Dissecting "Cold Peace" Part XI - Letting the Characters Speak

 I end this series on "dissecting" Cold Peace by looking at the challenges of "letting the characters speak." Strong characters have their own voice and should not sound like the author. That is true regardless of genre, but particularly true in historical fiction. In "Cold Peace" the usual challenge was compounded by having British, American, German and Ukrainian characters. 

Cold Peace has a diverse cast of characters whose diversity needs to be reflected in their speech -- without the book becoming an incomprehensible mix of languages. As a rule, attempts to reproduce dialects or accents by modifying standard English tend to distract the reader from the content of what is being said. Likewise, including long or multiple phrases in a foreign language puts readers off rather than drawing them in. The trick, therefore, is to more subtly alter the syntax and vocabulary of characters. This is easier said than done.

For example, Charlotte Countess Walmsdorf, did not grow up rich or privileged, but she was raised strictly and patriotically. She has lost her home, most of her family, and also suffered brutal, sexual assault at the hands of the Russians. She is is struggling to regain her self-respect and for her the world is a serious place. She seldom smiles much less laughs, and she defends her opinions earnestly -- as below when trying to explain why Air Ambulance International should meet with Dr. Ferdinand Sauerbruch, a man accused of war crimes. Charlotte rejects the accusations indignatly.

"Dr Sauerbruch's position on the Reich Research Council was nominal, honorary. He is a man of science, not finance. I'm sure he just signed whatever was put in front of him."

"Oh, I see! He was just following orders," Emily scoffed sarcastically. She at once regretted it. Charlotte recoiled, her shoulders curled inward, and she lowered her face, so her short hair fell over her eyes like a curtain. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that," Emily admitted. "But is it really necessary to meet with him?"

"It is an honour!" Charlotte insisted. "Dr. Sauerbruch is one of the most famous surgeons in all Germany! He did many wonderful things going back to before WWI. He found ways to make it safer to operate on hearts and lungs and made fake hands and feet --- what do you call them?"

"Protheses?"

"Yes, yes. That's the word. He did experiments with wooden limbs and found a way of making them so amputees could move them. It was very important after the last war when there were so many veterans without arms and legs. I think it was for that work that he was given the German National Prize for Art and Science before the war."

 Kiwi, on the other hand, is a former fighter pilot. He's less articulate.

"I failed."

"What?" David didn't know what he was talking about.

 "I failed my flight test."

David stared at him.  Not once had he considered that possibility. Kiwi was a brilliant pilot. He'd flown more kinds of aircraft than David.

"I didn't get my license on twins," Kiwi clarified in the face of David's evident disbelief. 

"How? How did you fail?"

Kiwi shrugged helplessly and stared at his folded hands. "I kept coming in too fast and too high to land."

"If you knew what the problem was, why didn't you correct it?" It was a rhetorical question. "Had you been drinking the night before?"

"Yes, goddamn it!" Kiwi lashed out furiously. "Yes, I went out and got sozzled -- so blotto I don't remember the name of the girl I brought home with me or --- It's all just a big black haze...." His anger fizzled out. He wasn't really angry, just ashamed and horrified by what he'd done.

 Mila Mikhailivna is also a fighter, a partisan and sharpshooter. She is direct and blunt rather than tongue-tied.

...she thrust her hand inside her double-breasted, man's jacket. When she removed it, it held a revolver which she pointed calmly at the gaping men. Her hand swept slowly from one side of the room to the other and back. "Verstanden?" (Have you understood?) The men looked away and Mila sat down. She put the pistol on the table, her hand still on the handle. "Men," Mila said with a charming, almost childish smile, "generally understand guns better than words." [Then she] leaned back against the wall, sideways to the table, and propped one foot on the chair holding her knapsack. She surveyed the room very carefully, like a policeman. At last, satisfied, she turned and smiled at Galyna. "Do you know how I feel?" Mila asked. Galyna shook her head. "I feel free -- free for the first time since the Red Army took control over the region where we partisans had fought for two years on our own. You cannot understand that can you?

"I don't know..." Galyna replied cautiously.

... "I am so alone in Karlshorst. There is no one I can talk to. Grisha...sometimes I think he understands. He's a good man. An honest and brave man. Yet, when I try to talk to him, he just says 'Don't talk like that, Milushka.' Or, 'You know better than to say such things.' He never tells me what he thinks. For a while, I thought we could be happy together. But how could I spend my whole life with a man who will not tell me what he truly thinks? Who will not let me say what is in my heart and mind?"

 Karl Liebherr, on the other hand, is a sage and articulate politician.

"If you have no shoes for your children, it is because the Soviets have robbed us of our factories, our raw materials and even our labourers... If you are short of rations, it is because the collectivization of agriculture produces famine year after year in the Ukraine, the former breadbasket of Europe. If you lack clothes it is because Soviet-printed banknotes are worthless and so we cannot import cotton or wool to produce clothing, But be my guest, comrade, support the Soviets and increase your pitiable ration. Buy your wife and children cardboard shoes produced by slaves in Siberia and eat Soviet shit all day long, but don't expect us to pity you for it!"

 "I didn't ask for your pity!" The man retorted angrily."I'm simply telling you the facts. The Soviets control our access to food, clothes, electricity, transport, heat and information. What is the point of resisting? What is the point of fighting? What good can come of it? We will all end in a gulag!"

"You are already in a mental gulag," Liebherr scoffed, but inwardly his stomach was tying itself into knots.

And so it continues with each character commanding a somewhat different vocabulary and unique means of expressing him/herself. As a novelist, the aspect I found most surprising -- and exciting -- was the degree to which I could "hear" the different voices in my head. I very rarely had any difficulty in reporting speech in a way that differentiated between the characters, the exceptions being those with similar backgrounds. I hope readers will likewise hear the differences and through them unconsciously gain a better understanding of the complexity of the environment of the novel.