Don’t Always Say What You Mean, But Always Mean What You Don’t Say

Really. I mean it. Go ahead and subtext, already!

Subtexted dialogue can be one of the most powerful elements in a storyteller’s arsenal. This is the art of talking around the subject, rather than head on, in order to intensify the meaning of the part that isn’t said.

Sometimes it’s actually having your characters say the opposite of what the reader understands is meant. We talk like this many times in real life. For instance, when you walk into your son’s room and say, “I see you’re a neat-freak today,” you’re not handing him a compliment. You’ve used sarcasm to hammer home a point that is the opposite of what you said, and the remark can be much more effective than straightforward nagging to clean up his room.

In a story, you could have a receptionist point a frozen smile at her departing boss and say, “Have a nice evening,” and if you’ve set the scene up right, the reader gets that she means, “Drop dead, creep!”

Here’s a sound-bite from Reluctant Runaway, with a woman named Jo talking to the main character, Desiree, about an interview Desi is supposed to do with a motorcycle outlaw.

(Jo) “Approach him in the mornin’ at home. He’ll be hung over and movin’ slow and none of his gang nearby.”

(Desi) “Very comforting.”

Does she really mean the advice made her feel better about the impending confrontation? Of course not! But wasn’t it more interesting to have her not say what she meant and mean what she didn’t say?

Okay, here’s another scenario. Let’s imagine a couple has just received the news that their son, Ray, is flunking out of college because he’s gotten into drugs and partying, but they go ahead with their planned anniversary dinner at a fine restaurant.

– – – – – – –

George pushed his plate away, food half-eaten. “You’d think a place like this could serve a steak that tastes better than shoe-leather.” He scowled in the direction of the kitchen.

Mary stuffed mashed potatoes into her mouth, not tasting a thing. “You picked the restaurant.” Her words came out muffled by the food. “We should have gone to that Italian place.” She stabbed a piece of broccoli with her fork.

George’s glare found her. “Your manners are worse than Ray’s.”

Silence thundered.

Mary pressed her napkin to quivering lips, ashes on her tongue. She swallowed, gagged, and then leaped up. Stiff-kneed, she staggered toward the ladies’ room.

– – – – – – –

Was George really angry about his food? Or with Mary?

Was Mary really hungry?

Did George’s oblique criticism of Ray really have anything to do with his manners?

The answer is certainly no to all those questions. Not once is the real issue brought up, and yet tension is at a premium. The reader knows how upset these two people are by their body language and especially by what they don’t say.

Deftly handled, subtext can wring a gallon more emotion out of a reader than blunt talk. In fact, when you’re reading along in a book or in your manuscript, and the scene seems to go flat, check the dialogue. Are the characters hitting the nail on the head when they should be beating around the bush? If so, subtext like crazy! You’ll be glad you did.