Point of View
The First Person Point of View
A story written in the first person is told by an "I," where "I" can be the main character, a less important character witnessing events, or a person retelling a story they were told by someone else. This point of view is often effective in giving a sense of closeness to the character. It can be very easy to get the reader to identify or sympathize with your main character when the reader is seeing everything through that character's eyes.
A first person narrative is often more effective when it is a first person narrator telling someone else's story (in other words, when the narrator is not the main character). This allows a certain distance between the narrator and the events which is impossible for the main character. On the other hand, the inability to see the bigger picture can sometimes be exploited to good effect. Whether or not your narrator is actually telling the truth is another big question.
Examples:
First Person Protagonist: For this point of view, a character relates events that occurred to them; the "I" is the main character, telling her or his own story.
I missed the bus that morning because I couldn't convince myself to get out of bed. It was just too cosy under the comforter, with the cat curled up next to me. I was going to have to walk all the way to work.
First Person Witness: The story of the main character is told by another character observing the events.
She missed the bus. She'd probably spent an hour arguing with herself that she really should get up. I could picture her there, curled up in bed with the cat next to her. Now she was going to have to walk to work.
First Person Re-teller: The story is told, not by a witness to the events, but by someone who has heard the story from yet another person.
She missed the bus. I don't know why; probably couldn't get out of bed. You know how warm it gets when you're all curled up in the blankets. She had a cat, too, and somehow a cat makes it harder to get up in the morning. So she missed the bus, and would have to walk all the way to work.
The Second Person
In second person, the narrator addresses the protagonist as "you." Often, this kind of story has the narrator speaking to a younger version of him/herself. This point of view is very rare because it is extremely difficult to pull off. The reader may feel that they are the one spoken to, and will find it difficult to accept that they are doing the things the narrator tells them they are doing. If you choose to tell a story in second person, it is very important to make it clear to the reader who is being addressed, so they can trust in the teller and accept the story as given. Second person point of view is somewhat rarely used in fiction. It is most often used in informative literature.(For example, directions are written in the second person. --
1. (You) Place side A under side B.
2. (You) Place side B into slot D.)
Second Person Point of View Fiction - Narrative Example
You missed the bus again because you just couldn't convince yourself to get out of bed. The comforter made a cosy nest around you, and there was the cat, a warm ball of fur curled next to you. So you had to walk all the way to work.
The Third Person
Characters are referred to as "he" and "she" in third person. In this case the narrator (who may be indistinguishable from the author) is not a character in the story. Depending on the type of third person point of view, the narrator may know -- and be able to tell about -- the thoughts and feelings of all characters, or only one character, or they may only be able to report what is seen or heard.
It is still the most common point of view, and for good reason.
When a writer is turning personal experiences into fiction, it is often easier to write in third person (even if they intend to put the final draft in first person). This is because the third person distances the reader (and the writer) from events. It is easier to write about personal things when you write as if they are happening to someone else. It is also easier to change events -- often necessary to turn reality into fiction -- when you aren't claiming that it was you who experienced them.
Third Person Omniscient:
The narrator knows everything; all thoughts, feelings, and actions may be related to the reader (or they may be withheld). Pronouns used: he, she, they, them, him, her.
She missed the bus. She spent nearly an hour arguing with herself about getting up. You have to be awake now, it's a work day. But it's so warm. Just a few more minutes. You'll be late. I don't care. Yes you do. Curled up there with the cat, it was so hard to move, so warm and cozy. And so she missed the bus, and swore, and told herself how stupid she was. Then she started the long walk to work.
Third Person Limited:
The narrator is able to see into the mind of a single character. In third person limited narration, the reader only knows what one of the characters is thinking, or the motivation behind their actions. In longer forms like novels, third person limited can be made even more effective by changing the character that the point of view is limited to. You must always be sure the reader knows when you have switched points of view and who you have changed to, however.
She arrived panting at the bus stop only to see a far-off glimpse of the back of the bus, moving quickly away. She glanced at her watch. It was already half past eight. "Darn warm blankets," she said, thinking of how it had felt to be curled up and warm in bed. She had argued with herself for an hour about how she should get going. She had stayed in bed so long she didn't even have time for a shower, and now she'd missed the bus. It was the warm cat curled up next to her that had made it so hard to get out of bed. "Darn warm, purring cat," she said, and headed along the sidewalk to work.
Choose one of the following points of view to describe the narration of each example:
1st person
2nd person
3rd person limited
3rd person omniscient
(You may only miss three.)
1.___________________ "Hello, Mrs. Spade. I'm Pierre Tardivel." He was conscious of how out-of-place his Québécois accent must have sounded here — another reminder that he was intruding. For a moment, Mrs. Spade thought she recognized Pierre.
2.___________________ "Hello, Mrs. Spade. I'm Pierre Tardivel." He was conscious of how out-of-place his Québécois accent must have sounded here — another reminder that he was intruding. There was a moment while Mrs. Spade looked Pierre up and down during which Pierre thought he saw a flicker of recognition on her face.
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3.__________________ Carlos looked at Wendy, unsure whether he should go on. Wendy thought Carlos had suffered enough and was going to forgive him, but for the moment she didn't say anything. "I'm sorry," he said again. "So very sorry."
