A lot of factors affect whether a reader gets drawn into a book or series or is disengaged. One of them of course is the main characters’ personalities. If there’s no-one in the story to like or at least appreciate, that’s enough for a lot of readers to send the book to the DNF pile. An interesting post by Elizabeth Spann Craig has got me thinking about one way that authors reveal their characters’ personalities: internal dialogue. When we get a look at the way a character thinks, we get a sense of what that person is like and we can decide whether or not that character interests us or not. That’s one way in which internal dialogue can be a powerful way to “show not tell.” Lots of authors focus the reader even more on internal dialogue by using the first person when they write. For readers who like novels written in the first person, internal dialogue is probably the most important way they decide whether they like the main character’s personality.
Some of Agatha Christie’s novels are written in the first person. For instance, there are several first-person stories written from the point of view of Captain Arthur Hastings. Those stories tell us quite a lot about Hastings’ character and it’s often revealed through his internal dialogue. In Dumb Witness (AKA Poirot Loses a Client), for instance, Poirot and Hastings investigate the poisoning murder of wealthy Emily Arundell. She left behind a group of relations, all of whom are desperate for their shares of her fortune, so there are several suspects. Hastings has been raised in the English tradition of sportsmanship and a certain set of expected (and taboo) behaviours, and we see this in this novel. Here for instance is his reaction when he observes Poirot listening at a door:
“At whatever school Poirot was educated, there were clearly no unwritten rules about eavesdropping. I was horrified but powerless. I made urgent signs to Poirot, but he took no notice.”
We don’t need a detailed description of Hastings’ modest, sometimes even retiring, and always “old school tie” personality. It comes through in his internal dialogue.
Ross Macdonald chose to write his Lew Archer stories in the first person as well. Archer is a private detective who isn’t afraid of fisticuffs if that’s what a case comes to, but at the same time, he’s hardly heartless. He has deep compassion for his clients (in that way he’s reminiscent of John D. MacDonald’s Travis McGee) and gets involved in his cases. His clients are really people to him. Readers can see that just from his internal dialogue. In The Far Side of the Dollar for example, Archer is investigating the disappearance of seventeen-year-old Tom Hillman from the school he attended. At first it looks as though Hillman, who comes from a wealthy family, might have been kidnapped. But it’s not long before the case becomes more complex than that. As Archer discovers, it’s all related to the Hillman family, their relationships and their pasts. Here’s a bit of internal dialogue that takes place while Archer is waiting for a piece of evidence he is expecting from an old acquaintance:
“I sat in the echoing silence thinking that she [his acquaintance Susanna Drew] had been treated badly by a man or by men. It made me angry to think of it. I didn’t go out for dinner after all. I sat and nursed my anger until Susanna’s messenger arrived.”
Other internal dialogue in the Lew Archer stories shows without telling that Archer’s observant, has a good memory and notices psychology as much as he does physical appearance.
A character’s sense of humour and attitude towards life can also come through in first-person internal dialogue. That’s the way Kerry Greenwood has revealed the personality of her Melbourne accountant-turned baker sleuth Corinna Chapman. Chapman isn’t what you would call an eager sleuth but she does care about her fellow humans and often gets drawn into cases that way. For instance, in Heavenly Pleasures, she’s upset when neighbours Juliette and Vivienne Lefebvre’s chocolate shop is seemingly sabotaged by someone who fills delicate chocolate with chili. Chapman is beginning to look into this case when her lover Daniel Cohen comes back from a trip to Ballarat the worse for wear after a run-in with a polygamist. The two incidents could very well be related to a new resident in Insula, the building where Chapman lives and works. It could also be related to a missing girl and a possible case of “possession.” Chapman and Cohen work together to untangle the mystery and throughout this novel (and the others in the series) we see Chapman’s personality. For example, here’s what she thinks during an interview she has with police officer Letty White after an unknown person tries to climb into her apartment:
“‘You must have got a shock,’ she [White] said in her dry, exact voice.
‘No, you think so?’ I asked weakly. I was too exhausted to scream at her. Probably a good idea since few police officers take to being screamed at.”
