Like anyone else reading this blog, I've read some mysteries more than once. But if the point of a mystery is for the reader to solve it before the author gives the solution away, why read a mystery more than once?
We all know a great mystery needs excitement--conflict and strife, much at stake, and all taking place in a vividly protrayed location at breakneck speed. But that's not enough, or not enough to make a good mystery great.
Elizabeth George, the creator of arisotocratic Detective Inspector Thomas Lynley and New Scotland Yard's answer to Georgy Girl, Barbara Havers, says in Writing Away, "[I]f you don't understand that story is character and not just idea, you will not be able to breathe life into even the most intriguing flash of inspriration."
Let's face it--unlike a literary work, a mystery has neither the time nor excuse for intriguing phrases or arresting imagery (puns intended). Too much of these will distract the reader and slow the pace down. Devices like riveting plot and unusual setting are therefore all the more important. But without well-developed characters, you may as well read about a murder in the newspaper and save yourself the cost of a book.
Not any old character will do. For me, a good character has to do with recognition--I come upon someone in a story whom, because of his annoying humming at the end of each sentence or her rapacious finger licking while she eats, I'm certain I've met before. Or maybe a character says something that I've always felt inutuitively but have never quite put into words. These tidbits of character bring satisfaction and even comfort because they close a loop, or at least allow for circling back, on my own life story.
That satisfaction and comfort could get boring, unless the character does something totally unexpected, yet somehow still within character. For example, think of Harriet Vane, Lord Peter Wimsey's love interest. Wimsey has both wealth and position, and has saved Harriet's life in Dorothy L. Sayers' Strong Poison. Despite all this, and the fact that Harriet loves him, she rejects his proposals of marriage. Her actions are perfectly in keeping with her character, but surprising just the same.
Here's another example. Didn't you cheer every time Lisbeth Salander appeared on the page in Stieg Larrson's best-selling trilogy? While we may not all know a ninety-pound genius-waif whose body is covered in tattoos, we probably know someone brilliant and joltingly anti-social, like Salander. But even more than recognizing her peculiar traits, we're surprised, if not staggered, by her act of revenge against Bjurman, her guardian slash rapist (pun intended). And it wasn't the mere violence of the revenge that gripped us, but the uncompromising justice Salander dares to mete out, all perfectly consistent with her morality.
If my formula for a good character in a mystery is recognizable traits, coupled with surprising actions, I'm interested in others' comments on what makes for a good character in a mystery.
Tuesday, July 27, 2010
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As a reader, I like character descriptions that either evoke memories of people I know or are so descriptive that I can vividly picture a characters words or actions. I would guess that the latter is much harder to pull off as a writer, because they have to vividly imagine and communicate an uncommon character trait.
ReplyDeleteHi, Lee:
ReplyDeleteHey, I like your blog.
I agree that character is important, and I don’t believe I would be contradicting you (or Elizabeth George) to suggest merely that a little goes a long way – more so, perhaps, in this genre than in any other. I admit, first, that I am not a mystery writer and, second, that I mostly find myself reading or rereading classics that do not stray very far from certain formulas. However, there seems to be ample variety within them, enough so that generation after generation of those mystery writers who adhere to them seems to make a living at it.
By virtue of the genre, a lot of work is already done for the writer. If murders take place on the Cape, the reader already has certain expectations, and this is true whether the hero or heroine is the Chief of Police, bored and restless vacationer or P’town gay activist. A few details can distinguish this story from others, but adding flesh to the bone must surely be done with care. As a matter of fact, the more flesh the reader is permitted to add, the better. Consider a female chief of police: not much dialog is needed to establish tension, distrust and (on the part of the reader) sympathy. It nearly writes itself. (Spoken by a non-writer!)
The danger I see is a surfeit of character development, trotting out all the background, all the reasons why the hero or heroine finds him or herself in the midst of a murder investigation, ladling on copious amounts of detail, the nervous ticks, the weaknesses and special proclivities and predilections (especially when readers are so eager to supply them from their own lives). The writer is simply sailing in harm’s way. Save some for the sequel, I say. Far better to focus on pace, keep it moving, especially when the writer must bury an important clue somewhere: often the writer’s hand needs to be quicker than the reader’s eye.
Don’t misunderstand, character is important. Far better to show character through action. Does the hero or heroine get queasy at the sight of blood? Perhaps he or she is the only one not retching in a room full of police who view a gruesome corpse. And rather than hear it from the God-like narration of the writer, I’d far sooner hear character detail from the mouths and reactions of other characters. When I think of how and why Mrs. Marple is referred to as Nemesis in one story sends chills down my spine every time I think of it.
-Jim
Thanks for such a well-reasoned response,Jim. I'm honored. I couldn't agree with you more about the dangers of too much of a good thing when it comes to character development. In fact, I'm overcome with shame at your calling out the writers who ladle on "the copious amounts of detail." I've now gone back to my own mystery- in- progress and erased every nervous tic I could find. I'm also making a mental note never to read literary criticism or even book reviews while I'm fiendishly trying to write something. I made that mistake this morning, reading the Sunday NYT book review of Susan Isaac's As Husbands Go. The reviewer's final exasperated question was: "When will crime writers invent a way to summarize a murder that doesn't involve an endless, bogus-sounding confession?" I had to go back and completely rewrite my bogus-sounding confession. Thanks again for the comment.
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