Tag: tvtropes

Trope Tuesday: A Man is Not a Virgin

I’m back from vacation, but I’m going to take a break from the Hero’s Journey trope posts to talk about something that I really feel passionate about.  I hope you’ll forgive me if this turns into a rant, but I think this is an important issue that has some very dangerous implications that need to be explored.

In modern fiction, there’s a very prominent trope that a man is not a virgin.  The basic idea is this: if the protagonist is an adult male and he hasn’t yet had sex with a woman, there’s something fundamentally wrong with him.  Of course, because of his adventurous lifestyle, he can’t be tied down in a committed relationship–that would spoil the story.  But he can’t be holding himself back, either, lest his manhood come into question.  And most of the time, he doesn’t really want to, anyway.

This trope has a whole host of unfortunate implications, though, all of which serve to reinforce constrictive gender roles, disempower both men and women, drive a gulf of misunderstanding between the sexes, and emasculate true manhood and its role in our society.

To demonstrate this, let’s take this trope to the logical conclusions that our society seems to have come to.

If a man is not a virgin, then sex is a rite of passage, and it isn’t rape if it’s female on male.

In fiction, the sex as rite of passage trope is often seen in stories about angsty teenagers trying desperately to get laid. These are not typically stories about love–they are stories about peer pressure, objectification, and power.  By equating sex as a rite of passage in this way, it actually divorces sex from any concept of love or commitment, and turns any form of physical intimacy into a caricature of itself.

It doesn’t stop there, though.  If sex is a rite of passage, then it’s only reasonable that the young novice should have an older mentor to help him through the initiation process.  Thus we get the professional sex-ed trope, where the boy’s mentors or guardians help guide him through his first sexual encounter.  The implications for pedophilia and underage sex are more than a little disturbing.

We can see this trope in action in the way we treat female sex offenders.  If a 30-something male teacher has sex with one of his female students, he gets a lengthy prison sentence and spends the rest of his life stigmatized as a predator.  If a 30-something female teacher has sex with one of her male students, she gets a slap on the wrist and TV spot.  She’s not a sexual predator–she’s just having a personal crisis.

Needless to say, this double standard is extremely destructive for the victims of such abuse.

If a man is not a virgin, then men cannot help themselves.  Therefore, all men are perverts.

If a true man is not a virgin, then a true man doesn’t say no to sex.  Even if he can say no, he won’t because that’s just not what men do.  Therefore, being a man is functionally synonymous with being a pervert.

The danger here is that it reduces men to their basic animal urges.  If being a man means finding a warm, inviting place for your penis each night, then you might as well go out to the pasture and eat grass.  Whatever happened to self control and delayed gratification?  Do you think anything meaningful would ever have come out of our civilization if we couldn’t keep our pants on?

And yet, both men and women seem perfectly willing to believe that it’s not only unmanly for a man to control his animal urges, it’s impossible.  On the Kindle Boards forum about a month ago, there was a thread on erotica and marriage and one of the members posted this:

I used to work as a forums admin on a large women’s forum (over 100,000 members) and the relationships forum had a lot of heated discussions on this topic. I won’t of course refer to any specific threads, but the discussions went a lot like this:

One woman concerned that her husband was spending too much time watching porn
A massive amount of women telling her that it’s ok, that ‘all men watch porn’
A small amount of women saying either they don’t agree with it or that their men don’t view it
A percentage of women saying their men are addicted to porn and would rather watch it than go to bed with a willing wife
A percentage of women saying it’s not the porn itself that concerns them, but the type of porn their husbands watch
Another group of women saying they either watch it themselves, or watch it with their husbands
Yet another small group of women who either were or are prostitutes/strippers/involved in amateur porn (who are either for or against based on their experiences)
A very vocal percentage of women saying that if your man says he doesn’t watch it, he’s a liar
A heated discussion ensuing….

How does it possibly empower men to tell them that they cannot control their own sexual impulses?  It’s a self-fulfilling prophecy, which harms not only men but women as well.  If all men are perverts, then women can’t afford to wait for a decent man and should settle instead for a deadbeat porn addict.

But that’s not even the worst of it:

…and if all men are perverts and all women are prudes, then men and women are two entirely different species that are completely incapable of understanding one another.

This one really gets to me.  I hear it everywhere, even from people who don’t consciously buy into the logic behind it.  I used to buy into it myself.  It’s the idea that women are so complicated that they are impossible to understand, whereas men are as simple as an on/off switch.

