you a better picture of Thomas Wells?
Thomas Wells was a bitter man, an angry man, a bigot. He disliked anyone different from himself, and said so often. Nor did he care who heard him.
''Whole lot of 'em ought to be sent back where they come from,'' Wells said loudly in the Grain 'n Feed. ''Jews, Spics, niggers—just send 'em all back! Dirty bastards!'' Slowly, Saul Goldstein turned his head toward Wells.
The second version presents Wells more strongly, because it's more direct. Instead of the author labeling Wells a bigot, the character's words pin the label on himself.
Here is Muriel Spark's marvelous character, school teacher Jean Brodie (The Prime of Miss Jean Brodie), addressing her eleven-year-old pupils and revealing more about herself than she has any idea of:
''I have spent most of my holidays in Italy once more, and a week in London, and I have brought back a great many pictures which we can pin on the wall. Here is a Cimabue. Here is a larger formation of Mussolini's fascisti, it is a better view of them than last year's picture. They are doing splendid things as I shall tell you later. I went with my friends for an audience with the Pope. My friends kissed his ring but I thought it proper only to bend over it. I wore a long black gown with a lace mantilla and looked magnificent. In London my friends who are well-to-do—their small girl has two nurses, or nannies as they say in England— took me to visit A.A. Milne. In the hall was hung a reproduction of Boticelli's Primavera, which means the birth of Spring. I wore my silk dress with the large red poppies which is just right for my coloring. . . .''
Name-dropper, elitist, self-absorbed, more than a little silly . . . Jean Brodie's character is clearly revealed through her dialogue.
But, you may say, these two examples aren't typical. Thomas Wells and Jean Brodie are both extreme people, talking with unusual lack of inhibition. My characters are more ordinary, talking about more ordinary things. Can their dialogue still reveal individual personality?
Yes. It's true that in real life, much routine communication is generic: People in the same culture use essentially the same words to greet acquaintances, purchase a shirt, talk to their children (''What did you do in school today?'' ''Nothing.''). In fiction, however, even routine dialogue can be used to differentiate and individualize characters.
Here are three different characters offering food to guests:
''It's not only pot roast,'' Ezra said. . . . ''There's something more. I mean, pot roast is really not the right name, it's more like . . . what you long for when you're sad and everyone's been wearing you down. See, there's this cook, this real country cook, and pot roast is the least of what she does. There's also pan-fried potatoes, black-eyed peas, beaten biscuits genuinely beaten on a stump with the back of an ax—''
—Ezra Tull, in Anne Tyler's Dinner at the Homesick Restaurant
''I've brought you something to eat,'' said a voice; ''oppen t'door!''
Complying eagerly, I beheld Hareton, laden with food enough to last me all day.
''Take it,'' he added, thrusting the tray into my hand.
''Stay one minute,'' I began.
''Nay,'' cried he, and retired, regardless of any prayers I could pour forth to detain him.
—Hareton Earnshaw, in Emily BrontE's Wuthering Heights
Katie came in with the tray. ''This may not be as refined as you're used to,'' she apologized, ''but it's what we have in the house.''
—Katie Nolan, in Betty Smith's A Tree Grows in Brooklyn
There's little chance of confusing any of these speakers with the others. Ezra's nurturing, Hareton's uneducated hostility and Katie's painful awareness of her own poverty come through in even these snippets of routine social interaction.
You don't, of course, want to overdo this. Even the most dramatic and eccentric character occasionally just says, "What time is it?'' or ''Pass the salt.'' But, on the other hand, if whole sections of your
Thomas Wells was a bitter man, an angry man, a bigot. He disliked anyone different from himself, and said so often. Nor did he care who heard him.
''Whole lot of 'em ought to be sent back where they come from,'' Wells said loudly in the Grain 'n Feed. ''Jews, Spics, niggers—just send 'em all back! Dirty bastards!'' Slowly, Saul Goldstein turned his head toward Wells.
The second version presents Wells more strongly, because it's more direct. Instead of the author labeling Wells a bigot, the character's words pin the label on himself.
Here is Muriel Spark's marvelous character, school teacher Jean Brodie (The Prime of Miss Jean Brodie), addressing her eleven-year-old pupils and revealing more about herself than she has any idea of:
''I have spent most of my holidays in Italy once more, and a week in London, and I have brought back a great many pictures which we can pin on the wall. Here is a Cimabue. Here is a larger formation of Mussolini's fascisti, it is a better view of them than last year's picture. They are doing splendid things as I shall tell you later. I went with my friends for an audience with the Pope. My friends kissed his ring but I thought it proper only to bend over it. I wore a long black gown with a lace mantilla and looked magnificent. In London my friends who are well-to-do—their small girl has two nurses, or nannies as they say in England— took me to visit A.A. Milne. In the hall was hung a reproduction of Boticelli's Primavera, which means the birth of Spring. I wore my silk dress with the large red poppies which is just right for my coloring. . . .''
Name-dropper, elitist, self-absorbed, more than a little silly . . . Jean Brodie's character is clearly revealed through her dialogue.
But, you may say, these two examples aren't typical. Thomas Wells and Jean Brodie are both extreme people, talking with unusual lack of inhibition. My characters are more ordinary, talking about more ordinary things. Can their dialogue still reveal individual personality?
Yes. It's true that in real life, much routine communication is generic: People in the same culture use essentially the same words to greet acquaintances, purchase a shirt, talk to their children (''What did you do in school today?'' ''Nothing.''). In fiction, however, even routine dialogue can be used to differentiate and individualize characters.
Here are three different characters offering food to guests:
''It's not only pot roast,'' Ezra said. . . . ''There's something more. I mean, pot roast is really not the right name, it's more like . . . what you long for when you're sad and everyone's been wearing you down. See, there's this cook, this real country cook, and pot roast is the least of what she does. There's also pan-fried potatoes, black-eyed peas, beaten biscuits genuinely beaten on a stump with the back of an ax—''
—Ezra Tull, in Anne Tyler's Dinner at the Homesick Restaurant
''I've brought you something to eat,'' said a voice; ''oppen t'door!''
Complying eagerly, I beheld Hareton, laden with food enough to last me all day.
''Take it,'' he added, thrusting the tray into my hand.
''Stay one minute,'' I began.
''Nay,'' cried he, and retired, regardless of any prayers I could pour forth to detain him.
—Hareton Earnshaw, in Emily BrontE's Wuthering Heights
Katie came in with the tray. ''This may not be as refined as you're used to,'' she apologized, ''but it's what we have in the house.''
—Katie Nolan, in Betty Smith's A Tree Grows in Brooklyn
There's little chance of confusing any of these speakers with the others. Ezra's nurturing, Hareton's uneducated hostility and Katie's painful awareness of her own poverty come through in even these snippets of routine social interaction.
You don't, of course, want to overdo this. Even the most dramatic and eccentric character occasionally just says, "What time is it?'' or ''Pass the salt.'' But, on the other hand, if whole sections of your
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