by James Scott Bell
@jamesscottbell
I was reading a mystery the other day and noticed something—myself, pondering. I’d just read a passage describing a character. I shan’t print the actual prose, but here’s something I made up to give you the idea:
She wore a dress the color of jade. A platinum chain, deceptively thin on her smooth neck, held a diamond pendant. She had a sleek gold watch on her wrist, stacked against an array of jangling bracelets. Even her stiletto pumps whispered of indulgence and private fittings.
A couple of paragraphs later my brain sent me a message: Hey, I don’t remember a single thing she was wearing.
Which got me to thinking about what kind, and how many, physical details one should include. And my first thought is that one telling detail is much more powerful than a list. Consider this passage from The Godwulf Manuscript, a Spenser novel from Robert B. Parker:
Bradley W. Forbes, the president, was prosperously heavy—reddish face; thick, longish, white hair; heavy white eyebrows. He was wearing a brown pinstriped custom tailored three-piece suit with a gold Phi Beta Kappa key on a gold watch chain stretched across his successful middle. His shirt was yellow broadcloth and his blue and yellow striped red tie spilled out over the top of his vest.
This, IMO, is too much. And I was tripped up by broadcloth. What the heck is broadcloth? All those colors—red, white, gold. And what does “blue and yellow striped red” look like?
Here’s a better mix from The Americans by John Jakes. Carter Kent is a student at Harvard in the 1880s. Rebellious in nature, Carter got on the wrong side of his German professor.
In Carter’s opinion the man belonged in the Prussian army, not in a classroom. His curly blonde hair lay over his forehead in damp, effeminate ringlets. He had protruding blue eyes, and a superior manner, and loved to strut in front of his classes with a gold-knobbed cane in hand. He issued study instructions as if they were military orders, emphasizing them by whacking the cane on the desk.
Here damp, effeminate ringlets is striking. The gold-knobbed cane also. But here we have Carter’s impression of the man. Prussian army … military orders. And an action— whacking desks. That latter picture is one that sticks most in my mind.
Now let’s look at three character descriptions from the first page of Raymond Chandler’s The Long Goodbye. It is, of course, in the POV of Philip Marlowe:
The first time I laid eyes on Terry Lennox he was drunk in a Rolls-Royce Silver Wraith outside the terrace of The Dancers. The parking lot attendant had brought the car out and he was still holding the door open because Terry Lennox’s left foot was still dangling outside, as if he had forgotten he had one. He had a young-looking face but his hair was bone white. You could tell by his eyes that he was plastered to the hairline, but otherwise he looked like any other nice young guy in a dinner jacket who had been spending too much money in a joint that exists for that purpose and for no other.
Notice there’s one telling detail—bone white. That’s striking, and that’s enough. The rest of the description is the impression the character’s looks make on Marlowe.
There was a girl beside him. Her hair was a lovely shade of dark red and she had a distant smile on her lips and over her shoulder she had a blue mink that almost made the Rolls-Royce look like just another automobile. It didn’t quite. Nothing can.
Two specific details here—dark red hair and a blue mink—and both of them are wrapped up inside Marlowe’s impression. Here is a rich woman who doesn’t seem to care about the drunken Lennox (…distant smile…)
The attendant was the usual half-tough character in a white coat with the name of the restaurant stitched across the front of it in red. He was getting fed up.
Detail: white coat with red stitching. But the impression is what stays with us. I know what Marlowe means by a “usual half-tough character.”
Chandler then goes on to use both dialogue and action to augment the descriptions. Dialogue for the half-tough guy:
“Look, mister,” he said with an edge to his voice, “would you mind a whole lot pulling your leg into the car so I can kind of shut the door? Or should I open it all the way so you can fall out?”
Action for the woman:
The girl gave him a look which ought to have stuck at least four inches out of his back.
