How to Write Compelling Characters
A guide to creating realistic and sympathetic characters according to the wisdom of dramatist Lajos Egri
The Art of Dramatic Writing by Lajos Egri was the first book I read when I decided to get serious about writing. It’s a classic for the ages. To commit its lessons to memory, I’ve decided to write a couple of articles summarising its key points. (As I survey my shelf of writing books I realise I’ve not read very many of them, let alone done a write up. Something to rectify!)
Egri advises that one begins with defining premise i.e. the point of your story and the virtues it extols or cautionary tale it weaves. Just as you really ought to have something valuable to say before you open your mouth, you really ought to have some wisdom to impart before you put pen to paper. If you missed my article on premise, here’s a link to Your Work-in-Progress in Five Words.
His next lesson is on the importance of creating characters with the necessary strength of will to drive the events of the plot rather than merely being subjected to them. The hierarchy according to Egri appears to be Why, Who, What or premise, character, plot.
Strength of will
Egri argues that your protagonist must possess the strength of will to carry your work of fiction. Even a pathetic protagonist who digs their heels in and subsequently loses everything can be a strong character provided they are ‘tenacious, if only in their laziness and cowardice’.
Compelling characters possess conviction and act in a way that is consistent with their clearly defined personality and goals. They are not buffeted by conflict, rather conflict emerges from the friction between their inner self and external forces stopping them from getting what they want—even if it’s not the thing they need. Were they amorphous and poorly defined, they would react in illogical and unpredictable ways, making it difficult to invest in them and care about the story’s outcome.
Characters who inspire apathy are the result of a creator who has only a tenuous grasp of their nature, having failed to define their characters’ physiology, sociology and psychology before beginning to craft their story. Too often, these nebulous characters end up servants of the plot rather than its instigators.
Character should never be subordinate to plot
You cannot expect your audience to care about the fate of a character who reacts to conflict in arbitrary ways. There is nothing compelling about a character who is, one moment to the next, whatever the plot requires—one of the writer’s interchangeable puppets, jerked this way and that by invisible strings.
The plot must emerge organically from the basic truth of your premise, expressed through your characters in relation to their environment. A plot that sits atop shifting topsoil rather than on the solid foundation of character will result in a story too fragile for scrutiny, both artificial and superficial. Egri likens starting with the plot to the absurdity of building a house roof first.
Weak but compelling characters
Although you might be drawn to a brave and resolute protagonist for your story, it’s still useful to consider: How can a character who is weak by nature, who fails rather than succeeds, still be a strong character? I’ll give you an example from a novel by one of my favourite authors, Nobel Prize-winner Kazuo Ishiguro. (I reviewed his latest novel over on my other newsletter.)
The main character in The Remains of the Day, Stevens, a dying breed of gentleman butler, is a repressed, insensitive coward. He falls in love with the housekeeper, Miss Kenton, but lacks the self-awareness to realise it in time. Stevens’ redeeming qualities are his dignity, diligence and loyalty, the latter working against him as he finds himself racked with guilt over his failure to save his master from disgrace. Not to mention, his niggling doubt that his noble profession is less than such being that his life’s work amounted to little more than polishing a Nazi-sympathiser’s silver.
Stevens is a consistent character, but by no means is he a static one. He grows to be more self-aware throughout the novel which involves long periods of reflection as he wends his way through the English countryside. Nevertheless, when Stevens visits Miss Kenton, now Mrs Benn, and she hints that she might be, even after all this time, induced to leave her husband, he chooses to ignore her remarks. Stevens has it within his power to make amends, to reverse this regret if no other, to at the very least confess his love, yet his character-defining repression prevents him. (The beauty of Ishiguro’s novels are that its characters always mourn the wrong things.)
Stevens is not a character whom we admire, but we do understand and therefore sympathise with him. He is a well-defined character, we know precisely who he is and how he might act given the circumstances. Stevens is obstinate in the face of conflict, intractably a coward; a weak man but a strong character.
How to create believable characters
Clearly define your characters by writing detailed dossiers covering every aspect of the three dimensions of character: physiology, sociology and psychology. There’s no need to go overboard, the little embellishments and flourishes will emerge naturally, but do consider their backstory and how this has lead to their present-day regrets, fears and desires. A character without regrets has no past while one without any fears is too invulnerable to be relatable. Lastly, asking your readers to put up with a character with no goals is a lot like ushering passengers onto a luxury train with no engine.
The constellation of all of these traits determines how your characters will drive the conflict at the heart of your story to its satisfying conclusion. While not all of this detail will make it into your story, having a deep appreciation of your characters will enable you to portray them convincingly.
A beautiful, impoverished and resilient character will not precipitate the same type of conflict as an infirm, wealthy and maudlin one, or even an unattractive one with an identical temperament and upbringing. This is why it’s crucial to consider the totality of your character’s being. Who are they that they can do justice to your story’s premise?
Before you get bogged down by details such as eye colour, parents’ occupations, and favourite cuisine—choosing characteristics almost at random—consider the fundamental questions: What are you trying to say about the human condition? What specifics can you use to address the universal?
If you are convinced ‘great love conquers all’ then your characters must be such that they are capable of ‘great love’ and of overcoming the obstacles before them. What forces shaped them into believing in this virtue? What has given them such fortitude in the face of adversity, and what stars have crossed them? If your protagonist takes their own life (premise: unrequited love leads to ruin) you must prove that this course of action, above all others, was congruent with their character and circumstances.