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Learn about why character names matter, how to approach the ‘hard-to-pronounce’ issue, and practical strategies for making your characters memorable, readable and believable.
In this article
Why character names are more than just labels
The name you choose for a character is a vital part of storytelling. A well-chosen name can signal personality, social background, culture or even foreshadow events in your story.
On the other hand, confusing, repetitive or inconsistent names can pull readers out of the narrative, making them struggle to remember your characters or follow the plot. In this article, we’ll explore why character names matter, how to approach the ‘hard-to-pronounce’ issue, and look at some practical strategies for making your characters memorable, readable and believable. Why names matter
A character’s name is often the first thing a reader learns about them. It can:
For example, in one of Jeff Carson’s series, the protagonist is called ‘David Wolf’. This evokes a certain intelligence, strength and cunning that blends familiarity with a primal, instinctive edge. In Chris Brookmyre’s Places of Darkness – a novel set in the future and on a vast space station orbiting earth – the cynical security officer entangled in organized crime is called Nikki Freeman. The first name feels casual and friendly, while the last name suggests autonomy, resilience and someone unbound by convention or authority. Consider also these two examples from Philip K Dick novels:
Dick’s names often balance familiarity with eccentricity, helping readers navigate surreal, speculative worlds while subtly suggesting character traits or thematic resonance. Beyond meaning, names help readers track characters across scenes. In novels with large casts and complex plots, distinct names prevent confusion. Embracing diversity in character naming
Today’s literary landscape is global, and character names reflect that. A name might be culturally or regionally specific, and can reflect both real-world multiculturalism and the inventive worlds of speculative crime and mystery fiction.
Speculative fiction, fantasy, science fiction and other world-building genres have long embraced invented names to convey a sense of otherworldliness or cultural specificity. In crime fiction, mystery and thrillers, readers are also increasingly encountering names from cultures and regions that they may not be familiar with. Regional branches of the noir tradition in particular – French, Tartan, Nordic, Afro, Asian – are rich and popular, and explore human weakness, moral uncertainty and the darker side of society. With that, we get characters who have authentic names, the pronunciation of which may not at first sight be obvious to some readers: Examples include:
‘Hard-to-pronounce’ names
When thinking the challenges of pronunciation, we need to start with a question: Hard to pronounce for whom?
When we say that a name’s hard to pronounce, we have to recognize that all we’re doing is reflecting our own personal perceptions and language abilities. There is no such thing as a universally ‘hard-to-pronounce’ name. What I – as a white, British person who’s something of a monoglot and not nearly as well travelled as I’d like to be – might find hard to pronounce is not what someone else might struggle with. Consider the examples I gave above – Mma Precious Ramotswe, Keita Mori, Kacper Ryx, Sartaj Singh and Ganesh Gaitonde. Those with a more intimate knowledge of life in Botswana, Japan, Poland and India would not need help pronouncing those character names in the way I would. The answer isn’t to choose alternative names and rip the authenticity from the novel in service of Western European or North American readers' comfort zones. Instead, authors wanting to help out their audience and maximise engagement can take various steps … Helping readers with pronunciation
It’s great to see diversity in the genre because this reflects the diversity in the readership base. Authors, however, do have to recognize that naming characters in ways that are universally accessible (at least on first read) is an impossible task.
That diversity will necessarily introduce challenges for some, and names that feel unfamiliar could trip them up and cause disengagement, no matter how brilliant the plot. The solution is to offer gentle cues that feel natural to the story, rather than forcing explanations on readers. That way, authors can maintain the narrative flow while helping readers engage. Some strategies could include: Phonetic hints in dialogue Show characters correcting pronunciation naturally. For example:
That’s the approach Pulley takes in The Watchmaker of Filigree Street to help readers pronounce Keita Mori’s name.
Contextual clues You could use other characters’ reactions or narrative descriptions to reinforce pronunciation subtly. For example, a viewpoint character’s narrative might go as follows:
Glossaries or appendices
It’s not uncommon in fantasy and science fiction to include glossaries that list pronunciation alongside character names, locations and worldbuilding terms. This can be an option for crime and thriller writers too. Helping readers with naming conventions
Some readers may be unfamiliar with naming conventions in other parts of the world. These can signal:
Example In Jar City, Arnaldur Indriðason's detective and criminal characters refer to each other by first name, which reflects the patronymic naming convention in Iceland and how first names don't always indicate social intimacy. Explaining to readers Crime and thriller writers can follow Indriðason's approach by including an explanatory note for readers in the front matter of the book. This helps the audience understand social nuance, hierarchy and cultural authenticity, which are especially important in novels where status matters. Names as character signposts
Names can also act as subtle character signposts. They can hint at personality, social standing or plot function.
Balancing uniqueness with readability
The trick is finding the sweet spot between authenticity, uniqueness and readability. Here are two practical tips:
Distinctiveness Distinctiveness is particularly important in crime fiction, mysteries and thrillers so that readers don’t end up confusing suspects, detectives and witnesses.
