Facing your Characters’ Feelings
By Dave King | April 18, 2023 |
Years ago, I edited a book that centered around a condition called prosopagnosia – you learn the most amazing things as an editor. Apparently, we have a spot in the brain whose only function is to read other people’s faces – the right fusiform gyrus, for those of you keeping score at home. When that spot is damaged from physical trauma, a stroke, or a congenital defect, sufferers can no longer really see faces. They can see and recognize everything else just fine. But faces – of loved ones, longstanding friends, even their own face in the mirror — remain unidentifiable.
I thought about this condition recently when reading a historical mystery by the late Anne Perry. Perry is an excellent writer, with intriguing characters and well-crafted plots. But she also has some stylistic habits that left me itching to pick up a pencil. For instance, she is given to describing her dialogue with forced, awkward adverbs. (“’I don’t know what you expect of me,’ he said exasperatedly.” From Death in the Devil’s Acre.) Another is capturing character emotion by describing faces.
We read faces intuitively, almost automatically. Thanks to the right fusiform gyrus, we can look at someone and just tell if they’re angry, or frustrated, or at peace. And we do it all the time – it’s a routine part of our everyday lives. So it’s kind of natural to try to bring this facial recognition talent into your descriptions.
It’s harder than you might think. When we read someone’s face, we’re picking up on subtle changes in as many as 19 different facial muscles. Slight elevations of the eyebrows, changes to the shape of the mouth, slight flaring of the nostrils. Our brains put all of this together as a gestalt that says, “He’s worried about something,” or, “She’s certainly eager to see someone.”
We don’t have the language to capture these subtle facial changes – most people aren’t even aware these muscles exist. So writers who try to describe faces usually just jump to a description of emotion that most people would be able to read on sight. This habit was how Ms. Perry was annoying me — I’ve pulled these examples from Death with a Double Edge. “Impney met him in the hall, his face expectant.” “Kitteridge’s face creased in puzzlement.” “. . . Charlotte asked, with concern in her face.”
Readers of Self-Editing know that naming an emotion doesn’t put it across. When you tell your readers what your characters are feeling, you’re just giving them information. You don’t just want them to be informed, you want them to share the emotion, and that means letting them picture the face in question and interpret it for themselves. And sometimes this can work, as with this example from Alexander McCall Smith’s The Right Attitude Toward Rain – “She saw the face wrenched up at one side in that disgusting grimace.”
But it takes work to get it right, mostly because there are only so many ways to describe a face. If you fall into the habit of doing it a lot, you’ll most likely wind up recycling your descriptions. I’ve worked with clients whose characters were constantly raising their eyebrows, opening their eyes wide, scowling. Lots of wrinkled foreheads and flared nostrils, and the occasional squint.
Of course, you can always express your characters’ emotions through dialogue or beats. But one way to stick with faces is to run the description through your viewpoint character’s sense of the world. What does the face remind them of? How does it make them feel? I’ve written before about using a character’s reaction to show what’s going on. This is another way to do the same thing.
Again, from Alexander McCall Smith – “This was not the I’m-in-the-middle-of-something face.” “. . . faces which looked confidently into the camera, as if to say, ‘Yes, me again.’” Or, from another master of precise character description, Rex Stout: “. . and a good caption for a picture of the face he turned to me would have been The Gathering Storm.” (From Too Many Women)
So as you revise, try this exercise – do a search for the word “face.” This is how I found the examples I’ve used here. Read through all your facial descriptions at once. If they’re bland or repetitive, then either find another way to show the emotion you’re trying to get across, or use a more original description to capture the face you’re picturing in your mind. Reading faces is a large part of our everyday lives. It takes some effort to make it part of your novel, but the effort is worth doing.
SO, what’s your favorite facial expression? How do you describe it in print?
Dave King has been editing for nearly 40 years now. He is co-author of Self-Editing for Fiction Writers, a former contributing editor to Writer’s Digest, and has contributed more than 100 articles over the last 12 years to Writer Unboxed. He lives on 25 acres in rural Massachusetts with his business partner and wife, Ruth Julian, who also edits his work. His other day job, at least on Sundays, is as the organist at a Lutheran church in Greenfield, Mass.
