The description of people's appearances in novels and shorter pieces of fiction

Обсуждение книг на английском языке, домашнее чтение, правила чтения на английском языке. Развитие письменной речи. Эссе, деловое письмо и другие виды письменных работ.

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#1

Сообщение VictorB »

By this post, for the purpose I'd rather not explain, I'm starting to amass descriptions of the characters given in the books written not earlier than, say, the 20th-century interwar period.
What I mean is the description of peculiar ways one may look, bear themselves, and even sound, as it was provided by the author, colorfully and originally enough to make you wish to take note of how that's been done, verbally.

I hope that some of those here who are in the habit of reading on a more or less regular basis will share what they may find, with that regard, worth sharing.

To start the ball rolling, here's the passage by W.S. Maugham, one of whose novels I started reading the other day:
He was a short, very fat man, as bald as an egg except for a ring of black curly hair round his ears and at the back of his neck, with a red, naked face that looked as though it were on the point of breaking out into a violent sweat, quick grey eyes, sensual lips, and a heavy jowl. He was an Englishman and I had sometimes met him at bohemian parties in London. He was very jovial, very hearty, and laughed a great deal, but you didn't have to be a great judge of character to know that his noisy friendliness was merely cover for a very astute man of business. He had been for some years the most successful decorator in London. He had a great booming voice and little fat hands that were wonderfully expressive. With telling gestures, with a spate of excited words he could thrill the imagination of a doubting client so that it was almost impossible to withhold the order he seemed to make it a favour to accept.
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#2

Сообщение VictorB »

The following descriptions are given by a female narrator in Lawrence Sanders' The Eighth Connandment:
He was a dark, saturnine fellow with a beaky nose: a perfect Iago with that kind of menacing handsomeness I suppose some women find attractive, but which makes me slightly queasy. Also, his cologne smelled like Juicy Fruit.
The man behind the enormous partners’ desk rose to greet me with a wintry smile. A blocky figure draped in a gorgeous suit of dove-gray flannel with a hairline red stripe. White silk shirt with a bow tie: polka-dotted blue. His vest had white piping—the first time I had ever seen that. Hair silvered to a sheen, and eyes a cold, cold azure.

I had an instant reaction: I was meeting a personage. Later, I tried to analyze my awe, and decided it was due to his carriage, voice, grooming, and his presence. He just gave the impression of being a very important man. In control. Even in less admirable surroundings, I think he still would have conveyed the feeling of power and distinction. He was so complete.

And—as if he needed it!—he was beautiful, in the way certain older men sometimes are. A heavy face with crinkly laugh lines. Full mouth. Solid jaw. And, of course, the silvered hair and ice-cube eyes. He could have posed for Chairman of the Board of the Universe. His cufflinks were little enamel reproductions of a Picasso. I’m sure he thought them an amusing whimsy.
Mabel Havistock was a square, chunky matron with bluish hair and the jaw of a longshoreman. She was the sort of woman, I thought, who probably wore a brown corset with all kinds of straps, laces, buckles, and snaps. She looked somewhat ogreish, but I must admit she was civil enough when we were introduced, though her cold glance immediately pegged me as the costume jewelry type. Her pearls were real.
Lemuel Whattsworth, the attorney, was a thinnish man: thin face, thin body, thin voice. Even what he had to say was thin, being composed mostly of whereas, heretofore, notwithstanding, and similar expressions designed to make the eyeballs glaze over.
He [an NYPD detective] was a big, rumpled man who looked like he had been sleeping in his clothes. About thirty-seven to forty years old, I guessed—around there. A face like a punched pillow, except for those sharp eyes. And a smile of real warmth. I thought he was a charmer. Also, I thought he might be hung over.
...
He really was a most attractive man. A little frazzled around the edges, like a worn French actor, but all the more comfortable for that. I mean he wasn’t trying to be anything he wasn’t. His heavy face, wrinkled clothes, his slouch, the way he moved—everything about him said, “What you see is what you get.”
Jack Smack [an insurance company investigator] turned out to be a very elegant young man indeed. About thirty-five, I judged, and a few inches taller than me. His suit of raw black silk showed Italian tailoring, and he was wearing Aramis, which always turns me on.
...
He uncrossed his knees, crossed them in the other direction. He fussed with the hanging trouser leg to make certain the crease was unwrinkled. Then he sipped his vodka reflectively, tinking the rim of the glass gently against his white teeth.