Pronounceable structure Names should be speakable, even if that means helping your reader learn how to speak them (as discussed above). The role of nicknames and titles
A carefully applied nickname or title can prevent confusion while reinforcing personality or status, especially in ensemble casts.
Nicknames These can make characters more approachable or signal relationships. One of my authors, whose characters were Polish, took this approach and it was very effective. A police officer with the last name ‘Cherniawski’ was often referred to in narrative and dialogue as Cheri, when it was appropriate to do so. As well as signalling intimacy between characters, it also helped Western European and North American audiences shift their attention away from pronunciation and towards character action. Titles or ranks These are especially useful in crime, military or political fiction, for example ‘Detective Rivera’ or ‘Captain Leong’. Aliases These can add mystery or misdirection, particularly in thrillers and espionage. Testing names in context
Before finalizing names, test them to make sure they work.
Read them aloud Reading aloud is a valuable exercise in crime fiction and thrillers, where names will appear frequently in dialogue, police reports and investigative notes. A character’s name should flow within the prose rather than interrupting it. Ask beta readers Can they pronounce the characters’ names easily? If they’re struggling, but you’re committed to retaining the name for the purpose of authenticity, check whether there are cues you can introduce to help readers learn quickly. Check context Do the names you’ve chosen fit within the cultural or regional context of the novel? Two common pitfalls to watch out for
When naming characters, watch out for:
1. Unintentional associations You may have created characters whose heritage is different from your own. Do some research to ensure that your characters’ names don’t inadvertently evoke real people, brands or stereotypes, particularly if those conflict with the character’s persona. For example, unless you’re writing satirical crime fiction, it won’t make sense to call a lazy, overweight investigator ‘Venus Williams’. The reader will all too frequently end up thinking of an athletic superstar, and your characterization will be undermined. Google Search is your friend here. 2. Inconsistency (especially across series) Check that characters’ names are spelled consistently and that their titles are consistent. Ms Abi Starling shouldn’t become Miss Abby Sterling. Maintaining a character list or spreadsheet with name spellings, nicknames and relationships can help you keep track of consistency, especially if you’re writing a book series. A handy little tool you can use for this purpose, if you’re working in Word, is a macro called ProperNounAlyse. Summing up
A character’s name is one of the first things a reader encounters, and it often lingers long after the story ends. Thoughtfully chosen names improve clarity, reinforce characterization and deepen immersion.
Even hard-to-pronounce or culturally specific names can work beautifully when authors provide cues, context and consistency. In short, the best names are:
About Louise Harnby
Louise Harnby is a line editor, copyeditor and proofreader who specializes in working with crime, mystery, suspense and thriller writers.
She is an Advanced Professional Member of the Chartered Institute of Editing and Proofreading (CIEP) and co-hosts The Editing Podcast.
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Find out why the concept of conscious language is foundational to professional fiction-editing practice.
What’s in this post …
What is ‘conscious language’?
Karen Yin, founder of Conscious Style Guide, defines conscious language as ‘language rooted in critical thinking and compassion, used skilfully in a specific context'. Using conscious language involves, she says, asking ourselves the following:
‘But I’m not part of the “woke” brigade’
Conversations about ‘conscious language’ are welcomed by many in the editing community. Now and then, however, these result in references being made to the ‘woke brigade’ from some quarters.
Oxford Dictonaries defines ‘woke’ as: Alert to injustice and discrimination in society, especially racism.
Merriam-Webster suggests: Aware of and actively attentive to important facts and issues (especially issues of racial and social justice).
Neither mention that the term is sometimes used as a slur against people who are judged to be overly politically correct, over-sensitive, overly concerned with not offending, overly prescriptive.
So must editors be ‘woke’? How we answer that will depend on what we think editors are supposed to do. The foundations of editing
Editing at its very foundations requires us to actively think about the words on the page and whether they’re doing what the author intends.
Since how we approach language will be influenced by the bubble of our own lived experience, editorial practice requires listening to others who offer alternative insights – ones we were perhaps previously unaware of – into the meaning of words and the consequences of their use. It means allowing our prior assumptions to be challenged, to consider that what we thought we understood might need revising. And it means opening our minds to the opportunities that are already alive in the English language – words that explain rather than exclude, and that are rich in both sense and sensibility. If, like me, you’re not keen on the term ‘woke’ because its negative usage has become a distraction, try an alternative. My preference is ‘professional editor’. Are you part of the professional editing brigade?
Conscious language serves authors – the people who pay editors – and serves readers – the people who pay authors.
The professional editor who isn’t alert to wording that distracts from the message rather than amplifying that message isn’t doing the job that a professional editor is supposed to do: being paid to help the author prepare their book for readers. And so regardless of the editor’s personal opinion on this word or that word, regardless of whether the editor uses the term ‘woke’ to describe their mindset or to cast a slur, there’s a business case for conscious language. The professional editor can’t sidestep that because it’s not about us, and it’s not our book. It’s about the author, and it’s their book. Why conscious language is also about successful authoring
Readers aren’t homogenous – they don’t all live in the same country, speak the same English, or spell with the same letters. They aren’t wrapped in the same skin, don’t share the same sexual orientation, practise the same faith, have identical anatomies or have one set of homogenous secondary sex characteristics.