[coffee]
This was a very useful exercise! It seems like my uses of faces to express emotions break down into five categories:
(1) Describe a physical change
“He was blushing, his face near mine, close, very close, and he was holding my hand.”
“I had wounded the tavern-keeper; his hands dropped, his eyes like shining glass, his face deathly pale.”
Fairly rare; I tend to save it for moments of intense emotion, and I almost always combine it with other sorts of body language.
(2) Directly naming a simple emotion
“A deep and heavy sadness had filled the tavern-keeper’s face”
“In his face there was nothing but sweetness and joy”
I wrote a POV character who has difficulty with social interactions. I tend to use this approach when I need to eliminate all ambiguity in what the other party was hoping to express, usually so that my protagonist can follow it up with something cringeworthy.
(2b) Directly naming a complex emotion
(After another character has said, “Can I ever express my gratitude?) “O.’s expression said that leaving in short order sure would do it.”
These are the most fun, but the danger is that they steal the show, drawing too much attention to themselves and away from the general flow of the narrative.
(3) Image, metaphor, or simile to evoke the expression
Following the historical source material, this is typically either “shining” or “darkening (like a thundercloud),” though I was also proud of these two:
“He had taken one ruddy-colored tablet, and was holding it up in his hand. He squinted, visibly, his face working like a man kneads clay.”
“Her mouth sat as though she drank vinegar.”
Ditto the concerns from (2b). I killed a number of these because they were just too much, like putting one of those air-inflated dancing sculptures in the middle of a suburban garden.
(4) The expression is not described, but others’ reaction to it is
“They decided to treat me to squid grilled on a stick. It was slick and ponderous to chew. I’d never had squid before. I don’t know what I was expecting.
“‘But you have to try this one,’ they said, noting the expression on my face. ‘Maybe you’ll like it!'”
It draws too much attention to itself if you use it too often, but this is unbeatable for moments of disgust.
In general, though, I prefer virtually any other way of indicating emotion. This is hard to do well.
You’re right, this is hard to do well, but I think you’re succeeding more often than not. And you may be a little to hard on the ones that you say are calling attention to themselves — particularly the “leaving in short order” description. This is very rooted in your viewpoint character — it’s how he or she sees the world — and can reveal that character in addition to revealing the meaning of the expression. Granted, it does depend on context — if the viewpoint characters’ attention should be elsewhere, this can be a distraction. But it looks like a keeper to me.
Great post, Dave! As a neuroscience nerd, I loved learning about the fusiform gyrus :-) And yep, this is something I ponder a lot, so I’ll toss a couple of reflections into the conversation …
One is that “face” may be too general. Which part of the face? And no, please, not the eyes or eyebrows (again—I actually have a post about that, which will run here next month). Or is there a characteristic twitch or gesture that will convey the emotion more vividly than describing the face, as a whole? For example, in QUEEN OF THE OWLS, I had a character move the little objects on her desk to the right, align them, then re-align them during the course of a conversation, as an external mirror for the emotions she was experiencing.
I agree that the reader needs to see something happening, as if she were watching a stage play, and that we process/understand facial and bodily cues faster than we give labels to them. So one “solution” to that repetition of a limited repertoire that you are oh-so-right to point out is to vary those cues among faces, specific features, and gestures that involve other parts of the body.
And to be rigorous in keeping track of how often, when, and who. Marianne can only tighten her jaw or clench her fists so many times in a single novel :-)
Having a character rearrange their desk is a wonderful example of using a beat to show what’s going on — it characterizes the individual yet is universally recognizable. Such beats are a good substitute if you’re going for facial expressions too often.
As to getting into the neuroscience, you really do learn stuff as an editor. Thanks to a book I edited years ago, I have an idea how high-temperature superconductors work. And I’m currently working on a piece about AI in emergency medicine and learning about the advantages and disadvantages of explainable vs black box systems.
I’m looking forward to your post on this issue, Barbara. For now, though, I’d like humbly to stick up for eyebrows. And eyes. The cliche, as I see it, is not in their use but in their manner of use. And I’d agree that the more you can use the description to convey not just the other character’s emotion but the perceiving character’s reaction, the better.
Her thin brown eyebrows slice like darts toward the wrinkled bridge of her nose.
