There is an interesting parallelism that can be drawn between Finrod’s and Galadriel’s ends: both of their lives in Middle Earth end with them realising they are not what they tell themselves they are.
Galadriel is prideful and sees herself as utterly blameless, she flat out states that she will not go back as a repentant exile when her house has no apologies to make, despite the fact that she too went against the Valar’s wishes. It takes her the temptation of the ring near the end of the Third Age to face her flaws fully and be able to realise she does crave power and she would be destructive should she grasp for it. Only then she can go back.
Finrod’s realisation is subtler, but no less devastating. In the Lay he falls when Sauron’s song shows him that the image of himself he is painting with his own melody, the blameless flawless hero that is merely a protector of justice and goodness (which he does identify with the legacy of Valinor himself), is not exactly what he is. He did defy the Valar to wear his own crown, he wanted and would have boarded the stolen ships, no matter how they had been acquired. He is not the symbol of ultimate goodness he paints himself as. Only when he realises that, after his very perception of himself has ‘fallen before the throne’, he can help Beren and gain back his place in Valinor.
Under this perspective both brother and sister have to face their own faults, see what they truly are under the image of themselves they have painted for themselves, before they can fully play their part in a plan to banish evil and be allowed back in their homeland.
Schlagwort: meta
Headcanon: While the Havens itself is built on dry land, it is surrounded by tidal wetlands. The elves of Sirion can’t raise anything like the Girdle of Melian, but they can use song and their relationship with the land and the river to make it difficult for those who aren’t friendly to approach. Coming down the river to the Havens ought to be simple. But what was a straightforward river to navigate turns tricky when you reach the estuary. If you don’t know exactly which channels to take – and when, because some of the ones you need only have a few inches of water at low tide – you could get lost. That ground that looked solid when the water was low gets muddy and then disappears entirely within a few hours. (The elves can encourage the tide to come in or go out faster at need.)
Yes: I see the Havens as occupying low-lying islands in the estuary, connected by bridges across creeks and streams, and surrounded by rustling reed-beds. I don’t think they have big walls or towers. They were built by refugees in hiding: I think they were largely wooden,which is why the attacking Feanorians despite being a fairly small force by that time could do so much damage.
I also think the tide explains how Elwing escaped : she jumped into the sea, but not from a high tower or a cliff into static water: it was the tide going out that whirled her away before she became a bird.
Caranthir the Slandered: Narrative Bias, Cross-Cultural Alliances, and Fëanor’s Angriest Son
In recent weeks, Caranthir’s characterization in The Silmarillion has come up a couple of times and led me to rant about how Caranthir’s description in The Silmarillion is inconsistent with how we actually see his character behaving. This would indicate bias on the part of the narrator.
If you’re not familiar with my theory on historical bias in The Silmarillion, here’s a quick primer before I dive into how the narrator expresses bias against Caranthir and why. Tolkien always imagined his stories as being told or authored by an in-universe character. In the case of The Silmarillion,for decades he assigned the authorship of much of it–including the Beleriand chapters of the Quenta–to a loremaster of Gondolin named Pengolodh; references to Pengolodh were stricken from the published text by Christopher Tolkien. However, the evidence of that narrator remains in the form of bias: who is discussed in the text and the kind of treatment they receive. I’ve compiled and looked at data around mentions of characters, descriptions of realms, death scenes, and accounts of battles, and in each instance, the data shows a strong bias toward people and groups that would have been favored by someone from Gondolin. (Some of my data can be found in my article Attainable Vistas; I am working now on putting the rest together to hopefully have it published also at some point.)
Looking at individual characters and the disparity between how they are described and what they actually do in the story also reveals bias. This is particularly egregious in the case of Caranthir.
Caranthir the Dark
The Silmarillion says very little about Caranthir. He is mentioned only 24 times (not counting mentions in the “Index of Names”), the least of any of the sons of Fëanor except Amrod and Amras. Yet the first time we see him act independently of his brothers, Pengolodh immediately applies a damning label to him:
But Caranthir, who loved not the sons of Finarfin, and was the harshest of the brothers and the most quick to anger, cried aloud … (“Of the Return of the Noldor,” emphasis mine)
The Fëanorians are not exactly sweetness and gentleness in The Silmarillion. To be named the harshest of this particular brood is notable.