Even from those few lines of internal dialogue we can see Chapman’s independent style and sometimes sarcastic sense of humour. We also see her familiarity with and even liking for Letty White combined with her lack of blind obedience to authority. We don’t have to be told these things so the story moves along smoothly and keeps the reader’s interest.
There’s some very effective first person internal dialogue in Anthony Bidulka’s Russell Quant mysteries. Quant is a former Saskatoon Police Service (SPS) cop turned private investigator. He’s smart, resourceful and quick, which are good things because although he’s far from a weakling or a coward, Quant prefers to avoid getting into physical fights. In A Flight of Aquavit, he investigates the case of Daniel Guest, a successful married accountant who’s being blackmailed because he’s had a few secret trysts with other men. What starts out as a case of blackmail turns deadly and Quant finds out that it’s a far more complex case than he thought. At one point Quant visits a local theatre to track down the possible blackmailer and is confronted by a young secretary whom he hopes will provide him with pictures of some of the actors:
“‘Hello, my name is Rick Astley and I’m the Artistic Director for Theatre Quant in Mission.’ I was betting she wasn’t old enough to be up on her late 1980’s teen idol trivia or informed enough about British Columbia community theatre to catch on to my clever ruse. And actually she looked pretty unimpressed with life in general regardless of the decade. I continued on, hoping my enthusiasm, if not my really bad English accent, would be contagious.”
Quant does persuade the girl to give him the information he needs, and his effort turns out to have been worth it, because the ‘photos do provide him with a tiny piece of the puzzle. And we can see just from this bit that he’s got a sarcastic and somewhat self-deprecating sense of humour and doesn’t take himself too seriously. He is, though, committed to what he does. Other pieces of internal dialogue show us too that he cares about his clients and sees them as people, not just paychecks.
There are a lot of other examples of internal dialogue that show what a character is like. That’s often the way we decide whether we like a character’s personality or don’t. What about you? Do you enjoy internal dialogue or do you prefer a minimum of it? Does it draw you to a character? If you’re a writer, how do you use internal dialogue?
*NOTE: The title of this post is the title of an Elvis Costello song.
In some cases, the use of internal dialogue is essential for the overall effect that the author is trying to achieve. George McDonald Fraser’s FLASHMAN books have the title character doing things that would lose him the sympathy of the reader, if it weren’t for the fact that he tells us the story in the first person. We tend to be on his side because he has taken us into his confidence. In fact, part of the humour of the books comes from us being able to see him as the world sees him (bluff, charming and manly) and how he really is (snivelling, cowardly bully). Because we alone are allowed into his internal monologue we find ourselves rather unwillingly sympathising with him. The lack of internal monologue can be just as telling, though. In THE MALTESE FALCON we only know Sam Spade through what he does and says rather than what he thinks. At first he seems to be a rather shady and unprincipled character, and it’s only at the end that we learn that he is not as crooked as he seems. What he gives away at the end of the book shatters him emotionally, but it comes across more effectively because we only know about the effect on him from what he says, and Hammett’s description of the expressions on his face.
Skywatcher – You’ve got a very good point that internal dialogue can helps us to really understand a character and, as you say sympathise with that charactaer. Flashman (for which thanks for the reminder) is an excellent example of that. In novels like that, we wouldn’t be able catch the subtleties of the character, the humour and so on if we didn’t get an “inside look” at what the character is thinking.
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Of course the opposite can also be true. In fact your example of Sam Spade is getting me to think about characters whom we don’t get to know except through the events in the story and others’ perceptions. That strategy can be very effective depending on what the author wants to achieve I think. Fodder for another post, methinks
Margot: I am glad you have read from the Russell Quant series. I enjoy Quant’s wit, often self-deprecating. He makes you feel part of his personality when he provides his thoughts.
The Inspector Ian Rutledge series by Charles Todd may be the ultimate in internal dialogue with the Inspector not only providing his own thoughts but actually carrying on dialogues in his head with the ghost or spirit of Hamish, the executed coporal, who was in his unit in WW I.
Bill – I’m enjoying the Russell Quant series quite a lot. As you say, he really does let the reader into his personality – his way of thinking – when he works his cases. I like his wit, too. I’m grateful you recommended the series.