The cast of his eyes as they scan the page reaffirm my first impression of the man, that he’s firm and old-fashioned but not senselessly obstinate.
Again, she stops. Bickery eyes, narrowing into mine.
Friar Daniel—stubbled for want of a shave, mournful sullen greyhound eyes.
I’m not saying those are examples of Joycean prose, but I’ll stand by them. I may change my opinion once I’ve read your post, Barbara (yikes)– or received reviews on the coming book mentioning my overuse of eyebrows and eyes (double yikes).
I’d stick with them too, David. They’re original and tied to character. I particularly like “bickery eyes.”
More synchronicity! A couple of weeks ago I got a “review” that I had not asked for from an old friend who had finally read my second book. She said, “What’s with all the squinting?” (My hero’s sweetie was the squinter, sometimes “in the manner of Clint Eastwood.” I thought I was being clever, but a read-through made it clear that I was being repetitive and dating myself at the same time. Alas.
I’m reading a series where the characters frequently wrinkle their noses to express any sort of emotion: anger, resentment, whatever. The problem is, I don’t know a single adult who wrinkles his or nose for any reason, unless it’s to express disgust. It strikes me as something only children do. So this stands out as very odd to me.
I’m sure the nose-wrinkling author has something specific in mind. The risk of falling into habits like this is why the exercise can be revealing.
In fact, most of editing, I think, is making writers more aware of what they’re doing.
This was enlightening. I’ve got way too many eyes narrowing and eyebrows rising. I notice eyes would be a good word to search. Also want to mention that misreading a person’s face is a common issue and you can use that for tension.
Here are a few examples in my WIP of face reading. I hope you can see these faces.
Eddie looked up to the ceiling, as if looking into his own thoughts.
He smiled, not the broad smile of his greeting, but an intimate smile, like he knew what she was thinking.
She said nothing but those little lips communicated – joke noted.
Eddie’s face, Belladonna’s face, and Roger’s face stared at him, like people stare at the stranger in town, like they knew exactly what was going to happen next.
Her eyes were scanning the boards, now. She was looking out to the water, looking everywhere but at him.
Her eyes went big and she giggled.
Carrie took it in. She was so calm. She leaned over and touched his arm. “You’re not ready, yet,” she whispered.
He caught the look between Belladonna and Eddie. It was something so understood between them, that they didn’t have to speak.
As she looked at him, he could tell she knew he knew it.
“And then, you don’t have to look them in the eye.”
He stared into her eyes, holding her gaze. “I don’t have to look anybody in the eye. Who made that rule up? Where I come from, that’s disrespectful. Invasive.”
I’ll take your word for it on relying too much on the narrowed eyes and raised brows. But the examples you give here are nice examples of running the interpretation through your viewpoint character. This is how your character feel on seeing the expressions, which is not telling about an emotion but showing a character’s experience. That’s the critical difference.
This is so helpful, as are all the examples in the comments. I’m thinking now about widened eyes and quirked brows and how many I have in my pages. Meanwhile, I’ve become fascinated by how someone can say something while the POV character is seeing the lie in their face. Someone says, “I’m fine,” but their eyes dart or they blink.I’m going to look for more less ‘tropey’ ways to convey that.
One of the pitfalls of writing is falling into habits you’re not aware of — I’m sure Anne Perry wasn’t aware of how often she packed emotion into faces. Hence the need for the exercise. And you’re right, the examples so far have been wonderful.
As to how to convey that a character is lying, you’re right, that kind of multi-layered interaction is hard to get across. One alternative that occurred off the top of my head was another character’s reaction. As in,
“I’m fine.”
She considered him for a moment. “That’s not true, is it?”
Fascinating, the fusiform gyrus. I recall Oliver Sacks writing about it. My favorite facial expression is joy and wonder but as I looked through my wip using “face” I didn’t see many instances, but there’s body language–my POV character (13 yr-old girl) leaping into the arms of her benefactor in a monkey hold. What came up are embarassing moments–feeling heat travel up the face for POV character and her observing someone else’s reddened ears. There are also tear-filled eyes or tears streaking the face, angry red marks from a slap delivered. The most descriptive face I have is that of her dead father–swollen and bruised so badly it is black in some places.
