Terms of address?

[Ireth]

I was looking over the first chapter of a story just now, and I noticed that in the narration, the protagonist refers to his mother as just "his mother" for the most part, but he tends to refer to his father by his proper name more often than not. This was unintentional, and to me it looks sloppy and inconsistent. I don't really like the idea of a character referring to his parents by their first names even if he is an adult himself, but just saying "his mother/his father" all the time would get tiresome. Should I stick with one or the other, or keep the names and descriptors balanced?

 

[bbeams32]

Does your protagonist have a special relationship with his father to where maybe a different form of address between the two parents would be justifiable?

 

[Ireth]

I hadn't intended for there to be one. If anything I think Olan is closer to his mother; he takes after her more than his father, at least in appearance. *shrug* I'll think about it some more.

 

[Caged Maiden]

Personally, I use different things to address people. I think it aids in revealing the nature of the relationship I have with them.

 

[Ireth]

Yeah. It's not a problem in dialogue, just the narration. Not sure why it turned out the way it is at all.

 

[Caged Maiden]

I think it sounded sort of bitchy when I referred to my mother's second husband as "My mother's Husband" but they were married when I was 25... it felt weird to call him my step-father... so I didn't. The way you think of someone and how you refer to them is important, and in literature, it gives clues without you having to fill in details all the time.

 

[bbeams32]

If your narration is from your protagonist's point of view I don't feel there's anything tiresome about using "his mother" or "his father".

 

[Ireth]

It is, though that runs me into some trouble quite early on. At one point in the first chapter Olan is a passive observer of a conversation between his parents, and he fades out of focus quite quickly under the dialogue and actions. The section isn't very long, but it still feels awkward to use "his mother" and "his father" all the way through it when Olan himself isn't given much time to react to what they're saying. The focus is on the mother and father themselves, and more importantly what they're talking about, not Olan's perception of them. I'll post the excerpt so you can see what I mean:


Ólan forced himself not to move or breathe as his father stood, the pool of yellow light from his lantern falling on the disturbed earth around the open grave. His father took a step or two nearer, and the light revealed the grave itself, looking like a yawning mouth with a black, ugly throat.

Ólan flinched at his father's cry of alarm, and watched in helpless silence as he fled back to the house, leaving the dead hound where it lay. Still Ólan did not dare climb down, even as his father returned with Ólan's mother at his side, and pulled her toward the grave. Ólan could hear their heartbeats, both of them rapid.

"Look, Deòiridh!" Tàmhas cried, pointing at the empty grave with the end of his staff. "See for yourself, he's gone!"

"But how?" Deòiridh wondered, her green eyes wide with fear and confusion. "He can't have survived being buried, not after three days and nights! Someone must have taken him--his body--"

"Who would, and why?" Tàmhas countered, turning quickly to look up at her--she stood three inches taller than he. "We've all endured enough scorn throughout our lives, not only because of our faith in the old gods, but also the deformity you passed to Ólan and Oighrig. At least Fiona had two normal hands, and Uilleam after her--"

"That would be a reason in itself," Deòiridh cut across him fiercely, narrowing her eyes. "Someone might have taken him to spite us. That, or he climbed out of the grave himself."

"I think it must be the latter," growled Tàmhas, finishing her sentence for her. "Either by some miracle he survived and escaped, or else, by some curse, he is no longer the son we knew and loved. You know the stories my father told me about blood-drinkers..."

Deòiridh's eyes widened again. "You think he's become one of them?"

"You saw the bite on him just as clearly as I did," Tàmhas told her sharply. "If it didn't kill him, as we thought, then it certainly changed him."

"And what if he is?" Deòiridh asked in a whisper, her eyes still on her husband. "What do we do, Tam?"

"We can do nothing but let him go," he said gravely. "We cannot allow him to stay here, for our own sakes."

"Why not?" Deòiridh demanded, catching him by the arm with her right hand, which bore six fingers instead of five. "We can keep him well fed to make sure he doesn't harm us. A sheep or two now and then would be nothing to lose as long as we are all safe. The old, the sickly..."

Tàmhas shook his head and pulled out of her grasp, taking a step backward. "We can't afford to take that risk."

Ólan decided he had heard quite enough, and called to them as he climbed carefully down from the tree. "Why not?"

 

[Ivan]

I agree that it gets to be a problem especially in that second paragraph; Olan's name comes up four times in three sentences even though he does nothing at all. Try restructuring the text of that paragraph a bit so that you can use pronouns a bit more.

If you do decide to use the mother's and father's names at times, you could also describe them in terms of their relation to each other, depending on the situation. Sorry to be vague but it depends on what relations you want to stress, who is the one doing things etc etc.

In the back-and-forth dialogue, you could just go to using he and she for the father and mother once it is clear that they are the two who are speaking.

 

[Ireth]

*nod* That makes sense. I'll work on it. Thanks.

 

[Ireth]

Well, I've edited the scene a bit according to Ivan's advice, and this is what I have right now. I'm not sure how much I like it, particularly the confusion that could arise with "his [Olan's] father" and "his [Tamhas'] wife" being used close together, but there's always time and space for editing.


Ólan forced himself not to move or breathe as his father stood, the pool of yellow light from his lantern falling on the disturbed earth around the open grave. His father took a step or two nearer, and the light revealed the grave itself, looking like a yawning mouth with a black, ugly throat.

Ólan flinched at his father's cry of alarm, and watched him flee back to the house, leaving the dead hound where it lay. Still he did not dare climb down, even as his father returned quickly with his wife at his side, and led her toward the grave. Ólan could hear their heartbeats, both of them rapid.

"Look, Deòiridh!" his father cried to his wife, pointing at the empty grave with the end of his staff. "See for yourself, he's gone!"

"But how?" she wondered, her green eyes wide with fear and confusion. "He can't have survived being buried, not after three days and nights! Someone must have taken him--his body--"

"Who would, and why?" her husband countered, turning to look up at her--she stood three inches taller than he. "We have all endured enough scorn throughout our lives, not only because of our faith in the old gods, but also the deformity you passed down to Ólan and Oighrig. At least Fiona had two normal hands, and Uilleam after her--"

"That would be a reason in itself," she cut across him fiercely, narrowing her eyes. "Someone might have taken him to spite us. That, or he climbed out of the grave himself."

"I think it must be the latter," he growled, finishing her sentence for her. "Either by some miracle he survived and escaped, or else, by some curse, he is no longer the son we knew and loved. You know the stories my father told me about those monsters, the sumair fala..."

Her eyes widened again. "You think he's become one of them?"

"You saw the bite on him just as clearly as I did," he told her sharply. "If it didn't kill him, as we thought, then it certainly changed him."

"And what if he is?" she asked in a whisper, her eyes still on her husband. "What do we do, Tam?"

"We can do nothing but let him go," he said gravely. "We cannot allow him to stay here, for our own sakes."

"Why not?" she demanded, catching him by the arm with her right hand, which bore six fingers instead of five. "We can keep him well fed to make sure he doesn't harm us. A sheep or two now and then would be nothing to lose as long as we are all safe. The old, the sickly..."

He shook his head and pulled out of her grasp, taking a step backward. "We can't afford to take that risk."

Ólan decided he had heard quite enough, and called to them as he climbed carefully down from the tree. "Why not?"