How To: Characterisation

A great novel is nothing without great characters. They ease us into a story, guide us through it, and we may hope they’ll be left standing by the story’s end. You may have mapped out the most elaborate fantasy world ever conceived, pieced together the most gruesome crime-scene imaginable, or built a haunted house spooky enough to scare Stephen King himself, but they’re nothing without great characters to populate them.

Every work I’ve ever written starts with a character; in fact, with a name. I pick one that sounds unique but convincing, that’s fun to say, that’s musical or unusual. The sort of name someone might wish they had. But a name only gets you so far. You’re not casting an actor, a familiar face. That name has to encompass everything about that character. If a name is a container, you need qualities to fill it with, and I don’t just mean tall, blonde or hairy.

Objective qualities only get you so far. These aren’t portraits you’re painting. Your characters don’t exist in a vacuum. They act, and interact, and react. Everything they do and say contributes to their personality, and gives you an opportunity to reveal something more about them. What I’ve compiled here is a list of eight separate elements that contribute towards characterisation; eight tools that, when used efficiently, can embellish your leads and flesh out your supporting characters. These include:

1.          Conversation
2.          Observation
3.          Action
4.          Interaction
5.          Introspection
6.          Description
7.          Disposition
8.          Location

Seem like a lot of boxes to tick? You’d be surprised how simple it is to include them all in one or two paragraphs. Let’s go through them one by one. For demonstration purposes, I’m going to create a character off the top of my head – Philomena Salt.

Conversation

What does the character say, and how? Are they curt or do they ramble? Do they ask nicely, or demand? Do they ponder out loud, or make snap decisions? Content is not the extent of dialogue. You’ve got to consider vocabulary, including slang and jargon. A copper is more likely to tell you he’s ‘parched’, while a doctor might just tell you she’s ‘thirsty.’

Example: ‘That piece is priceless. The monogram is obscured by the frame, but I can attest to its veracity. Certainly one of our grandest works.’

Note the technical terms, the vocabulary, and the subject matter. Already, you’re getting an impression of who Philomena Salt might be. Conversation goes hand in hand with…

Observation

What do others say about the character? How do they treat them? Are they pleased to see them, or do they hide away? Speak freely or hold their tongue? How a secondary character treats a protagonist tells you as much about the protagonist as it does about the secondary. (Two birds with one stone, anyone?) Consider their tone (warm or cold?), register (formal or informal?), speed and delivery. If someone’s reluctant to speak with your lead, there may well be a history between them. If cautious, your lead may have a reputation. If eager, there may be something else between them Think about what your characters know, or believe, about each other, and have that influence their behaviour.

Example: ‘Sentimental old bird. I ain’t got time for an art lesson.’

See the dismissive slang bird, the curt sentence structure, the dismissive contraction. We’re well aware that Philomena wasn’t delivering an art lesson; this character is using flippancy to undermine her.

Action

What does the character do, and how? Are they heavy-handed or gentle? Eager or cautious? Do they relish their job? Do they act against their will, or in spite of it? Let’s face it, your novel is a rollercoaster of emotions, and your characters are going to be getting up to a lot, but the actions they make will always be informed by their morality, their pasts, and their hopes for the future. A childless woman desperate to be a mother may treat children far more kindly than a tired mother-of-five who wishes she’d never bothered. A man with a terminal illness may be more prone to risk-taking than a man with a big career ahead of him. And the best part is, you don’t even need to state these motivations if you don’t want to. If you use action correctly, they’ll be implied. (Saying more with less, hooray!)

Example: Philomena pressed her lips together, and dragged her forefinger across the oil painting, fingernail snagging on a hard glob of yellow-green that passed for grass.

What can you gather from her body language, the way she interacts with the painting, her opinion of it?

Interaction

What do others do to the character? Interaction goes hand in hand with action, and doesn’t have to be as menacing as it sounds. It could be anything as simple as a hug or a handshake. Of course, it could also be a political double-crossing, or a theft, or an emotional betrayal. Whatever is done unto your character reflects on them in some way. Did they deserve it or not? Was that hug reciprocated, or endured? Was that slap to the face justified, or repaid?

