“Investment of Character,” pt.3: Relationships
The defining element of life: relationships. They influence and affect how each individual relates to the world. Humans are a social species and therefore rely on interaction with others for survival. Relationships open infinite possibilities and wild turns for stories to examine. Even lack of interaction is a fun road to travel down in the writing world, as Wilson reminds us every day.
My point is, relationships are vital for characters and audiences alike. Writers have the dual responsibility of creating realistic relationships among each character, as well as between the characters and the audience. If the audience doesn’t click with a character, the story has less emotional impact.
I’m guessing that the term “relationship” first triggers the idea of romance, boyfriends/girlfriends, etc. And why not? It’s part of [most] everyone’s life, so [theoretically] we’ve all been in a similar situation as whatever is represented by the story. Probably not exactly like it, esp. with sci-fi, but the similarities are close enough that we can easily express empathy. Besides, mixing romance with the action of harsh battles usually adds to the excitement of the moment (yes, I’m a romantic and a softie).
Now I’ll bring back that lovely term from two weeks ago: conflict. Some of my friends actually hate when I say this, but I often prefer tragic endings to happy ones. -ducks tomato attacks- Wait! Let me explain. I’m not saying happy endings are horrible and should be avoided. I just want them to feel realistic rather than exaggerated.
Relationships don’t stop at romance. Like I said, relationships are about interaction. Who else clearly interacts? Heroes and villains! 
These are great relationships, especially if handled properly. I want to focus on Sydney Bristow and Arvin Sloane for this one. They have an amazing relationship. Sloane is her boss, but there are occasions when he treats her like the daughter he “never had” (inside joke for ALIAS fans). He manipulates her, as he does everyone, but he used to be on good terms with her, and good friends with her father.
The hard truth is that while Sydney loathes Sloane for a long list of reasons, she’s forced time and again to put up with him because of the life she leads. The work she does for the CIA requires his cooperation. It’s a necessity that helps move the story along, but also moves the characters along. Have I mentioned how much I love character development?
Relationships can also exist between concepts. Good versus evil is one of the most popular literary themes. Allowing characters to creep along the edges of each is so much fun to experience. Imagine if you will: a main character involved in a plane crash is developed as a person with strong-will, determination and a desire to help out other victims in the aftermath. That same character, turns out, was escorted onto the airplane wearing handcuffs. A fugitive, caught while on the run from the law. Now every action is viewed as suspicious. What did this person do? Murder? What was the motive? Will it happen again?
For those who haven’t already guessed, I’m referring to Kate Austen, one of the “heroes” from LOST. But how can she be a hero if she’s a fugitive? (SPOILERS!) It’s revealed in season two that Kate’s wanted for the murder of her stepfather. In fact, she blew up the house while he was in a drunken stupor. The crime seems heinous, until the audience is shown her motivations are self-defence for herself and her mother (his inebriate side wasn’t a very nice one). Kate is essentially a good person who wants to do the right thing; her actions reflect this on multiple occasions. Kate also realises that sometimes the choice is between the lesser of two evils. Neither choice is pretty, but there it is: brushing the edge of evil. Fantastic!
A quote from Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire whispers back to me now: “If you want to know what a man is like, take a good look at how he treats his inferiors, not his equals.” I’ve always found it a powerful statement, full of truth. People have various personaes around different types of people. Those actions illuminate personality, deepening our understanding of a character.
What else do relationships do for characters? They reveal the way a person looks at the world, reacts to the world, interacts with the world. Words said, things done, reflect the inner struggle of the character. A necessity in film, of course. With books, interaction enhances readers’ imaginations to visualise a situation, strengthening it far more than telling through exposition. They can see how a character feels by his interaction with others. That’s where the audience makes the connexion. They live the experience through the eyes of the character and think: “Yes, I’d probably react the same way,” or even: “Would I have the courage to make that decision?”
Relationships are crucial to understanding and development. They give that three-dimensional aspect to characters, aid believability while allowing audiences to relate. They speak for characters when words fail, cross over the grey line between right & wrong. They create bonds that strengthen or break, offer wisdom through experience. They can instigate rows and impel self-sacrifice. For those reasons and so many, I place “relationships” in the pantry of key ingredients for a successful story.