Finally, if you’ve got a character with a definite voice (and you should!) you can often capture the reader with just one line. Here again is the great Chandler:
It was a blonde. A blonde to make a bishop kick a hole in a stained-glass window. (Farewell, My Lovely)
From thirty feet away she looked like a lot of class. From ten feet away she looked like something made up to be seen from thirty feet away. (The High Window)
She smelled the way the Taj Mahal looks by moonlight. (The Little Sister)
Redoing the description that kicked off this post, perhaps:
A platinum chain, deceptively thin on her smooth neck, held a diamond pendant. I smelled trouble. Or was that her perfume?
Suggestions (not rules…ahem):
- Don’t give us a list. Look for that one, telling detail.
- Consider using an impression from the POV character.
- Augment the description with dialogue and action.
- Use the voice for all its worth.
Over to you now. As I sit here in my faded sweatpants the color of an old gray mare, and my L.A. Rams T-shirt with a hole in the left armpit, I wonder: Do you have the same reaction to lists of details (i.e., forgetting them almost immediately)? What is your approach to character description?
ONLY if the pov character has a very good reason for thinking or saying something about another character will you get any of this from me – I’ve never really liked narrators.
First person is fine – but motivation still matters. Why am I getting this information from the character RIGHT NOW?
If I manage that, it slides into the reader’s mind unopposed.
Why a character is showing up at all seems a good reason to add a description. When it comes to very minor Cs, like doormen or cabbies, description is usually unnecessary.
The pov character sees the new character show up and says – or thinks – WHAT?
That’s what I want to tell the reader. Few people see a friend show up and think, ‘Susie’s wearing a red dress,’ unless they have a reason to 1) mention her name, and 2) notice the dress at all.
‘Do I dare ask if he likes being called Susie?’ gives you a lot of information about the new person – and the pov one.
I have a hard time finding a happy medium on this subject. Yes, there is a tendency for me to forget details if the writer is giving them in a list. But by the same token, it also doesn’t appeal when a writer tries to be too flashy with a detail (i.e. that’s the impression that some of the Chandler examples leave on me).
As a result, I have to be careful because sometimes the outcome is that I don’t use enough character detail in my writing and I don’t want that either. I’m still trying to find that happy medium between 2 extremes.
That’s the craft of it, isn’t it? “Trying” to be “flashy” is never the answer. We have to find the Goldilocks mean—just right.
I don’t like laundry list descriptions. I also don’t like stopping the story to give them.
I agree, they should come from the character’s POV, not the author’s. I’m on my first full editing pass of this wip, and these are good things to check. Thanks for the reminders.
I have to remind myself of this, too.
Thanks for the Just-In-Time advice. The first item on my morning hit list is to fix a laundry-list description that has been annoying me for a week. The post created a major “DUH!” moment; I’d forgotten to filter the description through the POV character’s attitude. The description needed to tell the reader as much about the POV character as the person being described.
Well said, Bill. A good description does tell us about the POV character. A list just tells us about the author.
Chandler’s descriptions give added depth to Phillip Marlowe. I’m just starting a book, so this post comes in handy!
“Added depth” is right on, Patricia.
The girl gave him a look which ought to have stuck at least four inches out of his back. Brilliant! My fave in your laundry list, Jim.
Another TKZ post for my Learn Me file. What sounds fun to me right now is to create some characters–not for a particular WIP–just, let’s call them Keyboard Characters, in a document just for practice. Maybe they’ll end up in a novel.
Happy Sunday!
I love your idea of practice here, Deb. I created practice scenes for myself all the time in my early years of learning the craft. It’s invaluable.
And it’s such a pleasure to read chandler. His wonderful voice never overwhelmed the story, but was an integral part of it.
I also forget a laundry list of character details quickly. Alas, I’ve been guilty of the police blotter sketch approach in my own character descriptions, but learned sometime ago to dial that back to just a couple of details. One telling detail is my goal.
Chandler was indeed a master of the telling detail, and finding that telling detail, along with an action or a piece of dialog, can leave a distinct impression for the reader. I agree with your other suggestions as well.
Hope you have a great Sunday.
Right with you on all of that, Dale, even the past guilt.😱
Jim, your suggestions are so excellent that they should be rules!.
When I see a laundry list description starting, I skip ahead to the next dialogue passage.