In my experience, men and woman are both human.  Both of them are equally complex and equally emotional.  Yes, they are different, but in such a way that it’s equally difficult (or equally easy) for the one to understand the other.  Generally, women tend to externalize their complexity, whereas men tend to internalize it.  At least,  that’s what I’ve found.

Our society takes this to the next level, however, and teaches men that they should just swallow their emotions.  If they don’t, they risk being seen as weak or effeminate (never mind that equating weakness with femininity is a whole other can of worms in itself).  And after a lifetime of living this way, it can be hard not to believe that that’s just the way men are.

But this is perhaps the most insidious danger of all.  It’s the falsehood that real men don’t cry, or show emotion, or have any capacity for compassion or tenderness.  It’s the fallacy of equating strength with violence.  It’s the destructive belief that men will never rise above the lowest common denominator of their hormones, and should never even try.  And because men are so obviously different from women in this regard, any attempt to understand them would be futile.

But how can you have a committed relationship with someone you can’t understand?  How can you possibly hope to make the necessary sacrifices for each other to make the thing work out?  And if you can’t reach the understanding necessary for a committed, loving relationship, how can you ever hope to raise a family together?

So yeah, sorry for the rant, but this trope REALLY gets under my skin.  It doesn’t help that one of my favorite authors, David Gemmell, is a big fan of it.  I tried to get into his Rigante series, but this trope was so strong that I couldn’t finish the first book.

I should also clarify that the thing that irks me isn’t just the trope, but how much our society has bought into it.  By themselves, tropes are neither good nor bad, but when something like this becomes so prevalent that it defines the entire operating system on which our society is based, that’s when someone needs to speak out.

And for the record, I am a 28 year old single male who is not ashamed to say that he is still saving himself for marriage.  Am I gay?  No.  Has it been difficult?  Yes.  Am I anything less than a man because of it?  Hell, no.  In fact, I would argue that the wait has made me more of a man than I otherwise would have been, and I’m sure that my future wife will agree.

Real men aren’t defined by their hormones or their sexual history.  They’re defined by the way they treat the people around them, especially the ones who are most important in their lives.

Trope Tuesday: Belly of the Whale

The last stage in the departure phase of the hero’s journey is called the Belly of the Whale, after the Biblical story of Jonah.  After receiving the call and passing the threshold to the land of adventure, the hero faces what may quite possibly be the darkest hour of his life and dies in some way to the home he has just left behind.

I know what you’re thinking: “Huh? Why does the hero die at the beginning of the story?  Isn’t that supposed to happen later?” Well…yes, it does, but the symbolic death at this point is important, too.  At its core, the hero’s journey is a story of transformation and growth.  When the hero comes back from the lands of adventure, he isn’t the same person he was when he first left–he’s been changed in some way.  And in order for that change to take place, the hero needs to let go of who he was and move forward.

Joseph Campbell describes it like this:

The idea that the passage of the magical threshold is a transit into a sphere of rebirth is symbolized in the worldwide womb image of the belly of the whale. The hero, instead of conquering or conciliating the power of the threshold, is swallowed into the unknown and would appear to have died. This popular motif gives emphasis to the lesson that the passage of the threshold is a form of self-annihilation. Instead of passing outward, beyond the confines of the visible world, the hero goes inward, to be born again.

Of course, the death and rebirth doesn’t have to be literal (though it can be, as it was with Dionysus).  The point is to show that the hero has fully crossed the threshold, cutting all his ties with home and burning his ships on the shores of the land of adventure.  Once the hero passes through the belly of the whale, there’s no going back–it’s all or nothing now.

So how common is this trope really?  Actually, it occurs more often than you might think.  In Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone, it happens when Harry boards the Hogwarts Express and realizes he’s leaving his old world completely behind.  It happens in The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe when Peter and the others decide to go after Mr. Tumnas instead of returning to their own world through the wardrobe.  It happens in Star Wars IV when the Millennium Falcon gets sucked into the Death Star, and in Final Fantasy IV when Cecil washes up in Mysidia.

The main theme running through all these examples is that adventures are hard.  If they were easy, anyone could go on them–and no one would be changed by them.  They may be fun, and they’re definitely worth it, but to set out on one, you always have to give up something close to you–and that’s hard.

Trope Tuesday: Threshold Guardians

In an indirect way, this guy pretty much saved the galaxy.

