Thoughts on Queen's

I turned on the television to check the Queen's final score yesterday afternoon, fully expecting it to have gone into a deciding set, only to find Marin Cilic wandering around with the trophy. This puzzled me, since he'd just lost the first set the last time I checked the score and there was definitely something going on - for one thing, he was booed when Sue Barker tried to get a comment from him. It took a few more minutes to decipher what was going on but it eventually transpired that his opponent David Nalbandian had overreacted to being broken by Cilic and had kicked an advertising hoarding beside the court. Unfortunately, that hoarding shielded a line judge: the hoarding struck the judge, causing him to fall off his chair as the wound on his leg started bleeding fairly heavily. Nalbandian was disqualified, handing the title to Cilic. The Telegraph article includes the video of the moment Nalbandian lost his temper.

What astonished me, however, was not the actual kick but the reaction of the crowd to Cilic. I honestly can't believe they booed him for the fact his opponent ended the match in a sudden and rather violent manner. Yes, they felt deprived of their tennis final; yes, some of them didn't realise the severity of the line judge's injury. Still, wanting a match to go on when someone outside of the two players has been hurt feels selfish beyond belief on the part of the crowd. More than that, it seems like they wanted to reward Nalbandian for his antics. In fairness to them, though, they did boo Nalbandian himself when he waffled on live television and tried to blame the ATP's hectic schedule for his reaction.

All this got me thinking. As a collective, humans are very selfish. We boo if something unexpected goes wrong in a tennis match; we boo if a band doesn't perform the song everyone wants to. What about authors? I would imagine the criticism they receive online is akin to crowd booing. If you write a series which people become invested in and then make an unpopular turn I'd imagine the crowd can be fairly harsh: what were the reactions, I wonder, to the killings of Sirius Black and Albus Dumbledore in the Harry Potter series?

Step back another inch, to somewhere in-between writing and spectacle: television drama and soap. These combine writing with performance and therefore any 'blame' can be spread around a large group. However, anecdotal evidence suggests that actors are criticised in the streets for the actions of their characters - this is a nice way for writers to avoid criticism!

Of course, I don't think there's anything wrong with debate. The recent Alzheimer's storyline in Coronation Street provoked a lot of debate, most of which seemed to shy-away from outright 'booing'. However, the actions of the crowd at Queen's yesterday edged away from polite irritation at the rules (and the right of the line judge to work in relative safety) and moved into outright hostility. What happens if you start listening to the crowd's demands to be entertained? I don't know. But I do know I'm not keen on trying it.

Pet Names

To avoid any confusion, I'm talking about 'names for pets' in this post. Not 'pet names' such as 'snuggles', 'cuddles', 'arsenic', and 'bulldozer'. That's a whole different category and one that could make everyone feel rather nauseous. No, I've been thinking a lot lately about animal names and their relationship to fiction: how do you decide what to call your pets and, more importantly, how do characters?

So far in my novel drafts I've only included one pet. There's an excellent piece of advice in some book somewhere that warns writers not to include animals without an exceptional reason. They can be self-indulgent little things that do nothing apart from hold up your plot and, when you forget about them, can leave the reader wondering where the fluffy kitten is and whether you did actually leave it in the burning building. The cat in my novel serves a few purposes, or at least I believe she does. I may be being self-indulgent. But Meg gives my protagonist something to get up for in the morning, she gives her something to talk to, and she serves to illuminate aspects of character by her preference for certain characters over others. As a cat person, I have to say that a cat's opinion can occasionally sway me in something like that. Yes... I know.

But why the name Meg? Well, my protagonist found the cat as a stray and gave her a human name to make her part of her hitherto single-person family. The old saying goes that if you give a cat a human name it becomes more human in your eyes. Now, I don't know what our pet names say about us as a family.

My cat, who unfortunately died last week, was called Stalin. Her sister, who passed away a few months ago was called Vlad. These cats were originally my sister's but part of her agreement to get them dictated my mother should have a say in the names. And she was kind of into her history. I have to say, whereas Vlad was a softie, Stal lived up to her name on some occasions. But not as much as the first cat I remember - Beast. Now, she was a stray and a very violent scrappy cat. I was scratched more than I care to remember when I was younger by that darling. She had a particularly amusing game of hanging around on the kitchen country ready to leap onto the back of our poor, unsuspecting doggy. She was originally called (embarrassing moment coming up) Icolbit, because a child who shall remain nameless couldn't speak and wanted her to come over 'a little bit'. However, 'Beast' was a much more appropriate name for her.

