S.B. Stewart-Laing's Blog, page 19

Moff's Law, Genre Expectations, an the MST3K Mantra, Part II

‘If you're wondering how he eats and breathes / And other science facts / Then repeat to yourself “It's just a show, / I should really just relax.”’
-MysteryScience Theater 3000 theme song
‘First of all, when we analyze art, when we look for deeper meaning in it, we are enjoying it for what it is. Because that is one of the things about art, be it highbrow, lowbrow, mainstream, or avant-garde: Some sort of thought went into its making — even if the thought was, “I’m going to do this as thoughtlessly as possible”! — and as a result, some sort of thought can be gotten from its reception.’-Excerpted from the glorious rant which spawned Moff’s Law

(Yes, I reposted the quotes up top for easy access)

The other day, I saw a cranky review of the new Star Trek movie (which I highly recommend, by the way), which took issue with the unrealistic science goings-on in the movie. My very first 'gut' reaction was 'lighten up! It's Star Trek!'. Now, as someone who does pick on sci-fi stories for sloppy science research, and goes nuts on historical fiction stories which get things wrong, this is admittedly a bit hypocritical. But here's my justification-- Star Trek is it's own self-referential universe, and as I explained in my last post, there's some genre expectations which go along with that. It's A Thing in the world of Star Trek that faster-than-light travel exists, and I accept that as part of the fictional universe. My accuracy peeves are generally about stories which try or claim to represent real-world science, and get it wrong.

That's the key point. Stories always have some interaction with reality, whether decisions about what behaviours or values are 'good' or 'bad', or the subtleties of how characters of different genders or abilities or races are portrayed. Warp drive is something that we accept because it makes the plot go and is one of the built-in features of the Star Trek universe, and discussing whether or not it's 'scientific' is basically an exercise in dismantling suspension of disbelief. However, in areas where the story interacts with the real world-- either by in-universe material or in a more 'meta' way, such as casting decisions-- discussion is totally worthwhile. Stories transmit so much information, whether consciously intended by the creators or not, and we need to think critically about the information we're absorbing. 

Moff's Law, Genre Expectations, and The MST3K Mantra, Part I

‘If you're wondering how he eats and breathes / And other science facts / Then repeat to yourself “It's just a show, / I should really just relax.”’
-MysteryScience Theater 3000 theme song
‘First of all, when we analyze art, when we look for deeper meaning in it, we are enjoying it for what it is. Because that is one of the things about art, be it highbrow, lowbrow, mainstream, or avant-garde: Some sort of thought went into its making — even if the thought was, “I’m going to do this as thoughtlessly as possible”! — and as a result, some sort of thought can be gotten from its reception.’-Excerpted from the glorious rant which spawned Moff’s Law
The other day, I was clicking through the Amazon listings of an erotic romance author whose Twitter I follow, when I came across a spectacularly clueless comment. I won't reproduce it in its entirety, but it's main thrust was that they (the reader) were giving the book a low rating due to it having too much sex. Seriously? This is an erotic romance, which by definition is basically well-written sex scenes held together by a thin glue of plot. I'm honestly not sure how anyone could deliberately click through to this section and buy a book and not have the expectation it would be cover-to-cover descriptions of hot people getting their rocks off. 
Although I generally encourage critical thought about basically everything, I'm never sure how to deal with instances where the issue is some trope which is integral to the genre. This isn't about tropes which have become associated with a genre-- for example, cozy murder mysteries have a high probability of nosy old ladies, but the sleuth could just as easily be a bright young college student and the genre would hold. The murder, however, is absolutely required to make the thing a murder mystery, and anyone who complains that OMG there's a dead body in the story should really have a go at another section of the library. 
There's a lot of confusion, I think, about things which have become genre cliches or associated set pieces-- castles and dragons and absolute monarchies and pre-industrial societies in Fantasyland, for example-- and which things are the defining elements of the genre. This is what separates 'not liking the genre' from 'pointing out/dealing with problematic tropes/ideas/standards within the genre' and forms a line between genre-bashing and meaningful discussion about how to make fiction more diverse, interesting, and creative. 

Describing Attractive Characters

Human attraction is a funny thing. A good deal of it is driven by subconscious factors-- our genetics, our cultural upbringing, our sense of smell, our body chemistry-- but a lot of it is plain old personal taste. Because of this, it's hard to write a universal hottie.