So the hero gets the call, refuses it at first (or jumps at it, as the case may be), but one way or another he eventually sets out on the adventure.  As he soon discovers, though, one does not simply walk into Mordor.  Adventures are not the sort of thing that anyone can do, and in order to prove his mettle, he first has to pass a few tests and confront some sort of challenge.  Only then can the adventure really begin.

At the edge of the familiar world lies a threshold, the boundary separating the peaceful, boring land of the hero’s home from the dangerous and exciting lands of adventure.  The threshold might be literal, such as the wall in Stardust and Sabriel, or it might be more symbolic, such as the field in Lord of the Rings that marks the furthest that Samwise has ever gone.  Either way, the threshold is often the site of the hero’s first significant challenge–and the one who offers that challenge is the threshold guardian.

According to Joseph Campbell:

The ‘threshold guardian’…[stands] for the limits of the hero’s present sphere, or life horizon. Beyond them is darkness, the unknown and danger…The adventure is always and everywhere a passage beyond the veil of the known into the unknown; the powers that watch at the boundary are dangerous; to deal with them is risky; yet for anyone with competence and courage the danger fades.

In terms of story, the purpose of the threshold guardian is not to present some impossible test or to pose some sort of world-altering threat.  Rather, they exist to mark the boundary between the familiar world and the unfamiliar, and to show how the hero is different from all the other people who chose to stay at home instead.  In other words, their main purpose is to kick-start the adventure.

For example, in Star Wars Episode IV: A New Hope, the threshold guardians are the Tusken Raiders who roam the Jundland Wastes surrounding Luke Skywalker’s home.  Venturing out into the wastes is dangerous–yet Luke does it, to bring back R2D2 after the droid runs away.

When R2D2 warns Luke that the Tuskens are approaching, Luke doesn’t run away from them–he crawls to the top of the ridge to get a better look.  This leads to his first real encounter with danger, and almost gets him killed.  Fortunately, Obi Wan Kenobi rescues him and takes him home, telling him about the ways of the force and presenting him with his father’s lightsaber.  The adventure is off to a good start.

If Luke had never ventured out into the Jundland Wastes, or if he had run from the Tuskens at the first sign of danger, he never would have been rescued by Obi Wan, never would have learned about his father, never would have left his home and probably would have died when the Imperials attacked his uncle’s homestead.  If the Tuskens had never attacked him, he would have loaded R2D2 into the speeder and gone back home, never meeting Obi Wan as well.  Without the Tusken Raiders, the whole story never would have happened.

In Harry Potter and the Sorceror’s Stone, Draco Malfoy plays a similar role.  If Harry Potter had joined House Slytherin, Voldemort would probably have taken over before the end of the first book.  Instead, the early animosity between Draco and Harry’s newfound friends pushed him to take sides, setting the stage for everything else that was to come.

The threshold guardians don’t always have to take an adversarial role.  In a lot of stories, defeating the guardian means winning an ally, even sometimes a best friend.  That’s what happens when Robin Hood spars with Little John–in fact, the trope is subverted because Little John actually wins.  Or perhaps the whole thing was a secret test of character, because it’s Robin Hood’s good-natured reaction to losing that wins Little John over.

Not every instance of the hero’s journey has a threshold guardian, but many of them do.  It’s a clear and compelling way to mark the threshold between home and adventure, which is present in every hero’s journey, simply by definition.  When done well, it’s a great way to show what makes the hero different from all the other would-be adventurers who chose to stay home.

Trope Tuesday: The Call to Adventure

One of the first (and most important) stages of the hero’s journey is the call to adventure.  It happens when the hero first confronts something outside the experience of his ordinary world that beacons him to leave it.  It overlaps closely with the inciting incident, and marks the point at which the hero’s journey begins.

However, it is not typically where the story begins.  In order for the hero to leave the ordinary world, he must first start out there, so we know what’s at stake and what he’s leaving behind.  This is why Luke Skywalker starts out on his uncle’s homestead, and why Neo starts out as a bored and lonely employee of Metacortex.  Events outside the hero’s experience may have already put him on a trajectory to leave on the adventure, but he won’t know it until the call comes.

The hero may start out in a quiet, peaceful village, far removed from any sort of conflict–or he may start out in the middle of a crapsack world, as is the case with dystopian fiction.  The important thing is that it’s the world he’s always known–that he hasn’t ever really made an effort to leave or change it.

