Third-person point of view feels like the
default in the literary world. Many novels refer to main characters using the pronouns
“he,” “she,” or “they,” rather than the “I/me/my” of first-person narration.
In my video “All About Writing in First Person,” I explored the ins and outs of
that close perspective. Now, we’ll explore the unique aspects of the other most popular
POV. As a thought exercise, imagine how different
the Harry Potter series would feel if it had been written in first-person instead of third-person
POV. Here’s my rewritten excerpt from The Chamber of Secrets: “Fascinated, I thumbed through the rest
of the envelope's contents. Why on earth did Filch want a Kwikspell course? Did this mean
he wasn't a proper wizard? I was just reading ‘Lesson One: Holding Your Wand (Some Useful
Tips)’ when shuffling footsteps outside told me Filch was coming back. Stuffing the
parchment back into the envelope, I threw it back onto the desk just as the door opened.” And here’s the original version for comparison: “Fascinated, Harry thumbed through the rest
of the envelope's contents. Why on earth did Filch want a Kwikspell course? Did this mean
he wasn't a proper wizard? Harry was just reading ‘Lesson One: Holding Your Wand (Some
Useful Tips)’ when shuffling footsteps outside told him Filch was coming back. Stuffing the
parchment back into the envelope, Harry threw it back onto the desk just as the door opened.” Notice that I didn’t actually have to rewrite
anything; I only changed four words. Whereas first person involves immersing yourself
in one individual voice, third person allows for varying degrees of “narrative distance,”
also known as “psychic distance”—that is, how close the reader is to the characters’
thoughts. These levels of narrative distance give rise to different classifications of
third person, namely limited and omniscient. In the Chamber of Secrets passage, we’re
very close to Harry’s thoughts. With third-person limited, you’re hovering over one character’s
shoulder throughout the story. It’s similar to first person in that the reader is given
access to the character’s innermost thoughts—we’re limited to that perspective for that given
scene. That character serves as an anchor, grounding the reader in the story. Even though there is no “I” involved,
the character’s opinions can intrude on the writing style, in what is known as “free
indirect discourse.” This is when the language of the narration takes on the voice of the
character. We can see free indirect discourse at work
in the internal questions that Harry asks: “Why on earth did Filch want a Kwikspell
course?” It almost sounds like dialogue that Harry would speak aloud; the thought
is phrased in his voice, despite the fact that the author is narrating. So why would a writer use third-person limited
instead of first when they’re so similar? The answer is flexibility and tone. You see,
Harry Potter isn’t only written in third-person limited; it slips into moments that feel more
like third-person omniscient. With omniscient, the audience is watching the events unfold
from an aerial view. “Omniscient” comes from a word that means “all-knowing” in
Latin. The author and reader become god-like figures, able to see what every character
is doing at any point—past, present, or future. The Harry Potter series zooms out onto other
scenes. In the Filch passage, first person doesn’t sound too strange when we’re limited
to Harry’s perspective, but when the camera shifts to omniscient, it doesn’t quite fit: “October arrived, spreading a damp chill
over the grounds and into the castle. Madam Pomfrey, the nurse, was kept busy by a sudden
spate of colds among the staff and students. Her Pepperup potion worked instantly, though
it left the drinker smoking at the ears for several hours afterward. Ginny Weasley, who
had been looking pale, was bullied into taking some by Percy. The steam pouring from under
her vivid hair gave the impression that her whole head was on fire.” Harry may have observed these details, but
the description is not directly filtered through his perspective; it feels broader. The magical
atmosphere of the Harry Potter series is due in part to the third-person perspective, which
blends both limited and omniscient styles. We feel connected to Harry because we’re
occasionally told what he’s thinking, yet we’re privy to all the magical details beyond
what Harry himself might describe. With third person, the author acts as a mediator between
the characters and the readers. Third person also allows Rowling to feature
a different perspective for one-off chapters, such as in the opening of Harry Potter and
the Philosopher’s Stone, which is told from the Dursleys’ perspective, during a time