One approach is to tell the reader how appealing this character is in vague terms, like 'sexy', 'beautiful' or 'stunning', with a few minimalist descriptions of things like skin colour. On one hand, this allows the reader to fill in the blanks with their own fantasy, which is better for that specific reader than whatever the author could conjure up. In a genre such as romance or action-adventure, which is focused on reader wish-fulfillment, this may be a good solution, because it encourages the reader to actively immerse themselves in the fantasy rather than being a passive recipient. On the other hand, readers in other genres, in which the specifics of a character are more in focus, it may leave the reader with a fuzzy mental picture and the feeling of an underdeveloped character.

The other approach, which I favour, is to show the attractive character through another character's eyes. Notice the specific things which the PoV character finds particularly alluring. These are features specific to both the observer and the observed, and tell us a lot about the psychology of the PoV character as well as the love interest. It's certainly a more realistic portrayal of how we feel attraction, although it's then harder for the reader to project themselves into the romance.

Personally I don't think there's a general 'right' or 'wrong' way to do this, just what's best for your story and your intentions.

The Pedestal Problem

The other day, I was having a conversation with someone who said they were sick of certain groups claiming a 'moral superiority' over a group which has historically made their lives miserable (and continues to cause issues in various ways). Actually, I think this person has a point, albeit not the one that was intended. More specifically, it reminded me how much damage can be done by trying to 'balance out' negative stereotypes about an oppressed group by showing them as, well, morally superior.

The result, while possibly well-intended, doesn't actually solve the problem. It just creates a new one. Showing a group of people-- and the component individuals-- as paragons of Special who can do no wrong can be almost as damaging as relying on an offensive negative stereotype. It's about turning a group into the Other, even if that's an Other who is unrealistically pure. It's about reducing people to a role and an image and taking away the individuality and flaws that make someone human.

On a more insidious level, it's about erasing justifiable anger. The ideal Other is kind, wise, helpful, and full of quirky humour about their status as different from the accepted norm. They react to the frustrations and indignities and injustices of their life with calm and optimism. They gently and patiently educate the Generic Clueless White Everydude about their culture and make him a more enlightened person by signing off on his cultural appropriation spree, so that he can impress his friends and defeat his enemies with whatever ancient technique. They patiently accept their lot, and don't overshadow the lead character's conflict with their problems.

Finally, it implies that the Other can't have problems unrelated to their Other-ness, whether these are society-wide or individual. By holding up a society as a utopia of noble savages who are perfectly in tune with nature, you not only cause readers to barf, but ignore reality. Native Americans get the 'peaceful noble savage' thing a lot-- usually paired with a white person who is guilty about their people wrecking the environment-- while in reality there were multi-nation wars and feuds and treaties as complicated and violent and dramatic as, say the 30 Years War in Europe. And certainly any society has its oversights and failings, and individuals who fall through the cracks.

I think the key distinction is that while a group may have the 'high ground' as far as issues which have direct bearing on their human rights, individual human beings are just that-- human beings.

Thinking About Author Intent

Find a comment war on the internet about whether or not something is offensive, and you'll probably find a heated argument about what the author/artist/poster/speaker intended. Often, this is a variation of 'no offense'; someone defending something problematic instead of apologising or genuinely exploring the issue.

However, when looking at literature, or a primary source, I find it very helpful to think about what the author intended and if that's different from your reading. (This certainly applies to TV and movies, but it's a bit messier, given the more collaborative nature of the medium). Even if you think the author was totally off-base, thinking about what they intended to convey and why they failed allows for a more nuanced understanding. 
First, look for satire. Because different authors and cultures convey this in different ways, it's not always obvious, and there are numerous famous examples of works that have been read as totally serious when they're in fact satirical. 
Second, it's a good idea to look at cultural context. A lot of critical stuff can get lost in translation and completely change the meaning of the story. For example, I was discussing a relatively mediocre Japanese movie (the name of which I've totally forgotten) with my mom, and she was confused about one scene in which someone received a business card, and it was treated as a pivotal moment. Actually, business cards are, well, serious business in Japanese culture. Viewers in Japan would be expected to know this, while for American viewers, the scene was weird and pointless. 
There can also be cross-cultural misunderstandings on a larger scale, based on a difference in core values. For example, there's a German fairy tale from the middle ages about a poor orphaned boy who shows his devotion to God by offering his food to the crucifix at his church. The pious boy then dies mid church service. This comes off as some combination of tragic and creepy to modern readers, but it was honestly intended to have a happy ending, since its audience (in a culture with lots of emphasis on the afterlife) saw the story as 'boy doesn't have to suffer anymore-- he got whisked off to Heaven! Yay!'. 
Whether you're doing research by reading primary sources, scouring for ideas, or just enjoying yourself, it's a good idea to go beyond the face value of a story-- particularly if it comes off as offensive or troubling-- and look for the complexities that make it fail or work. 

