How Sharp a Fictional Character?

Looking from my study today I can only see to the near edge of the lake. Fog cloaks its surface and allows me to only sense the opposite shore based on the shading of distant greys. Stepping out on the deck I hear an occasional duck quack and can visualize mergansers fishing for breakfast. The beat of large wings moving from south to north sounds overhead, and I decide that an eagle has just flown by.

Should I choose, I could describe for you the mergansers in precise detail, relying on years of watching them. I could tell you that this time of year you can’t tell males from the females because in both sexes their heads are now muted red. I could describe their long beaks serrated with pointed tooth-like projections, the better to catch slippery fish with, My Dear. Or I could call them “sawbills” and let you draw your own picture.

Because I saw an eagle yesterday, I could speculate that the eagle I hear—but don’t see—is not fully mature, its head and tail lacking the telltale white. I could ruminate about how the process typically starts with a first white feather at around age three and takes two to four years to complete, when the head and tail are completely white.

Or I could simply tell you ducks are quacking on the lake and that I feel the air pressure increase with each wing beat as the unseen eagle flies overhead. You would probably picture a mallard for the duck and a mature bald eagle with snow white head and tail.

Does it matter if you picture the wrong kind of duck or eagle, and does the answer change if we’re talking about people instead of wildlife?

Yes, No and Maybe—at least by my preferences.

If it is really important for the reader to understand what the POV character is seeing, then by all means provide as much detail as possible. If the animal sets the stage, defines the location, then give enough specifics so an astute reader can place the action. If the ducks and eagle are an aside and their description may delay the action of the scene, then who cares if mergansers have webbed feet?

For me, the same is true for human characters. I like a broad brush that allows me to fill in my own details—to make my own picture of the character, even for the main characters. I get bored quickly and skip ahead when each new character is painted with a paragraph of detail. Give me a trait or two; I’ll do the rest. When I am jogging people’s memory about who I am, I often refer to myself as “the tall bald guy with the beard and ponytail.” Invariably, that is enough. If I were to try to disguise myself, all I need to do is wrap my ponytail over my head like a squirrel in the rain and cover my pate with a wig. No more Jim Jackson.

For minor characters, all I need when reading is enough to keep them straight. For a main character, feel free to work in a few pertinent facts along the way to help me fill out their picture, but heaven forbid you give them a feature totally conflicting with my personal projection of the character. If you do that, I might abandon your book right there and choose something else to read.

Needless to say, I don’t spend much of my leisure time reading Thomas Hardy and his ilk. What I’ve described is my preference in reading (and writing). What about you?

Jim