Crime queen Kathy Reichs reveals her secrets
Posted by John Yeoman on Saturday, June 16, 2012
Under: The Writing Craft
To stumble upon Kathy Reichs is like discovering literature for the first time. Not content with being a world-class forensic scientist, Ms Reichs has also mastered the craft of novel writing and has dethroned Patricia Cornwell as the queen of noir crime. But unlike Cornwell, Reichs has wit, humanity and depth.
This lady can write! What’s her secret?
If you’ve read Cornwell, you’ll know she’s a water spider. She scats across the surface of events. (‘The room was cold. I inventoried the closet.’) Reichs digs into the mud. (‘The room was cold. Like Ryan’s smile last night. I thrust back the memory. Before you ask, we had slept in separate beds, Ryan on the couch. Did I sleep? Cold.’)
That’s my own pastiche but it gives a flavour of Reichs’ nimble, multi-layered style.
Without any formal training as a writer, she intuitively developed a technique that sinks depth and sensibility into every paragraph. Here’s a sample from 206 Bones (2009). Ryan is a detective (male) and Brennan is a forensic pathologist (female):
Ryan appears in all her stories as a Good Guy. So the reader trusts him and identifies with his viewpoint. Ryan dislikes Schechter on sight. We know that from Ryan’s body language: ‘A subtle tensing around the eyes’ and his mockery: ‘over-the-top Parisian’. So we’re inclined to hate Schechter too.
The focus then shifts back to the narrator, Brennan, who echoes Ryan’s negative feelings about Schechter - and our own - with a scornful ‘“Certainment”.
Reichs weaves body language into every exchange of dialogue.
Brennan cannot know what the other characters are thinking. Nor can we. But both narrator and reader can deduce their thoughts from their body language: ‘the eyes suggested that...’, ‘Schechter’s tone indicated that...’, ‘an imperious wave of one hand’.
The reader gains the impression they have understood the scene through three different points of view (povs) but they haven’t. The pov has always been with Brennan. That’s clever.
Here’s Reichs' formula:
Character Action | Body Language | Reflection by another character | Their Emotional Response | New Action.
She can keep that five-step formula going through an entire chapter, in a dazzling gavotte of incidents. Even minor characters like Schechter gain instant depth and have their moment of apparent pov, before the dance whirls us on. But Brennan’s pov is always present, at centre stage.
Her reflections also characterise her. Almost every one is witty, self-deprecating or irreverent, even when she’s up to her armpits in a decomposing corpse. ‘Otto regarded Ryan as if he’d just dropped from the south end of a pig.’ We like this woman.
By contrast, Cornwell dances only three steps in that gavotte:
Action | Body Language | Cerebral Response (without humour)
And she stumbles at the third step. Her protagonist Kay Scarpetta - a pathologist with much the same job as Brennan - is all mind. Her emotions are rarely visible to the reader.
Result: we might admire Scarpetta but we are unlikely to fall in love with her. Or care very much what happens to her.
Reichs' gavotte is a simple formula, easily mastered.
She writes thrillers so she has to move quickly. Each step in her gavotte is terse. Few sentences are longer than twenty words. Many are just a phrase. In a romance or literary work, you might lengthen your steps. But then your dance would be a waltz.
Try Reichs’ formula for yourself. It works in any genre. Just be sure to add humanity to your characters’ reflections and emotional responses. Then the reader will fall in love with those characters, with you, and with every story you subsequently write.
In time, like Reichs, you might dominate your niche.
This lady can write! What’s her secret?
If you’ve read Cornwell, you’ll know she’s a water spider. She scats across the surface of events. (‘The room was cold. I inventoried the closet.’) Reichs digs into the mud. (‘The room was cold. Like Ryan’s smile last night. I thrust back the memory. Before you ask, we had slept in separate beds, Ryan on the couch. Did I sleep? Cold.’)
That’s my own pastiche but it gives a flavour of Reichs’ nimble, multi-layered style.
Without any formal training as a writer, she intuitively developed a technique that sinks depth and sensibility into every paragraph. Here’s a sample from 206 Bones (2009). Ryan is a detective (male) and Brennan is a forensic pathologist (female):
Can you see how Reichs structured that?“I’m pleased you speak English, detective.”
A subtle tensing around the eyes suggested that Schechter’s first words did not sit well with Ryan.
“Mais oui, monsieur.” Ryan’s accent was over-the-top Parisian.
“Mr Jurmain requests clarification on a number of points.”
Schechter’s tone indicated that Ryan’s humor was not appreciated.
“Dr Brennan and I have prepared scene and autopsy photos to walk you through the investigation.”
Clicking his pen to readiness, Schechter gave an imperious wave of one hand.
Ryan spoke to me in French. “Let’s clarify this prick’s head right out of his ass.”
“Certainment,” I agreed.
Ryan appears in all her stories as a Good Guy. So the reader trusts him and identifies with his viewpoint. Ryan dislikes Schechter on sight. We know that from Ryan’s body language: ‘A subtle tensing around the eyes’ and his mockery: ‘over-the-top Parisian’. So we’re inclined to hate Schechter too.
The focus then shifts back to the narrator, Brennan, who echoes Ryan’s negative feelings about Schechter - and our own - with a scornful ‘“Certainment”.
Reichs weaves body language into every exchange of dialogue.
Brennan cannot know what the other characters are thinking. Nor can we. But both narrator and reader can deduce their thoughts from their body language: ‘the eyes suggested that...’, ‘Schechter’s tone indicated that...’, ‘an imperious wave of one hand’.
The reader gains the impression they have understood the scene through three different points of view (povs) but they haven’t. The pov has always been with Brennan. That’s clever.
Here’s Reichs' formula:
Character Action | Body Language | Reflection by another character | Their Emotional Response | New Action.
She can keep that five-step formula going through an entire chapter, in a dazzling gavotte of incidents. Even minor characters like Schechter gain instant depth and have their moment of apparent pov, before the dance whirls us on. But Brennan’s pov is always present, at centre stage.
Her reflections also characterise her. Almost every one is witty, self-deprecating or irreverent, even when she’s up to her armpits in a decomposing corpse. ‘Otto regarded Ryan as if he’d just dropped from the south end of a pig.’ We like this woman.
By contrast, Cornwell dances only three steps in that gavotte:
Action | Body Language | Cerebral Response (without humour)
And she stumbles at the third step. Her protagonist Kay Scarpetta - a pathologist with much the same job as Brennan - is all mind. Her emotions are rarely visible to the reader.
Result: we might admire Scarpetta but we are unlikely to fall in love with her. Or care very much what happens to her.
Reichs' gavotte is a simple formula, easily mastered.
She writes thrillers so she has to move quickly. Each step in her gavotte is terse. Few sentences are longer than twenty words. Many are just a phrase. In a romance or literary work, you might lengthen your steps. But then your dance would be a waltz.
Try Reichs’ formula for yourself. It works in any genre. Just be sure to add humanity to your characters’ reflections and emotional responses. Then the reader will fall in love with those characters, with you, and with every story you subsequently write.
In time, like Reichs, you might dominate your niche.
In : The Writing Craft
Tags: reichs "body language"
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John Yeoman