The voice of a written piece usually refers to the idiolect used by the narrator. That doesn’t always happen, of course, as there are, for example, written works without a narrator at all. But here, I want to speak of pretty much the exact opposite – works that use multiple voices and how working on my game exposed me to some issues I’ve uniquely experienced through it.
So again, in the case of a work that’s primarily narrative, like my game, the prominent voice will be that of the narration itself. So, speaking otherwise, it’s the janky way in which I write. From there, it’s pretty natural for characters to also have their own unique voices, something that’s usually the first thing a writer discovering this starts working with. But from there, you also must consider how a character’s voice changes based on the situation. And then, from there, we move into the realm of how the world/setting of a written work can possess its own voice on top of that.
1) The narrator
Let’s call the narrator the level 1 voice. This is where everything starts. For a work of traditional narrative fiction, this will be the most prominent voice the audience will experience. Here, we can examine the purpose of a set voice, as well as the factors that go into shaping it.
As far as the purpose goes, it’s actually quite simple; it’s the tone. Depending on the factors below, the reader or listener (but I’ve no intention of touching voice acting with the proverbial 10-foot pole) will respond with different emotions to what’s being said. Even if the narration conveys the same facts at an objective level of information, how they are transmitted changes the subjective experience of receiving them. Savvy?
This should be a basic skill, as far as writing goes, but I’ve seen many games struggle with this. That’s on the whole spectrum from indie to AAA.
Now then, what factors affect the voice?
Vocabulary and sentence structure are the obvious ones, and this goes far beyond using big words to sound big brain, as I find this often understood. Every mood you want to evoke has words that associate with it more strongly than others. Similarly, there are ways of writing about subjects that are antithetical to them. For example, clever and light wordplay might be in order if you want to evoke some mirth. Similarly, horror might require more baroque, dreary and tense passages to set up. Finally, of course, relevant to what I do and most often see flubbed is erotic writing. Often just openly vulgar language is used where it outright has no place. And, of course, that’s a big issue in its own right.
The second important factor is how the narrative incorporates the terminology of its own world. Essentially, the question we can ask here is if the work of fiction can discuss itself using its own language and if that makes sense. Made-up names, words from languages that don’t exist and dice-rattling technobabble are all factors in this question. Does it all come together in a way that feels natural? Consider this example, does a fantastical world where Rome never existed have Latin as the language used by mages? This question isn’t as simple as you might think, as there’s no clear yes or no answer. For example, there’s a lot of wiggle room in using Latin as a substitute language, but it still requires the narrative to sell it.
For games, the above has an additional corollary. It’s the question if a game can discuss its mechanics using the language of its own universe. Or otherwise, if the proper narrative context can be given for the actions taken by the character. Most games, as you might figure, fail at this horribly or just don’t attempt it at all.
The third aspect, most important for the bulk of the writing, is whether the text reads well. And some factors go into it that function past just the grammar of single sentences; it’s about repetition, monotony and flow. You want the text to be diverse and to flow well from sentence to sentence, to make the reading process as smooth and unobstructed as possible. To make the reader focus on what the text says, not how it says it. They will still notice that but on a more subconscious level. Unless, of course, we’re talking about more seasoned readers that like to analyse the text they are consuming.
So for all I’ve written above, the narrator’s voice will convey them for the work in general, setting most of the tone. However, it’s not necessarily the case that the narrator’s voice never changes, and indeed it should change to reflect the evolving mood of the story.
The narrator’s voice should also not be plastered over all the characters unless, of course, one of them is the narrator.
2) The characters
If they keep at it long enough, most writers figure out that characters may display unique ways of speaking. Though that doesn’t mean they particularly know what to do with that, and the trap of speech quirks is an ever tempting one, to some, for some reason, I don’t know. But, honestly, I shouldn’t throw too much shade about this, considering I have a speech quirk IRL that I should but never bothered to unlearn, nie~?
But while at a cursory glance, the issue of a character’s voice is similar to that of the narrator (doesn’t it come down to idiolect in the end?), there’s actually a whole different set of factors at play here. So yes, while characters display different vocabularies, predispositions towards grammatical structures, and can use the setting’s unique terminology to more strongly root themselves into its fabric, character voices have a different flow.
