I'm back with another POV post, and this time the focus is on first person point of view in fiction.
While first person is one of the easier points of view to grasp when it comes to fiction writing, there is still plenty to get to grips with before (and while) embarking on a piece of writing using the first person. And referencing some great examples of first person point of view in fiction can be incredibly useful when ironing out POV in your own story.
But before we get to the examples, and excerpts, let's take a look at what first person point of view actually means.
What is first person point of view?
As the name suggests, first person point of view is written in the first person (I/We).
First person point of view is arguably the most intimate of narrative POVs as the reader gets to experience the story through the eyes of a character in the story. Unlike third person omniscient, when opting for first person point of view, the reader will only be privy to information that the narrator would realistically be able to perceive or know.While the majority of books written in first person do so from the point of view of a central character, there are no hard and fast rules about this. Some authors choose to narrate their story using first person point of view, yet from a peripheral character - someone who witnesses the events of a story, but isn't a main character. The most famous example of this is The Great Gatsby by F. Scott Fitzgerald.
Advantages of using first person point of view
From their first introduction to the narrator, the reader begins to build up a relationship with them. Their perspective is (potentially) the only lens through which your reader will see your narrative unfold, and therefore it is easier to build a rapport and intimacy between the reader and narrator, as the reader experiences events as the character does, as well as discovers new information as the character does.
You are granted the opportunity to fully explore a character and their personality. This allows you the freedom to use a unique and intriguing voice to tell your narrative - one that potentially has drastically differing opinions to your own.
As the story is being narrated through the lens of a specific character, you can introduce bias into your story. This makes for compelling storytelling as you can utilise the concept of the unreliable narrator, or use it to your advantage.
10 examples of first person point of view in fictionSome of the below links are affiliate links. If you decide to purchase a book through a link provided, I will receive a small percentage of the sale.
epic fantasy which follows the life of Kvothe, a renowned magician, musician and king killer. We meet him in the third person as Kote, the manager of the Waystone Inn in a town called Newarre, at some later point in his life, where he has seemingly lost his magic.
Kote recounts the story of his early life as Kvothe to a scribe known as Chronicler, and it is this recounting of his story that is written in the first person, as Kote is narrating his own life story.
Here is an excerpt of the beginning of Kote's narration of Kvothe's story.
Contrary to popular belief, not all traveling performers are of the Ruh. My troupe was not some poor batch of mummers, japing at crossroads for pennies, singing for our suppers. We were court performers, Lord Greyfallow’s Men. Our arrival in most towns was more of an event than the Midwinter Pageantry and Solinade Games rolled together. There were usually at least eight wagons in our troupe and well over two dozen performers: actors and acrobats, musicians and hand magicians, jugglers and jesters: My family.
Assassin's Apprentice follows Fitz Chivalry, who is the novel's main protagonist and narrator.
Red Rising is set on Mars and follows the story of Darrow, a lowborn Red who impersonates a highborn Gold in order to enact revenge for the death of his wife.
Skyward is a YA space opera sci fi following the life of Spensa Nightshade as she goes through flight school and trains to become a member of the DDF (Defiant Defense Force) on the planet of Detritus.
Only fools climbed to the surface. It was stupid to put yourself in danger like that, my mother always said. Not only were there near-constant debris showers from the rubble belt, but you never knew when the Krell would attack.
Of course, my father traveled to the surface basically every day—he had to, as a pilot. I supposed by my mother’s definition that made him extra foolish, but I always considered him extra brave.
I was still surprised when one day, after years of listening to me beg, he finally agreed to take me up with him.
I was seven years old, though in my mind I was completely grown-up and utterly capable. I hurried after my father, carrying a lantern to light the rubble-strewn cavern. A lot of the rocks in the tunnel were broken and cracked, most likely from Krell bombings—things I’d experienced down below as a rattling of dishes or trembling of light fixtures.
I imagined those broken rocks as the broken bodies of my enemies, their bones shattered, their trembling arms reaching upward in a useless gesture of total and complete defeat.
I was a very odd little girl.
An American Marriage is written in the first person point of view of three central characters: Roy, a black man falsely accused and sentenced to 12 years in prison for a crime he didn't commit; Celestial, his wife of one year at the time of the false accusation; and Andre, Celestial's childhood best friend who she leans on for support in the years following Roy's incarceration.