How he feels about his world largely determines how he chooses to respond to the call.  In older literature, the hero typically refuses it.  The advantage of this is that it gives the reader a sense of scope–that this adventure is not a small or a trivial thing.  It also sets up an immediate minor conflict that gives some motion to the opening chapters.

In modern stories, though, it’s more common for the hero (or his friends) to jump at the call.  There are also many advantages to this.  In Lord of the Rings, it gives Frodo an immediate band of sidekicks.  In Harry Potter, it plays up the sense of wonder at the magical world.  In the Chronicles of Prydain, it highlights the impulsiveness and naivete of Terran, as he realizes later on in the story just how stupid of him it was.

The call itself can take many forms.  It can come as a fateful visitation from a supernatural messenger, a mysterious request from a dying stranger, or a sacred trust from a dying friend.  It can also be more internal, such as an important moment of decision, or a desire to find some greater purpose in life.  Whatever the case, the one thing the hero cannot do is ignore it–at least, not forever.  One way or another, the hero sets out, and the adventure begins.

Trope Tuesday: The Hero’s Journey

For the next few Trope Tuesday posts, I’m going to pick apart one of my favorite story patterns, the monomyth or “hero’s journey.” Other tropes come and go, but the hero’s journey is truly timeless.  If you can get it to work for you, it can do wonders for your ability to understand and tell stories.

In many ways, this is the trope to end all tropes. it is the source of almost all the major story archetypes, and can be found in the myths and folklore of almost every human culture–hence the term “monomyth.” It was first formulated by Joseph Campbell, who outlined it in his book The Hero with a Thousand Faces.  He summarized it like this:

A hero ventures forth from the world of common day into a region of supernatural wonder: fabulous forces are there encountered and a decisive victory is won: the hero comes back from this mysterious adventure with the power to bestow boons on his fellow man.

Campbell was an academic who studied mythology and folklore, and his book, though insightful, is pretty friggin dense (not to mention scientifically obsolete–he references a lot of Freud’s theories that have largely been discredited).  Later, writers like  Chris Vogler, Phil Cousineau, and David Adams Leeming analyzed and simplified the monomyth for popular audiences.

Enough background–what is it?  Basically, it’s a story pattern that resonates powerfully with readers across all genres.  In its simplest formulation, it follows three steps:

  1. Departure: The Hero leaves the familiar world.
  2. Initiation: The Hero learns to navigate the unfamiliar world.
  3. Return: The Hero masters  the unfamiliar world and returns to the familiar.

Campbell himself identified 17 stages, some of which are interchangeable:

  1. Call to Adventure: The Hero learns that he must leave the familiar world.
  2. Refusal of the Call: The Hero balks, for any number of reasons.
  3. Supernatural Aid: The Hero receives something to help him on his quest.
  4. Crossing the Threshold: The Hero ventures into the world of adventure.
  5. Belly of the Whale: The Hero passes the point of no return.
  6. The Road of Trials: The Hero’s resolve is tested, and he begins to grow.
  7. The Meeting with the Goddess: The Hero experiences the power of love.
  8. Woman as Temptress: The Hero faces and overcomes temptation.
  9. Atonement with the Father: The Hero passes the final test.
  10. Apotheosis: The Hero dies and is reborn.
  11. The Ultimate Boon: The Hero receives a gift to take home.
  12. Refusal of the Return: The Hero doesn’t want the adventure to end.
  13. The Magic Flight: The Hero uses his newly mastered skills to escape.
  14. Rescue from Without: The Hero is saved by his newfound friends.
  15. The Crossing of the Return Threshold: The Hero leaves his new world.
  16. Master of Two Worlds: The Hero reconciles the old ways with the new.
  17. Freedom to Live: The Hero uses what he has learned to live the rest of his life.

Do any of those sound familiar?  Yeah, I thought so.  It might be hard to think of a story that fits all 17 points at once, but it’s not uncommon to find one that hits seven or eight (or possibly more).

A simpler formulation by Leeming goes like this:

  1. Miraculous conception and birth
  2. Initiation of the hero-child
  3. Withdrawal from family or community for meditation and preparation
  4. Trial and Quest
  5. Death
  6. Descent into the underworld
  7. Resurrection and rebirth
  8. Ascension, apotheosis, and atonement

My personal favorite, though, is Vogler’s:

So how useful is this trope really?  Well, consider this: Orson Scott Card’s Ender’s Game was the first novel to win both the Hugo Award and the Nebula Award in the same year…and it hits up all eight points listed above.  The following year, Card published Speaker for the Dead, which also hit all eight points, and also won both the Hugo and the Nebula award.

