The Power of Minor Characters

The Nightingale, by Kristin Hannah

Someone mentioned “the nun,” and the whole room sighed, “Oh, I loved the nun.” But no one in my book club knew her name. Though you too may have forgotten her name, if you’ve read The Nightingale by Kristin Hannah, you too probably love the Mother Superior, Marie-Therese.  Although she is a quiet, apparently minor character, she not only adds warmth and love to the story; she also contributes essential elements of the plot.

I went home reflecting on the power of the one minor character. And I started rewriting scenes from my own book-in-process. I started with “Mama,” who, like Mamas the world over, cooked food and scrubbed faces without being a recognizable human being. She was a place holder, a generic nobody. Who was she? And how did her words and decisions affect the other characters and their actions?

What about George? I had created him lazy and self-serving, but he too was a type. How did the other characters feel about him, and how could his actions create tension and depth in my plot? And what happened when Charles came home from college—not just in the plot twists that he inspired, but also in the family dynamics and the attitudes of the extended community of characters? Who else was passing through my story like a plastic token on a game board?

As a new writer, I have discovered that I now read with a different eye. Each new book is an inspiration—or maybe a cautionary tale. It’s a liberating idea. Instead of telling myself that I’m too busy to sit around reading because I have to focus on my writing, I have license to put my feet up and read. Which is, after all, why writers write.

 

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Geoff Ryman: “I think that it’s a good thing for the imagination to do to try to imagine someone else’s life. I see no other way to be moral, . . . Otherwise you end up sympathizing only with yourself” (qtd. in Writing the Other, Shawl and Ward. P. 97).