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Not everyone loves kittens, even when they are this cute.

Character is one of the biggest things—if not the biggest thing, depending on who you talk to—that will influence whether or not a reader likes a book (or story, or essay, etc.). Plot (that dirty word!) is probably the other, followed by language. But what makes one character better than another? What is it that  separates a likable fictional creation from an unlikable one?

For me, the answer to this question usually has to do with character motivation. Do I  believe the character would act as he or she does? This means getting to know a character’s background, history, culture, social motivations, emotional responses, opinions, and a whole slew of other things, of course. But I’ve noticed an interesting trend lately in that there is a whole group of readers out there who dislike characters for acting in ways the reader can’t imagine acting in his or her own life.

Some examples:

• Clare Abshire from The Time Traveler’s Wife
• Any of the five Lisbon daughters in The Virgin Suicides
• Edna Pontellier in The Awakening
• Faile Bashere or Perrin Aybara (and many others) in The Wheel of Time
• Anna Karenina from Anna Karenina
• Nora Helmer from A Doll’s House

Gender issues aside (since I’ve already covered this over at Bark), I think, as I said above, the commonality here is that these characters all make choices that the reader feels he or she wouldn’t make if put in the same place and so, somehow, this is an unrelatable, unlikeable character.

I too have fallen into this in the past, but that just makes me more sure that, when this happens, it is usually the fault of the reader rather than the author. Not, of course, that that means the author bears no burden for making well-rounded and believable characters, but the question is who is the character supposed to be believable to?

A few months ago someone told me she hoped I wasn’t writing a book with sex or profanity,  because she refuses to read books with those elements. Well, I am. There’s both sex AND profanity. And my main character is angry and often lashes out at people. But these elements aren’t included because I want to shock, or because I somehow feel cooler for including them: They come from the characters.

But then other people tell me they don’t want to read books that feature these types of characters. They ask, “There’s enough of that in the world already so why do you have to write about it?” I can’t speak for all writers, but I know why I do.

Because I’m interested in these characters.

I’m interested in pulling away the layers to get at the rawness that exists in all people: The lies told, the contradictions inherent in every day, the cruel thoughts and, sometimes, actions. But I also like the way these dark things jut up against brighter things: the moments where people act for each other, when they breakthrough to a new piece of honesty. To have one or the other—the struggling homeless man who never steals, attends mass every Sunday, and has an all-around cheery outlook on life, or the cruel rich man who cheats on his taxes and his wife, treats anyone lower than him with disdain and scorn, and hates kittens—this is not believable! Not even in genre—even Darth Vadar had that whole pesky I-sort-of-don’t-want-to-kill-my-son thing.

In the end, I feel it’s my job as a fiction writer, when I see something ugly or shameful, to not look away, to not try to ignore it, but to instead look a bit closer.

Always nice to remember the books I meant to read. Here’s my current and (planned) upcoming reading list.

Current:

• The Sound and the Fury, by William Faulkner (yeah, yeah, this was on my summer reading list)
• Against our Will: Men, Women, and Rape, by Susan Brownmiller (bit dated but very good)
• A Day in the Life of Ancient Rome, by Alberto Angela (voice is annoying and very poorly copyedited, but interesting)
• Harry Potter et la Chambre des Secrets (I’m not going to say either how long I’ve been working on this or how far in I am)

To-Read

• A Gate at the Stairs, by Lorrie Moore
• Veronica, by Mary Gaitskill
• Half the Sky: Turning Oppression into Opportunity for Women Worldwide, by Nicholas D. Kristof

What are you reading? And always remember to support your independent book seller!

I think it’s actually thesis news on my blog here, and if it’s not it should be since I started over in September, and I know I haven’t posted since long before then.

I’m working on a novel for my thesis, one of the few students, I think, who is. And I see why. It’s draining to come back to the same piece day after day, to not get a break from the characters and their lives. Don’t get me wrong–I’m loving writing these characters, and I’ve somehow managed to find a soft spot for each of them–but it’s challenging. Especially when it isn’t going well.

Tonight, however, was one of my best writing nights so far. Yeah, some of the middle of the scene I’m working on is pretty flimsy, but I feel that I’ve always had trouble with conflict. Tonight’s scene dealt with the usage of the word raped to describe, well, things other than actually getting raped. What I found most challenging about this scene was to write it from the point of view of a character who is uncomfortable at how much another is offended by the usage rather than from the point of view of the character whose opinion I share (which, if you know me, you know what it is). I’ll be curious, in my meeting next month, to see how well I pulled off separating my own opinions from those of my characters.

So now my question: What books/stories/films have you read/seen that put you in an uncomfortable situation in regard to your own beliefs? For me it’s currently Lolita, a book which I love and am currently rereading as part of my thesis list.

It’s strange to me to be starting summer in mid-June, but that’s how it works on the quarter system. Last week I officially completed my first year of graduate studies, and that’s means two things: First, it’s time for me to start writing my thesis and, second, that it’s time to start on my summer reading. I’ve amassed quite a stack of books to read over the past months, and my goal is to read at least a book per week all summer.