when Harry was a baby: “Mr. and Mrs. Dursley, of number four, Privet
Drive, were proud to say that they were perfectly normal, thank you very much. They were the
last people you'd expect to be involved in anything strange or mysterious, because they
just didn't hold with such nonsense.” Notice the free indirect discourse at work
here, with the narrator “borrowing” language from the voices of the characters. “Perfectly
normal, thank you very much.” “They just didn’t hold with such nonsense.” Those
phrases sound like things the Dursleys would say, yet the author is incorporating those
word choices into the narrative voice. Think of narrative distance like filming a
movie: you can zoom the camera in or out, depending on what the moment requires. That
ability to adjust the level of closeness is something you can’t do in first person;
you’re stuck with a front-row seat for the course of the story unless you add in another
point of view. So, if you're trying to choose between third person and first person, ask
yourself whether your story calls for flexibility of perspective or a limited but intimate view. Let’s take a closer look at the advantages
of third person. The ability to feature multiple perspectives allows you to include a diverse
range of characters and settings, expanding the story to an epic scope. It’s also easier
to kill your main characters and replace them with new frontrunners without completely disrupting
the story. If you have one first-person narrator and you kill them off, the story is over. George R.R. Martin is a master of the multiple-POV
narrative. A Song of Ice and Fire switches between different third-person limited perspectives,
where the reader gets up close and personal with each character while still not completely
entering their viewpoint. Even though the POVs are largely written in the same narrative
style, what differentiates the characters are the things they focus on—their dreams,
their fears, their daily preoccupations. For example, in the first book, A Game of Thrones,
there is a stark difference in what Ned, an honorable lord, and Sansa, his eldest daughter,
care about in their lives. Here’s a passage from Ned’s point of view: “Ned stopped at last and lifted the oil
lantern. The crypt continued on into darkness ahead of them, but beyond this point the tombs
were empty and unsealed; black holes waiting for their dead, waiting for him and his children.
Ned did not like to think on that.” And here’s what Sansa, an 11-year-old girl,
is thinking about: “Sansa knew all about the sorts of people
Arya liked to talk to: squires and grooms and serving girls, old men and naked children,
rough-spoken freeriders of uncertain birth. Arya would make friends with anybody. This
Mycah was the worst; a butcher’s boy, thirteen and wild, he slept in the meat wagon and smelled
of the slaughtering block. Just the sight of him was enough to make Sansa feel sick,
but Arya seemed to prefer his company to hers.” Ned, being an older man and a father, has
passing thoughts about his mortality and his children, with the crypt setting contributing
to that. Sansa, on the other hand, is concerned about social status, friendships, and boys.
What’s more, each perspective adds something new to the story. In A Game of Thrones, there
are eight POVs total, and they provide a window into the different sides of the Stark vs.
Lannister conflict, with a couple of the perspectives being separate from the main storyline but
still related. In addition, multiple points of view allow for variety in terms of gender,
age, and personality. By viewing the drama from contrasting angles, the reader realizes
that no one side is all good (although some may be pretty close to all bad) because everybody's
flaws are on the table. Martin is savvy enough to make you root for players on every side,
even though if you put your favorite characters together, they'd kill each other.
A Song of Ice and Fire could not be told in first person because one protagonist, or even
multiple first-person protagonists, would be severely limited in what they could see
and experience in this story world. Third person allows for character exploration on
an epic scale. Multiple-POV stories let the writer switch
between events as they’re happening. This builds suspense by showing readers both sides
of the plot; even if you know the characters’ plans, you don't know how they’re going
to turn out. That sense of dramatic irony is a delightful
part of writing in third person. If the reader has information that a character doesn’t—whether
gained from the omniscient narrator or another character’s perspective—that creates tension.
