Since the last two blog posts have been about secondary characters, let’s talk about characters in general, as in the creation thereof.

Some fiction is plot-driven, yes, but it also needs characters to advance the plot. Those characters have to be believable, realistic, even relatable to the reader, but they can’t overshadow the plot.

Other fiction is character-driven, that is, the plot, what there is of it, is the stage to allow the characters to do their thing, be themselves, amuse us, or exasperate us.

Most fiction is a balance of plot-driven and character-driven. The characters are there to advance the plot, and in so doing, they get to “strut and fret their hour upon the stage.”

Espionage fiction falls into that third description. Espionage plots are intricate, with twists and turns and other surprises. The characters who advance this plot have to be compelling; they have to hook the reader, carry them through the plot, and keep them engaged to the words, “The End.”

Face it, Ian Fleming’s early books had great, realistic plots, and there was no one better to advance those plots than Bond, James Bond. He was fascinating, charismatic, and magnetic. You’re drawn to him. You might say he’s the hook that gets you to the plot hook. I mean, he dresses well, is a foodie, drives an awesome car, is confident in everything he does, and, oh, yes, he’s a connoisseur of beautiful women. Whatever.

John le Carre’s characters are a contrast to Fleming’s, though. Think of le Carre’s “super” spy, George Smiley. On the old side, frumpy, far from handsome. His wife cheats on him with his colleagues and sometimes his enemies, and on the surface, that is, physically, he’s not all that compelling.

But he’s brilliant. No one knows the spy business like he does. No one is more focused on the bad guys than he is. He’s compassionate when he needs to be (not often) and ruthless when it’s absolutely necessary. You can rely on him to select the appropriate action for any situation.

Because David Cornwell, aka John le Carre, was a member of British Intelligence, le Carre’s focus was on the realism of espionage not the fantastical, but he succeeded because he was able to make all those “grey men” and women memorable characters.

I suspect Fleming, writing in the 1950s and 1960s, made Bond the way he was to appeal to both men and women. I once read an analysis of Fleming’s works in which the author basically said Fleming created someone men wanted to be and women wanted to f**k. I suspect closeted men at the time wanted to do the latter as well. Bond may not be relatable as a character in one way, but all his other characteristics show he is magnetic. He draws you in, and you turn the pages to get more of him.

In Fleming’s era, his antagonists could be one- or two-dimensional villains because that was the trope then. Plus, no one could outshine Bond. The books were about him fighting evil, and the bad guys didn’t need fleshing out. That’s changed, of course, because people became interested in why the antagonist is bad or evil. Life isn’t that simple, after all.

So the writer of espionage is faced with this: The good guys and the bad guys both need a plausible motivation. “I want to rule the world!” followed by a maniacal laugh doesn’t cut it anymore. The bad guys’ motives have to be realistic and complex because by now we know evil isn’t born; it’s made.

Several years ago, my editor pointed out that an antagonist in my series A Perfect Hatred (based on the Oklahoma City Bombing) was an LEO who was unrelenting in dealing with cop-killers, but that I hadn’t told the reader why that was. Because I hadn’t fleshed him out more, the reader couldn’t relate to the character. And, yes, the bad guy has to be relatable as well. The solution was to include some brief backstory that showed the LEO’s father had been a policeman who was killed on duty and his killer never found. Now, we had motivation, deeper understanding, and relatability.

The good guys need motivation, too. Why else would you live a life where you had to lie to everyone about your profession? For Alexei Bukharin, he was compelled to help bring down the Soviet Union because the Soviet system had caused the death of his first wife. For Mai Fisher, it’s continuing a family legacy and because she has a profound belief in justice. It’s incumbent, then, that I portray their backstories and their compulsions for the reader. (I must have done a good job because a reader told me that when she’s faced with an issue, she thinks to herself, What Would Mai Do?)

This isn’t to say the bad guys and the good guys have to be matched in motivation; merely that both need to have motivation that a reader can relate to and understand, to help the reader accept how both behave or, at least, to suspend disbelief about their actions. Characters, whoever they are, have to be multi-dimensional because that’s what readers are. It’s more than readers seeing themselves in a character. It’s that they recognize them as realistic human beings. The goal is, after all, that readers have those characters irrevocably etched in their memory.

So, the writer of espionage not only has to have an understanding of that world and what goes on there but also in some ways, needs to understand the psychology of the people who populate that playground of intrigue.

For me, that’s what makes it so much fun.