Paying off the Conflict

Unless you're watching an avant garde art film, the main reason you keep following a story is your desire to see how it 'all turns out'. By this, I mean we want the showdown between competing businesses, or the hero and the monster, or to see whether the protagonist can get over their crippling psychological conflict. The scale of this moment varies depending on the tone of the story-- it could be as simple and understated as a character coming to an internal decision, or as dramatic as a battle between spaceships.
And because we are so familiar with story structure on a subconsious level, we get very disappointed when the conflict fails to pay out.

I'm not suggesting that you follow formula. Rather, that you keep track of the building tensions in the story and resolve those main storylines as dramatically as you can within the tone and context of the story. For example, one of the reasons the ending of In the Flesh annoyed me so much (and what showed it up as a blatant example of Bury Your Gays) is that the viewers got robbed of the awesome four-way showdown that had been brewing for most of the series between the hero, his sister, the hero's best friend/love interest, and the love interest's parents. All parties had strong motives, three quarters had guns, one was an established crazypants, and two were shown to be kickass snipers-- a recipe for excitement. But instead of an epic shootout and shouting match, we got an offscreen death and some halfhearted yelling and moping from the main character. Totally disappointing.

The main idea is that the payoff needs to be proportionate to the buildup. The more the conflict escalates in the story, the bigger and more dramatic a resolution the reader expects. And as the author, that's what you need to deliver. 

On Privilege, Guilt, and Research

I'm not a fan of 'white guilt'. Or for than matter, male guilt, hertero-guilt, or any other variation of people feeling ashamed of their privilege. It's not because I'm against people acknowledging their unearned advantages in life. Rather, I dislike 'privilege guilt' because guilt is about paralysis and avoidance. This emotional response comes from a place of compassion, but ends up creating more barriers between the privileged and the Other.

In the context of writing, privilege guilt can present a barrier to research and exploration, and ultimately, a barrier to diversity in Fictionland. I've encountered people who felt bad writing about people who are disabled, or of a different sexual orientation, or another race. Or people who felt bad about researching the Other, and, ironically, ended up relying on stereotypes or 'I don't see colour' attitudes to populate their stories. Both approaches yield the same result-- a cast of characters who reflect the author. In practice, this means Fictionland has a disproportionate population of straight, able-bodied, vaguely Christian, middle-class white/Anglo-European folks, and a severe lack of everyone else.

Step one to fixing this is to get over the guilt barrier and become comfortable writing character who aren't from your immediate sphere of experience. Forget writing about the '[X demographic] experience'. That's the stuff annoying stereotypes are made of. Plus it calls forth the guilt-- what if I misrepresent all disabled people ever. Let your characters be individuals whose experiences and attitudes are shaped by aspects of their group identity, but also by their own personalities, their own particular lives.  Research is your friend. If you do your basic homework, go forth an ask smart questions. I've found that most people-- aside from the generally surly ones-- are happy to talk about themselves and their experiences if they know someone is genuinely listening.

Characters With Interview Flaws

One thing which makes a reader's Mary Sue sense tingle is a character whose alleged flaws are not really flaws at all. These are the characters the reader is told that this character's flaws are that he or she is too kind or too heroic or too dedicated to their work. Usually, this is fairly barf-inducing.

Actually, I think that with a bit of skilled writing, these 'interview flaws' can develop into true detrimental character traits. Some double-edged quality, which can be a virtue, but turns to a liability based on degree or circumstance, can be a fresh and interesting way to cause problems for the characters. Furthermore, it adds a layer of emotional conflict for the reader-- we admire a character's good quality, and immediately empathise. This means it's all the more tragic when that positive trait lands the character in serious trouble.

