The Chameleon Writer

Inhabiting different characters

When I turned eighteen, and became eligible to vote, I read the manifestos of the main political parties. I wanted to make sure I was a responsible voter, not just aping my parents’ opinions. But the problem was, I agreed with all the political statements – or at least bits of them. Whichever manifesto I was reading at the time made the best sense. But then I’d read another one, and realise that that party had some good ideas too and so on. How on earth was I to make up my mind?

As I grew up I became worried about my tendency to see everyone’s point of view. Did this make me a hypocrite – agreeing with people on either side of the debate? Or was I just a bit wishy-washy – too weak or too frightened of criticism to form my own judgements? I may well have been both those things, although sometimes I saw it as a strength. When I was involved in pastoral work, for example, I think it was a good thing that I could empathise with different people. Hopefully it made my more sympathetic, less judgemental.

But it was when I became a writer that I began to see these chameleon qualities as a distinct advantage. My first novel was written from eight different viewpoints: those of a young boy, a distraught mother, an unhappy wife, a controlling husband, a vulnerable immigrant, a fragile daughter, a jealous son and a headstrong young woman. They all had individual outlooks, and their own stories to tell. If I was to convince my readers to make an emotional investment in each of them, I had to believe in each character myself and make them as plausible as possible. That meant entering their world, walking in the shoes, adopting their opinions. My tendency to see merit in opposing ideals, which I’d always seen as a disadvantage, now became an advantage.

It’s sometimes said of Shakespeare that it’s impossible to tell from his plays what his real opinions are: is he a feminist, a misogynist, a communist, a capitalist, xenophobic, anti-semitic? You could argue for each of these from his characterisation, but are never permitted to see past them to discover the views of the man himself. That’s one of the things that make him so fascinating. He’s invisible. But what we can see is his understanding of human nature. His ability depict what is going on in people’s minds is what makes him so compelling as a playwright.

What’s good enough for Shakespeare is good enough for me. Wishy washy? Hypocritical? I prefer to think of myself as a chameleon. Even if I still don’t know who to vote for….!