My post about choosing the perfect POV explored what POVs are and how to use them to best effect, but there are unfortunately a lot of mistakes you can make with this plot framing tactic. Let’s get into them and show exactly why they suck so much.

Key Elements of a Good POV

These elements will be crucial to what I’m about to discuss, so pay attention. They might not be what you expect.

Consistency: We know who is talking and when, either because this is a single POV or because the multiple POVs are structured effectively.

Coherency: The POV perspective has a consistent voice and way of presenting information; we get to understand the character through what they say.

Trust in Narrative: Because we who are familiar with who is talking, we trust what they are saying – or we know when not to trust them.

Adequate Insight: The POV character should be able to tell us enough about the circumstances that we understand, but not so much that we get bored. There should be gaps in the POV’s understanding so that there is mystery for the reader.

Involvement: The POV character should be intimately involved with the plot, either shaping it or being directly affected by it. An innocent bystander is the least useful POV you can have.

Alright now, we are hopefully on common ground. Now we can review the most common POV mistakes you may experience, as well as some helpful suggestions for how to refine your book’s perspective.

Head Hopping

This is bog-standard advice so I won’t stress it too much. Essentially, if you have a POV, you need to stick with that POV. However, head hopping isn’t always as obvious as you might believe.

For example, this sentence is head hopping.

“Lula looked over at Brian, whose eyes were glazed over in thought as he mentally reviewed the training exercise.”

Because we are not in Brian’s POV, we don’t know whether he’s actually mentally reviewing the training exercise. He could be thinking of what he wants for dinner or whether the police found the 20 bodies buried under his garage.

If a non-POV character doesn’t say something, we can’t definitively know what they’re thinking, as I explained in my post about Theory of Mind. And even them saying something doesn’t necessarily mean we know for a fact what they are thinking, because they could be lying or avoiding telling us something important.

Now, the closer two characters are, the more they will understand one another and be able to predict one another’s thoughts. This is a main element of my third book, Funeral of Hopes, where it’s shown how Uileac uses his strategist’s mind to analyze his husband.

But it would be weird if some stranger off the street, or even two coworkers, could do that. So don’t do that.

Too Many POVs

If you look at any list of the greatest books of all time, you will notice something: almost all include a singular POV. There are a few reasons why, in general, it is crucial to stick to one POV whenever possible or to severely limit the POVs.

When readers get to intimately know a character, they are invested in that character. Said investment drives engagement.

By receiving a continuous narrative from one character, the entire plot feels more coherent. There are no strange time jumps, and it is easier to forgive glossing over certain elements.

Readers sometimes feel they are getting “skimpier” content when there are multiple POVs that have to summarize time jumps or relitigate prior plot points. The text is too busy having a conversation with itself to include the reader.

Sticking to one POV reduces the cognitive load on the reader. They don’t need to remember who is telling the story in this chapter.

Paradoxically, readers may feel they are receiving more insight into the world than if there were multiple perspectives. They are privy to the entire mindset of the character and their unique interpretation of the plot, which can help readers understand the surroundings.

Leaving other characters opaque adds greater mystery. We never hear that character’s inner monologue, and so we can’t fully understand their motivations.

When the most beloved books do have multiple POVs, those are done in a linear, structured way; there will be a chapter from one perspective, then another, and so on.

This way, readers know that if chapter is from one POV, the next one will be from another. Readers can then anticipate whose perspective they will inhabit. Over time, they’ll be primed to switch their mindset from one POV to the next.

Fragmentary POVs

Here’s another, more specific aspect of using too many POVs that I must call out because I see it more often than I would like.

While I enjoyed the book The Voyage of the Narwhal, I had a serious problem with the fragmentary POVs. Barrett interjects a variety of smaller POVs into the story, usually just through their diary entries or so on.

Off the top of the head, I remember her delving into at least six different POVs. That is way too much, especially when they’re all jumbled together with short sections.

Fragmented POVs tend to be more of a problem in literary fiction; Our Lady of the Forest does a very similar thing. And I would not put either of these books in my top ten for any genre.

The purpose of these fragmentary POVs is usually to create a richer, more lived-in world. What it actually does is yank the reader around, making them struggle to get absorbed in another characters’ head. This is especially true if you only add a certain POV for a very limited amount of time; then it just feels like you got bored and added someone else because you couldn’t think of what to do with your standard POV.

Your number of POVs is inversely proportional to the level of reader investment in any one perspective. More POVs = less interest in a single character, and therefore less interest overall.