And yes, how I could I have forgotten the Ian Rutledge series? Most definitely an example of the way internal dialogue can be used to good effect. I confess I haven’t read all of those novels, but from what I have read, the internal dialogue is used creatively and effectively.
I like mysteries in first person a lot for this very reason. It’s harder to deal with internal dialogue in third person, but it can be done. I think the reader still gets closer to the protagonist in first person, though. Maybe that’s a function of character-driven novels as opposed to plot-driven novels.
Pat – Now that’s an interesting point! Are character driven novels more likely to be in the first person than plot driven novels? I don’t know but you raise an intriguing possibility. And even if they aren’t, you make a well-taken point about dealing with internal dialogue in the third person. It’s not as easy without “dumping” on the reader.
Frankly, right now, after a long hiatus from non-mystery novels, I am trying to read one now. It’s good, well-written, interesting — but, no dead bodies, no crazed detectives racing to get clues, while suffering from a mean bureaucrat or falling behind on the rent or having a bad romance. None of this. No crime. So I’ve been trying to get hooked, to get pulled in. It’s not that it’s poorly written. It is written very well, lots of thought to each sentence. This is my first venture out into the non-mystery world of fiction for a long time. And I’m just waiting for a dead body so I can be off and running. But I must plod on as good things are coming, I can feel it.
And the book is set in California during this economic crisis, dealing with immigrant workers and falling incomes.
But, wow, this is like breaking a sweet tooth habit to try something else. I’m looking for a dead body and a detective! And annoyed that I can’t overcome this habit.
Kathy – LOL! The crime fiction habit is hard to break isn’t it? I’m glad you’re stretching yourself though. I think it’s good to read outside of one’s favourite genre at least sometimes. That way one gets a sense of what’s out there. And who knows? You may find something new to love. I hope you’ll end up enjoying the novel; it sounds interesting.
The more unlikeable a character is, the more it helps generate some sympathy for him by using the first person POV. It is too easy to fall into using this all the time though, which prevents certain things.
Patti – You’ve got a good point. It’s hard to “sell” an unlikeable character without some deeper, first person point of view. And I think that doing that really can get a little too comfortable. I like it when authors stretch themselves.
I like Internal Dialogue up to a point. It gets hard, sometimes, to remember that it is Internal Dialogue, and not an “witnessing” Narrator (the omnipresence). It really depends on the Character! Maybe he or she is a dolt, i.e., not my cup of tea…
Speaking of Dialogue, I’d like to recommend Tania French and her mysteries. Her characters are Irish. I didn’t realize how good the Dialogue was until I heard it (I’m listening to one of her books on CDs). The Dialogue is effortless, top notch! I was impressed.
Good point about the type of character. Some characters are just not good characters; in those cases, one doesn’t want to get to know them.
And I agree that some of Tana French’s stuff is quite good. In the Woods is very well done and although I’ve not read it (yet), I hear that Broken Harbour is very good too.
Ah, good. I sent you my comment, from work. I can access blogs more easily there… my computer at home is quirky. I didn’t remember, HOW to spell Tana’s name, 100 percent! When I got home, I checked my book and saw it was Tana instead of Tania! I was getting online to send you a correction. I’m glad to see you corrected it yourself. Good on you! And I was thinking about that Internal Dialogue. I decided Tana’s Internal and External Dialogue is very good. I’m listening to “Faithful Place” and it is SO easy on the ear. It is so amusing to realize ONE person is reading the book, and doing all the different voices (Tim Gerard Reynolds). If you want to know if a dialogue works – it should be read out loud!
You make a good point about reading aloud. That’s also a good way to spot flaws in one’s own work. Reading a story aloud shows where it needs to be improved and where it flows well and keeps the reader’s attention.
I’m with Pat – it’s far easier to write internal dialogue in the first person than it is in the third. I found I had to pay great attention to maintain the character’s rhythms in their thoughts. After all, people use the same vocabulary and speech patterns in their silent speech as they do in their audible speech. There might be more short-cuts (no need to explain to others what they mean) or unique words (which come from their own personal history) but the over-all pattern would be the same. I love internal dialogue. It’s a great way for a reader to get acquainted with a character’s flaws and prejudices. It’s also easier to tempt the reader to jump to the same conclusions (right or wrong) as the character. I’ve been tricked countless times.
