Breaking up with my characters - A Blog Post by Nancy Burkhalter
Characters in our book are like relatives: We may not like them equally, but we must deal with them, nonetheless. In my early drafts of The Education of Delhomme, Frédéric Chopin’s lover, George Sand, was a pivotal figure in the story. But the more I researched her relationship with Chopin, the more I disliked her. She struck me as domineering, headstrong, and self-serving by co-opting his celebrity to attract artists to her home.
My antipathy peaked when I surmised she had contributed to Chopin’s death.
While they were together from 1836 to 1847, Chopin was quite productive. As their relationship blossomed, Sand acknowledged her motherly feelings toward him.
Eventually, though, she tired of his incessant coughs and complaints (he had TB) and, one can infer, his diminished mojo in the boudoir. She had needs and stepped out on him in the waning years of their relationship. She even published a roman à clef, Lucrezia Floriani (Lucrezia Floriani (gutenberg.org), in 1846, starring a feckless, jealous, obtuse, unworthy man (presumably Chopin) while painting the main character (herself) as a martyred heroine.
In the two years after Sand gave him the heave-ho, he ate little, slept poorly, and stayed out late performing for adoring soirée audiences. He also maintained a heavy teaching schedule. Meanwhile, the disease was ravaging his body. His health declined precipitously, and he died in 1849 at age 39.
How dare she abandon him!
French novelist, memoirist, and journalist George Sand
So, no, I did not like her. But then I realized what all writers must: She’s a character in my book, for crying out loud; she isn’t there for me to like or dislike. It would be like favoring one pawn over another on the chess board. Each piece has a role to play, just as one’s characters do. Sand played an important part in Chopin’s life and grew into a dynamic figure in her own right in terms of French feminism, literature, and workers’ rights. After weeks of internal squabbling, my writerly wisdom won out. I decided the goal of showing how both Chopin and Sand survived as artists during that turbulent time in Parisian history needed to supersede my own sentiments.
My attitude toward Sand changed markedly when I visited Nohant, her lovely two-story manor house in central France, where she died in 1876 (House of George Sand - Wikipedia). I was charmed by the subtlety and warmth of her style. From her copper pans in the kitchen, where she made jam and sumptuous meals, to the tasteful chinoiserie-patterned wallpaper and pink-rose chandelier in the dining room, I was smitten with her exquisite taste.
The pièce de résistance was a small theater, replete with a painted proscenium arch so Sand could create and refine her plays before offering them to Parisian theaters. Off to the right was a charming puppet theater, where her son, Maurice, held theatrical performances starring some of his one hundred and sixty handmade marionettes, dressed in clothes George herself had sewn. This area, especially, showed her softer, artistic side, a counterpoint to her vitriolic tracts and it’s-all-about-me rebuff of lovers. I owed it to readers to present all facets of this extraordinary woman and not takes sides between her and Chopin.
Once I resolved to give Sand’s persona a balanced portrayal, I ran into another problem: how to do that when Chopin’s piano tuner—my main character—was hogging the focus with his first-person voice. While I found first person a compelling narrative choice to increase readers’ intimacy and identification with the tuner, I puzzled over how I could get Madame Sand’s strong point of view into the story. She was, after all, sassy, willful, arrogant, outspoken, head-strong, dedicated, and civic-minded—way too vibrant a character to give short shrift. My solution: create diary entries. That strategy had two advantages. First, it provided a platform to flesh out George’s personality in her voice, and second, it allowed me to recount important facts about Sand’s relationship with Chopin when the tuner wasn’t around.
I left Nohant that late September day feeling that George Sand was a profoundly sensitive and creative person. She may have been irascible and selfish at times, but she deserved her say. So, Madame Sand, I raise my glass to you and to your marvelous first-person voice. À votre santé!
My lesson is this: Remain neutral toward all characters, no matter their foibles or allure. Otherwise, you lose perspective on their usefulness to the story and, worse, your slanted perspective may keep you from putting them in compromising or dangerous situations. The result could easily become wimpy, cardboardy characters and insipid plots, literary infractions no reader wants.
About the Author
Nancy Burkhalter is an educator, writer, journalist, linguist, piano tuner, and the author of The Education of Delhomme. She holds a master’s degree in journalism and English education, as well as a doctorate in linguistics from the University of New Mexico. She has taught composition for many years in the U.S., Germany, Saudi Arabia, Kazakhstan, and Russia. Her overseas work led to an interest in comparative education, especially critical thinking. Both observations and research resulted in her book and blog, Critical Thinking Now. In 2019, she was a recipient of Go Back, Give Back, a fellowship through the State Department to train teachers in St. Petersburg, Russia. She resides in Edmonds, Washington.
Photo Credit: Austin Irving