Most authors want to sell as many books as they can. That means engaging as many readers as they can. Engaged readers focus their attention on story. Novels containing words and phrases that distract from story, rather amplifying it, don’t serve authors. Deliberately reviewing novels for words and phrases that might disengage a chunk of the potential readership is therefore nothing more than good commercial practice, and it’s the editor’s job to support the author who’s striving to create something that will give them a return on their investment. Why conscious language is about consideration rather than prescription
When we ask our clients to consider the impact of a particular word, we’re not prescribing ‘right’ or ‘wrong’. We’re helping them make informed decisions predicated on an acknowledgement that not all words in the English language have a single, universally accepted meaning.
The meaning we attach to some words might differ depending on, for example, where we live, how old we are, and how we’re racialised, sexualized and gendered by others. In other words, what I mean when I use a word might not be what you mean when you use that word.
A case study
My author is a white British man. I know very little else about his identity but I’ve line edited two books for him and thoroughly enjoyed every moment. In the second project, a viewpoint character uses the word ‘thug’ to describe an unpleasant minor character. In Britain, the word ‘thug’ isn’t racialized (at the time of writing and as far as I’m aware) – meaning the term isn’t typically assigned to a particular racial group. That’s not the case in America, where, I’ve learned, the term is heavily racialized. My author is British. His characters are British. His book’s setting is Britain. The term ‘thug’ in that context therefore doesn’t jar … as long as we view the project within that bubble of author–character–location. However, that’s potentially problematic. There’s something missing from that bubble: the people who’ll determine whether my author’s book is a commercial success – readers. My author’s keen to sell his books all over the world, including into America, and for that reason I suggested some alternatives to the word ‘thug’, and explained why I think he’d do well to choose one of them. The choice was his because it’s his book. And he decided to heed the guidance because both books I’ve worked on have explored the impact of predatory behaviour and abuse. He writes with compassion and mindfulness, and says he doesn’t want to include a word in his book that might distract one of his American readers unless it’s critical to the character’s arc. And in doing so he's considered:
Helping our clients
A conscious-language approach to editing therefore helps us to help our clients. We can share the knowledge we’ve acquired from our colleagues in the publishing community, knowledge that our authors might not be aware of. And in doing so, they can publish a book that keeps its audience wanting to turn the pages rather than rip them out. Summing up
If you think conscious language is a load of old ‘woke’ codswallop, consider whether editing is the right job for you. Editors are required at the very core of their practice to consider the purpose and effectiveness of the words in front of them.
That doesn’t mean we have to know it all – we can’t, not least because the language landscape is always in flux. It does mean we have to be ready to listen, learn, and advise so that our clients can make informed – conscious – decisions. And we don’t have to do it alone. There’s a large and diverse community of editors and writers who are with us on that journey, and tools to help us improve our practice. Tools that help with conscious language
Listen to podcast episodes and download a free booklet with links to useful resources created by people in the publishing community who are passionate about language and alert to its power.
About Louise Harnby
Louise Harnby is a line editor, copyeditor and proofreader who specializes in working with crime, mystery, suspense and thriller writers.
She is an Advanced Professional Member of the Chartered Institute of Editing and Proofreading (CIEP) and co-hosts The Editing Podcast.
Learn about problematic language, the messages it might unintentionally convey, and how we can talk about the editorial conundrums we come across without judgement.
Embedding the language of preference in editorial discussion
Words are the professional editor’s business, yet the ones we use in the course of discussing how we apply our craft are all too often prescriptive.
Most editors, however experienced, encounter conundrums in their work that lead to their seeking advice from colleagues. Too often, the language of prescription is used to frame questions:
The problem with notions such as ‘right’, ‘correct’ and ‘rule’ is that they’re loaded. The implication is that there’s one way – a best way – to write and to edit. In reality, there are multiple ways to punctuate a sentence, each of which could alter its flow and rhythm in nuanced ways. There are multiple Englishes, too, each with grammatical and syntactical structures that vary from region to region within nations as well as from country to country. And there are multiple style guides that express particular preferences. All of which means there is no ‘correct’ way to punctuate a sentence, no ‘right’ grammar, and no ‘rule’ on hyphenation. What there are instead are conventions and choices that that can be implemented or ignored. Instead, we could ask:
The artistry of editing lies in helping the client craft prose in which the meaning is clear and interpreted as intended by readers. Embedding that principle – rather than the language of rights and rules – in the way we talk about our work means we’re more likely to think descriptively rather than prescriptively. Whose standards and conventions are in play?
