Drugs and Poisons

So, as is now apparent, drugs and poisons are something Kyoko is linked with. And I think that this provides a good opportunity to showcase some of how I approach character design and writing more generally. There are a lot of details in that character element that are worth examining.

Because most people know very little about these things. They might know some of the names, but even that’s limited, because people rarely use chemical names for things, rarely use generic names. Slang terms and trade names are often the only ones people know. You might have an idea what ecstasy is, in this context, but not have a clue that it’s called methylenedioxymethamphetamine. Similarly, plenty of people take an over-the-counter acid reducer called Zantac. They will mostly not know that Zantac is the trade name being applied to a drug called famotidine, much less know that in the past Zantac was the trade name applied to a different, related drug called ranitidine, nor that the change happened because ranitidine was recalled after it was found to decay into a carcinogenic compound when stored for a prolonged time.

Obviously, I know these things. And the fact that I know these things is in itself significant in what it says about me, I think. It hints at my biomedical education. It suggests my considerable experience with drugs, and the fact that I use the word drug to describe medications rather than only for illicit drugs suggests things about my attitude on the topic. These things are not explicitly stated (except I just did, I suppose), but the meaning is implicit, even if someone doesn’t fully register why these things create that impression. Subconscious awareness still happens.

So, look at Kyoko. She routinely refers to drugs by proper names and is clearly familiar with the pharmacology. She knows that, for example, belladonna induces hallucination by acting as a deliriant (and what the difference is between a deliriant, a psychedelic, and a dissociative, which are the main classes of hallucinogen). She knows how to recognize different kinds of necrosis on sight. And even if someone doesn’t really think about it, the implications are pretty direct and they hint at her education before she’s actually mentioned the cog-neuro degree in the story itself.

So, why do I incorporate this? There are a lot of reasons. One is just that there is a reason for the old writer’s adage of “write what you know”. My life has given me a lot of information on some pretty unusual topics. It’s natural that I would include those in my writing, and in some measure it’s why Kyoko has the qualities she does. She’s a mentally ill nerd with a lot of sensory oddities, biomedical and psychiatric education, loose cognitive connections, and porous sexual boundaries. I am these things as well, which makes it easier for me to write her. The subtle meaning is also there, those implications that a reader might pick up on without quite realizing it.

But there are other elements that even the implication won’t be there. When I first introduced her collection of poisonous plants, I spent hours confirming various pharmacology details and synthesis pathways, because I wanted to make sure it was representative, that a wide variety of mechanisms of toxicity were represented. It’s very unlikely that anyone, reading that list of plants, will note this pattern. But incorporating it helps me establish the character in my own mind, and it helps me find her voice and personality more clearly.

And, finally, it also creates a second series of implications upon review. There are things that have been foreshadowed in that discussion, and these underlying traits become more apparent and disturbing when seen with the information later provided. This is important to me, even though, as with the previous element, it’s unlikely to be noticed by most people. It’s only on rereading it that things might feel obvious.

In this case, to continue the example, Kyoko mentions in the narration that most poisons don’t affect her much, that natural poisons are particularly low-impact, and that she’s pretty safe from her own collection. I don’t think most people will likely notice the implications of this, at a glance, but they’re pretty apparent if you think about it. She’s clearly not speaking hypothetically here. She doesn’t just know that she’s resistant to toxins, she knows which she’s more or less resistant to and she’s confident that her own collection of poisonous plants is likely harmless. That much detail is unlikely to have happened without personal experience. Kyoko has clearly been poisoned before, and there’s at least an implication that she’s experienced several of the poisons she has on hand. Why?

And the answer to that question becomes apparent later. Not even much later, it’s in the first book still. Kyoko’s mother died in a confusing, disturbing, and traumatic way, and Kyoko has carried the scars from that event throughout her life. She has a fixation on understanding her environment that’s in part driven by that trauma. She’s looked into it extensively trying to make the story she’s heard make sense to her. Importantly, her mother’s death also probably involved exposure to chemical weapons, but the weirdness around that death makes it hard to say with confidence how that relates to her dying.

So, I think this suggests the reason Kyoko knows this pretty clearly. Kyoko has a fixation on understanding, a need to understand her mother’s death in particular, questions about how her mother’s inhuman nature might have interacted with sarin, and little concern for her own safety. She has poisoned herself—repeatedly—trying to figure out how it affects her and then work backwards to how it might affect a fully-blooded raiju. And while she’s resistant to the effects, she isn’t immune. She’s made herself sick on a number of occasions, and she’s aware that if she pushes the dose high enough it probably is possible to die from this. She did it anyway.

When considered in that light, her collection of poisonous plants doesn’t seem so funny anymore. Initially it was introduced as a running gag, as though this were just a personal quirk. It might even register as a Chekhov’s gun, a tool she has that will be important later. But it still seems funny, at the time. In hindsight, when you know this history and motivation, the meanings are a lot darker.

By doing this, I build understanding and a complexity of the character. I create the potential for callbacks and discussion later on to evoke that emotional shift. I establish her voice both for myself and to the reader. This is the kind of subtle detail that I try to include when I write, and I think it is precisely this quality that people seem to respond well to in my characters.