Mary Shelley's gothic novel Frankenstein literally was begun on a dark and stormy night. Essentially, it came about as the result of a contest devised by George Gordon, Lord Byron when the Byron-Shelley circle was resident in Switzerland. Byron suggested that each member of the group write a gothic thriller, and there were at least two quite worthy submissions that resulted from this chance suggestion. The most famous was Mrs. Shelley's story. The second was John Polidori's The Vampyre (1819), a source of inspiration for Bram Stoker's Dracula (1897).
Dorothy and Thomas Hoobler, husband and wife and authors of The Monsters: Mary Shelley and the Curse of Frankenstein have delved into the family history that produced Mrs. Shelley herself and related its particulars to her composition of her masterwork. She was the daughter of two formidable and very unconventional parents: William Godwin and Mary Wollstonecraft. Godwin was the author of Enquiry Concerning Political Justice, and Its Influence on Morals and Happiness (1796), a work considered exceedingly radical for late-eighteenth century England.
Wollstonecraft wrote A Vindication of the Rights of Woman with Strictures on Political and Moral Subjects (1792), a work that argues for the equality of women in family life, education, career, and marriage. Wollstonecraft died of septicemia following her daughter's birth, though her literary ghost clearly haunted her daughter. Indeed, Mrs. Shelley felt an extraordinary need to accomplish what no woman had before: a popular entertainment with clear social lessons for those readers discerning enough to recognize them.
Her elopement with the already married Percy Bysshe Shelley and Shelley's growing literary notoriety merely added to the pressures she felt. Shelley's political radicalism, atheism, and unconventional social views made him in one sense a monster she helped to create.
She continued to do this even more effectively after Shelley's tragic death by drowning off the coast of Lerici in northwest Italy. All pieces of the puzzle helped produce the myth and perpetuate the fame of which Shelley had dreamed though only barely had realized during his lifetime. DR. FRANKENSTEIN'S approach was certainly original: He took an assortment of body parts, stitched them together, zapped the piecemeal cadaver with voltage--and presto! A monster was born. Yet it is Mary Shelley's artful prose that truly brings Frankenstein's creation to life. We see him not so much as a monster but as a misunderstood creature, an outcast among men, who suffers and therefore inflicts suffering. Frankenstein has endured because, in a strange way, we sort of feel for the guy.
It's what every novelist aspires to: creating memorable characters that come to life. Why, then, do so many end up as stock characters or ones so thinly fleshed out that they're more like character sketches? It's usually because the writer hasn't taken the time to fully develop his or her characters. Great characters don't spring forth fully formed, like Athena from Zeus' brow. Even when they appear to do so, it's because they've been percolating in the brain for a while or they're based on real-life figures that the author knows intimately. I'd liken the process to papier-māché, in which multiple layers are applied to achieve a desired result. With each subsequent layer--or in this case, draft--you build or expand upon the previous one. Along the way you get to know your characters, much as you would a group of strangers with whom you've been thrust into close contact over a prolonged period of time.
The best characters are neither all good nor all bad. Nothing is more boring than a heroine who can do no wrong and is incapable of even an unkind thought, who is a perfect size 6 and never had a bad hair day in her life. In Gone With the Wind, it was the irrepressible and at times reprehensible Scarlett O'Hara who captured the public's imagination more than the saintly Melanie Wilkes. The women in my novels, like women in real life, occasionally have bad moods and times when they're not on their best behavior. They have doubts about their careers and their mothering skills. They pick fights with their husbands and boyfriends; they harbor old resentments against family members.
In short, they're human. The same holds true for villains. The most interesting bad guys have redeeming qualities, even a true monster like Hannibal Lecter in The Silence of the Lambs, who shows a streak of gentlemanliness toward Clarice. In my novels, the villains aren't born badly; their evildoing arises more from a twisted outlook on life. Ironically, they see themselves as victims, and in plotting against or lashing out at others, they feel they are merely defending themselves.
In Woman in Red, Owen White's underhanded attempts to destroy Alice are motivated by a desire to remove the source of deep guilt he feels over the death of Alice's elder son. He is, ultimately, as pitiable as he is pitiless. The key to creating memorable characters lies in being a keen observer and a good listener. Pay attention to those around you. Listen to how people actually talk, then look at the dialogue in your book. Does it ring true? The most important thing to keep in mind is that no plot, however "suspenseful," will hold the reader's interest for very long unless the characters themselves are compelling.
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