The thing that made Star Wars more than just another campy sci-fi b-movie with (let’s face it) terrible acting and hokey dialogue is the fact that George Lucas drew so heavily from Joseph Campbell and the hero’s journey.  Think about it: Luke Skywalker passes through almost every one of the 17 points, right up to the awesome throne room finale at the end.

Well, this guy certainly helped.

Of course, it’s possible to go too far.  Lucas also tried to use the hero’s journey in the prequel trilogies, and failed miserably.  Why?  Many reasons, but mostly because he used it as a rigid checklist rather than a dynamic set of flexible guidelines.  The hero doesn’t have to have a literal miraculous conception; he just needs to be chosen in some way.  The goddess doesn’t have to be literal, and neither does the father–those stages can be represented quite loosely, or merged with others.

In my own writing, I’ve found that the best way to use the hero’s journey is to use it to understand what I’ve already written, and to trust my subconscious to fill in the next step.  In every book I read, or every movie I watch, I constantly pick it apart, looking for each of the steps.  This trains me to recognize the hero’s journey in my own work without having to break out the hammer or force things too much.

So how do you use the hero’s journey in your own work?  Do you find yourself hitting up all the points subconsciously, or do you use some other method?  Or do you hate the hero’s journey and try to avoid it altogether?  If you do hate it, I hope that my next few Trope Tuesday posts will help you to change your mind.

Trope Tuesday: Accidental Marriage

When it comes to weddings, most of us like to plan things out in advance.  It’s not uncommon for couples to spend years figuring each other out before they finally tie the knot.  So what happens when you wake up one morning and find yourself married by accident to a complete and total stranger?

This trope generally comes in two forms:

  1. Situational: Two people from the same culture end up in a comedic situation where, quite unintentionally, they end up marrying each other.  Often takes place in Las Vegas and/or involves some form of intoxication.  Usually, neither of them has a clue what they’re getting into until it’s too late.
  2. Cross-Cultural: While traveling in a foreign land, the hero unwittingly marries the chieftain’s daughter through a hilarious cultural misunderstanding.  Typically, the guy is the oblivious one, while the girl knows exactly what’s she’s doing, though the gender roles do occasionally get reversed.

The characters are never the kind of people who would just up and leave their spouse, though–that would ruin the story.  For that reason, they’re usually both decent, likable people, at least at first.  But even if they decide to stick together, they usually have to work through a ton of (often hilarious) challenges first.

When part of the main storyline, this trope is often used as the setup for a romantic comedy (since the alternative is, well, kind of a downer).  When done well, it combines the awkwardness of a blind date with all of the angst and anticipation that comes along with wedding and marriage.  There’s a variety of ways that the situation can be resolved, and the longer things drag out, the more reasons the couple finds for sticking things out.

That’s not always the case, of course.  In the “Our Mrs. Reynolds” episode of Firefly, what starts out as an accidental marriage between Mal and Saffron turns into…well, something else.

Within science fiction & fantasy, this is probably the most prominent example of this trope.  The first half of the episode plays it straight, with Mal participating in a ceremony that seems innocent enough, but later turns out to be a marriage.  At first, he tries to get out of it, but one thing leads to another, and…well, go rewatch the episode!

Another good example of this is found in the movie Jeremiah Johnson.  The titular character, a former confederate soldier turned mountain man, finds himself a guest of the Flathead Indians.  The chief asks about a number of horses and scalps he acquired, and Jeremiah, who never wanted them in the first place, gives them to the chief as a gift.  Moments later, he realizes his mistake: the Flatheads have a custom of exchanging gifts of equal or greater value, and if they cannot reciprocate, they consider it an insult worthy of death.  Fortunately for Jeremiah, the chief finds a solution: he gives him his daughter.

Both of these examples involve variations of the cross-cultural type.  A good example of a purely situational version of this trope is the webcome Marry Me.  It starts with a philanthropist pop-star who’s suffering from burnout and on the verge of having a mental breakdown.  While putting on a concert, she sees a guy in the front with a sign that says “marry me” and decides, on a whim, to bring him onstage and do just that.

The thing is, he was only holding the sign for a friend, who was taking a bathroom break at the time.  He’s not even a fan of her music.  As you might expect, hilarity ensues.