Really a beau ideal: slender, graceful, with all the right moves. A wry smile—but that may have been part of his act. There was a certain theatricality about him; I had the sense of his being always on. But that didn’t diminish his attractiveness. He was possibly, I thought, the handsomest man I had ever seen—except for my oldest brother, Tom, who could have been minted on the obverse of a Greek drachm with a laurel wreath around his head.
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#3

Сообщение VictorB »

...There {at a tea party] were two American women who lived in Paris, exquisitely gowned, with strings of pearls round their necks, diamond bracelets on their wrists, and costly rings on their fingers. Though the hair of one was darkly hennaed and that of the other unnaturally golden they were strangely alike. They had the same heavily mascaraed eyelashes, the same brightly painted lips, the same rouged cheeks, the same slim figures, maintained at the cost of extreme mortification, the same clear, sharp features, the same hungry restless eyes; and you could not but be conscious that their lives were a desperate struggle to maintain their fading charms. They talked with inanity in a loud, metallic voice without a moment's pause, as though afraid that if they were silent for an instant the machine would run down and the artificial construction which was all they were would fall to pieces.
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#4

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Elliott had taken pains to get on good terms with the local authorities, and the prefect of the district and the bishop of the diocese, accompanied by his vicar general, often graced his table. The bishop had been a cavalry officer before entering the Church and in the war had commanded a regiment. He was a rubicund, stoutish man, who affected the rough-and-ready language of the barracks, and his austere, cadaverous vicar general was always on pins and needles lest he should say something scandalous. He listened with a deprecating smile when his superior told his favourite stories. But the bishop conducted his diocese with remarkable competence, and his eloquence in the pulpit was no less moving than his sallies at the luncheon table were amusing.
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#5

Сообщение VictorB »

Here's how a character was described on the day of meeting with the narrator for the first time:
Gray Maturin was striking rather than handsome. He had a rugged, unfinished look; a short blunt nose, a sensual mouth, and the florid Irish complexion; a great quantity of raven black hair, very sleek, and under heavy eyebrows clear, very blue eyes. Though built on so large a scale he was finely proportioned, and stripped he must have been a fine figure of a man. He was obviously very powerful. His virility was impressive. He made Larry who was sitting next to him, though only three or four inches shorter, look puny.
After twelve years:
At this point Gray came in. It is true that I had only seen him two or three times twelve years before, but I had seen a photograph of him with his bride [...] and I had a fair recollection of him. I was taken aback. His hair had receded on the temples and there was a small bald patch on the crown, his face was puffy and red, and he had a double chin. He had put on a lot of weight during years of good living and hard drinking, and only his great height saved him from being grossly obese. But the thing I most noticed was the expression of his eyes. I remembered quite well the trusting, open frankness of their Irish blue, when the world was before him and he hadn't a care in the world; now I seemed to see in them a sort of puzzled dismay, and even if I hadn't known the facts I think I might have guessed that something had occurred to destroy his confidence in himself and in the ordered course of events. I felt a kind of diffidence in him, as though he had done wrong, though unwittingly, and were ashamed.
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#6

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... she must have been not far from forty. She was not beautiful; in fact she was rather ugly. She was tall for a Frenchwoman, with a short body, long legs, and long arms, and she held herself gawkily as though she didn't know how to cope with the length of her limbs. The colour of her hair changed according to her whim, but most often it was a reddish brown. She had a small square face, with very prominent cheekbones vividly rouged, and a large mouth with heavily-painted lips. None of this sounds attractive, but it was; it is true that she had a good skin, strong white teeth, and big, vividly blue eyes. They were her best feature, and she made the most of them by painting her eyelashes and her eyelids. She had a shrewd, roving, friendly look and she combined great good nature with a proper degree of toughness.
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#7

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He was a tall, narrow person with a fragile and faintly aesthetic air. His voice was soft, his manner was courteous, and at first sight he seemed more like a gentleman-in-waiting to the queen than a celebrated rapscallion. He never discussed his amorous affairs with other men, and a stranger, though he sit and talk with him all evening, would be unable to observe the slightest sign of deceit in Oswald's clear blue eyes. He was, in fact, precisely the sort of man that an anxious father would be likely to choose to escort his daughter safely home.

But sit Oswald beside a woman, a woman who interested him, and instantaneously his eyes would change, and as he looked at her, a small dangerous spark would begin dancing slowly in the very centre of each pupil; and then he would set about her with his conversation, talking to her rapidly and cleverly and almost certainly more wittily than anyone else had ever done before. This was a gift he had, a most singular talent, and when he put his mind to it, he could make his words coil themselves around and around the listener until they held her in some sort of a mild hypnotic spell.

