Dear Curtis Sittenfeld,
Please read Special Topics in Calamity Physics by Marisha Pessl and take copious, copious notes on character description done properly. Take, for example, one of the many passages from your novel Prep that presents only a hairstyle, over-thought name, and clothing choice for the complete description of a character:
“I thought of Aspeth’s long pale hair, the clothes she wore – now that it was spring, pastel shirts and khaki skirts and white or navy espadrilles – and her tan, shapely legs and the light sprinkling of freckles across her nose, which always looked as if she had spent the afternoon playing tennis in the sun. Then I glanced and Conchita on the bike beside me, her glowing pink rain slicker and hat, her dark puffy hair.”
Or how about this one:
“Norie Cleehan, who was a pale skinny girl from Colorado with long limp brown hair and a soft voice said, ‘Leave it alone, Darden.”
Now, compare these to a Pessl passage:
“She had an elegant sort of romantic, bone-sculpted face, one that took well to both shadows and light, even at their extremes. And she was older than I’d realized, somewhere in her late thirties. Most extraordinarily thought was the air of a Chateau Marmont bungalow about her, a sense of RKO, which I’d never before witnessed in a person, only while Dad and I watched Jezebel into the early hours of the morning. Yes, within her carriage and deliberate steps like a metronome (now retreated behind the display of potato chips) was a little bit of the Paramount lot, a little neat scotch and air kisses at Ciro’s. I felt, when she opened her mouth, she wouldn’t utter the crumbly speech of modernity, but would use moist words like beau, top drawer and sound (only occasionally ring-a-ding-ding), and when she considered a person, took in him/her, she would place those nearly extinct personality traits – Character, Reputation, Integrity and Class – above all others.”
And one more, just for good measure:
“Well, it just so happened Hello, My Name Is LARSON was a kid Dad took to like a Surinam Cockroach to bat droppings. He was one of those unsinkable eighteen-year-olds, with a Hardy Boy face no one had anymore, all freckles and gee-whiz grin, thick brown hair that grew around his face like an urn plant and a lanky body in constant motion as if he were being operated by a ventriloquist on speed (see Chapter 2, ‘Charlie McCarthy’ The Puppies That Changed Our Lives, Mesh, 1958). Dad found Larson wondrous. And that was the thing with Dad: he’d teach Modes of Mediation to a thousand John Dorys he was barely able to stomach, and then he’d pay a kid for a berry-favored Tums and fall head over heels, declaring him a veritable dolphin who’d spiral through the air when you whistled. ‘Now that’s a promising young man,’ said Dad. ‘I’d exchange every Happy, Sleepy and Doc to teach him. He was spark. You don’t find that often.’”
See how uninspired and severely lacking your descriptions are, even though both yours and Pessl’s characters are in the same prep-school demographic, so there’s really no excuse? See? See how I’m still angry at having wasted hours reading your inane dribble even though it was years ago? See?
Regards,
Lauren