We've had two dogs in my lifetime. Paddy, probably a whippet crossed with something it really shouldn't have been crossed with, was a rescue dog. The first day we got him he ran from the house into the middle of a busy road because he was scared. I'm not sure the car helped his fear much. However, one metal plate later and he was perfectly happy. He still shook at anything, even a raised voice, but he was the most docile, friendly dog you could encounter. When he died my mother was heartbroken, and made the decision to go check out a puppy next door to one of my aunts the very same day. So we ended up with Rosie, a Cairn crossed with a Westie... we think. She's highly excitable and we're currently having some problems with her because she misses Stalin terribly. Once Beast died she became attached to Vlad and when Vlad died she latched onto Stal. She's now lost and confused and thinks we're going to leave her every time we leave the dining room. Rosie was my name choice, and not for very pleasant reasons either. There was a stuck-up girl I hated at school, part of a set who loved the look of themselves in a mirror. Naming my dog after one of them seemed to be the ultimate revenge at the time. Ahem. I promise I have grown up since then.

We've had an array of animals in my family. Maud, a grey long-eared rabbit; Norman, a brown and white rat; Noel and Liam, my brother's budgies. Plus an assortment of mice, rabbits and fish whose names escape me. But, for the most part, they were all part of the family - that is, they were named as if they were part of the family.

I know that including pets in fiction should be avoided if they're just going to be an issue of cuteness and irritation to the reader. But think of Fang in the Harry Potter series: whenever Hagrid was in his hut I wanted to know where the dog was because he was a vivid character in my mind. He helped define Hagrid. Where would Count Fosco be in The Woman in White without his assortment of mice and birds? The attention he pays to them highlights a peculiar edge to his character. And, in the world of television, where would Martin Crane be without his dog, Eddie? Animals can help define and shape character as much as they can annoy the audience by their constant interruptions. The key as a writer is to know when you're indulging yourself and when you're indulging the requirements of the plot or scene.

The Dangers of Duality.

Something I've come across in my studies is the explicit use of duality in the fiction I'm reading. Characters are put in direct contrast to each other in order to make a point as well as to further the plot. The novel I'm reading at the moment (a little-know story by Edmund Yates, The Silent Witness) initiated the introduction of the two female characters by contrasting them in every way. One was fair haired, the other dark. One was a prattler, the other was full of sense. It may be wise to point out that the dark-haired intellectual quickly lost those traits when she was separated from the woman she was deliberately set up as opposite to.

Duality was a common tool of Victorian writers. It helped inform the reader using various simple distinctions: fair/dark, bright/dim, strong/weak and, of course, that old favourite pretty/ugly. It was used to great effect in Victorian fiction; think of Marian/Laura in The Woman in White or Mina/Lucy in Dracula.

It's an effective tool for any writer really and one that's still evident in every walk of fiction today. My favourite novel, Sarah Water's Fingersmith sets up a contrast between Sue and Maud from the beginning. The Harry Potter books are especially verbose in this kind of method: think Harry/Draco, Harry/Cedric, Hermione/Pansy, Neville/just about anyone.

It's a simple way of differentiating between characters. The idea of hair colour is one that seeps into even the best writer's conscious: if A has blonde hair then let's make B's dark so we can spot the difference. It's a handy marker but there are several pitfalls.

Firstly, if you create a character in response to another then the second character won't be as rounded and three-dimensional as the first. Not if all you've done is create an opposite for your protagonist. Some Victorian novels, especially sensational ones, suffer with this. The title character of Lady Audley's Secret is evil, for want of a better term. Her opposite in the novel is arguably Clara Talboys who, apart from having a desperate desire to find her missing brother, is an ineffectual human being. This had the desired effect of making the audience root for Lady Audley instead of Clara but it didn't do much for the depth of the novel.

A second problem with duality is that it can hinder character progression. If, as a writer, you're so intent on maintaining a distinction between various character then you can ignore the potential (or in some cases, necessity) for character evolution and change. This is extremely evident in serial television more than anything else. This is how the villain keeps going for years on end without being touched in any way by their deeds: think Tracy Barlow in Coronation Street, Don Beech in The Bill or Janine Butcher in Eastenders. What these characters loop back to is a desire to cause trouble, whatever brief epiphanies they may experience. They are there as the token villain and heaven-forbid they turn over a new leaf.

Finally, I'd say that duality can quickly become predictable and boring if not in the right hands. Some descriptions, especially in the Victorian books I'm reading at the moment, are cringeworthy in their attempts to set up a distinction between two characters.

The thing about contrast is that it should work on a primarily subliminal platform. If you have to point it out then you're not doing your job properly.