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4._________________ You jump out of bed feeling really terrific. Then you hop out of bed excited to start the new day. You know that today is the day that your big surprise will come.
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5._________________ I woke up this morning feeling terrific. I hopped out of bed excited to start the new day. I knew that today was the day my big surprise would come.
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6. __________________
Excerpt from Woodsong by Gary
Paulsen
I go up to the front of the team in the
darkness and drag them around, realizing we are lost. My clothes have been
ripped on tree limbs and my face is bleeding from cuts, and when I look back
down the side of the mountain we have just climbed I see twenty-seven head lamps
bobbing up the trail. Twenty-seven teams have taken our smell as the valid trail
and are following us. Twenty-seven teams must be met head on in the narrow brush
and passed and told to turn around.
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7. __________________ Excerpted from Soldier's Heart by Gary Paulsen
There would be a shooting
war. There were rebels who had violated the law and fired on Fort Sumter and the
only thing they'd respect was steel, it was said, and he knew they were right,
and the Union was right, and one other thing they said as well--if a man didn't
hurry he'd miss it. The only shooting war to come in a man's life and if a man
didn't step right along he'd miss the whole thing.
Charley didn't figure to miss it. The only problem was that Charley wasn't
rightly a man yet, at least not to the army. He was fifteen and while he worked
as a man worked, in the fields all of a day and into night, and looked like a
man standing tall and just a bit thin with hands so big they covered a stove
lid, he didn't make a beard yet and his voice had only just dropped enough so he
could talk with men.
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8. __________________ Excerpted from Father Water, Mother Woods by Gary Paulsen
It started that simply. At the courthouse or the library there was a large
bulletin board, and for a dollar you could sign the board and write down your
guess to win the car-through-the-ice raffle. Of course, you never met anyone who
had won, but only those who knew somebody who had won, and therein, in the
winning, the simplicity was lost.
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9.____________________Excerpted from Caught by the Sea by Gary Paulsen I drove to California that very day, straight to the coast, then north, away from people, to a small town named Guadalupe, near Santa Maria. There I bought some cans of beans and bread and Spam and fruit cocktail and a cheap sleeping bag and then walked out through the sand dunes, where I could hear the surf crashing. I walked until I could see the water coming in, rolling in from the vastness, and I sat down and let the sea heal me.
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10.____________________Excerpted from Guts by Gary Paulsen I have spent an inordinate amount of time in wilderness woods, much of it in northern Minnesota, some in Canada and some in the Alaskan wilds. I have hunted and trapped and fished and have been exposed to almost all kinds of wilderness animals; I’ve had bear come at me, been stalked by a mountain lion, been bitten by snakes and punctured by porcupines and torn by foxes and once pecked by an attacking raven, but I have never seen anything rivaling the madness that seems to infect a large portion of the moose family.
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11. ___________________ She noticed them immediately. Old habits died hard, and her eyes tracked the movement on the road even before her mind registered approaching danger — five men striding with the swagger of warriors. The only outward sign of her alarm was the tightening of her grip on the knife as she stripped a dead twig from the branch of the olive tree. There was no point in running. The men had seen her, and if she was their target they would catch her sooner or later. Sooner, she thought ruefully, remembering that her legs were not so limber as they once had been.
Drawing a deep breath, she spoke as calmly as she could. "Lyceus, I want you to take those olives to your mother, now."
The young boy at her side looked down at the basket he carried and hefted its weight. He could tell it was more than half empty. "But Aunt Gabrielle, we've barely begun."
"It's enough," she said, more curtly than she had intended. Out of the corner of her eye she saw the warriors step off the road and enter the far edge of the orchard. Softening her tone of voice, she spoke again, "I'm too tired to do any more work today. Run along now, before I change my mind."
With a grin of delight, Lyceus turned to dash away, then froze. "Auntie...those men..." He was young, but no fool, and his instincts were sharp, if less experienced than hers.
"Lyceus," she commanded softly. "Do as I say. Don't look back at them. Run."
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12.______________________ Xena drove the head of the shovel deep into the loose dirt, then heaved the load up and over, dropping it into the pit by her feet. She steeled herself for the soft thudding sounds the dirt and clumps of grass made when they fell on the bodies below. Another stab with the shovel and she could feel sweat break out on her brow. That was a bad sign. The morning air was cool and she hadn't been digging that long.
"I wish you'd let me help," came a voice from
over her shoulder.
"Gabrielle, I told you to stay back." She
couldn't spare enough breath to adequately convey her anger. Another bad sign.
She wiped her brow with the back of her hand, then went back to her task. The
next load of dirt seemed a lot heavier than the others.
Time passed, marked only by the steady rise and
fall of her shovel.
"Xena..." Gabrielle's voice sounded closer than
it had before. "It's got to be safe for me by now. These are the last of the
dead and they're nearly buried."
"Stay away!" snapped the warrior, careful to
keep her back turned to her friend. A sudden wave of heat swept through Xena's
limbs. Its passage robbed her of the strength to hold the shovel. She could feel
her body sway, as if buffeted by the fire that raged inside her.
"Xena!"
"Stay...back," she cried out, but her voice was
parched to a dry whisper.