Like seeing a snake enter a tiger’s cage, we feel the anticipation of drama, and it
compels us to pay attention. Dramatic irony is often used in stage plays, such as Shakespeare’s
Macbeth. When King Duncan decides to trust Macbeth, the audience already knows that Macbeth
plans to kill him. In her fantasy novel Vicious, V.E. Schwab
employs dramatic irony through multiple third-person limited POVs. One is Victor, our anchor character,
introduced first and sort of portrayed as the lesser of two evils, although he’s not
a good guy, either. His antagonist is Eli, the holier-than-thou crusader type. The two
friends-turned-enemies are bent on killing each other. Because the reader has access
to both their perspectives, we can see when one has the upper hand and the other doesn’t
know it. We can also witness them crossing paths, yet not realizing it. Victor and Eli
end up staying in the same hotel, unbeknownst to each other. There’s even a moment when
Eli eyes one of Victor’s associates, whom the reader recognizes from his description,
but Eli has no clue that his enemy is nearer than he thinks. Using dramatic irony can be
like sharing an inside joke with the reader. From a style perspective, third person also
allows your narrative voice as the author to shine through. You can play with your prose
without being accused of speaking for your characters. In his Pulitzer-Prize-winning novel All the
Light We Cannot See, Anthony Doerr uses third-person omniscient to follow two characters, and his
lyrical style remains consistent throughout. The first sentences of each perspective introduce
the two characters in a parallel fashion. This is how the female protagonist is introduced: “In a corner of the city, inside a tall,
narrow house at Number 4 rue Vauborel, on the sixth and highest floor, a sightless sixteen-year-old
named Marie-Laure LeBlanc kneels over a low table covered entirely with a model.” And this is the male protagonist: “Five streets to the north, a white-haired
eighteen-year-old German private named Werner Pfennig wakes to a faint staccato hum. Little
more than a purr. Flies tapping at a far-off windowpane.” The author can quickly convey the characters’
backgrounds as a way to introduce them to the reader. Physical descriptions are also
easier to state in third person. A first-person narrator wouldn’t be likely to say, “I’m
a white-haired, eighteen-year-old German private.” Likewise, Werner doesn’t know he’s “five
streets to the north” of Marie-Laure; the omniscient narrator is providing that information. Third-person omniscient also allows the author
to make sweeping observations about the human condition or convey themes that the characters
themselves might not recognize. Anthony Doerr can write in his own poetic style because
he’s not constrained by character voice: “We all come into existence as a single
cell, smaller than a speck of dust. Much smaller. Divide. Multiply. Add and subtract. Matter
changes hands, atoms flow in and out, molecules pivot, proteins stitch together, mitochondria
send out their oxidative dictates; we begin as a microscopic electrical swarm. The lung
the brain the heart. Forty weeks later, six trillion cells get crushed in the vise of
our mother’s birth canal and we howl. Then the world starts in on us.” The third-person perspective of All the Light
We Cannot See creates narrative distance, which in turn yields a lofty, romantic tone.
Typically, you want closeness so that readers can connect with your characters. But there
are situations where it’s beneficial to create a little distance between the audience
and the characters. It almost gives the writing a fairytale quality. Neil Gaiman’s Stardust
is written in third-person omniscient as well, and it’s told in “Once Upon a Time”
fashion: “There was once a young man who wished to
gain his Heart’s Desire. And while that is, as beginnings go, not entirely novel (for
every tale about every young man there ever was or will be could start in a similar manner)
there was much about this young man and what happened to him that was unusual, although
even he never knew the whole of it.” As with using multiple perspectives, third-person
omniscient makes it easier for the action to jump between timeframes and locations.
Gaiman can cover the history of the town and describe the various people within it across
a single chapter. In a more limited perspective, he’d have to stick with the anchor character,
but here he can branch out as his heart desires. This level of narrative distance is not only
good for being poetic or generating a fairytale feel, but it also works well when conveying
humor. The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy by Douglas Adams uses the distance third person
creates to make funny statements about the universe writ large: “For instance, on the planet Earth, man
had always assumed that he was more intelligent than dolphins because he had achieved so much—the
wheel, New York, wars and so on—whilst all the dolphins had ever done was muck about
in the water having a good time. But conversely, the dolphins had always believed that they
were far more intelligent than man—for precisely the same reasons.” Because the narrator is all-knowing, they
have access to information no character would, including the thoughts of dolphins. Hence,
humor is born through the matter-of-fact tone and the narrator’s awareness of what everyone—and
everything—is thinking. In this way, the author can turn the third-person narrator
into a character themselves, with a distinct voice and personality. Those are some advantages of third person.
It allows you to include more perspectives, generate dramatic irony, write in your own
style, and create tone via narrative distance. Third person is not without its limitations,
of course. There are three main drawbacks. For one, there’s a loss of intimacy between
the characters and readers. While third person allows you to showcase your unique style as
a writer, it doesn’t provide the immersion that comes with inhabiting someone else’s
head. That doesn’t mean readers won’t feel attached to the characters in a third-person
story, but writers might have to work harder to forge and maintain an emotional connection
with the audience. And if the reader can’t connect with the characters, then they’ll
have a hard time caring about what happens in the story. You can convey a character’s personality
through actions and dialogue as well as descriptions of their desires within the narrative. In
Frances Hardinge’s The Lie Tree, which is told in third-person limited, the protagonist’s
defining feature is her hunger for knowledge. However, Hardinge doesn’t simply state,
“Faith was a curious girl.” Instead, she shows that curiosity through hypothetical
examples: “It was the unexpected opportunities that
she found hardest to resist. An unattended envelope with the letter peeping out, clean
and tantalizing. An unlocked door. A careless conversation, unheeding of eavesdroppers.
