How to Write a Convincing Argument in Fiction

Arguments are among the most revealing interactions we can write between characters. A disagreement that begins over something trivial can quickly expose irreconcilable differences in how two people understand the world. But writing a convincing argument requires more than putting two characters in opposition. The novelist must understand not only what each character believes, but why they believe it, as well as what they are unwilling to admit.

One of the most common mistakes in writing arguments is to make characters too articulate. In real life, people rarely express their grievances in a clear, orderly fashion. They interrupt themselves, contradict their earlier statements, introduce irrelevant details, and become distracted by the particular words their opponent has chosen. Often, they don't understand the source of their own anger. A character who can explain precisely what has gone wrong in a relationship may be less convincing than one who struggles to make sense of an obscure but deeply felt dissatisfaction.

We can take, for example, the relationship between the narrator and her housekeeper, Emerence, in Magda Szabó's novel The Door. Their disagreements are ostensibly about practical matters: household arrangements, personal boundaries, and the proper way to care for another person. But beneath these disputes lies a much more complicated struggle over dignity, dependence, and authority. Emerence is employed by the narrator, yet she repeatedly refuses to acknowledge the social hierarchy that employment might imply. 

What makes these confrontations compelling is that neither woman fully understands the other. Each believes herself to be acting out of generosity, yet each is capable of inflicting tremendous pain. Szabó allows their arguments to emerge from incompatible understandings of love and responsibility rather than a straightforward division between right and wrong.

This suggests an important principle: a fictional argument becomes more interesting when both characters possess an internally coherent understanding of the situation. We need not agree with either character, but we should understand what is at stake for each of them.

V. S. Naipaul's A House for Mr Biswas offers another useful example. Mohun Biswas's conflicts with the powerful Tulsi family frequently involve questions of money and respectability. Yet these disputes are inseparable from his desperate desire for independence. A seemingly minor humiliation can provoke a disproportionate response because it confirms his deeper fear that he will never possess a life of his own.

Naipaul is particularly attentive to the social circumstances that make these confrontations possible. Characters do not argue in a vacuum. Their income, status, family relationships, and dependence upon one another determine what they can safely say. An insult delivered by a financially secure character carries a different weight from the same insult delivered by someone who depends upon the listener for shelter. When constructing an argument, then, we should ask not only what the characters disagree about, but what gives each character power over the other.

Another useful technique is to allow characters to talk past one another. One character might demand an apology while the other attempts to establish the facts. One might want reassurance while the other insists upon defending a principle. Because they are seeking different things from the conversation, the disagreement becomes increasingly difficult to resolve.

We see something of this in Toni Morrison's Sula, particularly in the confrontation between Nel and Sula over Sula's betrayal of their friendship. Their disagreement concerns Sula's affair with Nel's husband, Jude, but gradually exposes their fundamentally different understandings of morality, friendship, and personal freedom. Nel approaches the betrayal through the obligations that bind people together; Sula resists the assumption that those obligations should determine how she lives. The characters cannot agree on the terms of the argument they are having. They disagree not only about what happened, but about how the event should be understood.

Of course, a convincing argument must also possess dramatic movement. If two characters simply repeat their opposing positions, the scene will quickly become tedious. Something must change. Writers often understand that a confrontation is necessary without knowing how to shape it. A writing coach can help identify what each character wants from the encounter, where their motivations overlap or conflict, and whether the dialogue adequately reflects their distinctive personalities. During manuscript revision, it can be useful to examine an argument line by line, asking what each statement attempts to accomplish and how it changes the other character's behavior.

A coach might also suggest rewriting a confrontation from the opposing character's perspective, even if that perspective never appears in the finished novel. Such an exercise can reveal motives the author has overlooked and prevent one character from becoming an overly simplified obstacle to another.

Finally, we should resist the temptation to resolve every argument. Some of the most memorable confrontations in literature end not with reconciliation, but with a new awareness of the distance between two people. A character may win the argument and lose the relationship. Another may concede a point while remaining secretly unconvinced.

The purpose of an argument in fiction is not necessarily to establish who is right. Rather, it is to reveal what happens when two human beings, each with their own private understanding of the world, discover that they cannot quite make themselves understood.