The key to writing an 'interview flaw' is that the negative consequences are chased up in full. One way to do this is with trait exaggeration. Perhaps your hero who is 'too empathetic' gets into trouble constantly because they cannot resist helping someone in distress-- even if that person is clearly a self-destructive disaster who's going to drag the hero down with them. Perhaps your character who is 'too hardworking' ignores their physical and emotional health, and sacrifices all their personal relationships in favour of a little more overtime.  Another way is context. For example, a character who thinks the best of people and gives second chances easily may be an easy mark for more ruthless schemers, and could potentially lose their ability to accomplish any good deeds if they don't adapt. Or someone's generosity may be exploited by people who want their emotional or material resources.

With a bit of thought about consequences, these 'interview flaws' can become the source of major conflict for your characters, and create lots of ethical and emotional dilemmas.

The Limits of Speculative Fiction as Metaphor

As I said in a previous post, speculative fiction offers a uniquely flexible arena for exploring social issues or ethical dilemmas outside of their sensitive real-life context. However, there is a difference between developing 'applicability' (as Tolkien called it) and trying for a one-to-one fantasy parallel to a real-world situation.

 The flip side of being able to detach speculative fiction scenarios from the immediate concerns of the real world is that a fantastical situation has its own unique nuances. It's important to let your hypothetical develop in its own right, rather than forcing it to conform to a set of expectations and concepts that don't belong in that fictional world.

One of the misaimed analogies I see a lot is prejudice against vampires (or some other supernatural creature) standing in for prejudice against racial groups (or sexual orientation, or religion, or the like). Unfortunately, there's an obvious problem. The supernatural creatures, for the most part, are legitimately dangerous, and some even purposely prey on humans. The fear is completely reasonable. So when you compare this to unreasonable fears, such as prejudice against a particular religious group, it doesn't stack up.

Also, characters in speculative fiction may have tools available to them which we don't have in the real world.  Perhaps your characters can fit a blind person with bionic eyes or go back in time or read minds, so they have the ability to solve problems which would not normally be solveable.

I think the main idea here is to create a world and situations that prompt critical thought and discussion, rather than try to dissect specifics. If you allow the world of the story to be true to its own rules and morality, you will have a much more compelling story.

Fictional Introverts vs Fictional Extroverts

A few months ago, there were a series of articles around the 'net debating whether or not there are enough intoverted protagonists in YA fiction. The original article argued that there are not enough introvert leads, while the other pointed to a slew of characters who self-identify as quiet and shy.

Actually, I think both bloggers are right. While there are lots of examples of main characters--particularly in YA, or in fantasy stories staring teenagers-- of introvert characters, many of these stories place a great deal of emphasis on the characters overcoming their shyness and kicking ass, as though it was a flaw rather than a personality trait*. In all fairness, extrovert characters are often written as being generally loud and sassy, but don't get a lot of depth.

One way to get out of this trap is to think about the two personality types more deeply. Although the shy vs loud stereotype can certainly have some truth, it's not the only manifestation of introversion or extroversion. Essentially, introverts are people who need alone time to process and recharge, and work best independently (preferably in their own heads); extroverts are people who need company (the more the merrier!) to recharge, and work best with groups where they can brainstorm and think aloud. It's totally possible to have 'bold introverts' who enjoy parties, public speaking and other stereotypical extrovert activities, but then need some time alone to re-energise. Likewise, one can have shy extroverts who have trouble meeting new people, even if they love the company of their existing social group. And almost everyone modifies their behaviour depending on social context.

Secondly, it's a good idea to look at the traits associated with each personality group instead of reverting to the 'wallflower' and 'class clown' types.  It would be great to see characters really taking advantage of their personalities-- have an extrovert 'working the room' at a party, or an introvert using their sensitivity to detail to solve a mystery. Instead of having the person 'overcome' their personality, let them figure out ways to use their natural strengths.

If you want a more detailed exploration of all this, I'd recommend the book Quiet by Susan Cain. It focuses on introverts, but there's lots of info about extroverts as well-- great food for thought when you're developing your characters.

*Personally, I'm an introvert (INTJ, for all you first-year psych students).