There was a hunger in her, and girls were not supposed to be hungry. They were supposed
to nibble sparingly when at the table, and their minds were supposed to be satisfied
with a slim diet too. A few stale lessons from tired governesses, dull walks, unthinking
pastimes. But it was not enough. All knowledge—any knowledge—called to Faith, and there was
a delicious, poisonous pleasure in stealing it unseen.” To create emotional connection in third person,
you can use narrative flair that describes the nuances of the character’s inner life. We’ve talked about multiple perspectives
being an advantage, but it’s also another downside of third person—it can be overwhelming
to write and read stories where you have to keep track of too many POV characters. Any
book can feature too many characters, but since third person lends itself to creating
more perspectives, it’s more at risk of becoming confusing. It can also result in unnecessary chapters
where one character’s story drags down the pacing of the entire novel, or the author
repeats events from another character’s perspective without adding any new information
for the reader. Thus, it’s important that each POV character has a distinctive identity—such
as a blind French girl or a German soldier—and moves the plot forward in some way. When a writer is including multiple viewpoints,
the story might balloon to a 500,000-word doorstopper, given all the additional subplots
tied to these secondary characters. It also presents the writer with many creative avenues
to choose from, which can be paralyzing. This is easy enough to prevent—just choose an
anchor character and let them guide the main plot. In the TV show Lost, even though each
episode shifts to a different focal character, the series always comes back to Jack, whom
we started with. Before you begin writing, identify the story’s
most essential POVs and cut any superfluous perspectives. Finally, we have the danger of head-hopping.
This is when a writer switches between multiple characters’ thoughts within the same scene.
Say that a whole scene is happening from the perspective of our main character, Bob, as
he’s talking to his love interest, Mary. But then this happens: “Hello, Mary,” Bob said. He shifted from
foot to foot, working up the nerve to ask her on a stroll. Perhaps he’d even hold
her hand. Mary glanced at him. “What is it?” She
hoped he wouldn’t try to invite her on another endlessly boring walk through the gardens. We switched over to Mary’s thoughts all
of a sudden! This is a point of view violation because the reader assumes the whole scene
will be from Bob’s perspective, and it’s jarring when the focus shifts to another character.
But head-hopping isn’t inherently evil. In fact, one of the most celebrated sci-fi
novels of all time uses head-hopping as a literary device: Dune by Frank Herbert. Within one scene, we see into the minds of
three different characters. Paul is our anchor character for most of the novel and for the
story’s opening scene. Yet this part isn’t told solely from his point of view. We start
off close to Paul: “He lifted his right hand, willing the memory of the pain.” We’re
clearly in his mind, since he’s trying to tap into his own memory. But then, three paragraph
breaks later, we’re inside the head of the old woman he’s talking to: “She extinguished
the excitement, reminding herself: ‘Hope clouds observation.’” And then, on the
same page, Paul’s mother, Lady Jessica, arrives and it switches over to her: “The
door felt hard and real against her back. Everything in the room was immediate and pressing
against her senses.” Then the scene switches back to Paul: “He wanted to get away alone
and think this experience through, but knew he could not leave until he was dismissed.” Some might call this third-person omniscient—which
it is. But that doesn’t really distinguish it from head-hopping, since most of the scene
is from Paul’s POV, yet we occasionally dip into the thoughts of these other characters.