Conversations with Friends follows 21-year-old university student Frances (who is our first person narrator) as she and her best friend Bobbi befriend a married couple in their thirties, Melissa and Nick, and navigate the complex relationships that form between each of them.
Bobbi and I first met Melissa at a poetry night in town, where we were performing together. Melissa took our photograph outside, with Bobbi smoking and me self-consciously holding my left wrist in my right hand, as if I was afraid the wrist was going to get away from me. Melissa used a big professional camera and kept lots of different lenses in a special camera pouch. She chatted and smoked while taking the pictures. She talked about our performance and we talked about her work, which we’d come across on the internet. Around midnight the bar closed. It was starting to rain then, and Melissa told us we were welcome to come back to her house for a drink.
We all got into the back of a taxi together and started fixing up our seat belts. Bobbi sat in the middle, with her head turned to speak to Melissa, so I could see the back of her neck and her little spoon-like ear. Melissa gave the driver an address in Monkstown and I turned to look out the window. A voice came on the radio to say the words: eighties . . . pop. . . classics. Then a jingle played. I felt excited, ready for the challenge of visiting a stranger’s home, already preparing compliments and certain facial expressions to make myself seem charming.
The elevator doors open to the thirty-third floor, and I suck in my breath. I can feel the energy, like candy to the vein, as I look around at the people moving in and out of glass-doored confer- ence rooms like extras on the show Suits, hired for today—for me, for my viewing pleasure alone. The place is in full bloom. I get the feeling that you could walk in here at any hour, any day of the week, and this is what you would see. Midnight on Saturday, Sunday at 8 a.m. It’s a world out of time, functioning on its own schedule.
This is what I want. This is what I’ve always wanted. To be somewhere that stops at nothing. To be surrounded by the pace and rhythm of greatness.
“Ms. Kohan?” A young woman greets me where I stand. She wears a Banana Republic sheath dress, no blazer. She’s a recep- tionist. I know, because all lawyers are required to wear suits at Wachtell. “Right this way.”
Ghosts follows Nina, as she navigates her relationship with her parents, one of whom is suffering from dementia; her friends, who are at the age where they're getting married and having kids; and her new boyfriend Max, who she falls head over heels for almost immediately.
The Dictionary of Lost Words follows Esme, the daughter of a lexicographer working to compile words for publication in the Oxford's English Dictionary as she seeks to create her own dictionary of words that have been overlooked or deemed unimportant by the male-dominant team working on the dictionary.
Scriptorium. It sounds as if it might have been a grand building, where the lightest footstep would echo between marble floor and gilded dome. But it was just a shed, in the back garden of a house in Oxford.
Instead of storing shovels and rakes, the shed stored words. Every word in the English language was written on a slip of paper the size of a postcard. Volunteers posted them from all over the world, and they were kept in bundles in the hundreds of pigeon-holes that lined the shed walls. Dr. Murray was the one who named it the Scriptorium—he must have thought it an indignity for the English language to be stored in a garden shed—but everyone who worked there called it the Scrippy. Everyone but me. I liked the feel of Scriptorium as it moved around my mouth and landed softly between my lips. It took me a long time to learn to say it, and when I finally did nothing else would do.
“Looking for lodgings,” I answered. “Trying to solve the problem as to whether it is possible to get comfortable rooms at a reasonable price.”
“That’s a strange thing,” remarked my companion, “you are the second man to-day that has used that expression to me.”
“And who was the first?” I asked.
“A fellow who is working at the chemical laboratory up at the hospital. He was bemoaning himself this morning because he could not get some one to go halves with him in some nice rooms which he had found, and which were too much for his purse.”
“By Jove!” I cried; “if he really wants some one to share the rooms and the expense, I am the very man for him. I should prefer having a partner to being alone.”
Young Stamford looked rather strangely at me over his wine glass. “You don’t know Sherlock Holmes yet,” he said; “perhaps you would not care for him as a constant companion.”
If you're struggling with nailing point of view in your own story, I can help! I offer a range of editorial services including a manuscript critique which focuses on POV, as well as other larger elements of your story such as characterisation, plot, pacing, structure and dialogue.
Until the next time!