Here are some thoughts mainly (but not exclusively) meant for those who write in a close third-person or first-person point of view.
We’ve all internalized the advice to stay in a consistent point of view. You know—not to see things Mr. POV can’t see (like his own face) nor to read other people’s minds. But there’s a different sense in which a writer has to think about voice, and not just in dialogue. Because each personage in a book, like every real-life individual, has a different way of expressing herself.
To capture these various flavors of speech—yes, and thought—distinguishes among the characters, adds color and personality to the book, and generally makes it richer and more natural.
Close Narration Is Never Neutral
Let me repeat: this applies to the straight narration in third-person POV as well as to dialogue, since one thinks in speech, and the narrator is sitting in the character’s head.
I’m sure you’ve read books that were from the point of view of a child. If these were recollections of childhood by an adult, that’s one thing. For example, To Kill a Mockingbird is told years later by a grown Scout who was small when the events take place, so her evaluation of events is that of an adult. But if a child narrates in first person or even if hers is the head within which an impersonal narrator dwells, the voice will be that of a child. The vocabulary. The degree of philosophical reflection. The things the narrator notices. The age of the POV character will matter, as will her intelligence, modernity, or education. If your protagonist is a six-year-old street urchin of the eighteenth century, you won’t be writing in your usual smart twenty-first-century literary-person language.
In Their Own Words
Dialogue is the obvious field of battle. Each person has his own way of speaking, clearly. Country folks are likely to use one set of words or pronunciations. Teenagers have their own jargon. Academics tend to use big words and impeccable grammar.
To flatten everyone out into a basic correct speech makes for a bland read, and without a timely beat or tag, the reader may not even know who’s speaking. But even beyond categorical differences are the individual tics that distinguish John from Joe. I know a woman who adds “eh?” to every statement (and she’s not Canadian). Some people say things like “whaddya bet” or “crikey” all the time. Do you remember the nautical character in Cloud Atlas who used marine metaphors at every turn? Brilliant! That’s the way an old salt would think and speak.
Or So They Think
Notice I said “think and speak.” These distinctions are clearest in dialogue, where the author reports people’s direct utterances.
You can’t omit personal tricks of speech because you’re reporting word for word. But don’t neglect to personalize the narration from their point of view either. These colorations are easier to add in first-person writing, but they should apply to close third as well, since this is narrated from a place inside the character’s head. What metaphors do they use? If they’re a sailor, see above. One of my protagonists is a bird fancier, and he sees the world in terms of flight and feathers. How do they react to things? Hasty and quick to take offense? Measured and mathematical? Indifferent or compassionate to suffering? Do beautiful people who are used to being admired see the world the way the rest of us do? Does a bitter old curmudgeon go through life with the same upbeat observations as a bouncy young girl?
So, here are a few things to think about as you put your characters on the page. No two of them are the same. Whaddya bet they shouldn’t think or speak the same either, eh?
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