Finally, this trope plays a major role in my latest title, Star Wanderers.  It starts off with a young single starfarer, who makes his living running the trade routes between stars.  Without realizing it, he visits a station where the food production systems have just recently broken down, condemning everyone to die.

The station master pulls Jeremiah into his private quarters and makes him choose one of his daughters, presumably to save her.  Jeremiah can’t really say no, so he chooses one, only to find himself holding hands with her while her father says a quick prayer.  Moments later, they’re whisked away to his starship, where they have a long voyage alone together to look forward to.

As you might have guessed, I’m a big fan of this trope.  When things work out, it can really make for a heartwarming story.  But whether or not it does, the romantic tension is just delicious.

PS: Be sure to check out the “playing with” page for this trope–there’s a lot of interesting variations on the main theme!  My favorite is the logical extreme, with the fertility dolls and the pie.  Interesting stuff…maybe I’ll use that in a story of my own someday. 😉

Trope Tuesday: Deus Ex Machina

God from the machine. Literally.

This one is by request.  A Deus Ex Machina, or “God from the Machine” ending, is basically when the author writes himself into a corner and pulls something out of his butt to resolve the story.

The term comes from ancient Greek theater, which often employed this technique–probably because the audience was known to get violent when the show didn’t end the way they wanted it to.  Basically, a crane–the “machina,” or machine–would lower an actor playing the role of one of the gods–the “deus”–who would then resolve everything and tie up all the loose ends without the heroes having to do anything.

Sound unsatisfying?  Yeah, I think so too.  That’s why it’s often used as a derogatory term, much like Mary Sue.  HOWEVER, it can be done well.  As always, your mileage may vary, but here are some examples that pull it off:

WARNING! SPOILERS!

  • Watership Down:  A girl saves Hazel from her cat.  Satisfying because it makes sense from the girl’s point of view, and humanizes the story by showing that it really does take place in our world.
  • The Hobbit:  The eagles arrive out of nowhere to turn the tide of the Battle of Five Armies just at the critical moment.  Satisfying because it’s a cavalry ending as well, though some fans don’t like it.
  • Lord of the Rings:  Again, the eagles swoop down and save the day, this time by rescuing Frodo and Sam from the fires of Mount Doom.  Satisfying because after coming this far, we really don’t want a downer ending.
  • Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone:  Harry is saved by his mother’s love.  Satisfying because of the symbolism and the power of love.
  • Lord of the Flies: Just as the boys are about to kill each other, a military ship arrives out of nowhere and rescues them.  Again, satisfying because of the symbolism, as well as the collective “what have I done” moment.
  • Schlock Mercenary:  Many, many occasions.  Satisfying because it’s brilliantly lampshaded.
  • Monty Python and the Holy Grail: “…the animator had a fatal heart attack!  The cartoon peril was no more!”
  • Raiders of the Lost Ark:  The Nazis capture Indiana Jones and get the Ark of the Covenant, but when they open it, a supernatural force kills them all.  Satisfying because it squares with Indy’s general MO and his pattern of spectacular failures.
  • The War of the Worlds:  The humans are utterly powerless to stop the aliens, but they all die off from germs.  Satisfying because of the underlying message.

Does this mean that it’s a good idea to write off any criticism that your own work suffers from a Deus Ex Machina?  Probably not.  This is one of those things that readers tend not to notice when it’s done well.  If your readers notice it, chances are that something is broken.

As you might guess, there’s a lot of gray area as to what constitutes a Deus Ex Machina, and what is actually something else.  Generally, if the ending is properly foreshadowed, either by a Chekov’s Gun or by good character development, it’s not a Deus Ex.  The foreshadowing removes the “out of nowhere” aspect that readers find so unsatisfying.

Foreshadowing is one way to fix a Deus Ex Machina.  Another way is to toss out the ending and rewrite it from scratch, starting at the point where hero starts getting sidelined.  According to Dan Wells’ seven point story structure, the hero should typically spend the first half of the story reacting to the villain, and the second half getting the villain to react to him.

There are lots of other ways to fix a Deus Ex Machina, but those are probably the biggest ones.  If you have any other suggestions, by all means, suggest away.

Trope Tuesday: Dreaming of Things to Come

When a character in a story has a dream, there’s almost certainly a reason for it.  If it’s not thrown in just to show how scarred or tortured he is (or alternately, how repressed he is), chances are good he’s dreaming of things to come.