There are myriad standards and conventions in language, ones that determine the following for example:
When we come across writing that doesn’t conform to these standards and conventions, some of us choose to refer instead to ‘non-standard’ language and ‘breaking from convention’ so as to avoid the judgement embodied in terms such as ‘right’, ‘best’, ‘correct’ and ‘rule’. It’s been my preference because I felt it was more neutral and framed the issue around reader expectation rather than my own lived experience of language. And that’s something I’ve been thinking about. Why? Because these terms, too, need to be used with caution. We need to be aware that while standards and conventions help readers make sense of the written and spoken word, they are created and enforced by those with advantage, those who have the power to deem them as standard and conventional in the first place, and to assert their primacy. That doesn’t make those standards and conventions better; it just means those who define them are in a position to do so. It also means that prose can be just as rich when those standards and conventions are ignored or flexed. What about style guides?
Individuals and organizations have preferences. For example, the Chartered Institute of Editing and Proofreading (CIEP), the University of Chicago Press and the American Psychological Association each have style guides that record their preferences for myriad stylistic decisions.
Mindful editing means remembering that these preferences aren’t ‘right’ or ‘better’. They’re certainly not rules. Even Oxford’s New Hart’s Rules isn’t a rulebook! Rather, these are useful guides that help editors and authors bring clarity and consistency to writing. However, editors – particularly those working on creative texts – need to be ready to bend when character and narrative voice would be damaged by prescriptive application of a style guide. As for those of us working on texts that deal with identity and representation, we need to be ready to question the advice in a published style guide; it might be behind the curve. Transferring judgement to the client
If we use the language of ‘right/’wrong’, ‘correct’/’incorrect’ and even ‘standard’/’non-standard’ when we talk to other editors about our work, there’s a risk that this will leak into the way we convey solutions to our clients, even into the way we edit their work.
An author might not write in sentences that follow grammar, spelling and punctuation conventions, but that in no way means they’re a poor crafter of prose. Perhaps the way they lay down words is because they haven’t learned our conventions. Or perhaps they’ve actively chosen to ignore those conventions because that style of language doesn’t suit their character and narrative voices. The mindful editor needs to recognize and respect both scenarios. Understanding which one is in play is critical because it will determine whether and which amendments are suggested, and why. ‘Wrong’, ‘non-standard’ or authentic voice?
Here’s an example that demonstrates how an author has chosen to craft a narrative that favours voice over ‘standard’ English now and then in order to reduce the distance between the narrator-protagonist and the reader.
These excerpts are from the opening chapter of Imran Mahmood’s You Don’t Know Me (pp 4–5; Penguin, 2017).
Are the words I placed in bold ‘incorrect’ or ‘wrong’? That’s a judgemental approach that implies there’s a single perfect, right way to write and speak English. There isn’t.
Are the terms ‘non-standard’? To my ear, yes, some of them are, but that’s because I’m a 50-something middle-class white woman raised in Buckinghamshire, England, who was taught how to write and speak according to a standard dreamt up by … actually, I’m not sure who dreamt up the standard but it was probably someone who looked, spoke and was educated quite a lot like me and had the advantages I have. Rather than thinking about these excerpts in terms of whether some of the words are non-standard or standard, instead we can evaluate them in terms of voice. Rich, evocative voice. Our first-person narrator has been accused of murder and has elected to defend himself. As the blurb on the back cover says: ‘He now stands in the dock and wants to tell you the truth. He needs you to believe him. Will you?’ Actually, it’s his authentic voice that draws me – a 54-year-old middle-class white woman raised in Buckinghamshire, England – deep into his psyche so that I can see and hear him as if we are one. And that means I can root for him, invest in him, care about him, believe him. Thinking about that narrative in terms of whether it’s ‘correct’ or ‘right’ would be butchery. To apply a digital red pen to it would be a crime. And even those of us who might apply the term ‘non-standard’ to the emboldened words must acknowledge that such prescription is based purely on our own lived experience of English – how we write, how we speak, and what we were taught. That doesn’t make our way of speaking and writing better or worthier. When story and characters drive language, readers will come along for the ride, regardless of their lived experience. When prescriptivism is behind the wheel, readers will disengage and find a different journey to take. Framing errors in terms of author intention and reader expectation
An error is a mistake. We all make them when we’re writing – because we don’t know what the conventions are, because we’re focusing on meaning rather than mechanics, or because our fingers are typing so fast.
Regardless, the focus here is on intention, and for that reason there are times when it’s appropriate for the editor to use the term ‘error’. When editors are tasked with finding errors, they’re looking for what wasn’t intended in that particular project. Take a look at these four examples:
We can say without judgement that there are four ‘errors’ in the above examples because in each case the author likely made a mistake – they meant to use a consistent style of speech marks in the first example, meant the pronouns to be consistent in the second, meant to use ‘they’re' in the third, and meant to use an alternative style for the nested quotation marks in the fourth. When we’re querying potential errors, however, we can still use the language of intention and reader expectation in our comments, thereby avoiding a more critical tone:
Summing up
As professional editors, we need to think about the language we use about language!