But it wasn't only his fine talk and the look in his eyes that fascinated the women. It was also his nose. [ ... ] It appears that when Oswald was aroused, something odd would begin to happen around the edges of his nostrils, a tightening of the rims, a visible flaring which enlarged the nostril holes and revealed whole areas of the bright red skin inside. This created a queer, wild, animalistic impression, and although it may not sound particularly attractive when described on paper, its effect upon the ladies was electric.
(from The Visitor, a short story by Roald Dahl)
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#8

Сообщение VictorB »

He was a little man, half a head shorter than Suzanne [his concubine], with iron-grey hair and a neat grey moustache. He was on the plump side, and he had a pot-belly, but only to the extent of giving him an air of substance. He walked with the short fat man's strut and it was plain that he was not displeased with himself.
(Somerset Maugham)
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#9

Сообщение Juliemiracle »

There was a score of candles sparkling round the mantel piece, in all sorts of quaint sconces, of gilt and bronze and porcelain. They lighted up Rebecca's figure to admiration, as she sat on a sofa covered with a pattern of gaudy flowers. She was in a pink dress that looked as fresh as a rose; her dazzling white arms and shoulders were half-covered with a thin hazy scarf through which they sparkled; her hair hung in curls round her neck; one of her little feet peeped out from the fresh crisp folds of the silk: the prettiest little foot in the prettiest little sandal in the finest silk stocking in the world.

The candles lighted up Lord Steyne's shining bald head, which was fringed with red hair. He had thick bushy eyebrows, with little twinkling bloodshot eyes, surrounded by a thousand wrinkles. His jaw was underhung, and when he laughed, two white buck-teeth protruded themselves and glistened savagely in the midst of the grin. He had been dining with royal personages, and wore his garter and ribbon. A short man was his Lordship, broad-chested and bow-legged, but proud of the fineness of his foot and ankle, and always caressing his garter-knee.
(Vanity Fair by W.M. Thackeray)
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#10

Сообщение VictorB »

Juliemiracle пишет: 17 мар 2022, 16:06 Vanity Fair by W.M. Thackeray
Juliemiracle, even if Thackerey has never been on my reading list, I'm happy you didn't miss this thread.
Thank you very much:)
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#11

Сообщение Zlatko_Berrin »

The mother’s face was of a fading prettiness that would soon be patted with broken veins; her expression was both tranquil and aware in a pleasant way. However, one’s eye moved on quickly to her daughter, who had magic in her pink palms and her cheeks lit to a lovely flame, like the thrilling flush of children after their cold baths in the evening. Her fine forehead sloped gently up to where her hair, bordering it like an armorial shield, burst into lovelocks and waves and curlicues of ash blonde and gold. Her eyes were bright, big, clear, wet, and shining, the color of her cheeks was real, breaking close to the surface from the strong young pump of her heart. Her body hovered delicately on the last edge of childhood—she was almost eighteen, nearly complete, but the dew was still on her.
(Tender is the Night by F. Scott Fitzgerald)
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#12

Сообщение Juliemiracle »

Zlatko_Berrin пишет: 22 мар 2022, 20:03 ash blonde and gold
I think it's impossible for a person to have hair that's ash blonde (cold spectrum) + gold (warm spectrum) at the same time. It's either this or that unless you dye your hair some crazy way.
Men :)
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#13

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Juliemiracle пишет: 22 мар 2022, 21:30 I think it's impossible for a person to have hair that's ash blonde (cold spectrum) + gold (warm spectrum) at the same time. It's either this or that unless you dye your hair some crazy way.
A most perceptive observation! :-)
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#14

Сообщение VictorB »

Zlatko_Berrin,
Hey, thanks for joining!
Zlatko_Berrin пишет: 22 мар 2022, 20:03 Tender is the Night by F. Scott Fitzgerald
You're going to read it through?
I once started it but soon quitted having found it rather boring - of course, I mean for my taste :)
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#15

Сообщение Zlatko_Berrin »

Juliemiracle пишет: 22 мар 2022, 21:30 I think it's impossible for a person to have hair that's ash blonde (cold spectrum) + gold (warm spectrum) at the same time. It's either this or that unless you dye your hair some crazy way.
I - obviously - googled and found out that there is such a color as golden ash blonde. Maybe it is what the author meant. Or we don't quite understand the whole spectrum of 'ashness'.
Juliemiracle пишет: 22 мар 2022, 21:30Men :)
=D
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#16

Сообщение Zlatko_Berrin »

VictorB пишет: 22 мар 2022, 21:51 Hey, thanks for joining!
Well, thanks for creating this thread =)
VictorB пишет: 22 мар 2022, 21:51 You're going to read it through?
Yes, I am. I kinda like the title so I'm curious why the author chose such a name.
VictorB пишет: 22 мар 2022, 21:51 I once started it but soon quitted having found it rather boring - of course, I mean for my taste :)
So I shouldn't be expecting many thrills? XD
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#17

