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Now that you’re familiar with the ways that authors build characters, let’s look at how those characters and their actions can convey meaning in a work of literature. Characterization, like other elements of literature (such as setting, plot, and point of view) is a tool for the author to use to build the meaning of his or her work—in other words, to develop the themes.

Characters are central to literature. The setting gives them a place to be, the point of view gives us a glimpse into their world, and the plot tells us what they do. So, to fully understand a piece of literature, we have to understand why the author presents his or her characters in the manner he or she does. This is why an effective analysis of character always goes beyond simply describing who a character is and gets to the ideas behind the characters’ words, traits, and actions. For instance, the supporting characters in The Wizard of Oz—the cowardly Lion, compassionate Tin Man, and resourceful Scarecrow—do more than just entertain readers or viewers and move the story along: their character traits represent what the story is suggesting are the essential qualities of a healthy, supportive community. This is a very literal example of how characters embody meaning in literature.

Let’s look at another example. This one happens to focus on dialogue as a means of indirect characterization. Dialogue can be a very powerful tool for characterization, allowing the author to reveal things about the characters not just by what they say, but also by how they say it and how others react to it. Read this excerpt from “Deuce Out” by Katey Schultz (p. 578, pars. 4–9), in which a brother and sister talk about what he learned in his basic training in the U.S. Army, especially the military jargon and interesting stories.

Before he left, I wanted to learn everything. Jingle trucks, battle rattle, fobbits, you name it. “C’mon. Spill it,” I said.

“They don’t teach you that stuff in basic, Steph.”

“But you must have heard stories. You know. From your friends who’ve already been there.” We lay on the grass in Harrison Park. The sun was out, the sky a fantastic blue we hadn’t seen in months.

“No stories, Sis. Sorry.”

“Okay, fine. What about from basic?”

Dustin feigned a yawn.

There are several aspects of both characters that this bit of dialogue reveals. Notice how eager Steph is to learn the military lingo. She presses Dustin more than once for details. But notice too how reluctant Dustin is to share: he dodges the question twice and finally fakes a yawn to end their conversation. We get the sense from this dialogue that Steph’s excitement has gone too far. She’s too concerned mostly with the quirky details of military life, and is ignoring the seriousness of the situation. Dustin, because of his actual experience with the military, seems to know better, and is purposely trying to dampen Steph’s enthusiasm.

The connection of characterization to theme in this example is clear: life in the military isn’t to be taken lightly, and shouldn’t be trivialized by reducing it to its funny lingo or anecdotes.

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Let’s look at another example. This one is an excerpt from When the Emperor Was Divine by Julie Otsuka (p. 547, pars. 21–23), which is about a family during World War II that was sent to an internment camp for much of the war because they were of Japanese descent. After the bombing of Pearl Harbor by the Japanese in 1941, there was a lot of racial discrimination toward Japanese Americans, as you will see in this scene in which the protagonist, called only “boy,” is confronted by someone who demands to know whether he is Japanese, or Chinese (who were allies of the United States at the time of World War II).

Later, he saw Chinese, real Chinese — Mr. Lee of Lee’s Grocers and Don Wong who owned the laundry on Shattuck — on the street wearing buttons that said, I AM CHINESE, and CHINESE, PLEASE. Later, a man stopped him on the sidewalk in front of Woolworth’s and said, “Chink or Jap?” and the boy answered, “Chink,” and ran away as fast as he could. Only when he got to the corner did he turn around and shout, “Jap! Jap! I’m a Jap!”

Just to set the record straight.

But by then the man was already gone.

Notice how Otsuka uses exclusively indirect characterization for the boy here. While in the face of the man’s question the boy does deny his own heritage, his decision to stop, turn, and loudly proclaim that he is Japanese shows a certain bravery and pride, even if the man has already gone. The boy is smart enough to know when it is safe for him to be himself and when he needs to hide his identity. Otsuka relies mostly on the actions of the boy and what he says—and when he says it—to reveal these aspects of the boy. This conflict in this scene is made possible by the minor characters that Otsuka introduces: Mr. Lee and Don Wong, the proud Chinese whose buttons saying “I AM CHINESE” and “CHINESE, PLEASE” serve as a foil to highlight the boy’s confusion, and the man outside Woolworth’s, who acts as a sort of an antagonist in this particular scene.

So while it’s clear that the boy is both courageous and proud of his Japanese heritage, what does this episode reveal about the meaning of the work as a whole? How does it connect to the overall theme? Notice the multiple proclamations of identity in this short scene; Mr. Lee, the man, and the boy all try to define themselves in the face of confusion and anger. The boy even uses the derogatory term “Jap” as a declaration of strength. All in all, Otsuka uses the character of the boy, and the men, in this sequence to explore the complex notions of identity that Japanese Americans dealt with during that period in the twentieth century.

Note that this is just one interpretation of the boy’s actions in this scene, and therefore of the boy’s role in embodying the overall meaning of the novel. Reasonable people could disagree and arrive at different conclusions.

The connection between the boy’s actions and dialogue to the meaning is a claim.

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