Words, words, words. That's what we're made of. Herewith some of my thoughts on what we're doing with them.

Before then the guide could utter anything but a shriek, Varney took one tremendous leap, and disappeared into the burning mouth of the mountain.   – Thomas Preskett Prest, Varney the Vampyre.

Well, that's one way to get rid of your villain. Very effective, too, if a bit of a shock to the poor Ferguson. Vampyres are notoriously hard to kill off, but after three volumes, even Mr Prest had probably had enough of him. We, on the other hand, should be a bit more circumspect, if we don't want our readers to shout, 'Oh, come on!' when we've done the deed. The other night, we were watching the George Romero film version of Stephen King's  The Dark Half. Lovely story, but having an enormous flock of supernatural sparrows dissect the monstrous doppelganger was, well, de trop, in my humble opinion. I would have preferred a more cerebral form of execution, but then, my name isn't George Romero. (Nice footage from the Pittsburgh area, though, even if it was supposed to be Maine.)

It's a good idea, when offing villains, to 'let the punishment fit the crime'. Have them hoist by their own petard, if at all possible. Captain Ahab may not be a villain – I suppose it depends upon your point of view – but there's something satisfying about the way he meets his end. To continue the theme of animal cruelty, there's Dickens' Bill Sykes, who hangs himself instead of his faithful dog. Good, say we all. Frank Langella earned my eternal gratitude in the film Dracula: A Love Story, when he fatally impaled Laurence Olivier's Professor van Helsing with a spike. Thus perish all vampyre hunters, especially those with bogus Dutch accents.

Why do we love the Hamlet line, 'Rosencrantz and Guildenstern are dead'? Because they had it coming. As the Gloomy Dane put it, 'They did make love to this employment.'

HAMLET:
Wilt thou know


The effect of what I wrote?


HORATIO
Ay, good my lord.


HAMLET
An earnest conjuration from the king,


As England was his faithful tributary;


As love between them like the palm might flourish;


As peace should still her wheaten garland wear


And stand a comma 'tween their amities;


And many such-like as's of great charge,


That, on the view and know of these contents,


Without debatement further, more or less,


He should the bearers put to sudden death,


Not shriving-time allow'd.   – William Shakespeare, Hamlet, Prince of Denmark.

As director Kenneth Branagh has pointed out, Hamlet is, among other things, a ghost story. Lots of fright there. It's also a violent story, full of murder, war, and intrigue. The motivations of characters in the play are often not unlike those in The Godfather. They may talk fancier than Don Corleone, but let's face it: they make offers you can't refuse, and they're prone to whacking each other.

Whack your villains. Let your audience enjoy it. Make their ends commensurate with their deeds. In fact, if they're bad enough, make them suffer first.

Then came the night – dark, dismal, silent night. Other watchers are glad to hear this church-clock strike, for they tell of life and coming day. To him they brought despair. The boom of every iron bell came laden with the one, deep, hollow sound – Death. What availed the noise and bustle of cheerful morning, which penetrated even there, to him? It was another form of knell, with mockery added to the warning.


The day passed off. Day? There was no day; it was gone as soon as come – and night came on again; night so long, and yet so short; long in its dreadful silence, and short in its fleeting hours. At one time he raved and blasphemed; and at another howled and tore his hair.   – 'Fagin's Last Night Alive', from Charles Dickens, Oliver Twist.

Fagin is such a horrible character – he corrupts children by training them to steal, he ruins lives and condones murder – that he truly deserves this end. Besides, his story served as a useful moral example in Dickens' day. You think we don't still do this? Are you familiar with Bernard Cornwell's Sharpe novels? Our thoroughly modern author is fond of offing the baddies in poetic and suitably satisfying ways. One remembers fondly the protracted death of the villain in the Waterloo novel. Serves him right, getting his horse, weapons, and boots stolen. He'd taken Sharpe's wife and money.

It is always good to presage the death of the villain with the fear that the villain will not die. That makes it more fun for the reader. 'He's not going to fall into the trap. Whoops! Ha, ha, fooled you.' That sort of thing.

I saw the Count lying within the box upon the earth, some of which the rude falling from the cart had scattered over him. He was deathly pale, just like a waxen image, and the red eyes glared with the horrible vindictive look which I knew so well.


As I looked, the eyes saw the sinking sun, and the look of hate in them turned to triumph.


But, on the instant, came the sweep and flash of Jonathan's great knife. I shrieked as I saw it shear through the throat. Whilst at the same moment Mr. Morris's bowie knife plunged into the heart.


It was like a miracle, but before our very eyes, and almost in the drawing of a breath, the whole body crumbled into dust and passed from our sight.


I shall be glad as long as I live that even in that moment of final dissolution, there was in the face a look of peace, such as I never could have imagined might have rested there.   –   Bram Stoker, Dracula.

It was rather nice of Mr Stoker to let us feel that even Dracula is worthy of a moment of redemption. At least, I think so, don't you?

However you dispatch your villains – cleanly, off-camera, with a Bowie knife   – remember to let the audience in on your reasons. Make it clear that in the fictional universe, crime does not pay. As they sow, so shall they reap.

After all, that's what makes it fiction.

Writing Right with Dmitri Archive

Dmitri Gheorgheni

05.03.12 Front Page

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