Real-Life Moments in Fiction

Every now and then, while reading a work of fiction, I'll come across a part which stands out to me particularly as being very true to life.   Either I've felt exactly as the author is describing a certain character to be feeling; or the words spoken by one of the characters is just what I would expect a real person to say in such a situation; or I've seen a friend, a family member--or myself--behave just as the character I'm reading about is behaving.  Whatever it is, there's something that resonates with me and I find myself musing over the fact that this author "really understands people." 

So, today I thought I'd share with you a few of the snippets which have stuck out to me in this way.   Most likely they won't strike you the same as they did me (for after all, everybody's different...and you have the disadvantage just now of jumping into the story mid-way, instead of reading it from the beginning), but I really like these parts and would like to share them with someone.  So, that's what I'm going to do.

Kidnapped by Robert Louis Stevenson  (Chapter XXIV)

And yes Alan had behaved like a child and (what is worse) a treacherous child.  Wheedling my money from me while I lay half-conscious, was scarce better than theft; and yet here he was trudging by my side, without a penny to his name, and by what I could see, quite blithe to sponge upon the money he had driven me to beg.  True, I was ready to share it with him; but it made me rage to see him count upon my readiness.

     These were the two things uppermost in my mind; and I could open my mouth upon neither without black ungenerosity.  So I did the next worst, and said nothing, nor so much as looked once at my companion, save with the tail of my eye.

..."Ye had better let me take your pack," said he, for perhaps the ninth time since we had parted from the scout beside Loch Rannoch.

     "I do very well, I thank you," said I, as cold as ice.

     Alan flushed darkly.  "I'll not offer it again," he said.  "I'm not a patient man, David."

     "I never said you were," said I, which was exactly the rude, silly speech of a boy of ten.

"The rude silly speech of a boy of ten."  Isn't that so true?  We can be such unreasonable creatures when we're upset.  For me, personally, this is a very accurate description of how I often feel (and behave) when a friend or family member does something to offend me.  I give the offending party the silent treatment, and insist on being huffy and unhappy until I'm satisfied that they're sufficiently disgusted with themselves.  And of course, the whole time I'm quite certain that they're acting very childish...while all the while I'm acting more so. 


Jo's Boys by Lousia May Alcott

Emil cheered up at once, and sitting with his arm about his "dear lass," in true sailor fashion told the happy ending of the tale.

     "Such a jolly old time as we had at Hamburg.  Uncle Hermann couldn't do enough for the captain, and while mamma took care of him, Mary looked after me.  I had to go into dock for repairs; fire hurt my eyes, and watching for a sail and want of sleep made 'em as hazy as a London fog.  She was pilot and brought me in all right, you see, only I couldn't part company, so she came aboard as first mate, and I'm bound for glory now."

     "Hush! that's silly, dear," whispered Mary, trying in her turn to stop him, with English shyness about tender topics.

That last line of Mary's.  I don't know why, but to me it's such an adorable little line, and I can totally see a young wife saying that to her husband.  Sometimes it's the smallest things--just a few simple words, put together correctly--that paint the largest pictures in one's mind. 


Pride and Prejudice by Jane Austen 

     'If I were as rich as Mr. Darcy,' cried a young Lucas who came with his sisters, 'I should not care how proud I was.  I would keep a pack of foxhounds, and drink a bottle of wine every day.'

     'Then you would drink a great deal more than you ought,' said Mrs. Bennet; 'and if I were to see you at it I should take away your bottle directly.'
     The boy protested that she should not; she continued to declare that she would, and the argument ended only with the visit.

This part has always struck me as singularly interesting...not because of it's significance to the story, but because of it's being so ridiculously normal.  I mean, isn't it crazy how often we engage in silly arguments over what we would and wouldn't do in a certain situation--when all the time the chances of us ever being in such a situation are pretty much nil?  It's hilarious, really.  (And exactly the sort of conversation one would expect from Mrs. Bennet.  Heehee.)


David Copperfield by Charles Dickens

[For context: While attending school, David was elected by his fellow classmates to regale them with stories every night before going to sleep.]

Poor Traddles--I never think of that boy but with a strange disposition to laugh, and with tears in my eyes--was a sort of chorus, in general, and affected to be convulsed with mirth at the comic parts, and to be overcome with fear when there was any passage of an alarming character in the narrative.  This rather put me out, very often.  It was a great jest of his, I recollect, to pretend that he couldn't keep his teeth from chattering, whenever mention was made of an Alquazil in connection with the adventures of Gil Blas; and I remember that when Gil Blas met the captain of the robbers in Madrid, this unlucky joker counterfeited such an ague of terror, that he was overheard by Mr. Creakle, who was prowling about the passage, and handsomely flogged for disorderly conduct in the bedroom.

Okay.  I love this description of Traddles.  It's perfect.  Pretending to be "convulsed with mirth" and "overcome with fear."  Haha!  That is just how fun-loving, goofy little boys act!  I can totally see it.  And that's what's so cool about this paragraph.  It doesn't really forward the plot of the story, but it truly adds to the realism of it.  Reading this, and combining it in my mind with my own personal knowledge of children (and I'm not excluding myself here, either, because I was  a pretty goofy kid when I was little.  Just ask my mom), I'm left with an extraordinarily vivid picture of childhood.  It's amazing.

So tell me what you think. 

Do these passages strike you as being particularly true to life?

Do small, insignificant parts like these ever stick out to you when you're reading?