What am I reading, you ask? Here’s a list:

• The Art Lover, Carole Maso (currently reading)
• The Sound and the Fury, William Faulkner
• Mrs. Dalloway, Virginia Woolf
• Safe in Heaven Dead, Sam Ligon (my thesis advisor)
• Cronopis and Famas, Julio Cortozar
• The Brief Wondrous Life of Oscar Wao, Junot Diaz

I’m sure there’s going to be more (much more), since I’m reading for my thesis, but I also know I’m going to need some lighter books to break up some of the more challenging ones. Just a few days ago I finished a wonderful book about an owl (Wesley the Owl).

What are you all planning on reading this summer?

The new quarter started and with it came my second form and theory class, this one on the short story. Now as I don’t have a strong short story background, I was feeling rather anxious about the class, especially since the first set of assigned stories were Chekhov. I don’t know if it’s 19th century literature or Russian literature, but I’ve read him as well as some Tolstoy this year, and I can’t say I much cared for either of them. And yes, I know, the literary gods are probably preparing a thunderbolt for my head as I type this.

Still, I have to say that I was able to pick up on some of Chekhov’s techniques and participate in the class discussion. I was particularly interested in things I saw in his stories (we read five) that modern readers might not be able to get away with such as authorial intrusion and insignificant lead characters. We move into Hemmingway next, another great whom I’ve never really read. Except for “Hills like White Elephants,” because everyone raves about it.

Has anyone here read any Chekhov or Tolstoy? Am I way off base here when it comes to conventional tastes or is liking certain authors just a sort of status mark? What do you think?

This is the first spring break (since I graduated high school) that I can remember having no real commitments: no job, no homework (except writing, but that doesn’t count to me), no pressing commitments. I’m devoting myself to two things: reading and basketball. This post is about reading.

I don’t get much reading done during the quarter due to my workload, so I’m trying for a few hours every day. And here I present to you my spring break reading list. The first section is books I’ve started I want to finish.

• Misquoting Jesus, by Bart D. Ehrman
• The Gnostic Gospels, by Elaine Pagels
• On Writing, by Stephen King
• The Best American Short Stories 2008, ed. by Salman Rushdie
• 13 Ways of Looking at the Novel, by Jane Smiley
• Horse Heaven, by Jane Smiley
• Men Without Women, by Ernest Hemmingway

Then there are the books I haven’t started but want to read (or at least make a good dent in).

• Drift and Swerve, by Samuel Ligon
• Safe in Heaven Dead, by Samuel Ligon
• The Beauty Myth, by Naomi Wolf
• A book of Chekhov short stories that I have yet to order (and can’t remember the edition of)
• Inkspell, by Cornelia Funke

Look for reviews on a least a few of these. I’m off to get some more reading done! What are you reading?

I recently finished reading Susan Faludi’s The Terror Dream: Fear and Fantasy in Post-9/11 America. This book was recommended to me a little over a year ago by my professional writing advisor at MSU. I bought it on a brass trip (Houston for the sweet sixteen, maybe?) and finally got around to reading it.

In some ways I’m disappointed I put it off: It had so many interesting and well-researched points that I feel would do well to be put more in the mainstream media. But on the other hand, I’ve only recently really developed the language with which to talk about those ideas, so perhaps much of it would have been lost on me a year ago.

First, an overview.

It is undeniable that the attacks of September 11, 2001, had devastating consequences for our nation, for the events of a presidency, our foreign policy, and our sense of what it means to be patriotic. Faludi argues, however, that the attacks were responsible for another change in our national identity, a change that has extensive consequences yet has gone mostly unremarked. When the “phallic” symbol of our nation was essentially cut off, we responded by reverting traditional gender roles. When towers that housed predominately male workers fell, taking mainly male firefighters with them, we talked about how the attacks were against the American family and way of life. The media talked about how we had become an overly feminized nation, how feminism and a departure from traditional John Wayne era gender roles were responsible for making us vulnerable. Fauldi explores the gender-blaming reactions to the attacks, how they are situated in history, and what it might mean for us as a nation.

Now, my thoughts.

This book was incredibly well researched, and Faludi does an excellent job situating the responses into a greater American historical context, which helps her open up her issue from possibly isolated incident to yet another symptom of a specific and gendered way of thinking. She explores such topics as

• the sudden decline in women’s voices in the public sphere in the days and months following the attacks
• why the flight attendant who threw coffee at a terrorist is not discussed but men who only might have been involved are
• the ideas of heroism and sacrifice post-9/11
• the malfunctioning communications equipment that may have resulted in hundreds of firefighter deaths
• the supposed “rescue” of Jessica Lynch and the ways in which the media wanted to (and did) present it

I would recommend this book to anyone interested in digging beyond the myths the media presented (and continue to present), for anyone interested in exploring more deeply the long-lasting and tragic consequences of the events surrounding 9/11.