Additionally, Caranthir is given the epithet “the dark,” a seeming corroboration of Pengolodh’s observation of his temper. According to The Shibboleth of Fëanor, this epithet derives from his father-name Morifinwë (dark Finwë), and we know from Tolkien that the root mor- and being described as “dark” is not generally a compliment. In this case, though, the epithet is not a comment on his temperament; rather, according to Shibboleth, it is because “he was black-haired as his grandfather” (HoMe XII, p. 353). His mother-name Carnistir, meaning “red-face,” also could be construed as a comment on his temper … except that it also remarks on his resemblance to a relative, in this case “the ruddy complexion of his mother” (p. 353). But because none of the etymology of his name is explained in The Silmarillion and he’s just stuck with the unqualified epithet “the dark,” his epithet suggests that there is a consensus that he has a tempestuous, difficult personality.
What’s interesting, though, is that even though we’re told this about Caranthir, it never particularly bears out in the story. Yes, in this scene, we see him rashly rebuke Angrod for what he sees as an overreach. (Pengolodh dwells overlong on the reaction to Caranthir’s outburst, just in case you missed the message that what he said was completely inappropriate and just plain wrong.) But this also seems to be a one-off instance. We don’t see him behave this way again.
There’s one thing about Gondolin that really, really bothers me. A question I can’t stop thinking about.
Why didn’t Idril tell Turgon about the secret tunnel? Didn’t she trust her own father?
And the thing about this is. How many of Gondolin’s warriors made suicidal last stands because they didn’t know that there was any hope? How many civilians were cornered because they didn’t know where to go? How many parents hid in their houses with their children because they didn’t know how to escape?
I mean holy shit, that’s not how you do an evacuation. An evacuation route only benefits people who know that it exists. If you’re really worried about spies, you don’t just make one route and hide it from everybody, you make multiple routes. Away from likely breach points, with a few secret ones branching off into undisclosed exits. At the very least, people should be trained how to safely escape their houses and get to secure locations. A single secret route isn’t meant to save others. It’s just for you and yours.
Considering how staunchly anti-evacuation Turgon was, and given that Maeglin successfully influenced him against Ulmo’s message into an even more isolationist policy and even the dry river entrance was closed up, I’m not surprised Idril did not trust her father with the idea of the Secret Tunnel; it’s not just a reversal of his policies, it’s also a betrayal and a political statement that most of the Gondolindrim seemed to want to ignore – that Gondolin was no longer safe. I also always assumed Turgon would have closed up the tunnel again if he knew, if Maeglin didn’t get to it first. That’s not to mention that beloved as Idril was, her political power was at the very least limited: Turgon asked Maeglin to be his regent during the Nirnaeth Arnoediad (which Maeglin refused), and when Turgon gave up his regency he made Tuor their leader, not Idril, so it’s anyone’s guess whether her station would have given her any leverage to continue her project in case of her father or Maeglin hearing about it. I find it doubtful.
The possibility of many tunnels and still maintaining secrecry really wasn’t one – it’s not a logistic possibility because a) the more workers would be needed the greater likelihood it would be for someone to let something slip,
deliberately or accidentally, especially if they’d have to reply on people Maeglin hadn’t wronged, and b) the geological makeup of Tumladen doesn’t allow for it. Idril’s tunnel was at least six or seven years in the making and still did not reach all the way into the mountains – plus, what other exits could there be? In case of the betrayal she suspected, the gates and dry river would definitely be guarded as the most logical entry point into the valley, and while I’m not entirely sure whether Bad Uthwen (the Way of Escape) is the same as that or another route from the valley, in the latter case it’d be another good spot for anyone with a shred of tactical knowledge to set up an ambush. In that regard Idril’s choice of going south into the highest mountains was smart, it’s the least likely route and the most protected (the Cirith Thoronath was populated by the eagles, after all, though I suppose not even those would have helped much if not for Glorfindel taking on the Balrog).
