliophile, I’ve read a few books and it got me thinking about characterization.

I’ve said before (and I meant it) that characters are what draws me to a book and makes it rereadable.  The genre, setting, style and even plot play complete second fiddle to this ability to make characters come to life.  I also mentioned, using my beloved WALL-E as an example, that what brings an animated character to life on screen are the little mannerisms, the bits of easily overlooked humanity that breathe life into something lifeless.

This is no less true on paper.  And I thought I’d give you some examples.  I’m not going to even set these up because I think there’s a wealth of information available about these characters just from a few lines set deeply into a book.  See if you agree with me. 

The first is from a favorite of mine by Georgette Heyer, called These Old Shades.  I’m a huge Heyer fan and have collected many of her wonderful romances in hardback.  The fact that she died in 1974 and they are still reprinting her lighthearted sex-free romances (in hardback) should tell you something of their staying power and could even argue for their intelligence.  It didn’t hurt that they were also largely humorous.  I would also like to mention also my disgust with the covers on many of these historical works.  There were five covers to choose from on amazon.com and this was the only one that remotely seemed connected to the story.  Not one other one was of the right time period (two set in Regency times, one colonial and one - what?  Georgette Heyer was meticulous in her setting of the time) or reflected a scene (or character) from the book.

    “Nothing at all alarming, I assure you.  Dry your tears.”
Léon hunted through his various pockets.
“I–I have lost my handkerchief,” he apologized.
“Yes, you are very young, are you not?” commented his Grace.  “I suppose I must give you mine.”
Léon took the fine lace handkerchief which the Duke held out, wiped his eyes, blew his nose, and gave it back again.  The Duke received it gingerly, and eyed the crumpled ball through his quizzing glass.
“Thank you,” he said.  “You are nothing if not thorough.  I think you had better keep it now.”
Léon pocketed it cheerfully.
“Yes, Monseigneur,” he said.  “Now I am happy again.”

Would it surprise you to know that Léon, here the Grace’s page, was really a girl pretending to be a boy (once a common element of these types of romances but no longer in favor)?  And that she’s a love interest much younger than the Duke?  And mercurial of temper?  We have also learned about his Grace’s dry humor and imperious manner as well as his soft spot for a certain page…

Then there is Plan B by Sharon Lee and Steve Miller, this excerpt is not only from the middle of the book, but a book fourth (or sixth) in a series of 5-9 (depending on your point of view).  I cannot recommend the Liaden series too highly.

    As he came even with the situation board, jin’Bardi abruptly spun.  “I want my knife back.”
Nelirikk stopped.  “If the captain pleases,” he coached, “may I have my weapon.”
Miri stopped, feeling the weight of the thing in her hand, and something tickling on the edge of her mind.  The balance was good…
“You want this?” she snapped.
“Yes,” jin’Bardi snapped back and that quick the knife reversed itself and she threw.
The knife tumbled in the air, traveling fast, much too fast for jin’Bardi to have time to move.  The blade passed so close to his cheek it seemed to glide over the skin, then buried itself deep in the situation board, a lock of his hair pinned tight.
“Say ‘thank you, Captain,’” Nelirikk directed into the absolute stillness that followed the knife’s thunk, “‘for returning my weapon.’”
jin’Bardi licked his lips.  “Thank you, Captain,” he said faintly, “for returning my weapon.”

Nelirikk is the bone of contention, untrusted because he’s a recruit from “the enemy,” yet in a very short scene we have not only added immeasurably to Captain Miri’s kick-ass factor, we have justified her defense of Nelirikk, contrasted the lack of discipline between Nelirikk and jin’Bardi and, quite possibly, laughed in the bargain.  It should surprise no one that humor is a fine way to make a character seem real.

And now, from my latest nearly completed novel, Beast Within:

        She stood, moving something around in her cheek, and came forward, embracing his muzzle against her full breast.  Tears slipped down her brown cheek and stained small spots on her borrowed shirt.  “You would give up your family for me?”
I would give up my family for doing what is right.  My fondness for you is just a bonus.  Almost, Xander laughed.
She smiled, tears glistening, before she stepped back, spitting a green-black paste onto her fingertips.  “Here, taste this.”
Xander stared at the paste for maybe 30 seconds, than back into her face.  You’re not serious.
“Trust me.”

I know I’m dabbling here, in the company of masters, but it was important to me that the reaction seem natural, that the trust, however deep, not make someone into something they’re not.  Xander, though mature, is a teenage boy (who can transform into a dragon).  I wanted him to seem real.  Did I manage it?

Update:  I don’t know how to convince my post editor to put in indents on my paragraphs.  I welcome any insight

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