“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.
It’s About Mystery Boxes
J.J. Abrams (creator of ALIAS & LOST, two of my favourite television programmes) will long be a positive inspiration to my writing career. About a year ago, I came across this TED video through an online community and have since returned to it several times when I need to refresh my muse:
Abrams’s talk epitomises the enjoyment his creations bring to me. Many of the world’s greatest films are more than the larger aspects we assume them to be about. The secret lies within the small, subtle concepts that–more often than not–go unnoticed.
The best example I think he gives is from E.T. When people think of it, they remember the boy who befriends the alien. But Abrams points out that their friendship isn’t the film’s theme at all. “It’s about divorce,” he states simply. “It’s about a crippled family and a kid who can’t find his way.”
(powerful!)
When I first heard Abrams say this about films I’ve seen many times before, I approached those films from a new light. His statement is true, and it makes me admire those stories with more depth and desire to include such profundity in my own writing.
Abrams also shared his opinion of his creations. They reflect what I have reiterated as the substantial reason for my addictions: the stuff that matters is the character and his relationship with the world and others in it.
I love ALIAS because of Sydney’s interactions with her friends, her co-workers, her father; her ability to balance work with school and fun. I love LOST, not from a desire to learn what the island is or why anything on the island happens (lying through my teeth, here–of course I want to know all that!); I want to understand who the characters are and see how they have changed because of the crash that brought them together.
(<–psychology geek)
“What are stories but mystery boxes?” Abrams asks the audience after explaining his own childhood mystery box. The idea that stories draw question after question, driving us to continue watching, continue reading–to find out the answers to those questions, yet also spawn more questions in return.
He emphasises how one trick of good story-telling is the information not shared in a particular moment. His example refers to a date scene: Two characters in a car. The top is closed, their conversation unheard. But that’s what creates the romantic atmosphere–the mystery of the unknown.
