The greatness of a nation and its moral progress can be
judged by the way its animals are treated.
–Mahatma Gandhi
You can easily judge the character of a man by how he treats
those who can do nothing for him.
–Johann Wolfgang Von Goethe
If you want to see the true measure of a man, watch how he
treats his inferiors, not his equals.
–J.K. Rowling
The true measure of a man is how he treats someone who can do
him absolutely no good.
–Samuel Johnson
It’s really no secret that watching how a person treats
others, both human and animal, reveals a great deal about that individual. How many times have we heard stories about
how someone thought their date was a wonderful human being, but then watched
him/her talk down to the server at the restaurant?
Or how a different date was elevated in the hierarchy of humanity when
he/she left a generous tip after noticing that the server was waiting on six
other tables and was clearly stressed out and struggling?
Showing our characters doing and saying things to those who are in some way inferior is a powerful tool for characterization. The inferiority might be ingrained into a
culture, such as in a caste system or in a situation of slavery, or it might be
temporary, as in the case of a restaurant server or other customer service
worker.
In Game of
Thrones, (spoilers coming) Cersei proclaims herself a villain to be reckoned with when she
orders 12ish-year-old Sansa’s direwolf pup to be executed in answer to a crime neither Sansa nor her
direwolf had anything to do with. How
much evil does that one scene contain?
How much do we hate Cersei? All
because she abused her authority and power in order to punish a child and her
puppy. CHILD! PUPPY! BOTH INNOCENT! This happens early in the series,
and readers thirst for Cersei’s comeuppance from that point on.
On the other hand, the same process can be used to make someone
the good guy. In the Harry Potter
series, the half-giant Hagrid could use his size and strength for great
evil. Yet he dedicates his life to
caring for animals, no matter if they’re cute or ugly, snuggly or deadly. While not considered “human,” Hagrid becomes
human to the reader, and when he leaves his beloved dog Fang in Harry’s care,
that says a lot. The Scorpio Races also does this very well. (Read that book if you haven’t!) It features water horses, predatory sea
creatures that migrate onto an inhabited island every autumn. The occupants of this island have a tradition
of capturing, training, and racing these water horses in November, an event
that usually involves the death of at least one rider. Maggie Steifvater introduces Sean, a
character whose love, respect, and compassion for these animals allows him to
understand them in a way that no one else can.
We have to root for this guy, simply because of the way he treats
an animal that most others fear.
Some observations I’ve made with characterization done this
way have led me to a few key guidelines.
1. Our characters
know this rule, too. Keep
characterization for the reader separate from characterization for other
characters.
Sometimes we have to hide character truths from our other
characters. Thinking that the serial
killer is a great humanitarian will build suspense, so don’t let your hero see
the villain berate the barista because the latte isn’t hot enough. And don’t let the guy see the girl help the
baby ducks out of the gutter if he needs to believe that she’s a shallow gold
digger.
2. What characters do
when alone is far more meaningful than what they do when there are witnesses.
We need to get our characters alone to show the reader what they are
really like, especially for characters who are smart enough to avoid revealing
their true selves in public. Some really
great examples of this are found in anti-heroes like Jeff Lindsay’s Dexter Morgan
and Barry Eisler’s John Rain. It’s hard
to root for a serial killer (Dexter Morgan) or assassin for hire (John Rain),
but one way these writers help the reader to accept them is by having them make
morally acceptable choices when no one’s watching.
3. Make it part of the
story.
We can't write an entire scene at a restaurant just so a
character can leave a great tip.
Characterization can always be paired or grouped with other storytelling
necessities. We can use the restaurant to world
build and allow the conversation to further the plot.
4. Trust your reader
to pick up on it the first time.
Cersei didn’t need to keep killing direwolf pups to prove her
nastiness, and Hagrid didn’t need to create an activist group and magical wildlife
preserve to prove his compassion. Readers get
it, so we need to move on. That doesn't mean that we stop characterizing. We just make use of the many
other ways to provide characterization.
5. Trust your reader
to understand the interaction.
One of my favorite “overshares” in writing is when two or
more characters discuss an action that occurred, with the obvious purpose being
to explain to the reader what it all meant.
Take for example an early (and successful) scene in Stephen
King’s The Dead Zone in which a
traveling Bible salesman kills a dog. The
dog is snarling at him, but he’s not threatened by the dog. In fact, he calmly waits by the door wearing
a friendly smile until he knows there’s no one home. Then he sprays teargas into the dog’s eyes
and kicks it. To death. While selling Bibles. Because he’s a…well, only swear words will
really do him justice, but for the purpose of keeping it clean, let’s just say
he’s a giant jerk with no soul. He’s cruel, dangerous, and a darn good faker.
Now imagine the nosy neighbor lady had witnessed the
exchange, and she immediately picks up the phone and calls her friend down the
street to describe what she just saw:
- · Nosy Neighbor: [describes situation] Can you believe that? What do you think about that guy?
- · Friend: Wow. That guy’s really a giant jerk!
- · Nosy Neighbor: And he doesn’t have a soul!
- · Friend: How could he have a soul? Only giant jerks with no soul can be cruel to animals like that!
- · Nosy Neighbor: And while selling Bibles? How ironic!
- · Friend: He must have two faces, don’t you think so?
- · Nosy Neighbor: Oh, yes. He’s got to be dangerous. And how would anyone know? He was all smiles and Bibles until he thought he was alone.
Thankfully, Stephen King doesn’t subject his reader to
that. It’s a prevailing image, one that
we won’t likely forget. And when the
salesman runs for political office, there is no need for any conversations to
remind the reader about the incident with the dog and what that might imply
about what’s in store.
6. Separate yourself
from the characters’ actions.
Stephen King got a lot of angry mail over the death of that
dog. Some readers saw it as an endorsement
of animal cruelty. The good news is that
most readers understand that writers don’t endorse every action of every
character—that to create a good story, characters necessarily have to make bad
or evil choices. When King had the
salesman attack the dog, he intended one thing: for the reader to understand
immediately that this character was a giant jerk with no soul who posed a great
danger because of his ability to blend in.
The scene, though disturbing, did just that. (He goes into some detail
about this in On Writing.)
For good or evil, our characters can interact with other characters and animals to show us a bit of their souls (or lack thereof).
