Wholly Writ: Corn Hole –or– What’s in a Name?

I don’t think that a certain former professor will mind if I pass on a bit of his advice to my fellow writers for free.  The advice is as follows:

Until you’re completely finished writing a story, call your protagonist “Corn Hole”.

You heard it here first, folks.  My professor’s point was that writers naturally try to make a character’s name do the work of characterizing him or her –something that is really the writer’s job.  But we want our readers to care about a character as much as we do, so we choose names like Alice Applegate in order to make readers feel a certain way right off.  It usually works too.  It works so well that it even shapes the way we (the writer) see dear Alice –so much so that she will never escape that saccharine box her name has created.  But name Alice “Corn Hole,” and you can’t get too precious with her.

As readers, too, this is a useful tip to bear in mind.  Do we give in too easily: let our feelings be manipulated by a name like Alice Applegate, Sturgis Montmorency, or Griselda Floop?  It would take a skilled writer to make us care about a character named Corn Hole, but isn’t that the point?  Do we really want to spend time with a writer who plays fast and loose with our instincts and emotions, who takes the easy way out with their craft?

Looking at much of the popular fiction out there, even more upsetting than a pretty name is (I think) the pretty face that goes along with it.  Is it absolutely necessary that Alice Applegate have waist-length, flaxen hair and twinkling green eyes (like dew-covered clovers)?  Evidently it is; a character’s physical attributes are so important that they often merit a spot within the first few pages of a novel.  Below are the physical descriptions of a few non-randomly selected protagonists of popular fiction, and the page numbers on which they appear:

• “…this astoundingly beautiful amber-haired tall slim girl turns around… this luminous creature…” -p. 3, “Clare Ashbire” in The Time-Traveler’s Wife, Audrey Niffenager

• “…it’s not because I’m not pretty.  I am.  I’m blonde and blue-eyed and twenty-five, and my legs are strong and my bosom is substantial, and I have a waspy waistline.  I look good…” -p. 1, “Sookie Stackhouse” in Dead until Dark, Charlaine Harris

• “His lips were lovely, sharply sculpted, and he had arched dark brows.  His nose swooped down right out of that arch, like a Prince’s in a Byzantine mosaic…” -p. 2, “William Compton” in Dead until Dark, Charlaine Harris

So, other than a dubious understanding of comma usage, do we sense a pattern emerging here?  It’s not just that these characters are all so beautiful, it’s that that’s all they are.  They have beautiful faces and beautiful bodies before they have names, histories or personalities.   Don’t misunderstand me: human physical beauty is not, itself, a troubling thing.  In real life, it’s probably just genetics plus socially-constructed ideals anyway.  But it’s what “beauty” is doing here, in writing, that’s troubling.  After all, beauty in fiction is a conscious choice.  Alice Applegate doesn’t have to be a flaxen-haired waif.  The writer chooses physical beauty for a specific purpose: to harness a reader’s sympathies.

So, what does it say about a writer who must rely on physical clichés to gain a reader’s “buy in”?  More importantly, what does it say about us as readers if we fulfill that expectation?  Are we, in fact, more likely to sympathize with a character who matches our physical ideals?  Would we be just as willing to stick with an unbeautiful character who tests an author’s skill, who develops naturally over time, the way ordinary people do –even if that character is named “Corn Hole,” with a physical description to match?

Très Geek: If you thought this blog was going to address the popular game found at tailgate parties in Kentucky, and now find yourself wondering just how “Corn Hole” got it’s name, you can find perhaps more than you ever wanted to know here.