Connecting with Characters

Did you connect with the characters in The Notebook (movie)? I didn't.

I've been reading occasional reviews of Monstrous Beauty, in book blogs and on goodreads. (I consider this activity to be research, not obsession.)

A trend is emerging—a weak one so far, but definitely there—and it makes me want to know more. Some comments and reviews mention that the reader had trouble connecting with the characters (and particularly with the main character, Hester). Interestingly, this comment has almost uniformly been followed by, "But I liked the story enough that I didn't care."

Well, as the author I do care. It's my job to care. Why aren't these particular readers connecting with my characters? What does it even mean to connect with characters? And how does an author orchestrate it?

I put that photo at the top of the post because I sometimes worry that I may be unqualified to delve into these questions. I may have a defective "character connection" gene. Case in point: I had absolutely no attachment to the characters in The Notebook (the movie version; I haven't read any Nicholas Sparks books). Meanwhile, I have friends on Twitter who re-watch the movie whenever they want to have a good cry. So why did the characters not move me at all? Well, I felt the way some of my readers have said they felt with MB: "disconnected." The female lead was annoying to the point of being frustrating; the male lead seemed convinced he had no life without her (deal-killer, not romantic); they didn't actually get along all that well outside of bed; I don't believe there's only one person you can love in the world. On the other hand, speaking in terms of movies again, I did feel a connection to Elizabeth Bennet and Darcy in the 1996 Pride and Prejudice. She was a bright woman and a good emotional catch for Darcy; he was exceptionally loyal to the people he loved, and willing to learn from his mistakes. They had actual stuff to talk about.

In both cases my connection (or lack of ) is based on intellectual arguments, isn't it? Perhaps there is a pattern here: I connected with Ripley in Alien because she was quick-thinking, kick-ass, and determined (oh, god, I wanted her to live). I connected with the older, no-nonsense Sophie in Howl's Moving Castle, but not so much the younger, self-sacrificing, insecure Sophie. I'm reading Code Name Verity by Elizabeth Wein and I'm connecting like heck with Maddie and Queenie—both of them brilliant and resourceful (and in theory I haven't even met one of them yet). I did not bond at all with Bella or Eward when I read Twilight.

I suspect it's different for everyone, but for me, as a viewer and reader, characters have to earn my "connectedness" with strong personal qualities, very often intelligence. Mind you, intelligence isn't necessary or sufficient: I just have to admire them in some way before I'll care about them. This admiration can extend to bad guys, as well. They can be tragic or evil, as long as they have strength of character. And some dynamite characters seem at first to be tragically weak or wounded (Sophos in A Conspiracy of Kings, anyone? Taylor in Jellicoe Road? Little gum-smacking Gilly Hopkins?), but the seeds of strength or downright greatness are all just under the surface, for careful readers to see and root for.

If characters don't merit my respect, I'll watch their progress with detachment. And so, as I was writing Monstrous Beauty, I loved Hester's smarts and strength, and I found myself hoping that both traits would hold her in good stead through her harrowing journey. But I think my tastes are unusual in this respect, and I wish I could nail whatever it is that makes other readers feel connected to characters.

What makes you feel "connected" while you're reading?

New Cover for Monstrous Beauty

This was announced officially on Sara Crowe's blog today: Monstrous Beauty has a new cover! And here it is:

Go on over to the Crowe's Nest if you want to read about all the ways this cover makes me happy.

Cover Disasters #1

A couple of weeks ago I honored Chuck Wendig's Blackbirds with my first "Great Cover Art" post.

Today is not such a happy occasion. Today I've decided to showcase the first in a series I'll call Cover Disasters. And this particular disaster is fairly poignant. It concerns a book called Cross My Heart, by Sasha Gould. Here's the synopsis from Goodreads:

Venice, 1585.
When 16-year-old Laura della Scala learns that her older sister, Beatrice, has drowned, she is given no time to grieve. Instead, Laura's father removes her from the convent where he forcibly sent her years earlier and orders her to marry Beatrice's fiancé, a repulsive old merchant named Vincenzo. Panicked, Laura betrays a powerful man to earn her way into the Segreta, a shadowy society of women who deal in only one currency—secrets. The Segreta seems like the answer to Laura's prayers. The day after she joins their ranks, Vincenzo is publicly humiliated and conveniently exiled. Soon, however, Laura begins to suspect that her sister's death was not a tragic accident but a cold-blooded murder—one that might involve the Segreta and the women she has come to trust.

Now first of all, let me just hazard a guess that "Cross My Heart" was not the working title of this novel, given that the author had to do so much historical research to write about Venice in 1585. I'll bet you a hundred dollars that the working title didn't seem "catchy" enough to somebody, so a committee came up with this. While the expression "cross my heart" probably originated with the Catholic sign of the cross, the earliest reference to the phrase that I could find online is from 1908. I may be wrong, but it just doesn't sound four hundred years old to me. And it also sounds too young—like middle-grade.

