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Take some time out for yourself. You deserve it.
New Zealand or England. Where will you go first?
– A person who narrates something, especially a character who recounts the events of a novel or narrative poem.
– A person who delivers a commentary accompanying a film, broadcast, piece of music, etc.
This is a question many authors don’t ask themselves enough. Because the voice of the narrator is your direct link to readers. If they don’t like them, they won’t stick around for the rest of your book.
We must be careful of who we put in charge of conveying our precious story. Nobody wants to listen to a boring monotone or a jackass who plays the fool. This is probably the most important decision you will ever make when crafting your masterpiece. Your narrator will make or break your story whether they are the voice of a main character or someone along for the ride.
They’re okay to have a snigger at, but let’s face it, the class clown wasn’t someone we took seriously. And you didn’t want to sit near them because everything about them spelled trouble and it always spills over onto those nearest. They’re funny until they just…aren’t. Then they become tiresome, a right royal pain and eventually not worth the effort.
I’ve read novels with a narrator who behaves like the clown’s accomplice and greatest fan. I once read for someone who wanted me to review before launch day. About half way through, I had to email him with a ‘sorry, no can do’ message. The premise of the story was amazing. Incredible actually. But the narrator was someone I wanted to slap. Hard. I couldn’t take it anymore. After the thousandth smutty comment and filthy, suggestive dig at one of the female characters, I stopped reading. Judging by the reviews he got, very few could cope with a dirty minded, teenage style narration.
Some people may love it. A lot didn’t. Be careful of subjecting your readers to constant slapstick and especially smut. It’s a risk and you may lose them altogether.
This narrator has a place in satire. Quick witted and eager to be alongside the clowning of the main character, they prove useful in distracting the reader from things they’re not meant to see. They can throw in effective red herrings and create diversions. Treat with caution. This narrator has a mind of their own.
Bridget Jones is the classic ditzy character who gets everything wrong, but is refreshingly real about her short comings and grows on a reader or viewer quickly with careful narration. A whole rash of ditzy characters sprung up out of the weeds after the success of this brand. The spotlight of narration trained on those clumsy or unfortunate moments which just made us love the heroines more.
I can’t cope if they’re too ditzy. They become irritating. It also seems a trait which is predominantly female and gets tired and occasionally sexist. Everyone sighs and there’s a sense of ‘here we go again.’ It’s okay for strong characters to have ditzy moments, but a narrator who over highlights them with a degree of manic enthusiasm becomes boring. There’s a sense that the action takes second place as this narrator nudges the reader’s arm and draws attention to the main character splitting their pants or falling over yet again.
There’s a heap of this type of narration in the women’s fiction genre at the moment. Whether the point of view is first or third person, the narrator has the potential to focus on unfortunate mistakes as though they’re endearing highlights. But beware. Banana skin moments can’t disguise a rough plot with more holes than a Swiss cheese. This kind of narrator can’t salvage a so-so novel, but many authors are tempted to use it as such.
I got hooked on a series where the main characters suffered from extreme ditz, but the story lines were interesting. By book seven my guffaws became a barely raised smile. Where the narrator should have focussed on the plot and the whodunit, they pointed and laughed at the banana skin moments. I started to notice serious plot holes too big to overlook and lost interest.
I personally loved Lara Croft, Indiana Jones and latterly, Jack Reacher. Their die hard spirit brings out the inner battler in all of us. As they circumnavigate the latest disaster, we know they’ll win through and order will be restored to our fragile world. The narrators work hard to set up their strengths and throw a spotlight onto the capabilities of these types of characters. I’m old enough to remember the Rambo cult followings and know it’s still very much alive in those of us over forty.
The danger here is that it becomes all about the physical strength and fighting prowess of the main characters, to the exclusion of all else. Humans are ultimately fragile beings with flaws and vulnerabilities. We’re hard wired to unmask the weak points in heroic figures and the narrator’s job is to drip feed those and keep us interested. Jack Reacher can’t seem to settle down. He’s comfortable with his nomadic style of living and his prolonged love affair with a toothbrush. Women adore him, despite Lee Child telling us through his narration that Jack Reacher is average looking and nothing to write home about. He’s a smooth operator who occasionally has moments of passion and vulnerability. James Bond jumps into bed with everyone. Jack Reacher has the odd hook up. Despite their flaws, we love them.
The warrior’s wingman has a responsibility to uphold the hard ass while allowing chinks of vulnerability to peek through. It’s an important job. Play it tough and the character becomes one dimensional. Introduce too many flaws and they become a serial avoider. It’s a very delicate balance and could go either way.
Strong, concise narration without frills convinces male readers they want to be Jack Reacher. It convinces female readers they might like to borrow him for the odd weekend getaway. But too much of the strong silent type is off putting and unattainable. Handle this narrator with extreme care.
Where the main character is a bit of a wimp, the narrator will spend time apologising and making excuses for their behaviour. It’s like sitting next to a helicopter mum at parents’ evening. Her kid’s a nightmare and everyone in the room knows it, but she’s dedicating her life to justifying him or her until she draws her last breath. The reader wants to throttle them, but the narrator stops them with a gentle hand movement and a promise that things will improve if they just hang in there.
One of my early characters is a bit of a wimp. She’s a little too vulnerable for her own good and the narrator is on her side. But there’s room for growth in her personality and as the series progresses, she finds her inner fighter and starts kicking ass.
Beware of fostering a narrator who parents a main character. They should be able to stand on their own two feet and not be propped up from behind. A narrator performing that role will never gain emotional access to your reader. They’re more likely to alienate them from the outset.
This narrator needs to administer the odd well placed slap to the main character, not spend too much time cosseting them.
This type of narrator can prove painful. They’re fact droppers and sloppy manipulators. Part of the narrator’s role is take care of the reader while recounting the story and the know-it-all won’t do that. They’re too busy using big words, displaying their superior knowledge and performing poor sleight of hand movements to stop the reader uncovering the parts of the story they aren’t meant to know yet. This kind of narrator isn’t focussed on the reader or main character and will serve to alienate everyone.
They have the ear of the author, because they need the inside track on the action. The know-it-all will milk that position of power for all they’re worth and either blurt things out early, or delay the distribution of knowledge. This narrator, in my opinion, is the most dangerous of them all.
When employed in a first person role, they might come across as superior and will undoubtedly complicate matters for the character whose voice they provide. Operating as a detached entity within a story line, they will leave the reader feeling detached and unguarded. Just like this type of person in the real world, they’re not to be trusted.
Use this type of narrator with caution. They can be harnessed into a tremendous asset in laying false trails, but only if mastered with skill.
There are many other voices which authors use to convey their story. I’ve listed just a few. Your narrator is your greatest asset, so use them with wisdom. Their role should be seamless, providing the invisible strings which the author controls as the grand puppet master. Many authors launch into a writing exercise and give their narrator no thought at all. They spew words onto a page without considering the style of the voice which whispers into the reader’s ear. The narrator is a powerful intermediary.
Play. Or be played.
K T Bowes is the author of quite a few books.
Some have great narrators and others are a little iffy.
Each of them have a place.
You can check out the proof of the pudding HERE