“Investment of Character,” pt.1: the Hero
February shall be a month of investigation. Analysis. Understanding the creation and depth of phenomenally well-developed characters. A lot of this is drawn by my obsession with several great stories, but I’m taking it the extra mile because it caters a writer’s ability to breath life into her own characters. That’s why writers are encouraged to study the work of others, right? Learn from those admired to see what makes them successful.
My earlier post on J.J. Abrams’ mystery box again comes back to haunt me (in a good way). Combined with my recent fixation discovery of FARSCAPE, it’s the foundation for this three-part analysis.
Around 12:20 in the TED video, Abrams discusses Investment of Character and how it’s not the big, well-known elements of stories that we should rip off. “Rip off the characters,” he preaches. “Rip off the stuff that matters! Look inside yourself and figure out what is inside you because ultimately, the mystery box is all of us.” That’s where I turn to my interests to analyse what it is about them that hooks me in, makes me invest my time in that character’s life for three- to four- hundred pages, or countless hours of television.
The logical place to begin this investigation is with the hero. Everyone loves a hero. S/he’s the centre of the story, the one who saves the world/day, rescues those in danger. Basically, the stereotype we all know and love.
But what makes each one unique?
Believability. A character must be real to be worth my time. Even in the realms of science fiction or fantasy, where creatures of all shapes/sizes exist. What makes them real? Depth. Everyone sees the hero as the main character, the good guy. I like my heroes to have flaws. Lots of flaws. I want them to struggle, make mistakes, refuse to learn from those mistakes and fail. (honestly, I don’t think I care so much if they succeed in their designated quests as long as I can look into their souls along the way…)
Conflict. Not just the typical story-needs-conflict moment of DUH. Specifically with characters, inner conflict. I love sharing adventures with characters who struggle with themselves. Best example on my mind again relates to Abrams’ idea of ripping off what matters. Sydney Bristow and Aeryn Sun both grew up without their mothers. As a result, each envisioned her own ideas on who her mother was, deciding at some point that she wanted to grow up just like the imagined being. During her adult life, she confronts her mother only to realise the internal creation was a childish fantasy masking the truth; the mother was nothing more than a selfish, cruel woman who claims her progeny’s existence was a foolish mistake.
Sydney and Aeryn both have their inspiration (and their faith) shattered almost in a single moment. I’m not saying this mother-daughter conflict is a direct rip from either programme, nor do I have any sources indicating any such theft. I just think it’s a supreme example of Abrams’ point. Two completely different stories utilising the idea of a childhood delusion that comes back to torment the character at a crucial point in her development.
Morality. The universal controvery in story-telling. The expression of morality (or lack thereof) in literature will never please everyone. Essentially, however, the hero is the good guy and theoretically must always make good choices.
I reinterate: Flaws are the key ingredient to character believability. While I may limitations as to what I will or won’t tolerate from literature, I’m a staunch believer in literary realism. It’s important that, rather than shy away from sensitive subjects, we embrace them. Discuss, debate, etc. but do something. The nature of humans, the nature of life encompasses the grisly elements as much as any amenities. As long as a subject can be used to further a story, further the development of a character, by all means use it.
Don’t, however, include something just to have it in there. Be true to the characters, be true to the plot, and leave the question of morality in the hands of potential readers. Free will can govern them.
Hmmm. I expected to integrate more specific examples this week, but as I said, my mind’s fixated on FARSCAPE these days and I don’t want to bore anyone with verbose, fan-based commentary. So I pour the spotlight on readers: How do you define a good hero? What are the moral boundaries that govern your choice of literature? Why?
I think my fascination with psychology is the reason I’m so accepting of the gray, sensitive areas. I adore exploring the inner-workings of character development. To repeat myself again in reference to ABC’s LOST, the mechanisms of the island promote certain intrigue, but at the end of the day, my investment is more concerned with how the crash has affected the characters’ evolutionary circles.
I hold no qualms toward John Locke starting out the man of faith, with Jack Shephard the man of science, only to have them switch roles over the course of six seasons. People do change like that in real life, so writing stories that way captures the essence of humanity. The stuff that matters.
Next week: villains who are good at being bad and loathed.