Example: He grabbed her hand and jerked it away, wrinkling her sleeve. ‘Don’t damage it.’

How does the secondary character treat the protagonist, especially in comparison to the painting? What opinion does he hold of her?

Introspection

What does the character think? The effectiveness of this technique depends on the viewpoint of your story. First-person narratives are great for this, because the narrator can insert their opinions and ideas directly into the action. Third-person narratives can also pull this off. I like to weave my viewpoint character’s consciousness into the narration in a similar way, but what purpose does it serve? We can grasp ideas that the character would never say out loud, uncover hidden motives and even catch a glimpse of their future plans. Nobody lives in the moment; we are constantly looking back on our experiences, and thinking ahead to our futures. Your characters should do the same.

Example: She smiled, and backed away. Age implied, but never promised, authority. He’d believe any line she fed him.

See how the thought blends in with the action? I find it easier to get inside a character’s head via third person, though first person is also great for this.

Description

What does the character look like? Okay, so you knew that one already. How much can appearance tell us about a character? You know what they say about judging books by covers, but that doesn’t mean you can’t intuit a few clues from a first impression. That scar – a war wound? Bitten nails. Nervous type? And is that her real hair colour? It’s not enough to rely on physical description alone, but the right amount of description could mean the difference between a character that fades into obscurity and one that lives on in a reader’s memory.

Example: She’d always been told she had a plain face. Rather than taking it to heart, Philomena remained content with her strengths. She was unmemorable, and a fine actress.

Disposition

What is the character like? Another easy one. Try not to rely on outright exposition all the time, but a few timely adjectives can illuminate a brand-new character, or shed light on their choices after the fact.

Example: She felt no animosity towards the man aiming a pistol at her stomach. Only pity, and besides, she could tell it wasn’t loaded.

Location

Where is your character? Granted, this is going to change A LOT over the course of your novel, but how often do you visit new places without forming an opinion of them? There’s no way you’re going to visit an old castle and NOT run your fingertips over the carvings in the walls. Nor are you going to visit a brewery without trying a few samples, or visit a friend’s house without studying their bookshelves. How a character reacts to their environment is crucial, not only in helping to describe the scene, but in progressing the story forwards. And that’s our ultimate goal.

Example: Through the window, outside the gallery, two men backed the car up the drive and another kicked down the front door. It was a beautiful door, but it wasn’t Philomena’s. Nor was the rest of the house.

So we’ve got our character, we’ve used our eight elements and we’ve got the fragments of a scene. Let’s pull them together.  

‘That piece is priceless. The monogram is obscured by the frame, but I can attest to its veracity. Certainly one of our grandest works.’

‘Sentimental old bird. I ain’t got time for an art lesson.’

Philomena pressed her lips together, and dragged her forefinger across the oil painting, fingernail snagging on a hard glob of yellow-green that passed for grass. He grabbed her hand and jerked it away, wrinkling her sleeve.

‘Don’t damage it.’

She smiled, and backed away. Age implied, but never promised, authority. He’d believe any line she fed him. She’d always been told she had a plain face. Rather than taking it to heart, Philomena remained content with her strengths. She was unmemorable, and a fine actress. She felt no animosity towards the man aiming a pistol at her stomach. Only pity, and besides, she could tell it wasn’t loaded. Through the window, outside the gallery, two men backed the car up the drive and another kicked down the front door. It was a beautiful door, but it wasn’t Philomena’s. Nor was the rest of the house.

And there we have it. Philomena is by no means a three-dimensional character at this point, but it's a decent place to start. We may still have questions about her, but we've given more than enough information to get the scene going. By giving her a variety of things to do, say and think, as well as another character to interact with, we've opened up an array of opportunities to demonstrate what she's like, while barely ever having to SAY what she's like.

Activity

Run down the list of characterisation tools and use each one in a sentence. Try and tie each sentence together to make a piece of flash fiction. Is this a character you want to write with further? Let me know in the comments! 

Can you think of any other characterisation techniques I've missed? Let me know below. Hope you found this article useful!