Instead, we can frame our discussions and queries around meaning, author intention and reader experience. That way, we’re putting the prose where it belongs – front and centre. About Louise Harnby
Louise Harnby is a line editor, copyeditor and proofreader who specializes in working with crime, mystery, suspense and thriller writers.
She is an Advanced Professional Member of the Chartered Institute of Editing and Proofreading (CIEP) and co-hosts The Editing Podcast.
Your novel features characters from different countries. Should their dialogue, thoughts or narration be spelled differently just because their voices are regionally distinct and they come from different places? The answer’s no. Here’s why.
What’s covered in this post
In this post, I explore the following:
Multiple Englishes, different spellings
There are multiple Englishes each with their own spelling conventions: British, Indian, Canadian, American and Australian are just five examples of English.
Most words are spelled the same regardless of which English is in play, though there are many that aren’t, for example ‘color’/’colour’, ‘judgment’/‘judgement’, ‘harmonize’/‘harmonise’, ‘behavior’/‘behaviour’, ‘gray’/‘grey’, 'liter'/'litre'. None are right or wrong, better or worse, or correct or incorrect. Rather, the way each version of English is spelled is about convention and style. This post uses examples of American English (AmE) and British English (BrE) style to explain how to approach spelling/voice conundrums in fiction. The difference between spelling style and voice
Strive for a mindset that separates style and character voice.
Voice isn’t something that’s spelled. Rather, it’s something the reader experiences, ‘hears’ with their mind’s ear. It therefore follows the base spelling style, regardless of where the character comes from. With that in mind:
The easiest way to illustrate how spelling consistency works is with a case study. Let’s take a peek into the world of 007! A case study from the 007 files
I’ve chosen Jeffery Deaver’s Carte Blanche, a continuation novel featuring Ian’s Fleming’s British MI6 agent, James Bond.
The version from Hodder & Stoughton (part of Hachette UK), published in 2011, is styled as follows:
Here are three snippets from Chapter 2.
However, the version from Pocket Star Books (a division of Simon and Schuster), published in 2012, is styled as follows:
Bond’s words haven’t changed. Bond’s nationality hasn’t changed. Bond’s job hasn’t changed. Bond’s narrative voice hasn’t changed. All that’s changed is the novel’s styling.
Later in the novel (Chapter 26), Felix Leiter, an American, joins Bond on his mission. Here’s how it's rendered in the AmE version:
And here it is in the BrE version. Leiter is still American and still has the same distinct voice, but now the spelling has changed (as has the punctuation; note the spaced en dash and single quotation marks).
Overcoming ‘But it looks wrong’
Our brains can mess with us when we associate a particular spelling style with a character’s place of birth or residence, particularly if their voice is regionally distinct.
For example, perhaps they use idiomatic phrases that wedge them firmly in a country, state/province/county or even town/city that we’re from. The British editor working on a book set in Southern California and written by an American author who writes in AmE might well struggle when a viewpoint character from Norfolk (the UK one where I live) turns up in Santa Barbara and mutters the following on seeing a cluster of huge ladybirds: “Look at the color o’ them bishy barnabees. And big as a thruppence too!” The spelling of ‘color’ might jar because ‘thruppence’ is so clearly unAmerican, so very British, while ‘bishy barnabees’ is particular to Norfolk. And yet the spelling is (and should be) AmE if that’s how the novel’s been styled overall. An editor colleague recently reported this kind of problem in a Facebook group discussion. The novel was set in AmE, but the British viewpoint character spoke, thought and talked to herself in a Yorkshire accent. The first-person narration style deepened the voice still further. ‘The character's voice is really strong,’ the editor said, ‘and the US spelling seems at odds.’ The editor slept on it and the next day announced a simple but clever solution that had enabled her to overcome her resistance. ‘I mentally changed the British voice to a South African one so that I'm not so conscious of spelling variations, et voilà! It's suddenly clear as day.’ It’s a neat trick, a way of breaking the false connection between spelling and voice. If you come up against a similar situation, try it! Adding regional flavour to voice
If you’re still worried that a spelling choice looks odd, remember that voice lies not in how the text is spelled but in what the character is saying, the turns of phrase they use, and the emotions and motivations behind their action (whether that action comes through speech, thought, movement or narration).
It’s worth bearing in mind, too, that language is often borrowed to the extent that some words no longer feel like, say, Britishisms, Americanisms, Canadianisms or Indianisms when they roll out of our mouths, regardless of how we identify or where we live. Would I, a Brit, ever use the terms ‘cell phone’ and ‘movie’ rather than ‘mobile’ and ‘film’? Yes, I would. How about ‘elevator’ rather than ‘lift’, ‘sidewalk’ rather than ‘pavement’, ‘aluminum’ rather than ‘aluminium’? Would I refer to ‘my mom’ rather than ‘my mum?’ Not while roaming around Norwich, but on a visit to Chicago, possibly, if I wanted to ensure people understood me. And almost definitely if I'd made my home there for some time. Perhaps, then, the trick is not to be too precious about it, either when we’re writing or editing. Instead, we can consider the character’s environment and the degree to which the ‘local’ language flavour is something they’re likely to have assimilated into their speech, thoughts and narratives. Those choices aside, the spelling style will be consistent. Unless … 3 examples of when spelling inconsistency works
There are instances where inconsistent styling will be called for. Here are 3.
