Most readers, when engrossed in a novel, probably give little attention to the narrative point of view.

It’s one of those phrases – narrative perspective, narrative voice, point of view, that attention is drawn to on creative writing courses.

The reader is obviously aware of a first person narrative as in Jane Eyre, for example, where the main character is clearly narrating the story and therefore viewing events solely and purely from their perspective.

But if the story is a third person narrative, no doubt the reader simply enjoys the tale and gives little thought for the author’s task and dilemma in considering – well, basically, which characters to view only externally and which to inhabit from inside their minds.

After all, a constantly shifting viewpoint can be extremely irritating and confusing.

Think of any favourite novels. Do you know every characters’ thoughts and desires? Do you know what they are all thinking and feeling throughout the story?

Absolutely not.

For the author, there has to be a selection process.

And that choice is often dictated by the plot.

After all, surprise and revelation are essential ingredients of any novel and if every character reveals their inner most thoughts and motives to the reader – well, there is little chance for a revelation to occur!

If we knew that Darcy actually had designs on Elizabeth from the start, that Wickham was constantly up to no good and that Charlotte fancied her chances with the odious Mr Collins, Pride and Prejudice would be a far less entertaining novel.

But we are privy to Elizabeth Bennet’s thoughts. Other characters, on the whole, are viewed externally and revealed through their dialogue. We are very clear about Mrs Bennet’s intentions through her dialogue, for example, and Jane Austen’s marvellous ability to convey character through dialogue and her narrator’s ironic voice complete the task.

Sometimes, a first person narrative is given to a minor rather than a central character. It is curious, in this case, that the author has chosen to avoid the obvious of giving control to the main protagonist. The Great Gatsby, for example, gives the job of first person narrator to Nick Carraway who is on the margins of the main action rather than centrally involved in it. This means that he can comment with some sense of distance and even judgement.

Of course there’s always the problem – or use, depending on whether we see this from the author or the reader’s perspective – of the unreliable narrator. Is the reader to trust what the first person voice is telling us about events and other characters? On the other hand, a narrator like Nick can offer the reader more nuance on an event as when Gatsby meets Daisy again for the first time in years in a meeting engineered by Nick:

As I went to say goodbye, I saw that the expression of bewilderment had come back into Gatsby’s face, as though a faint doubt had occurred to him as to the quality of his present happiness. Almost five years! …There must have been moments even that afternoon when Daisy tumbled short of his dreams – not through her own fault but because of the colossal vitality of his illusion.

A first person narrative can seem more personal to the reader – as if the story is being shared specifically with that reader. Here, it’s Nick’s interpretation of Gatsby’s face as displaying bewilderment – a view which might be right or wrong – whereas in a third person narrative it would be expressed as fact rather than opinion – An expression of bewilderment had come back into Gatsby’s face – reads as definitive. And that phrase colossal vitality of his illusion – well, it tells us so much and is so poignant. It’s as if Nick is saying to the reader we all build people up in excess of their worth!

Back to third person narratives.

When I was writing my fourth novel, The Odyssey of Lily Page, I was actually at least a third of the way through before I consciously realised that I could only be in Lily’s head and not roam into the thoughts of the other key protagonists since …well, without giving the plot away, it was essential that should happen – the story and its resolution simply wouldn’t work otherwise!

So it’s not just first person narratives that limit the freedom of the author to roam freely between different mindsets and inner feelings.

Third person, omniscient narratives also require choice.

Plays are another thing altogether, of course. And Shakespeare uses the great tool of the soliloquy when he wants the audience to hear direct from the character.

But that’s for another discussion, another blog post!

In the meantime, getting close to halfway through writing my fifth novel, I am tangling with the idea of whether seeing events through the viewpoint of two characters – Ralph and Harriet – is sufficient. Effective.

Or whether, in fact, I need to trespass into the minds of Connie or Edith or Edmund or Florence or …..

A decision needs to be made before I progress any further!

So next time you are engrossed in a novel that has a third person narration, stop and think about which characters you know from inside – their thoughts and feelings – rather than purely their actions and dialogue.

It might surprise you how few, in fact, the author has decided to allow your access!