I will strongly argue that The Voyage of the Narwhal would have been a far more gripping and interesting book if Barrett had focused only on Erasmus’s perspective. If she wanted to go through multiple POVs, she could have picked Erasmus’s sister, Lavinia, who stays in Philadelphia. All the random extraneous POVs that pop up for like one paragraph are annoying, confusing, and dilute reader investment.

It’s especially disappointing that this was a traditionally published book from a well-known imprint. Goes to show that you write one good tradpub book and they just let you do whatever.

Disengaged POVs

I occasionally read some history books as part of my broader reading material, and I’m always struck by how great historians can write with such passion – but also such detachment.

They don’t insert their opinions on what happened, but they write as if they are really there and this is an emerging situation. Every description feels fresh, immediate, immersive.

Genghis Khan and the Making of the Modern World is an incredible example of this, like all of Jack Weatherford’s books. Some science books, like Mary Roach’s Stiff or V.S. Ramachandran’s Phantoms in the Brain, also successfully pull off such immersion. I admire all of these authors very much and have learned some amazing facts from their work.

It is always disappointing, then, to see fiction writers using POVs that strip engagement. They write with an academic detachment, without any character participation in the narrative. There are no asides that show us how the MC’s actions may be in opposition to their inner desire or how they interpret the events before them.

The POV character is truly our eyes into the story. Behind said eyes is an imaginary brain. Because we are sitting inside the POV person, we should get to hear their interpretations and feel their feelings as if we have merged with them.

That may sound creepy; I don’t mean it to be. Rather, I’m trying to show that the more deeply you can sit inside a character, the more you can feel them, the more immersive your work will be.

As Robert Frost said, “No tears in the writer, no tears in the reader. No surprise in the writer, no surprise in the reader.”

You’ve got to cry a little if you want the reader to cry. This requires diving deep into the character and channeling their thoughts.

Now, I will say this. There are some excellent authors who can use a detached POV while still producing an engaging narrative. Emile Zola is beloved for his journalistic descriptions and surgically precise social criticism, but what makes his stories interesting is the extremely human characters that shine through in the cold narrative style.

But that is extremely hard. It’s a unique skill which I’ve noted in 19th century European fiction (mainly French), but not so much in other genres or eras. I don’t have that ability and don’t think I’d ever be able to develop it. You might fare better, but you’d have to be diligent.

Incurious POVs

Nosy MCs are the most compelling MCs. Take Bilbo Baggins, for example. He could have said no to Gandalf, but something in him itched for adventure. That call was irresistible to Bilbo, whereas another hobbit would have slammed the door in Gandalf’s face.

That’s also why some of the most memorable characters in fiction come from adventure (curious about what lies beyond) and mystery (curious about what caused a problem). Readers are reassured that the MC is doing everything they can to provide more information; it’s intriguing because we feel like we’re following along with the character.

A bad POV takes everything at face value and doesn’t follow up with anything. They are there to tell you one singular story, damnit, and they don’t want you griping about what they offer.

In general, these types of stories feel very wooden: you never forget that the author is trying to take you in a certain direction because the POV is unwaveringly direct. We’re on a train headed to Plot Station and nothing can slow it down.

You’ll know you have an incurious POV when there’s no sense of mystery, no matter how small. The MC does not speculate, does not consider alternative options, doesn’t get a bad feeling about a small detail. When inhabiting this kind of POV, I often feel like I’m wearing blinders and can’t look around.

There’s a way to fix this, of course. Make your POV character wonder. Develop a sense of curiosity.

Make yourself wonder, too. We often get so fixated on the end result – getting to the big reveal and eventually publishing – that we don’t want to look around our fictional scene.

Take a breather and relax. Sit with things a bit. You’ll pick up on small details you want to include.

Your feelings toward your work will influence reader opinions and reactions. Those who are utterly obsessed with their work often have the most compelling POVs and therefore the most engaging works.

I’m not one of the Greats; I never will be and don’t pretend otherwise. However, I spend a lot of time reflecting on my plots, puzzling over small details, and connecting it back to the series’ overarching narrative.

Often, it feels like my stories just can’t leave me alone. A certain song on the radio, or a factoid in a book, or a nice conversation with someone will ignite everything again and I’ll feel possessed.

The stories feel real to me, and so they feel real to others. I dig myself in a character’s brainstem and stick there the whole book. Sometimes, when I’m editing, I actually hear dialogue or inner monologue in the character’s voice.

Surely that sounds like a mental illness. Maybe they’ll update the DSM to include Writing Disease. Still, it’s an incredibly useful skill and one you can develop over time.

Characters are a gateway drug to a lifelong addiction, one of obsession with your books. Get cooking.