creating complex characters

Today was Day 2 of my immune system recovery mode; woke at 2:30am and couldn’t fall back to sleep…ruminated instead on my talk at Brooklyn College, and the relationships from my past that continue to inform the way I write now.  My workshop was titled, “What’s your problem?” and it is designed to help writers create complex characters.  We started the class by doing a quick round of introductions: give your name, and one thing that defines who you are.  I’m Zetta, and I’m a feminist.  Others cited favorite activities, good or bad habits.  Then we talked briefly about what makes a story compelling: a suspenseful plot, quirky characters, realism, authenticity.  We noted that sometimes we’re drawn to people who are like us in some way, people with whom we can identify.  Other times we don’t want to hear about someone who shares our basic values or traits: we want someone who’s intriguing, different, distinct.  We considered whether “like attracts like,” or whether “opposites attract.”  Ultimately, I argued that contradictory characters create drama, and that makes for a compelling read (for me, anyway).  The students were then asked to come up to the front of the classroom and select one photo (out of about 40 I cut from magazines) that “spoke” to them somehow.  Everyone took about one minute and looked closely at the photo, searching for visual cues in the person’s facial expression, body language, clothes, environment, etc.  I asked them to mentally construct a narrative to explain the moment their photo was taken.  Then I handed out a questionnaire and asked the students to create a “profile” for their character using the prompts below: Name, Race, Age, Gender, Sexual Orientation, Marital Status, Ethnicity, Religious Affiliation, Education, Current Job, Dream job, Secret ambition, Secret fear, Political Affiliation, Best friend, Favorite food, Best quality, Secret bias, Favorite activity, Role model, Proudest moment, Most important book ever read.  After they spent about ten minutes filling out the questionnaires, I asked for volunteers to share their profiles, and then asked for additional questions to add to the form–I got some great suggestions:  earliest memory, deepest regret, goals, motivations, worst/best habits.  Can you think of a defining question?  I had “first love” on the list, but took it off.  Students then paired up and wrote a one-minute script that tried to resolve one of 5 possible conflicts I provided (i.e. “A law is passed requiring immigrants to the US to wear an electronic monitoring bracelet at all times.”)  In the end, we talked about how NOT knowing everything about a character actually makes that person more intriguing–and, of course, I gave Wolverine as an example.  We want to know his “origins” in order to understand what drives him.  Same thing with the latest Star Trek film: it’s a prequel, b/c we can’t get enough of people’s early lives, their influences and formative experiences.  Who were they *before* we knew them?

So all of this is leading up to my “report” on The Door of No Return.  This isn’t a formal review (I’m borrowing this distinction from Farah Mendelsohn’s blog), and there may be spoilers, so be forewarned.  When I read a book, I usually know right away whether or not it’s going to appeal to me.  Are you like that?  Or do you give an author the benefit of the doubt?  As soon as I started TDNR, I was unenthused.  In part because it starts rather abruptly, and I like at least a little build-up.  I need at least enough information to CARE about what’s happening to the main characters.  I just started reading Gringolandia, and already I can tell that book is going to “work” for me.  I don’t need extensive details, I don’t need long descriptions of the landscape, or the weather, or the decor in a room.  But I do need to be invested in the characters I’m reading about, and that never happened for me with TDNR.  Which actually surprised me, b/c the subject matter itself is right up my alley–a teenage boy uncovers a conspiracy to rob his family of their rightful inheritance, and a chance to sue the British government for its involvement in the slave trade along the coast of what is now Ghana.  Just last night I was talking about the metaphoric value of The Door of No Return, and the idea of Afro-urban magic–my plan to create “portals” around New York City so that my contemporary characters can move through time.  My scholarship focuses on racial violence, so I’m always interested in stories of slavery, the Middle Passage, and reparations, and I was really impressed that a YA author would choose to address these provocative issues in a book for teens.  But TDNR was not the novel I was hoping for, and so I’ll just admit that I was disappointed by the author’s narrative choices.  I wish she had taken the time to show us what Zac’s life was like *before* he got caught up in the conspiracy.  He’s Jamaican, but his grandfather (who raised him due to absent parents we know nothing about) seems to identify only as Cormantin, a tribe from the Gold Coast (Ghana) known for its members’ fierce fighting abilities.  Zac’s grandfather believes they are descended from a prince who was sold into slavery despite a contract that ensured his release from British custody in exchange for a chest full of priceless gold dust.  The novel then becomes a quest for that lost gold–and Zac’s efforts to elude evil government agents who kill his grandfather and attempt to frame him.  Everyone’s searching for a map to the gold, which turns out to be etched into Zac’s back–something the first prince had done to him by his brothers.  My question is, how does one reproduce a map one can’t even see?  For generations, Zac’s male ancestors have been passing down this map, but of course, he can’t see it and has to have it read for him by others (an annoying mixed-race girl who can’t decide whether she identifies with European slavers or enslaved Africans, of course).  But the map isn’t discovered until the end of the novel, and in the meantime Zac moves from a foster home to a group home, then to Ghana where he’s sentenced to perform community service at a leprosarium (which is actually run by another sadistic government agent).  With the help of a young leper and the mixed-race girl, Zac escapes and they make their way through the forest, up the river, along the coast, and back through the Door of No Return at a particular slave fortress built by the Portuguese.  There’s extensive description of this journey, which I found tedious–and then I had to wonder: is this book exciting for teenage boys?  At times it reminded me of a big budget action flick that’s low on character development and big on explosions, with well-timed one-liners that reveal the wit of the suave male lead.  At one point near the end, Zac finds himself in the slave fortress and realizes the moral implications of his ancestor’s enslavement hundreds of years ago; the next moment he’s planning how to spend his millions at the mall, even taking time to come up with several rhyming jingles to describe his shopping spree.  WTF?!  Their escapade concludes with Zac taking out two secret agents with some kickboxing/karate moves he apparently learned in school.  Too bad we never saw Zac IN school, never saw him adjusting to life with his white foster parents (who adopt him and the boy with leprosy in the end).  The best relationship is between Zac and Ashley, another inmate at the group home, but their relationship is developed primarily through text messages.  Again–is that a device that works better on teenage boys?  Is that why Mina’s a hottie?  I hope other people read this novel and share their impressions (link to Crazy Quilts since TDNR is on Edi’s summer reading list).  TDNR won a major prize in the UK, and it certainly was daring to write a novel about the debt Western powers owe to the millions of descendents of enslaved Africans.  Unfortunately, I found it easy to put down.  Let me know what you think…