Elspeth – No doubt about it; consistency matters when it comes to a character’s internal dialogue. That’s a challenge whether one writes in the first or the third person. You brought up something else interesting, too, about using first person. It’s a very effective way to lead a reader up the proverbial garden path. As you say, if one uses first person, one shares just the thoughts of one character. And that character can be wrong, misinformed, and so on. Sneaky thing for an author to do, don’t you think??
I like to see events through a character’s point of view, too. Sometimes that character is unreliable and this can make or break a book for the reader. I think the character of Annika Bengstrom (Liza Marklund) is particularly well-conveyed, for example, one really gets a sense of her struggles at work and in her home life, by seeing events through her eyes.
Maxine – I like Annika Bengtzon’s character quite a lot, too. I think Marklund does a very effective job of sharing Bengtzon’s perspective and therefore, what her life is like. I’m glad you brought her up. And absolutely, an unreliable narrator (a fascinating topic in and of itself) can make or break a book. If it’s done well it can be extremely successful (e.g. Alice LaPlante’s Turn of Mind)). I’ve read some books, though, where that strategy really ends up being disappointing. It takes skill.
I’ve only read Red Wolf featuring Annika Bengtzon but I liked it. I like internal dialogue up to a certain point. I do like to get to know the character and what she is thinking, but I also need to see action and read dialogue.
One thing about first point of view that is hard to take is when the character is being brutalized and subject to horrific acts which just get worse. I’ll avoid books like this. It’s bad enough when it’s third person p.o.v., but this can get out of hand.
A friend who read Mercy — and ended up liking it — had a very hard time with the sections featuring Merete and her tough situation. She couldn’t sleep and was haunted with these segments of the book. Yet she asked me when the next book in the series is coming out! And she liked it in the long run. So, go figure! Reading fiction is complicated. Everyone has personal preferences and brings their own history, experiences and views to the characters and the stories. Maybe this is a theme for a post.
Kathy – There’s no doubt about the fact that we are active readers. That is, we bring our own personalities, experiences and so on to the reading task and those things affect our reading. So do our personal preferences. That is indeed interesting fodder for a post.
As to first person, yes the use of first person can make certain scenes in a novel all that much more harrowing, which is one reason I don’t particularly like those scenes. You make a well-taken point too that too much internal dialogue can slow a plot down. Like a lot of other things in crime fiction, it’s a balance.
As a reader, I like to read novels in first person. I can identify better with both the writer and protagonist who might be one and the same person depending on how much the writer lends himself or herself to the story. It is easier to have an affinity with a character in first person than in third person. Besides, for some weird reason, I read first-person narratives faster than otherwise. As a serious writer (i.e. when I become one), I wouldn’t mind writing in first person provided I don’t bring myself or my life into the picture. A lot of first-persons tend to be autobiographical.
Prashant – You make a very interesting point about the relationship between the author and the narrator when the story is told in first person. It is possibly harder to separate the two. It’s also certainly possible that the reader can identify more quickly with a protagonist if the story’s written in the first person; I’d have to think about that. Some authors such as Michael Connelly have written both kinds of novels. Others, like Patricia Stoltey use both in the same novel. Luiz Alredo Garcia-Roza does that in The Silence of the Rain, too. You give some interesting “food for thought” here for which thanks.
Margot – thanks for your interesting post. And for including Russell Quant in it.
Anthony – How kind of you to stop by
. Thanks for that, and for sharing Russell Quant with us all. He’s a great guy and I am enjoying the series quite a lot.
I wonder if it’s harder for women to read first-person p.o.v. when women are in peril, being brutalized. Male readers don’t seem to have difficulties with this. Many of my women friend readers don’t want to see violence, especially against women (and children), and find it harder to take in first person.
I try to limit my reading of these books or don’t even start. It’s not a type of book I’d choose if I knew, an exception being Mercy, which, as I mentioned, even a friend who was terrorized by it, liked it. Reading is complicated.
Kathy – There might very well be a gender-based difference when it comes to what men and women enjoy reading or have a hard time reading. Interesting point! You’re right too that reading is a complex process. Research shows that we interact with what we read, and since humans are all different, with different kinds responses, it makes sense that reading would be many-layered.