The character is spelling a spelling Imagine a Bond novel is styled in BrE. Bond and Leiter are speaking to each other on the phone and the line is terrible. Bond thinks Leiter has said ‘dissenter’. Leiter’s dialogue might go like this: ‘Not dissenter. The centre. C-E-N-T-E-R. Move to the centre.’ A proper noun is being referenced Now imagine Bond’s telling Leiter that he’s received intelligence about a heist in the Rockefeller Center. Even if the novel’s styled in BrE, the AmE spelling of ‘Center’ should be retained because it’s referencing the name of a building. Excerpts from written materials have been transcribed Excerpts from diaries, newspaper cuttings, reports, letters, texts and so on can be rendered in the spelling style most likely used by whomever in the novel wrote them because they’re supposed to be authentic transcripts. Imagine that Bond’s reading a document written by an American CIA operative. Even if the novel is styled in BrE, the spelling in the report would be AmE, unless referencing a proper noun that required a BrE spelling. A note on suffixes, dashes and quotation marks
Finally, a quick note on style and how writers and editors need to consider whether they're being overly prescriptive. I recommend thinking in terms of common conventions rather than rules.
Suffixes In AmE, it’s standard to spell with -iz- suffixes. In BrE, both -iz- and -is- are standard. Again, it’s a matter of style. Thus, in the Night Action alert excerpt above, if Hodder had elected to use ‘authorized’ instead of ‘authorised’, this would not have been a slippage into American spelling but a style choice – an accepted BrE variant that’s been around since the sixteenth century. Dashes While most US publishers favour closed-up em dashes and most British publishers favour spaced en dashes when used parenthetically (see the Leiter snippet in the case study), it’s not wrong to used unspaced em dashes when writing in BrE style; it’s Oxford’s preference, for example. Quotation marks Again, while it’s more common to see single quotation marks in BrE styling and doubles in AmE, this isn’t an unbreakable rule. Indie authors can choose, for example, BrE spelling and double quotation marks if they wish. In all three cases, consistency is what counts. Summing up
Voice can be flavoured by what is said, thought and narrated, and it can show us aspects of a character’s personality, emotions, motivations and background – regardless of how the words that convey it are spelled.
Spelling is about style. The goal is consistency in the main, complemented by good-sense deviation when necessary. That’s how the mainstream publishing industry approaches it, and editors and writers will do well to follow their lead. Related resources
Visit the grammar and spelling page in my resource library to download a free booklet summarizing suffix variations in American and British English. 
About Louise Harnby
Louise Harnby is a line editor, copyeditor and proofreader who specializes in working with crime, mystery, suspense and thriller writers.
She is an Advanced Professional Member of the Chartered Institute of Editing and Proofreading (CIEP) and co-hosts The Editing Podcast.
This article offers guidance on how to self-edit your fiction writing so that accents don’t become the primary story.
Everyone has an accent
Do your characters speak with an accent? All of us speak in ways that are distinctive; we just don’t notice our own accents because they’re ours and we’re used to them.
Oxford Dictionaries defines accent as ‘A distinctive way of pronouncing a language, especially one associated with a particular country, area, or social class.’ Authors who are inexperienced at writing accented language can be tempted to use phonetic spelling. But writing accents is difficult; so is reading them. Most experienced authors and editors will therefore caution against this approach. Furthermore, spelling and pronunciation are two different things. Says Beth Hill in The Magic of Fiction (pp. 409, 394):
Avoiding the inexperienced-ear trap
My husband was born in Belgium. He speaks fluent French. My friend Alain was born in southern France. He also speaks fluent French. They can hear strong differences in their pronunciation. Alain knows that Johnny’s accent is Belgian though he can’t tell what part of Belgium Johnny was born in. Johnny can tell that Alain is from France, and can even identify that he’s from the south, but not where in the south.
I have enough French to get by, but it’s limited. When I hear Johnny and Alain speaking French to each other, I can’t hear the difference in their accents because my ear isn’t experienced enough. I also have friends and family from Yorkshire, England. To me, their accents sound the same, but I know they’re not. Nor are the turns of phrase they use. That’s because people in Yorkshire don’t all speak the same, even if those of us with inexperienced ears think they do. And I don’t speak identically to every other person born in Buckinghamshire, or use the same turns of phrase. And there’s the first problem. The ways accents are rendered by a writer will be influenced by their experience of that accent. If their experience is limited, any attempt to mimic it in writing could seem absurd to a reader with a more experienced ear. It could even turn into parody, and a bad one at that. Consider how much we’re influenced by others. Many of us talk to and listen to voices from all over the world. Speech is elastic and we often borrow from each other – not just words and phrases but pronunciation too. What each of us defines as accented, or not accented, will depend on where we’ve been, who we know, and what we’ve heard. When phonetic spelling trumps story
Conveying accents through phonetic spelling can lead to phonemes trumping action.
