In simple terms, interior monologue is the device used by authors to place the reader inside the character’s head. Modern writing methods have tended to emulate screenplay styles in recent decades – and this has led to more immediate portrayal, but, although screenplay may have certain advantages over narrative, interior monologue is the ace card of the author.
There are many ways to convey such inner thoughts: we
are going to dive straight into the deep end and examine how William Golding
did this – per proxy – in a passage from his classic, Lord of the Flies, in which Simon encounters the pig’s head on the
stick (as the movie picture above illustrates). In the 1963 movie, the director
limited this scene to having no dialogue – just a sombre drum roll and the
buzzing of flies around the pig’s head while Simon peered at it intently – but
here is a portion of the novel’s scene of the encounter between Simon and the
grisly head, which takes us inside the character’s mind in an unusual yet
revealing manner:
“. . . You are a silly little boy,” said the Lord of the
Flies, “just an ignorant, silly little boy.”
Simon moved his swollen tongue but said nothing.
“Don’t you agree?” said the Lord of the Flies. “Aren’t
you just a silly little boy?”
Simon answered him in the same silent voice.
“Well then,” said the Lord of the Flies, “you’d better
run off and play with the others. They think you’re batty. You don’t want Ralph
to think you’re batty, do you? You like Ralph a lot, don’t you? And Piggy, and
Jack?”
Simon’s head was tilted slightly up. His eyes could
not break away and the Lord of the Flies hung in space before him.
“What are you doing out here all alone? Aren’t you
afraid of me?”
Simon shook.
“There isn’t anyone to help you. Only me. And I’m the
Beast.”
Simon’s mouth laboured, brought forth audible words.
“Pig’s head on a stick.”
“Fancy thinking the Beast was something you could hunt
and kill!” said the head. For a moment or two the forest and all the other
dimly appreciated places echoed with the parody of laughter. “You knew, didn’t
you? I’m part of you? Close, close, close! I’m the reason why it’s no go? Why
things are what they are?”
The laughter shivered again.
“Come now,” said the Lord of the Flies. “Get back to
the others and we’ll forget the whole thing.”
Simon’s head wobbled. His eyes were half closed as
though he were imitating the obscene thing on the stick. He knew that one of
his times was coming on. The Lord of the Flies was expanding like a balloon. . .
Of course, most interior
monologues do not portray the hallucinations of the characters – but they are
flavoured by their particular slant on the world in one way or another, and it
is useful to remember this when constructing (and editing) them.
Interior monologue is not
difficult to write, a sure fire way to let your readers in on what is going on
in a character’s head – but this can lead to overuse – so, as with all the
components of a good story, proportion is the key. Don’t abandon dialogue and action
where it is more suitable – you will find that a light seasoning of interior
monologue can blend invisibly into the narrative and your reader will switch
without effort between the distinctions:
“. . . The prison officer led Liam up the green cast-iron
spiral staircase that led to C wing. They walked along the green-walled landing
with the green metal handrail to their right. Liam looked down at the chip-net
– there to catch loose screws – that wasn’t green. Maybe they ran out of paint.
The guard opened the door and Liam backed inside . . .”
Sometimes we need to devote
the best part of a paragraph or scene to interior monologue because without
this technique it would become bare narrative telling:
“. . . Stef grabbed a magazine from the array spread over the
waiting room table. He sat down alongside all the other patients and began to
leaf through the uninspiring pages. He expected that, just like himself, all of
the other cancer patients were doing exactly the same as he was: going through
the motions as they stared blankly at random glossy pages a million miles from
where their heads were really at. But what better option was there for he and
them? Talk about their hopes and fears? Well, probably – in a perfect world. . .”
Basic tricks:
Don’t have characters
mutter to themselves and such like – this is a hackneyed device – better to
place their thoughts in interior monologue.
Get rid of redundant thought
attributions (she thought / reasoned / wondered / etc.):
Did he really want to sleep with this woman? Not
really, he thought.
Did he really want to sleep with this woman? Not
really.
I always end up sleeping with a guy on a first date,
she thought.
She always seemed to wind up sleeping with guys on their
first date.
Why did she always end up sleeping with guys on their
first date?
Avoid using italics to
set interior monologue apart – not only are they heavy on the eyes, overuse
weakens their presence in a novel. In the main, trust the reader to make the
transition without this device. Of course, sometimes it just seems natural to
use italics, especially if a character’s interior monologue is punctuated by an
inner conclusion or an intervention of their thought process:
" . . . Dr Kaur caught Vic on his way out. “Mr Williams, the bereavement office
is next to the outpatients’ entrance. They can help you with counselling,
funeral arrangements and obtain the death certificate for you. They’re open
office hours.”
That’s it. She’s gone. My
fault for leaving her. Bloody fool.
“Are you okay, Mr Williams?” . . ."
". . . Now what was she going to do? Scott had made it
clear that he intended to tell Dave about their one night stand – meaningless and
forgettable though it was. What had gotten into him? Guilt? A new found sense of
decency? Or perhaps he was just—stop it!
The last thing you need is to upset yourself if you want to keep the baby . . ."
Next up:
Thank you for reading this article.
Other Self Editing
articles:
Self editing 4 fiction #7 ~ Interior MonologueSelf editing 4 fiction #8 ~ Master of the Beat
Self editing 4 fiction #9 ~ Sophistication
