Unwarranted Criticism: How Not to Analyze Writing
When analyzing any work of fiction, critics (amateur and professional) are quick to point out that which they perceive as a weakness. It’s in the nature of humans to lean toward negativity and a tendency to embrace harsh opinion—especially in the case of confirmation basis. If you go into your critique expecting the worst piece of garbage you’ve ever read, then that’s what you’ll get. Your mind will even trick you into thinking that minor details are substantial chinks in the armor of an otherwise solid narrative.
That’s not to say that bad writing doesn’t exist. It certainly does. But more often than not, the preconceived notions of a given individual influence their opinion on whatever they’re in the midst of critiquing.
Take, for example, the recent influx of mixed or negative reactions by professional reviewers to certain aspects of Mass Effect: Andromeda. As early as the first trailers, negative perception began to take hold. “What’s wrong with that character’s face?” “Why is she holding the gun like that?” “Mass Effect 3’s ending sucked and this whole game will.” All of those have a certain validity—there are questionable animations in the game (though no different from any of the previous three), there is a bug where a character holds a gun incorrectly, and Mass Effect 3’s ending (especially pre-patch) does indeed suck.
But when those nitpicks became the oft-repeated word, when a narrative about the state of the game began to form, it became apparent to me that whatever flaws the game has were being magnified by these negative voices. Things that would otherwise be overlooked by many became the focus of a kind of heightened sensitivity. This, then, eventually bled into analysis of the game’s story and characters, lambasting them as being just as weak or unpolished as the animation.
I spent a lengthy amount of time with Mass Effect: Andromeda (dozens of hours and everything but a few additional tasks) and I can safely say that much of the criticism is either unwarranted or misplaced.
WARNING: EARLY GAME SPOILERS AHEAD
The basic premise of the game is thus:
In 2185, four arks containing five different races (humans and four alien races) launch from the Milky Way into dark space. Six hundred years later, they awake from cryostasis with the hopes that the golden worlds they sought will be their new home. As you’d expect, they are not that lucky.
A dark energy mass called the Scourge tears through enemy ships and corrupts planetary atmosphere. A hostile alien race called the Kett is after ancient technology guarded by machines known as the Remnant. This ancient technology appears to have some effect on clearing the atmosphere and making it suitable for life. Meanwhile, the Nexus, the hub of the ark races, experienced a mutiny and is in dire need of resources.
The inhabitants of the human ark, Ark Hyperion, arrive at Habitat 7 and quickly come into combat with the Kett. Your father is Alec Ryder, the man in charge of finding humanity a home as their “Pathfinder” dies trying to bring the planet’s atmosphere back into acceptable parameters. He names you, the main character, as his successor. You are considered unqualified and circumvented the procedure for picking subsequent pathfinders. The Nexus leaders don’t have much faith in you. It’s up to you and a small band of misfits with various agendas to find a new home for the Milky Way races and stop the Kett from achieving their goals.
So, what exactly is the problem here? According to some, the method of how the main character acquires his position is unbelievable. [pause] Uh, I think that’s kind of the point. Ryder are meant to be unproven. You are meant to be young. You are meant to annoy those struggling to stay afloat in positions of power. Becoming the Pathfinder via your father’s quick decision making works well—especially when you know the full context that is discovered through later story material.
This decision resonates throughout the story. People constantly perceive you as one of two things: the hope of life in a new galaxy or a man/woman with delusions of grandeur. This creates conflict between yourself and the people you meet. How do you live up to expectations when people already doubt your capabilities?
In a way, that’s the story of the game itself. Mass Effect: Andromeda’s developers were under a lot of pressure to deliver a fitting sequel to a highly vaunted franchise. Compared to the original team, they were newcomers, having very little experience with creating a triple-A game and even less with one as massive a scope. There were bound to be flaws, errors that slipped through simply by the mass of things to consider.
But like Ryder, much of the criticism is embellished to the point of absurdity. A simple, well-known narrative device becomes a contrivance to the person critiquing the story.
This leads me to the point I’m trying to make. How does one avoid the many common misconceptions in judging the quality of a given piece of writing?
Misconceptions about Mass Effect: Andromeda and other work:
A loose thread becomes a plot hole to an errant reviewer. When writing anything that involves discovery or mystery, there will not always be a bow to wrap up every facet of a story. Han Solo is left frozen in carbonite at the end of Empire Strikes Back, yet it would be foolish to call that a plot hole. Unresolved mysteries and narrative threads are sequel bait at worse, not plot holes.
Lack of believability, according to a misinformed reviewer with an axe to grind, is a critical error. But the fact is that some of the greatest stories ever written have that flair of the intangible or the ludicrous. Would Star Wars be as enjoyable without the Force? Would Luke’s guided shot into the exhaust port be nearly as thrilling if we knew he could do it through sheer skill? I don’t think so.
I don’t like these characters, so they must be bad. This is tricky, because the fault here can go ways and some tastes are subjective. Perhaps the characters in question are poorly written. In this case, the reviewer would be justified. On the other hand, too often does the likeability of a character alter the supposed quality of said being. Walter White is a disgusting human being, yet the character himself is fantastic. Likewise, I may not like Peebee from Mass Effect: Andromeda, but she’s not a bad character. Just an obnoxious one.
There are more misconceptions about writing than what I’ve presented, but I think I’ve made my point. When being critical of any work, including my own, I try to remind myself to keep these aspects in mind:
Does the work tell a complete story? Or does it mandate a sequel? Remember that leaving something unresolved in a narrative is not the same thing as requiring a sequel to tell a whole story. Jurassic World, for example, has sequel hooks but is entirely resolved within itself. That said, even a cliffhanger ending that necessitates a sequel is not an inherent flaw. It’s not about loose threads being present but why they exist. That’s the difference between good writing and bad.
A character can be both great and completely unlikable. Many villains are like this. The measure of a character is determined by their reflection of believable humanity. Do they, by their own means, seem to take reasonable actions within the context of a story? Or are they caricatures with irrational motives and fluctuating personalities? The best character can be the most dislikable person ever as long as what they do and how they behave makes sense.
Plausibility, believability, and yes, reality are important in any work of fiction. But they’re not the end-all for deciding whether a narrative is functioning well. For me, the best stories have an air of “hey, this could happen” contrasted with “but this is definitely fantastic fiction” as a difficult balancing act. I want to believe but I don’t want to be bored by the mundane. A story should be thrilling and conceivable, but it must never become a chore.
It’s a long and winding road to discerning good fiction from bad. Try not to take the turns too sharply or you’ll end up in a ditch or off the edge of a cliff.
And what good will your preconceived ideas do you then? You’ll be screaming at a nonfunctional and possibly burning machine about how many things you wanted have been left unresolved.
As always, thanks for reading and I hope you have a fulfilling week. God bless.