Here’s a mangled example of a French person speaking English. The spelling is phonetic:
If the protagonist detective is French, and every time she opens her mouth this is what we have to read, our focus won’t be on the plot.
The most important thing about the sentence above is what it tells us: a corpse was found in a section of the woods that had been given the all-clear. Which means either the area wasn’t cordoned off and guarded, or the team didn’t check the area properly. That’s not what the reader will be focusing on. Instead they’ll be digging their way through a multitude of zeds. It’s a distraction that pulls the reader out of the story. Plus, we need to ask whether that phonetic spelling renders the speech authentic. I’d argue it’s a horrible inauthentic caricature that has no place in any work of fiction that isn’t intended to mock. My friend Alain mastered the th phoneme within a few weeks of living in the UK. Yes, his English was – and still is – accented (just as mine is to others), but if he was my detective, the most realistic way I could render this line in his mouth would be:
Which is just like I’d say and spell it in English. And so would my Scottish friend Denise, and my Canadian friend Janet, and my American friend Carrie, my German friend Nicole, my Yorkshire-born friend Helen ... you get the picture.
We all have different accents, but conveying them with phonetic spelling is distraction not enrichment. Deliver what you promised and what’s interesting
If your reader thought they were buying a mystery, a thriller, a romance or sci-fi opera, they might be disappointed to find out they’re reading something else.
Lessons in how your Dutch, Indian, Welsh or British protagonist or transgressor pronounces words are not what they paid for. Furthermore, is your character’s accent really their most interesting trait? That they’re from a particular region or country might be enriching backstory. It might even play into the plot line. But is their accent key to the story? If it’s not – if it’s no more relevant than how they take their coffee – it needn’t go on the page, and if it does, it need only be in passing. Respect your audience now, then and from wherever
There’s more than one way of speaking English. Just because I speak in a certain way, doesn’t make it standard. It’s just my way of speaking.
But there’s a bigger problem. Seeking to render pronunciation ‘authentically’ can reinforce discrimination:
Writers need to examine their own biases (however unintentional) when they convey accents, and other characters’ perceptions of them. Plus, at the very least, overworked or badly done written accents can sound like mockery. And even if you think your writing is amusing, your reader might not.
Years ago, I worked on a book in which the protagonist – for whom we were rooting – mocked his German arch-enemy for his ‘ridiculous’ pronunciation of a w as a v when speaking English. Actually, it was the protagonist and the author who ended up looking ridiculous because there is no ‘correct’ way to pronounce a w that can be universally applied across the planet. If one character’s mockery of another’s accent is central to the plot, that might be an opportunity to introduce phonetically spelled written accents briefly, but it will be a device that shows the mocker as ignorant and closed-minded. If that’s not your intention, and it doesn’t drive the novel forward, don’t include it. Make things easy for your reader
The best novels make us forget we’re reading them. We’re so immersed in the story that we don’t notice we’re processing words on a page.
Every time a writer forces us to decipher how a word sounds, they risk dragging us out of their book. If a book is littered with accented narrative and dialogue, we might not even get to the immersion stage. Say Mittelmark and Newman (p. 151):
‘Ah, but what about Irvine Welsh?’ you might say. This review on Goodreads reflects my own experience of Trainspotting:
Yes, he’s a great writer and it’s a great book, but I found it hard work. And I’m not always in the mood for hard work. I read for relaxation.
If you think your audience is like me and this reviewer, think twice about whether you want to go down this route. Plus, it’s unlikely that any writer will be able to pull off what Welsh does if they’re writing accents and dialect that aren’t their own. Other ways to convey accent – light flavouring
Here's more advice from Mittelmark and Newman (p. 151): ‘When doing any kind of accent, whether regional dialect, foreign accent, or a characteristic like a lisp, it is important to remember that a little goes a long way.’
So how might we gently nudge the reader to imagine a character’s accent in a way that avoids literally spelling it out? Here are 6 ideas:
1. Snippets of another language If the character’s from another country, you could add in a few of their native-language words here and there. Agatha Christie peppered her Poirot novels with mais ouis and mon amis (and Sophie Hannah has followed that style in her Poirot continuation mysteries). Christie didn’t go over the top though, and nor does Hannah. In Closed Casket, Poirot speaks at length, sometimes over several pages, and there’s no hint of a non. Less really is more. You could also introduce words from the character’s original language in moments of stress. Bear in mind, though, that lots of swear words (e.g. fuck) have an international appeal, so even a non-native English speaker might prefer this over their own language. I confess to being a little bemused when I read Poirot’s French snippets. He speaks English fluently, as this short excerpt from The ABC Murders (p. 3) demonstrates:
The French therefore seems a little out of place. Poirot is able to use metaphor artfully, yet reverts to his native language for a simpler phrase. To some readers it will look a little contrived and old-fashioned.