Сообщение VictorB »

Zlatko_Berrin пишет: 23 мар 2022, 11:21 I kinda like the title
Zlatko_Berrin пишет: 22 мар 2022, 20:03 Tender is the Night
The word order made me think of a piece of poetry it might've been borrowed from.
So I've searched for a possible source, and voila!
СпойлерПоказать
Away! away! for I will fly to thee,
Not charioted by Bacchus and his pards,
But on the viewless wings of Poesy,
Though the dull brain perplexes and retards:
Already with thee! tender is the night,
And haply the Queen-Moon is on her throne,
Cluster'd around by all her starry Fays;
But here there is no light,
Save what from heaven is with the breezes blown
Through verdurous glooms and winding mossy ways.
Ode to a Nightingale by John Keats
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#18

Сообщение Juliemiracle »

Zlatko_Berrin пишет: 23 мар 2022, 11:13 I - obviously - googled and found out that there is such a color as golden ash blonde.
I googled the pics, too, and see a whole range of colours from brown to strawberry blonde. Nah, not convincing. Ash blonde is ash blonde and golden blonde is golden blonde. I should know - I'd been dying my hair for many years.
But we digress. This thread is definitely not for discussing hair colour.
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#19

Сообщение VictorB »

Juliemiracle пишет: 23 мар 2022, 12:57 This thread is definitely not for discussing hair colour.
Right you are! :-)
Teddy was standing on the broadside of a new looking cowhide Gladstone, the better to see out of his parents' open porthole. He was wearing extremely dirty, white ankle-sneakers, no socks, seersucker shorts that were both too long for him and at least a size too large in the seat, an overly laundered T shirt that had a hole the size of a dime in the right shoulder, and an incongruously handsome, black alligator belt. He needed a haircut--especially at the nape of the neck--the worst way, as only a small boy with an almost full-grown head and a reedlike neck can need one.
...
Teddy turned around at the waist, without changing the vigilant position of his feet on the Gladstone, and gave his father a look of inquiry, whole and pure. His eyes, which were pale brown in color, and not at all large, were slightly crossed--the left eye more than the right. They were not crossed enough to be disfiguring, or even to be necessarily noticeable at first glance. They were crossed just enough to be mentioned, and only in context with the fact that one might have thought long and seriously before wishing them straighter, or deeper, or browner, or wider set. His face, just as it was, carried the impact, however oblique and slow-travelling, of real beauty.
D.J.Sallinger, Teddy, a short story.
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#20

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VictorB пишет: 22 мар 2022, 21:51 I once started it but soon quitted having found it rather boring
I thought the book was dispiriting and anticlimactic, but a lot closer to reality than, say, The Great Gatsby. That's probably why it wasn't nearly as popular. Not dazzling enough and too close to home.
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#21

Сообщение VictorB »

Zlatko_Berrin пишет: 23 мар 2022, 11:21 I am. I kinda like the title so I'm curious why the author chose such a name.
Easy-Breezy English пишет: 23 мар 2022, 14:13 thought the book was dispiriting and anticlimactic [...]. Not dazzling enough and too close to home.
Easy-Breezy English, thanks for warning me against betting anyone who loves it that once I start reading it for the second time I will enjoy the read. What I wonder is whether Zlatko will figure out what is hidden behind its poetic title :)
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#22

Сообщение Juliemiracle »

Easy-Breezy English,
the only ok thing I read by Fitzgerald was The Ice Palace. But he's definitely not on the list of my favourite authors.
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#23

Сообщение Easy-Breezy English »

VictorB, Juliemiracle, I actually quite enjoyed the book and still think about it often. It's true to life in the way it depicts the disintegration of a personality for no apparent reason.
Juliemiracle пишет: 23 мар 2022, 16:09 The Ice Palace
That's a fun story, too. :-)
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#24

Сообщение Juliemiracle »

Easy-Breezy English пишет: 23 мар 2022, 19:09 I actually quite enjoyed the book and still think about it often.
Not surprised. Many of my students like him. But his style's never worked for me; since I was a student myself, actually. Too...idk, languid? restless? unsettled? for my liking. I know his bio and realize that a lot of it comes from his personal life, but still. Reading F. makes me feel uneasy in a really unhealthy way, and I don't want to feel like that.
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#25

Сообщение VictorB »

Zlatko_Berrin пишет: 22 мар 2022, 20:03 Tender is the Night by F. Scott Fitzgerald
Zlatko_Berrin,
Hey, I thought you might want to listen to the audiobook professionally narrated by a native Englisg speaker.

https://knigavuhe.org/book/tender-is-th ... ch-nezhna/
The downloadable version can be found too.
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