The Lost Tales II also have a take on “just for you and yours” – nope. Just at the foundation of the House of the White Wing that “[i]n secret too [Idril] whispered to folk that if the city came to its last stand or Turgon be slain they rally about Tuor and her son” which is about as much as she could do in case of an emergency without compromising the only possible exit. It’s also worth noting that Tuor did take the survivors that Egalmoth had rescued from the city to the tunnel, and Idril herself went through the city picking up women and children to help them escape. The suicidal last stands of the lords that are described in BoLT II are primarily during the early phase of the fight while Turgon’s order still is to defend and hold the city (nevermind “once discovered Gondolin must fall”, I guess) rather than the turn it takes shortly before Turgon’s death and the order becomes to evacuate, so the pathos there isn’t all that applicable either.
tl;dr, Idril did the best she could given the circumstances, and the route wasn’t just for her and her family.
say what you will about the Star Wars prequels but they both directly set up the central conflicts and character arcs of the original trilogy and they take all the characters that appear in both trilogies to recognizable and understandable places
there might be logistical problems or plot holes or bad filmmaking in places, but everything that happens in them has a purpose and helps build the story we’re already all familiar with. you can watch the original saga and see it as a coherent generational story – the nineteen-year time skip doesn’t leave a feeling of having missed vital information, but instead invites speculation without confusion.
one reason I think the sequel trilogy is so badly shaped and badly received by fans is because this sense of continuity is gone – rather than show us how things have changed and letting us pick up where we left off with Return of the Jedi, we’re plunged into a conflict we have no understanding of, with characters we’ve never met and have no context for. the original Star Wars did this and succeeded because it drew so heavily on familiar Western myths and archetypes, and because Luke was our audience surrogate and we got to experience the story and exposition with him, and because the story was fairly simplistic and everything was explained as the plot developed. the sequel trilogy fails because not only is there no established line of continuity between it and its predecessors, but where the characters we know were as of RotJ is not even close to where they are as of TFA. any and all development that might have grown out of their finished character arcs is scrapped in favor of reductive back-to-basics ideas about rehashing old stories, which confuses new audiences who might have foregone seeing the original films and leaves old fans wondering what the hell happened. not to mention the insistence that all non-movie elements of the property must be canonical – this leaves everyone uninterested in reading every single new novel without sometimes-vital characterization and backstory.
it’s just a mess, and it’s bad writing.
The Inequality Prototype: Gender, Inequality, and the Valar in Tolkien’s Silmarillion
It’s hard to make the case that The Hobbit and The Lord of the Rings exhibit anything remotely approximating gender equality, but as a feminist Tolkien fan and scholar, whenever I bring up the sexist leanings of Tolkien’s writings, the first rebuttal I usually hear begins with, “But The Silmarillion …”
The Silmarillion is often held up by Tolkien fans as redemptive of the boys-only club he establishes in his better-known books and proof that he really wasn’t that sexist. After all, it includes competent, kick-ass female characters like Haleth, Lúthien, and Morwen. And then there are the Valar. The women of the Valar—the Valier, as they are called in the Valaquenta—don’t just watch the men do the work, bring them tea, and rub their shoulders at the end of a hard day. Varda and Yavanna are high achievers, creating the stars and the Two Trees, respectively, and of Varda we are told, “Of all the Great Ones who dwell in this world the Elves hold Varda most in reverence and love.”1 Nienna, too, is counted among the Aratar, or most powerful of the Valar, and was a mentor to Olórin, who used her teachings to help the people of Middle-earth win the Ring War.2 Surely, these women serve as proof of gender equality in The Silmarillion and Middle-earth in general, don’t they?
Yet only about 18% of named characters in The Silmarillion are women.3 The Valar are an interesting case study of the issue, however, since they occupy a prototypical and highly influential role over the other peoples of Arda and present a veneer of equality that becomes much more complex the deeper you dig.
