On Speculative Fiction, Part 3: Revealing Character, No Longer Just an Afterthought

Perhaps it’s a quirk of the kind of people attracted to writing science-fiction—geeks, for the most part… I say this with love, as I write sci-fi myself—but the marriage between fiction that describes future technology (or in the case of fantasy, fictional universes), with what could be described as “heart” or “pathos,” remains an uneasy one.

Perhaps there was a time in the early years of the Cold War, when science fiction as we know it was developed, that authors in that genre could get away with purely speculative stories about future technology. But no longer. Authors be warned: you’re writing in a world that has already read Ender’s Game, and has already watched The Expanse. To survive, you need great characters.

Back at the heartbreak cafe, which I described in the first two installments of this series, the main character Maya is skeptical about the coffee-treatment. So, she asks the Barista how it works. He responds, “we calculate your pain using the following equation.” He then hands her a clipboard to fill out, on which is a form, much like one a person might complete in a waiting room before undergoing a medical procedure. 

At the top of the page is an algebraic equation, which contains a number of different variables, including “Hope,” “Confusion,” and “Loneliness.” Maya is then asked to quantify each of these variables on a scale between 1 and 10. 

The author handles this well; she even writes out the equation in algebraic form (pain equals confusion times loneliness divided by hope, etc.). Her description goes on, “But [Maya] was in a fix. Even though she wanted to put the true values into the equation but she had no way of knowing the true values. How would she know? She let her gut choose the values and plugged them into the pain calculator equation. Once she saw the results, once again she wondered whether this is a good result or not.”

Maya then expresses her uncertainty to the Barista, who responds, “Sorry, I can't decide that for you. You can take more time if you want.”

In this section, the author successfully describes how Maya, understandably, doesn’t know the proper way to find, or quantify, these numbers. As the author herself expresses, arriving at a numeric value for “Confusion” or “Loneliness” is an unusual act (“How would she know?”). Yet, by failing to describe the process as Maya goes through it, the author misses an opportunity to suggest to the reader who Maya is. Indeed, the character of a character is revealed through moments like this. 

Yet, by failing to describe the process as Maya goes through it, the author misses an opportunity to suggest to the reader who Maya is. Indeed, the character of a character is revealed through moments like this. 

Furthermore, and perhaps more importantly, how much more interesting would this situation be if the Barista had a method to come up with those numbers? This is a natural place for exposition (I’ll say more on this topic in the 4th and final part of this series). Instead of writing the line—“How would she know?”— as a thought, the author could have the character ask this as a question. Then the Barista would be given a natural place to respond. 

I can imagine some push-back from my readers. “Jack,” I hear you say, “hasn’t the author suggested Maya’s character when she writes, ‘she let her gut choose…’ and more than that, when she describes Maya’s self-consciousness at not knowing whether her answers were ‘a good result or not’?” Valid points, I’d respond. However, (and, as the book has yet to be published, you’ll have to take my word for this) the author’s true interest is soon revealed near the end of the scene. 

The author writes, “After checking her date of birth, the Barista returned her card. Then, he asked her to fill in details such as her physical stats, childhood memories, family history, allergies, and her past and current relationship status. Once she was done filling in everything, Maya asked, 'What's next?’”

That phrase in the final sentence—“Once she was done filling in everything…”—is brutal, another missed opportunity for the author to fill out some details of Maya’s backstory, or her biography. Alternatively, Maya could think how much she does not wish to do so, or how much she values her privacy, or any number of other options. 

The point is that it is in these sorts of moment that the reader begins to care about Maya. And, once we care about a character, we are willing to follow them almost anywhere. 

The point is that it is in these sorts of moment that the reader begins to care about Maya. And, once we care about a character, we are willing to follow them almost anywhere. 

But writing, “Once she was done filling in everything…”, is the same as writing, “long story short.” (And indeed, if you’re ever tempted to write that, then perhaps you should not write.) Stories live in details, not plots. As I’ve written before, leaning into the specific not only improves the story, but is in fact the quality a story consists of.

A character’s character is revealed in and through these kinds of moments. Here, the author is given a chance to show the reader how much Maya reveals in a setting like this, and how much she keeps to herself. A trusting person would give all of this information truthfully. 

What would Maya, still raw from a broken heart, do?