First Person or Third? Oh the Choices!

Today I'm pleased to have the amazing Martina Boone from Adventures in Children's and YA Publishing as a guest poster. And wow! I love this post. Read and learn my friends. :D

Leslie asked: When do you choose third person limited over first person?

When do you choose third person limited over first person?

This is a great question. The tempting, obvious answer is that third person limited makes it easy to develop additional points of view within a single novel, although you only have to look at Maggie Stiefvater's SCORPIO RACES for a great example of a book that uses multiple first person points of view. So the obvious answer isn't necessarily right. There aren't hard and fast rules anymore, especially in writing YA, which is one of the reasons that I think we are seeing such brilliant work by and for young adults. I think the true answer here is that you have to choose the point of view that speaks to you and feels natural to write while giving you the opportunity to show an attitude, a perspective or window on your fictional world, a true point of view.

That said, there are advantages to third person intimate. The first is that while it is more limited than third person omniscient, it is less limited than first person. Take a look at the following example from Scott Westerfeld's RISEN EMPIRE.

                  The five small craft passed from shadow, emerging with the suddenness of coins thrown into sunlight. The disks of their rotary wings shimmered in the air like heat, momentary rainbows flexing across prisms of motion. Master Pilot Jocim Marx noted with pleasure the precision of his squadron's formation. The other pilots' Intelligencer craft perfectly formed a square centered upon his own.

                  "Don't we look pretty?" Marx said.

                  "Pretty obvious, sir," Hendrik answered. She was the squadron's second pilot, and it was her job to worry.

                  "A little light won't hurt us," Marx said flatly. "The Rix haven't had time to build anything with eyes."

                  He said it not to remind Hendrik, who knew damn well, but to reassure their squadron-mates. The other three pilots were nervous; Marx could hear it in their silence. None of them had ever flown a mission of this importance before.

                  But then, who had?

This is a pretty classic third limited POV. We don't see anything from any other character's perspectives, so we aren't in omniscient POV, but at the same time, we have a little more room to provide details about the POV character. Consider that first paragraph rewritten in first person.

The five small craft passed from shadow, emerging with the suddenness of coins thrown into sunlight. The disks of their rotary wings shimmered in the air like heat, momentary rainbows flexing across prisms of motion. I noted with pleasure the precision of my squadron's formation. The other pilots' Intelligencer craft perfectly formed a square centered upon my own.

Look at the underlined pronoun compared to the underlined reference to the character's name and position in the third-person version. That could just as easily be a sliver of physical description as a name and title, or it could be an age, a brief revelation of character, etc. You don't have to find a way to work that into the character's thoughts or into dialogue. No angsting to find a way to uncliché a look in the mirror, in other words.

I like to think of POV as a camera lens. First person is like you've swallowed the camera. Third person intimate lets you zoom the camera in and out, not quite to bird's eye view, but somewhere in between. This is easiest and less noticeable at the beginning of the book as in the above example, but it also works beautifully at the beginning of a new chapter as in the following example from Kristin Cashore's GRACELING.

Last paragraph of Chapter One:

          Katsa shook herself in frustration. These thoughts were no help, and it was done now. They needed to get the grandfather to safety and warmth, and Raffin. She crouched lower in her saddle and urged her horse north.

First paragraph of Chapter Two:

          It was a land of seven kingdoms. Seven kingdoms, and seven thoroughly unpredictable kings. Why in the name of all that was reasonable would anyone kidnap Prince Tealiff, the father of the Lienid king? He was an old man. He had no power; he had no ambition; he wasn't even well. Word was, he spent most of his days sitting by the fire, or in the sun, looking out at the sea, playing with his great-grandchildren, and bothering no one.

This is clearly Katsa musing, but the author doesn't have to spend time establishing that it is Katsa thinking. It's more natural to provide information in third person than in first, where it almost always seems like a greater intrusion into the narrative.

Now, here's a more complicated example from Laini Taylor's DAUGHTER OF SMOKE AND BONE.

         Walking to school over the snow-muffled cobbles, Karou had no sinister premonitions about the day. It seemed like just another Monday, innocent but for its essential Mondayness, not to mention its Januaryness. It was cold, and it was dark—in the dead of winter the sun didn’t rise until eight—but it was also lovely. The falling snow and the early hour conspired to paint Prague ghostly, like a tintype photograph, all silver and haze.

          On the riverfront thoroughfare, trams and buses roared past, grounding the day in the twenty-first century, but on the quieter lanes, the wintry peace might have hailed from another time. Snow and stone and ghostlight, Karou’s own footsteps and the feather of steam from her coffee mug, and she was alone and adrift in mundane thoughts: school, errands. The occasional cheek-chew of bitterness when a pang of heartache intruded, as pangs of heartache will, but she pushed them aside, resolute, ready to be done with all that.

           She held her coffee mug in one hand and clutched her coat closed with the other. An artist’s portfolio was slung over her shoulder, and her hair—loose, long, and peacock blue—was gathering a lace of snowflakes.

          Just another day.

          And then.

          A snarl, rushing footfall, and she was seized from behind, pulled hard against a man’s broad chest as hands yanked her scarf askew and she felt teeth—teeth—against her neck.
         Nibbling.

         Her attacker was nibbling her.

         Annoyed, she tried to shake him off without spilling her coffee, but some sloshed out of her cup anyway, into the dirty snow.

        “Jesus, Kaz, get off,” she snapped, spinning to face her ex-boyfriend. The lamplight was soft on his beautiful face. Stupid beauty, she thought, shoving him away. Stupid face.