Anyway, the advance-reader cover of Cross My Heart was this lovely thing:

ARC cover

It almost looks like a painting, doesn't it? It's perfect, really: it says "historical fiction" right away; it indicates it's a serious read, not fluff; it shows Venice in the print on her dress (so cool); and it has that delightful pop of red in her earring, mirrored in the author's name. Kudos to the book designer, wherever you are.

Now, I imagine someone with no taste and a lot of authority said, "But it's too quiet! It's too adult!" and Random House decided to re-boot the design for the hardcover. This is what they came up with:

Hardcover

Drivel. I'm sorry, it's just so inferior, I can hardly bear to look at it. It looks like every YA cover out there. It gives no hint that it's historical fiction: in fact, with modern lipstick like that, it looks like a contemporary set during Mardi Gras in New Orleans. Or maybe it even looks like a fantasy, or a paranormal.

But things get worse. Someone at Puffin decided the glittery-masked woman above was just too focused (even with her mouth open), and that the cover was too dark for a book that features...er, a shadowy society of women that exchanges murderous favors for secrets?...so they created this paperback version:

Paperback

Just poke my eyes out, please. This is ridiculous. Pink paintball splatters? A come-hither look over the shoulder? A bleached blonde? In 16th century Italy? This is so contemporary, so vapid, so out of touch with the content of the book I want to puke on behalf of poor Ms. Gould. And now, the title has become a grotesque mismatch with the content, because nothing about this cover even remotely hints at Venice in 1585.

In a future post I'm going to talk about what the heck is going on with these sorts of bait-and-switch covers, and about whether there's any marketing justification at all for designing a jacket that does not accurately reflect the content of the novel.

But for now, I'll just quietly fume about how far we got from that first lovely ARC cover design.

A Long -Term Investment in My Writing Career

I don't think every young-adult writer needs to live with young adults to write books, but in my particular case, Monstrous Beauty would not exist without my children. Over the course of the summer of 2009, on our daily jogs to the lake, Sally (then 20) and Eric (then 18) hammered the outline of the story with me, troubleshot plot hurdles, and saved me from my own lame adult inclinations more than once.

I recently completed a novel-writing contest with Eric that resulted in a complete manuscript I rather like (I'm e-mailing it to my agent today). He knew that would happen. He goaded me into productivity. In fact, if the book sells, he'll take all the credit.

I am conversant in the most cutting-edge pop culture. If you watch Downton Abbey but don't watch The Legend of Korra, Adventure Time, and Bob's Burgers you're not swinging with the young crowd. Did you know that My Little Pony:Friendship is Magic is all the rage? Among 20-year-olds? You can't make that stuff up. 

My kids have made me love the word "fuck." They use it as an intensifier, as a joyful version of "very." It's always hilarious, never offensive or angry. It is a divine word that I want desperately to include in my manuscripts, but the children's literature world hasn't caught up with young people—yes, their actual audience—yet.

This is the trait that I think will eventually define me as an author: my collaborative children. Other writers have teen readers (or students) who encourage them or inspire them, but my young adults are essential to my creative process. They conjure ideas with me, they prod me to work faster, they help me brainstorm my way out of problems, they expose me to new, young ways of thinking several times a day.

And they're mercilessly but incisively critical. We have a University of Chicago ethic in our house: no time is wasted on what you got right. It's assumed that you understand the other person respects your work, and that you actively want critical input to make it better. My kids understand that genetically. They speak twenty-three years of Mommy. They have their own incredibly high standards for their creative processes, and they hold me to high standards for my own.Critiques are given in the shorthand language of family, on a continuous basis. It's like taking every breath with a crit group that also speaks a twin-language with you.

I may have had a painfully slow start to my career (at my age I should have at least four books published, not two), but I'm starting to think it was an investment: I gave birth to my co-authors.

Great Cover Art #1

OMG this is the Angry Robot slap-down of YA covers with faceless girls in gowns. I HOPE THE OTHER PUBLISHERS ARE WATCHING.

(Book description from goodreads:
     Miriam Black knows when you will die. She’s foreseen hundreds of car crashes, heart attacks, strokes, and suicides.
     But when Miriam hitches a ride with Louis Darling and shakes his hand, she sees that in thirty days Louis will be murdered while he calls her name. Louis will die because he met her, and she will be the next victim.
     No matter what she does she can’t save Louis. But if she wants to stay alive, she’ll have to try.)

BEST. FAN. ART. EVER.

Or should it actually be the cover of Monstrous Beauty?

Syrenka by Lydia Llama

Ohmigod she's the only person in the world who understands what Syrenka looks like.