On Prototypes and Cultural Influences: Or Why the Valar Matter So Much
The Valar present a unique case when looking at gender [in]equality in The Silmarillion. The Valar are the greatest of the Ainur, and we are told of Ilúvatar that “he made first the Ainur, the Holy Ones, that were the offspring of his thought, and they were with him before aught else was made.”4 The Ainur are the only creations of Ilúvatar that we get to see that have been subject to no subcreative or cultural influences outside of Ilúvatar. (Elves and Mortals are likewise “Children of Ilúvatar” but are culturally influenced after their creation by the Ainur, as I will discuss below.) The Ainur, therefore, are the best example we have of Ilúvatar’s pure, unadulterated vision.
Sometimes i think about the idea of Common as a language in fantasy settings.
On the one hand, it’s a nice convenient narrative device that doesn’t necessarily need to be explored, but if you do take a moment to think about where it came from or what it might look like, you find that there’s really only 2 possible origins.
In settings where humans speak common and only Common, while every other race has its own language and also speaks Common, the implication is rather clear: at some point in the setting’s history, humans did the imperialism thing, and while their empire has crumbled, the only reason everyone speaks Human is that way back when, they had to, and since everyone speaks it, the humans rebranded their language as Common and painted themselves as the default race in a not-so-subtle parallel of real-world whiteness.
In settings where Human and Common are separate languages, though (and I haven’t seen nearly as many of these as I’d like), Common would have developed communally between at least three or four races who needed to communicate all together. With only two races trying to communicate, no one would need to learn more than one new language, but if, say, a marketplace became a trading hub for humans, dwarves, orcs, and elves, then either any given trader would need to learn three new languages to be sure that they could talk to every potential customer, OR a pidgin could spring up around that marketplace that eventually spreads as the traders travel the world.
Drop your concept of Common meaning “english, but in middle earth” for a moment and imagine a language where everyone uses human words for produce, farming, and carpentry; dwarven words for gemstones, masonry, and construction; elven words for textiles, magic, and music; and orcish words for smithing weaponry/armor, and livestock. Imagine that it’s all tied together with a mishmash of grammatical structures where some words conjugate and others don’t, some adjectives go before the noun and some go after, and plurals and tenses vary wildly based on what you’re talking about.
Now try to tell me that’s not infinitely more interesting.
The existence of English itself is because this exact thing happened. That’s why English can easily meld words from other languages into their own and why it’s such a stupidly hard language to learn for non native speakers. It’s why we use German, Greek, Latin and Celtic roots and syntaxes together without realizing it.
So I completely agree with this, common would be an even larger mess than what we speak now because it would be a combination of the main human language, Elven, Orcish ,Dwarven words and syntaxes mixed together. The written language would be even worse because there would be Orcish consonants used in place of Elvish sounds because the letters are easier and faster to write, letters in places they don’t belong because of some old Dwarven writing habit three centuries ago that’s just become the norm. Short hand a long hand versions of the language because fuck why not. The dropping of the informal tense because most of the language is spoken in a formal setting anyway.
It would be a lot of fun to work that out, but also a ton of work and world building. You could write an entire book on just this subject.
congratulations you are literally the first person in almost 44 thousand notes to compare this concept to english and not be INCREDIBLY boring about it
Note here, as someone with a linguistics BA: imperialism is not actually the only way for a language to spread surprisingly far! For a real world example, you only have to look at Proto-Indo-European, a language that managed to spread so far that its descendants are as far dispersed geographically as Hindi, English, Farsi, and Greek.
The original speakers of that language don’t appear to have been imperialists… but instead, the trade superpowers of their time.
They were among the first to domesticate horses, and also figured out wheels and carts pretty early on, and so they could travel *massively* longer distances than pretty much any of their contemporaries, and if that meant bringing Siberian firs to northern India or anotolia or even close to China (they’ve long died out, but there are records of ancient Indo-European languages in like, *mongolia*)—then, well, you have a certain amount of cultural dominance, even if you’re not doing a lot of marrying into these other societies, or colonizing them, or any of that. You’re still become an *important language for everyone else to speak*.
And so they uh… did, I guess? I’m sure the politics around choosing to adopt it at the time we’re fascinating, but most of these languages weren’t written, soooo, we’ll never know exactly how it went down.
But anyway, that could absolutely be an origin point for Common.