Still, it’s Christie, and she published this book in 1936. Fair enough. That doesn’t necessarily mean it’s right for your contemporary novel. 2. Noticing another’s accent Another character might notice someone’s accent – perhaps a Brit enters the scene in a novel set in the US, and the American protagonist notices the way they pronounce a hard t. In this case, it’s an observation that tells us something about the Brit’s voice, and from then on the reader can imagine their idea of how that would sound. No more need be said about it. This approach is best done early on. A character might frame another’s accent in terms of thoughts about how they themselves struggle to roll an r with the ease that the Parisian they’re listening to does. Or your character might convey another’s country of origin by pointing out how excellent their English is and how, for example, their Swedish or Russian accent is barely discernible. 3. Idiom and localization Localized or idiomatic words and phrases can also provide triggers for a reader that help them imagine accent. So perhaps your visiting Mancunian momentarily throws the people they’re hanging out with in Baltimore when they use the terms pissed or pants. And a character could identify another’s accent in the narrative by way of appreciating it. Again, it gives readers just enough information to do their own imagining. Check with people in the know if you use this approach. Say Mittelmark and Newman (p. 107): 'When you use idioms incorrectly, it makes you sound as if you come for a different culture than the reader, and possibly a different planet.'
However, this warning might be something you can use purposefully if it’s suitable for your plot.
4. Contractions and dropped consonants You could sprinkle the dialogue with just a few dropped consonants or contractions to convey accent (’appen, innit, ain’t, nowt, t’other). Again, less is more. It shouldn’t stand out more than the story. 5. Grammatical structures that trip in translation Learn about other regional and grammatical structures that you could introduce once in a while. Says Now Novel:
Still, take care not to overdo these to the point of caricature and cliché.
6. Stories from other places Bring in other details that characterize a person’s place of birth – a detail about the environment, culture or food preferences, for example. Some years ago I was in Oslo in winter. I was cold and commented on the woeful weather to my friend. He replied: ‘Here in Norway, we say there’s no such thing as bad weather, just inappropriate clothing.’ Another half-Norwegian friend (I know quite a few Norwegians!) once told me about one of her favourite childhood snacks, Svolvær postei (it's a kind of fish paste). We scoffed our way through several tins of the stuff one delicious afternoon. That, not her pronunciation, is what sticks in my mind when I think of her Norwegianness. For the novelist, those kinds of small details might be a more enriching way of conveying a person’s heritage than butchering the spelling of their dialogue. Why focus on that accent?
One final thing to consider is why you would focus on one character’s accent and not every other’s. Remember, everyone speaks with an accent, whether our own ears recognize it as such or not.
So imagine you’re an American living in the US. You’re in a cafe. Most of the people around you are from the US and pronounce words the way Americans do – which is to say, differently but broadly with an American accent. You don’t notice this because these accents are familiar to you. Then four Brits join your table and begin to speak. You notice their accents because they stand out for you. However, the four Brits think their accents are uninteresting because they’re familiar with their own pronunciation. Your American accent is the one that stands out. Now imagine that cafe is your novel and the people are your readers. What’s interesting – what stands out – depends on who’s doing the listening. The contemporary reader watches movies and TV, and listens to radio and podcasts. All of us are exposed to multiple voices and accents. We're used to noticing them, absorbing them and moving on. When I’m reading Ian Rankin’s Rebus novels, which are set in Scotland, I’m not given frequent reminders that the primary characters speak with Scottish accents. When I’m reading Harlen Coben’s Myron Bolitar novels, which are set in the US, I’m not told that the characters speak with American accents. Why would the authors made a big deal of a Belgian, Indian, Swedish or British accent but not a Scottish or American accent? That’s not to say it wouldn’t be interesting to know where those people come from if that’s relevant to the story, and it might serve to ground the viewpoint character’s perceptions of their own nationality and pronunciation, but it wouldn’t excuse phonetic renditions of people talking differently. Consider, therefore, whether it’s necessary to make an issue of one of your character’s accents just because their pronunciation stands out to your ear when you’ve been happy to ignore the ‘home’-accented voices in your book. Any mention should be purposeful. Summing up
It isn’t necessary to write accents. There are other more interesting ways to show where someone’s from.
Focus on the story you’re telling and how you’re going to move it forward rather than worrying how the speakers pronounce their vowels and consonants. If you give the reader a little background and a light peppering, they can do all the imagining for themselves. If you still feel compelled to convey accents in your fiction, do so purposefully and sparingly, especially if they’re accents that you’re not familiar with. And watch out for caricature, parody and bias. Cited works and related resources
About Louise Harnby
Louise Harnby is a line editor, copyeditor and proofreader who specializes in working with crime, mystery, suspense and thriller writers.
She is an Advanced Professional Member of the Chartered Institute of Editing and Proofreading (CIEP) and co-hosts The Editing Podcast.
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