Dave, thanks for bringing me back to my wip, which I’ve been avoiding for a while. I’ve been working on shorts and nonfiction instead; much easier. Oddly, I feel more exposed with fiction than I do with NF. I think it’s Kathryn who pointed it out in a recent post.
Well, I’m glad I was able to inspire you.
And body language is fine. It gives you a lot more flexibility.
Hello Dave. Fascinating post, thank you. So “fusiform gyrus” is the name of that naturally selected survival attribute. I don’t spend much time describing faces or facial expressions. I rely heavily on dialogue to convey character. But in the following short passage, I combine physical description and speech to establish a university administrator’s character.
“And I believe someone mentioned you’d be out of town over the break.” Tall and bald, with arms folded and dressed in a navy three-piece suit, Vice President Pilling raised feral black eyebrows and loomed before Gordon Pool with investigative interest.
This is another nice example of how to run a description through your viewpoint character’s sense of the world. “Feral black eyebrows” is pretty original.
Sixty Minutes can be awesome, and they did an episode on the fusiform gyrus, interviewing people with this condition. Fascinating, yet sorrowful. And I also will be checking my manuscript. Thanks, Dave.
I came across a link to the 60 Minutes piece in my research about the details. Didn’t have a chance to watch it, but I agree that the condition is both fascinating and hard.
After reading this post, I came across this passage from Pride and Prejudice, which seems to violate many of the “rules” we’re bandying about–which only goes to show, once again, that in the hands of a genius rules becomes impertinences:
Elizabeth felt herself growing more angry every moment; yet she tried to the utmost to speak with composure when she said:
“You are mistaken, Mr. Darcy, if you suppose that the mode of your declaration affected me in any other way, than as it spared me the concern which I might have felt in refusing you, had you behaved in a more gentlemanlike manner.”
She saw him start at this, but he said nothing, and she continued:
“You could not have made the offer of your hand in any possible way that would have tempted me to accept it.”
Again his astonishment was obvious; and he looked at her with an expression of mingled incredulity and mortification. She went on:
“From the very beginning—from the first moment, I may almost say—of my acquaintance with you, your manners, impressing me with the fullest belief of your arrogance, your conceit, and your selfish disdain of the feelings of others, were such as to form the groundwork of disapprobation on which succeeding events have built so immovable a dislike; and I had not known you a month before I felt that you were the last man in the world whom I could ever be prevailed on to marry.”
Well, to be fair, the rules were a little different in Austen’s day. And also, that dialogue makes up for a lot.
I find animal comparisons deliver a lot of descriptive bang for the buck: bulldog jowls, a rabbit nose, a chimpanzee smile. (Farther down the body, there are gnarled, chicken-claw fingers and a duck’s rocking gait.)
I like this approach. It’s original, and it does focus on how your viewpoint character — presumably someone with an interest in animals and awareness of metaphor — sees things.
The first time I heard the word prosopagnosia was when Brad Pitt said he thought he was afflicted by it. He has struggled for years trying to recognize faces. I write romance, and by the very nature of the genre that is heavily trope-driven, I must work at writing with originality. When I get further into the edited drafts of my WIP, I’ll do a specific deep dive into facial descriptions. Romance is heavy on the eye and mouth (and other body parts LOL). Must focus on fresh writing without the purple prose. Thanks for this informative post and those who commented.
I wasn’t aware Pitt was a sufferer. And you’re right that romances do present a unique problem, in that physical description that calls images to mind is more critical. You’ve got a greater need than usual to keep it fresh.
Thanks for this. Great article!
Great, practical, thoughtful advice, Dave. I’ll be sharing in my newsletter!
Just for reference, based on personal family experience: prosopagnosia is real, and makes life difficult for an autist who has it. It is not, in my opinion, a ‘congenital defect’ or necessarily the result of damage, but possibly part of the different wiring. It makes ‘reading faces’ challenging.
Like most of us, my favorite facial expressions convey subtext and add to the other cues to intention or emotion.
In the semidarkness of dawn, a small example from the unfinished last volume of the trilogy, one I’ve never read:
He touched her hot cheek with the side of his forefinger, made the correct guess. “Ye’re blushing.”