And heck, even if humans only speak it, it might not have initially been a human language! Almost all European languages today are Indo-European, but the initial speakers of Proto-Indo-European were from the western steppe—that’s way off in southern Russia, pretty far from places like Scandinavia and England.
So you could even interpret humans as having been comparatively “weak” to an encroaching trade language, and therefore only speaking it >_o
(**side Tolkien note: Tolkien’s Common actually doesn’t work as OP decries. Not all humans speak it (eg the rohirrim), some but not all non-humans speak it (many elves do not), and some humans even speak non-human languages (eg the higher echelons of Gondorian society speak Sindarin as a first language))
since you’re on the topic of the clones being slaves, how would you have liked the star wars universe to deal with/explore how the clones were slaves, both from a storytelling and an ethics perspective?
Better. And
by better I mean actually dealt it in a way that doesn’t excuse the behavior of
the slavers. To be extra clear, I don’t think this is a “star wars universe”
problem. The EU, for the most part, at least tried to give the topic the weight
it deserves. I should’ve said it earlier but when I said writers, I was thinking
about The Clone Wars writers and Pablo Hidalgo and his retcons.The problem
is not in-universe, it’s out. The Jedi believing they are not controlling a
slave army and patting themselves in the back for being kind to them makes
sense. That’s who they are and them being like this is consistent with the rest
of the story. The problem starts when the writers try to sell this behavior as
admirable.Take the
Slick episode, the slaves of the republic arc and the Krell arc as examples. They
all deal with slavery or death because the Jedi and Republic failed to look at
the bigger picture and they all ended with the Jedi and Republic as the morally
superior heroes. I get the Jedi and the Senate couldn’t become too self-aware
or realize what they were doing was wrong, however by the way the episodes were
constructed it’s clear that the writers believe the Jedi and the Republic are
the morally superior heroes (not perfect, but definitely better than their
accusers). That’s the problem. The difference between being aware you are writing
a character who is morally ambiguous but believe themselves to righteous and
writing a character who you believe is morally righteous even if they are not.Some
authors are fully aware of the horrors of slavery and how living in that environment
can affect a person. There are plenty of books where slavery is portrayed as an
inexcusable crime and the Jedi and the Republic are called out for not doing
more. But TCW completely failed at that discussion, which is not surprising when Filoni believes Anakin was “over” slavery by the time the
shows begins.They didn’t
have to portray everyone being aware of slavery and willing to fight it but the
writers should’ve been more willing to admit the heroes were flawed. When the
only character in the story who is willing to say slavery is wrong is portrayed
as unhinged or misguided, you are sending the wrong message. The right thing to
do would be portraying a fucked up situation in a way that does not excuse it. How
you say something is as important as what you are saying.The narrative
portrays the clones as slaves but it never condemns it.
I genuinely actually don’t understand where the “Leia has anger-management issues” thing came from…???? Why the heck do people think she has an awful temper and can’t control her anger??? Just because they want to be like LOOK SHE’S JUST LIKE ANAKIN SHE IS TRULY ANAKIN’S CHILD IF ANYONE WOULD TURN TO THE DARK SIDE IT’S LEIA LOOK AT THAT ANGER!!!!!!!!!??
When actually we never really see Leia lose her temper in a situation that doesn’t like, call for a loss of temper…
Like, Leia sassing Vader and Tarkin in my opinion doesn’t count at all as anger management issues??? She’s showing these evil men who are holding her against her will and torturing her that she’s still strong and not being broken or intimidated by them. Likewise when she shouts at Han and Luke during the rescue–she just watched her entire freaking planet get blown up, the people rescuing her clearly have NO COHERENT ESCAPE PLAN and if they don’t escape then the ENTIRE GALAXY IS FUCKED, and she is CLEARLY the most qualified of all of them to be in charge and yet [Han especially] they’re not listening to her. Like it’s a high pressure situation and Leia is RIGHT when she yells because Han and company keep doing stupid shit (firing the blaster inside the trash compactor, shooting in the halls and giving away their position, etc), not to mention Han’s insulting her the entire time.