        “How did you know it was me?” he asked.

        “It’s always you. And it never works.”

        Kazimir made his living jumping out from behind things, and it frustrated him that he could never get even the slightest rise out of Karou. “You’re impossible to scare,” he complained, giving her the pout he thought was irresistible. Until recently, she wouldn’t have resisted it. She would have risen on tiptoe and licked his pout-puckered lower lip, licked it languorously and then taken it between her teeth and teased it before losing herself in a kiss that made her melt against him like sun-warmed honey.

           Those days were so over.

There's a lot in that passage to discuss and interpret. First, the opening in third gives the author the latitude to include some lovely voice and get us hooked. Imagine that in first person.

         Walking to school over the snow-muffled cobbles, I had no sinister premonitions about the day. It seemed like just another Monday, innocent but for its essential Mondayness, not to mention its Januaryness. It was cold, and it was dark—in the dead of winter the sun didn’t rise until eight—but it was also lovely. The falling snow and the early hour conspired to paint Prague ghostly, like a tintype photograph, all silver and haze.

          On the riverfront thoroughfare, trams and buses roared past, grounding the day in the twenty-first century, but on the quieter lanes, the wintry peace might have hailed from another time. Snow and stone and ghostlight, my own footsteps and the feather of steam from my coffee mug, and I was alone and adrift in mundane thoughts: school, errands. The occasional cheek-chew of bitterness when a pang of heartache intruded, as pangs of heartache will, but I pushed them aside, resolute, ready to be done with all that.

It still works right? But what do you think of this?

I held my coffee mug in one hand and clutched my coat closed with the other. An artist’s portfolio was slung over my shoulder, and my hair—loose, long, and peacock blue—was gathering a lace of snowflakes.

For me, it still works because I get such a strong sense that there is a storyteller, and I would assume that the storyteller is the main character looking back and speaking to the reader. What do you think of the effect? Does it work for you or not? Would it work in present tense? Not likely, right? How would it work within the context of your story? These are the kinds of things you need to consider.

Laini Taylor plays with the zoom option of third person a bit a few paragraphs down.

          Just another day.

          And then.

This feels very intimate to me. As if I'm right there with the character, although technically, it could just as easily be an omniscient narration. I'm not sure exactly where the lens is, but I feel like I'm right on top of Karou.

          A snarl, rushing footfall, and she was seized from behind, pulled hard against a man’s broad chest as hands yanked her scarf askew and she felt teeth—teeth—against her neck.
         Nibbling.

         Her attacker was nibbling her.

Note the "she felt" there? That's a filtering word that usually adds distance and pulls the lens away from the character. It's an interesting use here though. The repetition of the word teeth, and the repetition of nibbling further down, are both very intimate. They also allow the author to draw out the suspense a little, to create that possibility of fear for the reader that Kaz wanted Karou to experience. It could be rewritten this way:

          A snarl, rushing footfall, and she was seized from behind, pulled hard against a man’s broad chest as hands yanked her scarf askew and teeth nibbled—nibbled—against her neck.

Or:

          A snarl, rushing footfall, and she was seized from behind, pulled hard against a man’s broad chest as hands yanked her scarf askew and teeth—teeth—scraped against her neck.

                        Nibbling.

         Her attacker was nibbling her.

Which works best for you? Does the narration require the filter?

Maybe not, but it builds to the addition of another filter in the next paragraph down.

        “Jesus, Kaz, get off,” she snapped, spinning to face her ex-boyfriend. The lamplight was soft on his beautiful face. Stupid beauty, she thought, shoving him away. Stupid face.

"She thought" isn't strictly necessary. We would understand that "stupid beauty" was Karou's thought, but the lines flow more nicely, to me anyway, the way that the author put it. Sure, it could be rephrased:

“Jesus, Kaz, get off,” she snapped, spinning to face her ex-boyfriend. The lamplight was soft on his beautiful face. Stupid beauty. She shoved him away. Stupid face.

It works, although I think I personally would have to reverse "stupid beauty" with "stupid face" for flow, but it isn't necessarily an improvement either way, is it? In this case, the filter works, and again it builds to what happens a few paragraphs later.

        Kazimir made his living jumping out from behind things, and it frustrated him that he could never get even the slightest rise out of Karou. “You’re impossible to scare,” he complained, giving her the pout he thought was irresistible. Until recently, she wouldn’t have resisted it. She would have risen on tiptoe and licked his pout-puckered lower lip, licked it languorously and then taken it between her teeth and teased it before losing herself in a kiss that made her melt against him like sun-warmed honey.

Has the author hopped into Kazimir's head now? She's telling us what Kaz feels, but we barely notice it because she zoomed the lens out a bit with the filter words. Also the fact that we're in third and the way she has set things up so far makes it possible that these are actually Karou's thoughts. We get Karou's reaction to Kaz's assumptions immediately.

Until recently, she wouldn’t have resisted it. She would have risen on tiptoe and licked his pout-puckered lower lip, licked it languorously and then taken it between her teeth and teased it before losing herself in a kiss that made her melt against him like sun-warmed honey.

And here's the kicker, the payoff:

Those days were so over.

That puts us right back there with Karou again, up close and intimate.

Third person intimate is a great choice when you want to manipulate the camera, and the reader, and give yourself more control of your story, but it requires you to be a little more proficient with the differences in POV than you have to be in first person POV. It's easier to fall into the trap of headhopping with third person intimate. On the other hand, it isn't as obvious when you make a mistake as it would be if you were in first person and suddenly hopped into the head of another character.