The thing is that people rarely speak clearly. Actual human speech has a relatively informal stream-of-consciousness structure to it. This means that a lot of the time, it messes with grammar and has a mediocre flow. I’ll get back to this later, but for now, let’s focus on the simple fact that well-written dialogue generally has incorrect grammar.
The incorrect grammar part, though, is where I want to make specific note of something unfortunately common. The cave-man speech character. Usually, this character represents a primitive culture or just a so-called ESL character (English Second Language? what about third or fourth?).
This is actually quite confusing, particularly in the second case, because, heck, have you ever seen the grammar for ancient Latin? Do you think someone who can manage that is going to oonga-boonga fumble with English of all things?
The fact is that writing realistic deficiencies in language fluency requires an understanding of both the character’s native tongue and English. The errors people make stem from the differences in grammar and phonology. The thing is, you are likely not going to get this right, and most of the time, it’s not worth focusing on. People (and we can assume this can be extrapolated to other language using sentients) are linguistically quite flexible.
This is part of why I am somewhat reluctant about the usage of my own idiolect filters, even though I find them to be a rather interesting concept.
Anyway, let’s dig a bit deeper into characters.
3) The, like, characters
It shouldn’t be much of a shock for me to say that how people speak changes based on the situation. People can stammer, stumble over their words, lose faith in what they want to say, feel ill or confused. That’s the part of this most people have little issue grasping.
However, what often goes ignored or just unnoticed are two other ways in which people can alter their idiolect. The first has to do with who they are speaking to. Your average, run-of-the-mill human functionally uses a different idiolect when speaking to, say, a child than the one they use when conversing with an adult.
This essentially applies the concept of psychological masking to a character’s voice. For however many roles they play within society, they develop a more or less divergent idiolect, a different way of speaking, which most often serves to underline the differences (or lack thereof) between the speaker and the listener.
Some narratives go deep enough to actually encompass such changes to a character’s voice. Most often in terms of reflecting deep interpersonal connections. The next thing I want to mention, though I don’t believe I’ve ever seen acknowledged more than once or twice. And that’s the differences between how one speaks and how one writes.
Especially in the modern world, writing is a core mode of communication. Sure, we had letters once. Letters are a different, mostly laid-back form of writing, though. What really exemplifies the differences between how we talk and write can be instant messaging, the only situation where humans communicate in a more systemically disorganised manner than while casually speaking to each other on the street.
So yes, while writing also falls under psychological masking, it introduces a second layer of technical competence into the mix. So a person will write differently when preparing an academic dissertation or making a note for themselves, but they will also do so differently depending on the medium they use. Heck, let me tell you how the increased difficulty of using a pen affects the way I write on paper compared to a computer. In fact, I’d just prefer not to write on paper at all; my fingers hurt, and it’s such an utter bother to even try.
4) The world
Finally, all of the above also gets further complicated by idiolects, especially those born from psychological masking not existing in a void. The way someone expresses themselves is heavily influenced by those surrounding them. The reason for all the different cultural aspects of idiolects isn’t culture in and of itself, but rather the experience of partaking in culture alongside other people. What I’m saying here is that there are complex and layered networks of self-reinforcing human communication. In-group idiolects emerge from the dispersal of linguistic memes within insular communities, leaving their sordid mark on all of us.
Or, to put it more simply, and to bring it back to the topic of this article, the voice of a character can, under various circumstances, resemble the voice of other related characters.
Characters do not exist as separate constructs but as part of something greater, i.e. parts of the world within which the narrative unfolds. Therefore, when making decisions about how they express themselves, there’s a very much realistic question about how they relate to other characters’ idiolects. While two people who spend a lot of time together won’t speak identically, the more time they spend together, the more similarities are likely to emerge. These similarities can, in fact, spread to whole communities, and the reinforced patterns of expression typical to them can betray membership.
While very broad strokes of this can pretty commonly be found in writing, such as characters possessing racial or cultural speech quirks, it’s very rarely brought down to a more personal space.
A simple example of such a personal application is a friend group using a correct but unusual synonym for a common word, or a shared idiom, because of one person introducing the group to it, possibly even by accident. Actual inferences can be made based on the usage of even the most innocuous terms or phrases.
There was also something I wanted to say about dialects in writing, but I think that 2k words are enough, and I can always spin that off into its own thing. What is there to say, but such is language, a lawless, confusing wasteland of meatbags making mouth noises at each other, hoping their demands are understood and met.
Esoteric Musings... 