Curated Reads: Character Driven Books

When it comes to novels, you can usually sort them into two categories: those driven by plot, and ones driven by their characters. This week I want to focus on the latter. I find that there is something uniquely satisfying about a novel that delves into its characters’ flaws—books that allow them to be messy, selfish, or downright unlikeable without forcing a moral lesson on the reader. While some novels use flawed protagonists to demonstrate a clear sense of right and wrong, I’ve always preferred stories that let characters be complex for complexity’s sake. Human nature isn’t neatly categorised into good and bad, and the books I’ve chosen this week reflect that.

In a Good Light by Clare Chambers

Clare Chambers is renowned for the character depth in her writing and you may recognise her name from her most popular book Small Pleasures, but In a Good Light remains not only my personal favourite of hers, but also the better novel. Now an adult, Esther lives with her brother Christian, working as an illustrator and a waitress. She’s comfortable in her routine, until she sees a face that serves as a stark reminder of her past. The majority of the book is a flashback to Esther and Christian’s quirky childhood. In the large, dilapidated house of their parents, there is a revolving door of weird and wonderful guests, from people in witness protection schemes to an alcoholic aunt, all of whose lives become intertwined with the family. Their parents are equally as strange: Mum is a perpetual do-gooder who refuses to indulge in decent food and central heating in the name of the Less Fortunate, and Dad is an eternally optimistic prison chaplain. This novel hosts a cast of quirky, kooky personalities, and even the smallest of side characters are fleshed out perfectly, which is why In a Good Light was the main inspiration for the topic this week.

Cleopatra and Frankenstein by Coco Mellors

In my opinion, one of the best ways to introduce a character is through dialogue, and Coco Mellors is an exemplary writer of dialogue. The majority of the first chapter is dialogue, and it’s incredibly successful at introducing the two protagonists, Cleo and Frank. Their conversation is witty and romantic, a perfect meet-cute on New Year’s Eve in New York. Last summer I was able to listen to Coco Mellors speak about how she writes dialogue, and she said that she often acts it out as she writes; this is evident in how well the speech flows. Despite the perfectly crafted one-liners and ensuing whirlwind romance, their romance soon begins to unravel. Both Cleo and Frank have their own issues that serve as the downfall of their relationship- depression, alcoholism and infidelity, to name a few- but it was the character of Frank’s assistant Eleanor that stole the show for me. As the narrative shifts between the three, we see not only the implosion of a romance but the deeply human, often messy nature of love itself.

My Year of Rest and Relaxation by Ottessa Moshfegh

In a similar vein, it is easy to resent this novel’s protagonist, but I think that what makes it such a good read. The narrator, who remains nameless, has a seemingly perfect life. She’s living on the Upper East Side of Manhattan at the turn of the millennium; she’s graduated from Columbia and works in an upscale art gallery; she’s young and thin and pretty, living off of her substantial inheritance. Despite this, the narrator yearns for a ‘hibernation’ period, a time where she enters a deep sleep and emerges anew, shedding her past and return to the world as someone new. There is little plot in this novel; its power lies in its hypnotic repetition and monotony. Moshfegh is renowned for her writing of flawed, nasty female characters, and this is no exception. It has divided opinions, possibly due to the lack of traditional plot, but for me, it was exceptionally easy to read: the syrupy slow chapters of her rest are counterbalanced with the erratic energy of her more manic episodes. Add a sentence here

Breakfast at Tiffany’s by Truman Capote

Before she was one of the most iconic figures of cinema in Breakfast at Tiffany’s, Holly Golightly was the subject of Truman Capote’s novel of the same name. In contrast to the glamourous, charming and lonely portrayal by Audrey Hepburn, the literary version is darker and wilder, with no chance of her being caged by convention. As is apparent in this week’s column, I love books where characters are not inherently good or bad, but human, and Holly is the perfect example. It is also one of the rare instances where I believe the film has added to the reading experience in that it perfectly demonstrates the perception of Holly versus her actual character. The audience, and the narrator, both view her as a beautiful mystery but in truth she is much more restless and manipulative. First published as a novella in 1958, it’s the perfect read if you’re looking for a shorter story centred on a complex, flawed protagonist.