Then there’s when she yells at Han in ESB. Like, I’m sorry are we really going to attribute ANY of that to “anger management”????? That’s not Leia losing her temper, that’s Leia belligerently fighting against the extreme sexual tension. They want each other so badly and they both can feel what’s going on and so for Leia if she gets angry at him she doesn’t have to acknowledge that she’s in love with him and that she’s hurt that he’s leaving her. PLUS again Han deliberately does everything in his power to push her buttons and call her names and insult the cause that she’s devoted her life to because he’s trying to provoke a reaction out of her… So… Yeah extreme sexual tension and incredible angst. Not “uncontrollable temper” or “anger management issues.” The fact that all of this intense bickering and shouting immediately vanishes once they’ve professed their love to one another is, in my opinion, evidence of that fact.
Yelling at Lando on Bespin. Well, he had literally just sold them to the Empire and was the reason Han was frozen in carbonite and Leia and Chewie had been taken into custody of the Empire which essentially was going to equal death for all three of them, and then he was like “LET ME HELP UWU!!!” Yes, WE know that Lando was in an impossible situation, but if I were Leia I’d also be pretty damn pissed off at the man who had just handed the love of my life over to Vader and his bounty hunters and subsequently reluctant to trust him, wouldn’t you??? I’d hardly call completely called for anger an indication of anger issues.
It’s just. Yes, Leia is FIESTY. She’s not afraid to speak her mind or stand up for herself or snark at people who SNARK AT HER (cough Han cough), but I don’t think there’s a single moment in the OT that indicates that she has “anger management issues” or anything resembling an abnormal temper. Nothing like with Anakin, whose rage leads to his slaughtering an entire village of sand people. She never screams for no reason or gets disproportionately angry at anything. There’s also the trope that she’s just this senator who was unleashing her fury on everyone in the senate and chewing them all out… Why would standing up for justice against evil tyrants and dictators be equivalent to a loss of temper? It’s possible to be passionate about something and speak your mind and even get a little worked up (which I don’t even think she was doing) without losing your temper and failing to manage your anger… I just honestly feel like because she’s a girl and a princess the fact that she shows any anger or sass at all somehow gets translated to FURIOUS TEMPER!!!!!!! when it’s like… no???? You don’t succeed in politics or diplomacy or ESPIONAGE if you can’t control your temper. And the concept of Leia being unable to control her emotions seems to me to be the exact opposite of her characterization–that is, as someone who refuses to let her emotions or feelings or temper interfere with her job. So yeah maybe it’s just me but I honestly hate this concept. “Gets angry sometimes in a situation that would make pretty much anyone angry” does not equal “anger management issues and bad temper like Anakin.”
Just to highlight it again:
“because she’s a girl and a princess the fact that she shows any anger or sass at all somehow gets translated to FURIOUS TEMPER!!!!!!!”
@corellian-smuggler, I think you’ve diagnosed the whole issue right here. A woman who shows anger is an ANGRY WOMAN. This also means that her anger is a problem, a character flaw, something that should be managed better, literally no matter what has occurred to make her angry. Much of the discourse around / treatment of Leia completely reflects that and does the character (and women) a great disservice. If she were a male character, she would have to break a lot more things and hurt a lot more people physically to even register as the level of angry people seem to say she’s at.
And yet. I like “angry Leia.” I like Leia whose disappointment/frustration with incompetence/unwillingness to accept defeat is feared by the people who answer to her (because she is demanding and accepts no excuses, not because she is cruel or violent). The Leia who is unwilling to give up anger simply because it is supposed to be a virtue to do so. The Leia who lets the injustices of the galaxy burn in her belly as fuel to fight them. The Leia who is unwilling to forgive the unforgiveable. The Leia who is sometimes more comfortable in anger because the other emotions are too weighty and she needs to somehow get out of bed the next day. I even like Leia as slightly more vulnerable to the dark side than Luke, because she carries more anger than him, justified anger yes, but anger nevertheless (and yet, of course, she always smart enough, kind enough, wise enough, strong enough not to fall).
