People Want to Live and Description that is Alive
Farah Ali's short story, "Beautiful" (collected in People Want to Live) is about a young woman named Khajista, who grows up in an orphanage and seeks to escape that orphanage by finding a man to marry her.
After several failed attempts, she meets Babar. Here is his introduction:
The first time I saw Babar the rat catcher was when he was getting out of the driver's side of a small van with a cartoon of worried rats painted on the side. He was well-dressed: black pants with sharp creases and a short-sleeved blue shirt. He carried a large bag that looked very heavy. It was probably full of rat poison. The proximity of a man to so much danger thrilled me.
The description may seem straight forward, but it brings incredible life to Babar--and to Khajista. I love that and want to study how it works.
First, the word "first." We immediately know this new character will be important because of the phrasing, which implies that Khajista will see Babar again and also that he is memorable to her from the start. Additionally, because we know that the narrator is looking for a man to rescue her, we suspect this will be the one.
(So is it love at first sight? Not exactly, but it doesn't hurt the story if the reader is reminded of the concept.)
"Babar the rat catcher" feels like a title, or even an identity. If it were phrased "Babar, who was a rat catcher," it might feel more simply like an occupation. But what an identity it is! Pest control is important, of course, and protective. But it's also gruesome. And the phrase contains an immediate element of danger as it makes us think about who or what else might get caught.
So we have danger and protection both, but then we get a cartoon, which shifts the tone and starts to make the passage jump alive. Concepts and moods can fight with each other to create a texture that is dynamic and exciting, which then attaches itself to the character being described. Contradictions also ask us to hold complexity in our minds. Even if it's not the direct complexity of a character, the depth necessarily reflects upon the character. We're only one sentence in, but Babar already contains importance, danger, and silliness. He's becoming dimensional.
The texture continues to roil as the cartoon takes a strange turn: worried rats. Presumably the rats are worried because Babar is such a good exterminator. It makes sense for an ad, but it's still a bit absurd. I have fun wondering how one draws a worried rat. Are they biting their fingernails? Pacing back and forth down a long hallway? Have they knit their little eyebrows together? And so the silliness increases. Yet it's also an emotional rollercoaster as we ride from the childlike wonder of a cartoon to the adult sense of worry. This is part of that living texture, of course.
And then I'm thinking about that heavy bag, which suggests strength. But it's only stated that it looks heavy, and so I also wonder if it really is. Maybe it looks heavy because of how it's being carried. If it's not objectively heavy but merely too much for its carrier--well that suggests weakness. So here's another depth-making contradiction as I ponder this character as both strong and weak.
The proximity to danger does something similar. Babar is a danger to rats, but the poison is dangerous to him too. He is both predator and prey in this moment. Again, he holds a contradiction and develops depth.
Of course, it's not just Babar we learn about. Every description necessarily passes through the one describing, and thus reflects the values and personality of the narrator. That's true of all stories, but it's emphasized particularly when Khajista admits she is speculating a bit. Not only does the bag only "look" heavy, we have the phrase, "it was probably." This sense of her probing gaze as she makes calculations about Babar is key to her situation and character. It also reminds us to notice not just the details, but Khajista's choice of how to relate them.
When she imagines something dangerous in the bag and is thrilled by it, we know it's not only desperation fueling her quest, but a craving for adventure--or something else. Yet, she's still careful. Look, for example, at how Babar "was getting out of the driver's side." We learn he's the driver, but we don't actually see him in the driver's seat. The phrasing acknowledges he has a certain power but seems to pull him apart from it, as if Khajista is watching for when he's more vulnerable. It gives us another textured sense of Babar, but it also demonstrates Khajista's shrewdness.
Another great example is his clothing. What impresses Khajista is not how fine or stylish or expensive it is, but the sharp creases, which suggest careful ironing. Respect for details of personal grooming or domestic chores might seem at odds with her thrill at danger--I think that's the point. Khajista feels human in her complexities and contradictions.
And the need to watch so carefully, combined with the reckless thrill at rat poison--this emphasizes the danger of her situation and what she is planning. The reader might feel the excitement and thrill with her, but we're also likely to be afraid for her. And so we're invested in these characters and we know they're alive.