This fellow’s George, isn’t it? Or was it Gordon, Geoffrey, Gilligan… whatever the devil his name is… which one is he? The florist? The rich uncle? The business rival? Didn’t the villain’s name start with a G? Or was that a J? Or maybe that was his Grandfather…
Oh, wait, what was the plot doing, before I crashed to a halt trying to remember who this character was? Can I get a clue from the writer? No clue? What? Nothing at all? Bummer.
Just because your characters drive you nuts cavorting around in your head until you can see their every quirk and all their history, and recognize them from the tiniest clue in the dark, it doesn’t mean the reader has the same advantage. He can’t even see them like you can. He only knows them through you, and he has to be reminded who they are when they appear… frequently (if necessary), lightly, casually. But in any case, he needs reminders for the plot to read as smoothly for him as it spools out for you.
Whether you give your character an epithet (Fair-haired Achilles), comment on the dice he frequently plays with in his pocket, remark in passing on his squeaky voice, or refer to his recent marriage… you have to help the reader skate on by in the story without stumbling over the uncertainty of identity for the players, else you risk losing much of the battle.
I operate on the assumption that the inner circle of characters are persistent in the reader’s memory, and only the scarcer specimens need special handling, but there’s no way for me to be sure.
What sort of tricks or techniques do you use to keep your players recognizable for your readers, especially in a long series?
Mad Genius Club 
8 responses to “Artful reminders and epithets”
This can be a serious problem.
There is one author, many of whose works I enjoy, who drives me crazy with careful world building. Within social interactions people “must” be referred to by first name, family name, aristocratic title, or job title. It sometimes takes me many chapters before I can reliably identify the main character.
Different people might refer to (and think about) the same character as “Mike,” “Braithwhite,” “Baron Filbert,” or “Chancellor.” Might I suggest greater use of “establishing shots” between scene changes?
There’s a few titled Georgette Heyer characters that kind of have that problem (thinking specifically of the guys from These Old Shades and The Quiet Gentleman) but in both cases to me they’re distinctive enough guys to where I only sort of vaguely the switches between Your Grace/The Duke/Alistair/Avon/FIRSTNAME in the one book and the Earl/St. Erth/Gervase Frant in the other. The Marquis of Rotherham throws me more in some ways, because the town has acquired connotations that it hopefully did not have in Heyer’s time.
Russian fiction that gives you a name, then a patronymic, then a married name, and … And their historians do the same thing. Arrrrrrrghhhhhhh! As did one Russian-inspired fantasy novel I tried to read. I gave up.
Chinese novels are terrible for this – there’s a person’s actual name, probably a courtesy name (which I guess is basically a nickname), what they’re addressed as (which depends on who is speaking to or about them), pet names (which are different for the courtesy name), and their title, all of which may be used interchangeably by the author.
To say nothing about whether a married woman is referred to by her maiden name or as her husband’s wife.
Reading Chinese writing can be interesting, because I’ve read a fairy tale with a Miss Ling, and an historical account with a Mrs. Wong, both in era long before English stabilized its addresses to the Miss/Mrs. format, but really it is the most accurate.
I create character sheets, with all the unique little quirks that each character has. And when I write about them, I make sure to include at least one or two in each scene-a descriptive term, turns of phrase, that kind of thing.
For example, Charles from The Last Solist series is every David Tennant character wrapped up in ginger and freckles. And I throw some details into give you that David Tennant experience…but in ginger.
Viola peppers her conversations with Gaelic expressions and terms, usually descriptors and terms of affection.
Ian is…crisp. That’s a good word for him.
Benjamin is very happy-go-lucky in a Mexican sort of way, and he calls a very few specific people by titles.
Charlotte is precise and motherly, in a very lesbian French MILF sort of way.
And you start hearing that in their dialog. You see it in their actions, how they dress, little things that tell you that it’s this person and not that person.
The pre-planning for my earliest books usually consisted of a spreadsheet with the NaNoWriMo wordlog on the front page, a basic guide to the characters on the second page, and an even more basic guide to the plot on the third page. (Sometimes the plot was just an introductory paragraph on the character page). Anyway, the characters usually consisted of a name, dayjob, relationships to other characters, function in the story, magical powers if any, and “suggested casting” in the shape of a Bollywood/Tamil/Telegu actor with “circa Movie” as an additional specification.
Not a bad way of doing it. I’ve gotten a touch more formal over the years, including creating a character sheet that has all of the relevant characteristics-general appearance, character “inspirations”, how they dress, and the biggest thing-their fear.
Every character has one, a big Fear that is a core part of the character’s story arc.