Leia as having anger or being angry is not problematic characterization in my view (nor did you say that it was). The idea that her anger is a problem is suspect; why shouldn’t she be angry about oppression that resulted in the genocide of her people, the apathy that allowed that oppression to grow to that point and continue beyond that (as so many capable and able people refuse to engage in the struggle), and all the other things she’s experienced, etc.? The idea that Leia is inherently or unjustifiably angry, separate from external events, or that she has uncontrolled anger is also problem. And in many ways Leia is great at anger management- she is strategic about when she goes off and with whom, as well as how far she goes, and under what circumstances. She can stay steely calm when she needs to.
I like to think Leia lets loose on Han a little because he’s a “safe person.” Like, he’ll still talk to her later, they’ll still laugh together, she won’t have created an intergalactic incident or alienated someone vital from the Rebellion. She’s actually had very little opportunity to just let go and be angry if that’s what she is. Han isn’t alienated by their fights, he always comes back for another one. 😉 If he leaves, it’s not going to be because of a fight with her but because leaving was always his plan. She doesn’t have to worry about alienating him from the Rebellion, because he’s so committed to saying he’s not a part of it anyway and because no matter how many times they fight it doesn’t stop him from helping out. He doesn’t think her anger is a problem or try to talk her out of it or expect her to “manage” it with him.
I see a lot of writing advice, particularly about giving characters flaws. The main advice is “everyone has flaws! make sure to give your character flaws or else it’s not realistic!” And after thinking about it… I would like to challenge this.
It essentially posits a view of human nature that there are good and bad traits, and that these traits can be neatly diagrammed into separate columns, one set of which can and should be eliminated. It tends to go along with a view that posits character development should be about scrubbing away of “flawed” traits until the character achieves more a higher level of goodness, or else the character doesn’t and falls into tragedy. This is not untrue, necessarily. There are definitely some “flaws” that are 100% bad and sometimes a good arc is about slowly losing them. However, I could call this advice incomplete.
Consider thinking about it this way. Characters have traits and often whether or not that trait is a flaw is purely circumstantial.
For instance, fairy tales I read as a child. In some, when an old beggar asked for money on the road, it was a secret test of character. The prince who gave the old man money or food would be rewarded. But in other folktales I read, the old beggar would be malevolent, and any prince who stooped to help him would be beaten, punished for letting his guard down. Now, in a story as well as in real life, either of these scenarios can occur–a stranger who asks for help can be benevolent or malevolent. So which is the flaw? Is it a “flaw” to be compassionate? or is it a “flaw” to be guarded?
Trick question–it’s purely conditional. Both traits are simultaneously a strength and a weakness. Either has an advantage, but either comes with a price as well. And whether the price is greater than the advantage depends on circumstance. The same can be said for most character traits, in fact!
An agreeable character who gets along with everyone will be pressured into agreeing with something atrocious because it’s a commonly held viewpoint. A character who’s principled and holds firm even under great pressure will take much, much longer to change their mind when they are actually in the wrong. A character who loves animals and loves to shower them with affection will get bitten if they try the same on every animal. As the circumstances change, flaws become strengths, and strengths become weaknesses. And even a trait that’s wholly virtuous, such as compassion, comes with a price and can be turned for the worst.
You don’t have to think about inserting flaws into your character. Your character, even the most perfect “Mary Sue,” is already flawed the moment you give her any traits at all. The problem with Mary Sue isn’t a lack of flaws, it’s a lack of circumstances to challenge her properly, to show her paying the natural price. Your job as an author is to create circumstances in the narrative that 1) justify why these traits exist in your character 2) show what your character gains from these traits and then 3) change the circumstances to challenge her.
Make your character pay the price for their traits, for their choices. And then, when challenged, you can make a hell of a story by showing us how they adapt, or why they stick to their guns anyway.
this is well said. there is no such thing as a mary sue character, really, only a mary sue story. when every other character and circumstance revolves completely around the protagonist, that protagonist becomes a mary sue, no matter how ‘flawed’ they are. when the story is true to its own momentum and consequences, and the other characters are complex and have their own motivation, even the most perfect character can’t be a mary sue.
a mary sue isn’t a ‘perfect’ character, it’s a black hole that eats the story.
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