To prevent confusion, Herbert signals the shift to the reader with a paragraph break;
he states the character’s name and usually includes a bit of italicized thought. The
advantage of such head-hopping is that the reader receives different characters’ reactions
in real time. This is critical in suspenseful scenes, because the author can show what information
each character knows—or doesn't. Granted, Dune was published in 1965, and publishing
tastes have changed since then. But head-hopping appears in more contemporary works, too, like
Gabrielle Zevin’s The Storied Life of A. J. Fikry, published in 2014. Even so, be careful about switching perspectives
in the middle of a scene. There needs to be a clear marker of the shift, and it’s easier
to pull off if your novel feels omniscient from the start rather than having a tight
third-person limited POV with one character. Head-hopping isn’t as amateurish as some
make it out to be; it just requires a lot of skill to pull off and has largely fallen
out of fashion. As a rule of thumb, stick to one POV per scene
or chapter. If you choose to write in third person, be
aware of that potential loss of emotional connection, the overwhelming nature of multiple
viewpoints in both writing and reading, and the danger of head-hopping. A side note about third-person present tense:
although it’s not as marketable as past tense, it’s not entirely uncommon. In this
style, you’ll see sentences like, “The painting is stolen the same week the Russians
put a dog into space.” That’s the first line of Dominic Smith’s The Last Painting
of Sara de Vos. All the Light We Cannot See is written in third-person present, too, and
you might not have even noticed earlier. Like in a movie or screenplay, you’re watching
the action unfold before you. Chuck Wendig, author of the writing blog Terribleminds,
says his use of third-person present tense in his novels contributes to his “thriller
pacing”: “It lets me write a story that feels all
the more dangerous because its outcome isn’t set—by making it now instead of in history,
it becomes a living document. It’s an evolving narrative… As such, it lends itself to urgency—and
you read less to find out what happened and more to find out what’s going to happen
next. Every page feels like it exists only because you turn it. Less an excavation and
an archive and more an act of shared narrative creation. The reader makes the story happen
just by reading.” Wendig captures the reading experience in
a succinct sentence: “It’s not like looking at a painting, but rather, like watching someone
paint.” I’ve linked his article in the video description. In an interview for The Guardian, Kevin Barry,
author of Beatlebone, similarly commented, “I think it is a case of trying to plant
a voice inside the reader’s head, to make him or her hear the words as they read them
… to make them read with their ears, essentially. You’re aiming to mesmerise, and for me that’s
the quality that the best fiction has. It’s a mesmeric force.” See how you feel about
the effect in Hilary Mantel’s Wolf Hall, winner of the Man Booker Prize: “It knocks the last breath out of him; he
thinks it may be his last. His forehead returns to the ground; he lies waiting, for Walter
to jump on him. The dog, Bella, is barking, shut away in an outhouse. I’ll miss my dog,
he thinks. The yard smells of beer and blood. Someone is shouting, down on the riverbank.
Nothing hurts, or perhaps it’s that everything hurts, because there is no separate pain that
he can pick out. But the cold strikes him, just in one place: just through his cheekbone
as it rests on the cobbles.” If the style appeals to you, and that feeling
is what you’re aiming for, give it a try. As John Updike said of his novel Rabbit, Run,
“I don't know if it is clear to the reader as it is to the person writing, but there
are kinds of poetry, kinds of music you can strike off in the present tense.” At the start of every new project, a writer
must ask themselves, “What point of view do I want to use?” I’ve often wondered
whether first or third person is more common in novels, but I haven’t been able to find
any solid statistics. So, I conducted an informal experiment. I picked ten random novels from
my bookshelf. When it came to point of view, the selection was split down the middle: half
were predominantly told in third person and the other half in first. Certain POVs are more popular in certain genres;
it seems like more YA fantasy is written in first person and more literary fiction in
third person. Third-person omniscient has fallen out of favor across the board in recent
decades, with contemporary authors preferring the emotional closeness of third-person limited. But when choosing your POV, don’t worry
about what will sell. Instead, consider the demands of the story. Ask yourself a few questions: • Whose perspective is needed to tell this
story? • What is the tone? Can I achieve that better
through a distinct first-person voice or a more distant third-person narrator?
• Which option am I most excited to write? As you consider third-person point of view,
remember these key takeaways: • When in third-person limited, see how
you can “borrow” from the language of the character within the narrative using free
indirect discourse. • Even in third-person limited, the character’s
individual personality should come through in what they notice and think about.
• When using an omniscient narrator, know what tone or atmosphere you’re trying to
create. • Bridge the emotional distance by ensuring
your protagonist’s feelings are clear in their dialogue, actions, and descriptions.
• Don’t get carried away when it comes to multiple viewpoints; make sure you know
where each storyline is going and what it’s contributing.
• Avoid head-hopping and stick to one POV per scene or chapter, unless you can establish
a strong omniscient narrator. • Third-person present tense is an option
if you want to create a feeling of constant motion. As a simple writing exercise, try switching
the POV of your work in progress. Take a scene written in first or third person and flip
it to the other. Reflect on the change. What does it add? What does it take away? Which
one better serves the story? In the comments, I’d love to know your favorite
book written in third person. Whatever you do, keep writing.
