You'd be surprised how many layers there usually are behind characters in an infamous novel, and I love poking at each one like a loose thread on a sweater. For me, those characters often begin as sketches lifted from the author's life — a quarrel overheard in a café, a disgraced friend, a petty
revenge that landed headlines. Then the author stretches and exaggerates: small real details become hallmarks of personality, and ordinary people are built into symbols of something bigger. Often an author will fold in scandalous news articles, private letters, or court testimony; those raw, messy facts are seasoning for the fiction.
Beyond
biography, literary ancestors haunt the pages. I can see echoes of folk archetypes—tricksters, tragic lovers, the mad scientist—from stories as old as campfire tales and as modern as '
Frankenstein' or '
Wuthering Heights'. Sometimes a character is a deliberate riff on a classic: a toned-up villain, an unreliable narrator borrowed from '
the tell-Tale Heart' energy, or a social critique wearing a persona meant to provoke. Cultural anxieties of the era—war, class tension, sexual mores, censorship—also press into character choices; the notorious parts of the book are often where those anxieties crystallize.
And then there’s the raw imagination: dreams, nightmares, and private obsessions. I adore imagining the author waking up from a vivid dream and deciding to give that dream a body and a name. For all these reasons, characters in an infamous novel rarely come from a single source. They’re mosaics — a scandal here, a fairy-tale motif there, a real face hidden behind a fictional mask — and that blend is what makes them linger in your head long
After You close the book. I still find myself thinking about how messy creativity can be, and how close fiction sits to life, which is oddly comforting and unsettling at once.