The Outlandish Companion - Diana Gabaldon [83]
Still, on one level, the answer to the question must obviously be yes. All of an author’s characters must in some way be manifestations of the author’s psyche and experience; after all, where else would you get them?
There is a local group of readers who invite me to a formal tea once a year, for the purpose of picking my brains about what I’m writing. On one such occasion, the ladies present got onto the subject of Jack Randall, and began denouncing him with heat and passion. “He’s just loathsome!” went the refrain. “He’s such scum, such a horrible human being. I just despise him!“ And so forth and so on.
During all of which I sat quietly, sipping my cup of Earl Grey, and thinking, You don’t have any idea that you’re talking to Black Jack Randall, do you?
Where do characters come from? Sometimes I think it’s better not to know.
NAMES
Naming fictional characters has never seemed to be a problem for me; most of them simply have names, from the moment of creation. Still, sometimes I’m able to recognize the ground from which my subconscious mined a particular gem.
This process started early on. When I decided that I should have a female character, I simply introduced her, knowing nothing about her other than the fact that she was an Englishwoman. She walked into a cottage full of Scotsmen, who all stared at her in some consternation. The leader got to his feet and introduced himself courteously as Dougal MacKenzie.
“Dougal,” because at that point I knew very few appropriate Scottish names, but did know that my husband’s name— Douglas—was Scottish in origin, meaning “dweller by the dark water.” I got “MacKenzie” off a tartan-patterned cooler I’d seen in the grocery store (well, look, I’d only been writing for two or three days; I hadn’t had a lot of time to do research yet).
So, Dougal MacKenzie stood up and introduced himself, asking—with furrowed brow—who this visitor might be?
To which she replied, speaking quite clearly, “Claire Elizabeth Beauchamp— and who the hell are you?”
Now, in retrospect, I think “Claire” was the result of my having just read Isabel Allende’s House of the Spirits, which has a significant character named Clara. Allende had a recurrent riff on this name, repeating “Claire, Clara, clairvoyant” at intervals throughout the story (the character having a certain amount of supernatural talent). This created a nice rhythm, which was likely still ringing in my inner ear—so when Claire spoke up and identified herself, the name was there on the surface of my mind.
“Beauchamp” because the minimal amount of research I’d done to that point had referred to the French link with Scotland and its importance in the Jacobite Rising. It seemed vaguely desirable to give her a French name, so that I could later invoke French connections for her, if that seemed useful (at this point, I still thought she was an eighteenth-century woman). Anyway, Beauchamp was the name of a math teacher at my high school, and I’d been struck—in high school—by the fact that it was pronounced “Beechum,” in spite of the obviously French spelling. If I wanted a patently English lady, but with a French name, Beauchamp seemed a good choice.
“Elizabeth”? Well, it fit, that’s all. Whereupon Claire Elizabeth Beauchamp promptly took over the story and began telling it herself. Being in no position to argue with her, I took the path of least resistance, and went along to see what would happen next.
Jamie was originally named in compliment to the Doctor Who character who inspired the setting and time period of the book(s). This character, a young Scots lad acquired as a companion by the doctor, was named Jamie MacCrimmon—and while he had nothing in common with my character other than nationality and a certain pigheaded notion of male gallantry, I liked the name Jamie.
So Jamie he was, but with a blank for a last name. Knowing nothing about Scotland when I began, I was reluctant to give him a last name until I knew more