One perfect telling detail does the job for me as a reader.
The R word! Ha!
Thanks for these great examples of both good and bad descriptions, Jim. (What the heck is broadcloth, anyway?)
Chandler was such a master. I should make it a point to read one of his works each time I start a new novel of my own. Maybe some of that descriptive genius would rub off.
I may have to binge soon and reread them all, from The Big Sleep to The Long Goodbye. And some of the stories, too, like Red Wind.
Broadcloth is a woven cotton fabric that has a hard finish to it. A lot of solid color, button-down shirts have it. 😉
I think the level of description depends on the person observing. A PI is going to notice everything because the smallest detail could solve the case or save his life. A woman might notice only the mink, because she’s envious of it. A thief would probably eye the diamond and assess the level of her companion’s drunken state to determine if he would fight if he tried to grab the necklace.
I don’t write long descriptions, preferring to sprinkle details when appropriate, but maybe a laundry list would keep a reader from thinking, “Oh, there’s a gun on the wall, so someone is going to get shot.” I know the ‘rule’ is that if someone gets shot, there had darn well have been a gun in the beginning.
Great point, Becky, about the type of character influencing what they notice. I also like “sprinkling” in details. I sometimes do this with a character noticing someone far off, with a selected detail, then a little later getting a “close up.” That avoids piling them all up.
Carver’s Telling Detail! There it is again. Too many writers religiously, and ridiculously, follow the old Five Senses tip right off a cliff. Am I reading a fancy menu or a story?
Menu v. Story. Nicely put, Philip!
It depends on the genre, the importance of the character, and who the viewpoint character is. One failure I often see is that the description when it is spread through a short bit of scene goes from general to specific. By the time the author gets around to mentioning the heroine’s dog is a golden retriever, the reader has already imagined it as some other breed.
For secondary characters who come and go in the story I try to give them a defining action. In one novel, the heroine’s housekeeper is always mauling things in her hands like she’s like to maul the hero. So, protective with anger issues.
I like that, Marilynn. Call it a “telling action.” Like Uriah Heep constantly rubbing his hands.
A lot of this good advice falls into the category of, “tell, don’t show.” The narrator tells you their value judgments (“plastered to the hairline”) without pulling their punches. Mincing around the point by offering hints would be feeble.
Good point, Robert.
My soon-to-be-published high fantasy opens with the MC polishing a piece of armor. I’m guilty of describing his reflection in the breastplate, mea culpa, mea maxima culpa.
My noir Christmas story introduces a character thus:
…my visitor announced herself.
“Are you Myron Sledge, the detective?” she asked, standing blondly in front of the glass door that said, “Myron Sledge, Private Detective” in gold letters three inches high. I looked up, prepared to make some smart remark, but smart deserted me as soon as I got a look at her eyes, a pair of beautiful, deep brown eyes like left and right jabs to the solar plexus.
With a curvaceous figure that Venus would have envied, a tanned, unblemished oval face framed with lustrous thick brown hair, deep azure-blue eyes fringed with long black lashes, perfect teeth that vied for competition, and a small straight nose, Marilee had a beauty that defied description. – Bulwer-Lytton contest winner
I didn’t forget the Rams t-shirt, as I’m a Cardinal’s fan. Also, off topic, but Chandler would be crucified in today’s critique groups with today’s “modern” authors. He used “was” eight times in that one passage. Isn’t that some rule as well – never use “was”? I think his writing is terrific. But just saying…
Great rule! Here’s an improvement:
It the best of times, it the worst of times, it the age of wisdom, it the age of foolishness, it the epoch of belief, it the epoch of incredulity, it the season of Light, it the season of Darkness…
Yes, long descriptions are easily forgettable
I loved this line of the description: “A platinum chain, deceptively thin on her smooth neck, held a diamond pendant.
“A platinum chain, deceptively thin on her smooth neck…” paints such a vivid mental picture for me, I wouldn’t need much more as a reader. At least not yet. I much prefer to build my own mental image than to be hammered with too much description.
Excellent topic, Jim. Can’t think of anyone better suited to cover it.