I Need a Uriah Heep.

Last entry, I made a wee promise to myself that I would finish my book's outline by this Wednesday. I'm proud to say that I only half-broke my promise, in that I did outline quite a bit of the book. The best part of the exercise is that it bred other ideas. The plot was popping and crackling behind my eyes when I tried to sleep and caused me to clap my hands in excitement while toiling tirelessly away in my little gray cube. Not all of the ideas were good (I don't think I'll be introducing a musical prodigy named Symphony) but some of them I have come to believe are crucial to the plot. One of those ideas was the realization that my central conflict needs a villain. Okay, the more literary term is "antagonist" but "villain" implies all that fabulous slimy sneaky stuff that I'm going for.

And I want a subtle, non-violent villain. The kind that give you the heebie jeebies but are seemingly innocent. The kind of sleazy asshole that you probably have to work with every day. That guy who starts sentences with "Well, in my opinion . . . " He doesn't say anything directly rude or creepy, but it's there. And then one day you find out that he collects finger nail trimmings and has been mailing them in scented envelopes to his co-workers.

It's not surprising that the first villain I thought of was Uriah Heep, because David Copperfield is my favorite book. Not a popular choice with English majors, but I'm a maverick. (Just like McCain!) I'm not one of those people who claims they were reading 900-page classics at absurdly young ages, but I did first read David Copperfield at the age of seven. Of course, it wasn't until I was fourteen that I realized my treasured and worn copy was an abridged version. A very, very abridged version made just for little kids. It was probably shorter than Logan Likes Mary Anne (BSC foreva!) and was missing a lot of the sad parts. But I loved it. And when I realized that there were another 860 pages to the story, it was like finding that Kit-Kat you hid in the way-back of the fridge so your husband wouldn't eat it. 

One of the brilliancies (er . . .) of David Copperfield is the characterization. And Uriah Heep is one of the best-drawn characters in literature. He's so described. The way he moves, the way he looks, the way he talks. Just writing about him now has my lip curling in the thrill of distaste. 

Here's one of David's first interactions with Uriah Heep, when David is a child and Uriah a young apprentice, probably about sixteen or seventeen. 

Seeing a light in the little office, and feeling myself attracted towards Uriah Heep, who had a sort of fascination for me, I went in there instead. I found Uriah reading a great fat book, with such demonstrative attention, that his lank forefinger followed up every line he read, and made clammy tracks along the page (or so I fully believed) like a snail.

And if you've ever read the book, you'd recall Heep's writhing out of eagerness to please, his sweaty palms, which he wipes on a pocket handkerchief, and his constant references to being "ever so umble" (humble with an accent). It almost doesn't matter what his crime is; Dickens could have him save a house full of puppies, and we'd still hate him.

I want a Uriah Heep for my book. But he can't, obviously, be Uriah Heep. I can't steal him or re-invent him. I just want my bad guy to be as good.

You four loyal blog readers: I'd love to hear your favorite literary antagonist. I want to study up on this.