Characters are peculiar. Algis Budrys, my one-time teacher, stated it less generously. “All important fictional characters are insane.”
I remember being shocked by this, and I asked him to explain. He said, if nothing else, stories put such an emphasis on character goals that these would, in real life, be considered pathological obsessions. Characters need to be motivated. In fiction, the major characters need to have story goals. They also enter each scene with specific goals that matter profoundly to them and drive their conversations, actions, choices, thoughts, and feelings. They are all obsessed.
Does this have to be true for every story? Isn’t there a value to subtlety and restraint? Isn’t exaggeration reserved for cheap melodramas and comedy? You could easily conclude that if you were to search (as I did) for articles on exaggeration.
The suggestions I found are valuable, but I think the subject deserves a broader treatment. Even the most sober, realistic, dramatic work can benefit from including characters that are bigger than life. Shakespeare’s tragedies are as likely to include oversized characters as his comedies are, and they are not overwrought. In fact, there are subtleties to most of his major characters (in both comedies and dramas). He makes them vivid and memorable without their becoming caricatures. But with their becoming bigger than life. If you think of the characters you remember from works you respect and return to again and again, you’re likely to find (unless you mostly lean toward anti-story literature) the characters are both real and, in some way, exaggerated.
Why is this? Why don’t more direct, faithful, and clinical treatments of characters work? I got the answer not many years after than my chat with Budrys while reading Jack M. Bickham’s Writing Novels That Sell. (My copy of this book is dogeared and has a permanent place on my bookshelf.) He says that the medium of writing itself clouds perceptions, creating a need to increase intensity, just to approach real-world experiences. In fiction, we see through a glass darkly. To prove it to his students, Bickham created a ridiculous, clownish version of a cowboy. It was (and is) vivid, and he actually used that character successfully in a series of novels.
That’s comedy, but take a moment to consider how extreme Hannibal Lector is. Or Walter White. More than obsessed, their actions and words push to extremes that invite parody. And it’s not just villains. The kind of fearlessness that Tom Joad and Atticus Finch had might create circumstances where, in real life, you wouldn’t want to stand too close to them. Frankly, if Hamlet came walking down the street, I’d cross to the other side.
As implied above, exaggeration can be situational. Cases of murder in fiction far outnumber those of petty theft (even though this is not reflected in real world statistics). And, as the imaginative power of homicide has waned, we have been subjected to serial killers in more stories. But let’s move to a more general view of vivid characters and get to the how.
How can you use exaggeration to enhance characters and make them memorable?
On the latter, traits and descriptions are effective tags to let readers recognize and recall different characters (major as well as secondary). Repeated phrases, references to limps, and reminders of the hero’s startling pale blue eyes can be slipped in at regular intervals. These usually are lightweight, “Hello, may name is…” prompts for readers, but, with care, they can be tuned to suggest more about the characters.
Under reactions and over reactions have a lot of power and are easy to slip into stories. There are many examples of heroes who seen oblivious to danger and even joke when they face death. I think of the jump off the cliff into water in Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid. Sundance refuses to jump, and finally confesses that he can’t swim. Butch: Are you crazy? The fall will probably kill ya.
Attitudes can set some characters off in ways that mark them. Obviously, phobias (e.g. fear of heights in Vertigo, fear of snakes in the Indiana Jones movies) can set expectations and both tell us who the character is and contribute to the plot. But characters might also be compelled to respond to disorder (straightening framed pictures) or need to wipe off a chair before sitting on it. Or smell their food before eating it. Sensitivity and perception can be valuable, too. An artist who can’t abide clashing colors. A detective who notices calluses or ink on the fingers of a suspect.
Reflexive action and hesitations can also say a lot. A quick reaction could indicate lack of control or specialized training. A delayed response might show prudence or dullness. And, once the normal timing of responses is established, changing it can underline growth (e.g., not striking back immediately to counter minor insults), decline (accepting abuse because of cowardice), or a strategic choice. When timing surprises a reader or the audience, the moment stands out.
One device I love is the over-sized reputation. Characters who are worth talking about are worth knowing. Hearing about a character before he or she is introduced sets up expectations. It creates questions. When characters talk about someone, it creates a need for confirmation, so readers are looking for that when the character comes on the scene. The whole concept of making an entrance in the theater relies upon this. My favorite example in film is Hitchcock’s Rebecca, where who the title character is (and what the protagonist assumes and comes to learn about her) supports much of the plot.
Relationships matter. An out-of-control character (such as a ranting boss) who is put up with by other characters can push the limits of real life and stand out without becoming a caricature, just because we fall in line with those around him or her. This can reach the point, as in The Sopranos or The Wire, where murders are shrugged off. While we don’t accept them in the stories as exaggerated, deep down they are so outlandish they stick with us. This (using reactions of others) is a powerful tool to get away with making characters using absurd behavior to make more vivid.
Of course, major story decisions, with regard to conversations, actions, choices, thoughts, and feelings, can and should be exaggerated, but I hope the above expands your toolbox. These also may feel less risky, less obviously consequential, so they provide good starting points for those who are reluctant to paint with too broad a brush.
Remember, you can always dial things back in revisions, so it’s invaluable to get comfortable with exaggeration and master it. Avoid being reasonable. Normal actions and reactions don’t make an impact. Polite comments are not quotable. Characters who dress appropriately and have not defining physical features fade into the background. Predictable is boring.
Hitchcock said, “Drama is life with the dull bits cut out." So, while there’s a place for subtlety and naturalism, that has to be rationed in storytelling. Push to the limits. Master art’s shouts and whispers, and avoid life’s droning.
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