I’m a huge fan of this trope, as you may be able to tell if you’ve read any of my books.  It’s a special form of foreshadowing that lends a mystical, otherworldly flavor.  It’s also something that we can relate to: how often have you had a dream that was so powerful, so moving, that it just had to mean something?

When played straight, this trope often implies some sort of all-seeing being who sent the dream on purpose.  However, this doesn’t have to be the case.  I often find it much more satisfying when we don’t know where the dream came from.  It’s very easy to shatter the sense of wonder by over-explaining things, especially when it comes to the dream world.

Of course, the character doesn’t just have to dream of things to come to capture that sense of wonder.  They can also dream of times gone by, discovering something previously unknown about the past, or dream of the truth, working through a previously unsolvable problem in their sleep.  The mystical, otherworldly flavor still holds true for all of them.

As you might expect, this is a fairly common trope in fantasy.  Some prominent examples include:

  • Lord of the Rings
  • The Silmarillion
  • A Game of Thrones
  • The Black Cauldron
  • American Gods
  • Most of the Redwall books
  • Dragonsflight
  • Watership down

Why is so popular?  Even though dreaming is such a common, universal experience, it’s still shrouded in mystery.  It resonates deeply with us because we can all relate to it, and at the same time it opens all sorts of windows into the fantastic because there is so little we understand.

Like I said before, this is sort of a pet trope for me.  Consciously or not, I tend to throw in at least one dream sequence in every book I write.  It seems to have worked pretty well so far, so I don’t think I’ll be changing that anytime soon.

Trope Tuesday: Slap Slap Kiss

There aren't enough scoundrels in your life.

Unless you have an unhealthy aversion to kissing books, you’re probably familiar with Slap Slap Kiss.  It’s common in genre romance, but you’ll often find it in science fiction & fantasy too.  When done well, it’s a great way to make sparks fly, but when done poorly…I think you can fill in the rest.

The basic underlying concept is that love and hate are just two sides of the same coin.  Both involve strong feelings for another person, the kind that drive you crazy and make it hard to think straight.  According to this theory, it’s a lot easier to fall in love with someone you hate than to fall in love with someone you don’t really care about.  And once you fall in love, the rest is easy. <snark!>

Kiss Kiss Slap is the Tsundere’s standard MO.  An effective way to end the will they or won’t they? phase, though the trope is so common that you can spot it almost as soon as the slapping starts (Dinosaur Comics has a good commentary on that).  Sometimes happens in conjunction with Foe Yay, though the couple doesn’t have to start out as sworn enemies.  The kiss itself is usually one of those “lovely trick[s] designed by nature to stop speech when words become superfluous.” When set up properly, is often accompanied by a Love Epiphany.

Of course, it’s possible to go too far.  There’s a fine line between “all’s fair” and kicking the dog, and if you cross it…good luck.  Alternately, if the slapping doesn’t cross the line, but the kiss doesn’t live up to expectations, it’s also going to fall flat.  And if the main reason you invoke this trope is because the plot demands it…let’s just say, you’re doing it wrong.

In general, I think it’s important to keep the following in mind:

  • The attraction needs to be properly foreshadowed.  If the characters start slapping each other without even a hint of sexual tension first, no amount of backpedaling is going to make up for it.
  • Neither of the characters should tear each other down.  There’s a big difference between a slap and a punch (and a roundhouse kick, for that matter).  Even though the characters may abuse each other, they have to have at least some mutual respect.  After all, Han still called Leia “your highness,” and Leia still complimented Han on his “bucket of bolts” (albeit sarcastically).  Once the respect is gone, so is any hint of romance.
  • The kiss needs to be proportional to the slap.  Lots of slap with an innocent little peck is going to feel anticlimactic, while a tap on the chin with a giant make out moment immediately afterward is going to feel melodramatic.  The two need to be balanced in order for the trope to work.
  • The couple should have at least something in common. “Opposites attract” is often just an excuse for shoddy character development.  In real life, if the two people don’t have at least something in common, value-wise and personality-wise, the romance is pretty much doomed to fail.  As always, however, Your Mileage May Vary.

Finally, even though there are a lot of reasons to hate this trope, there’s a reason we keep coming back to it.  What that reason is exactly, I can’t say, but I know it when I see it.  After all, you really shouldn’t over analyze some things.  Like this video:

I think my work here is done.  What sayest thou?

Trope Tuesday: Freudian Trio

Last week, I blogged about the Three Faces of Eve trope.  But if we’re going to discuss power trios in any depth, we first need to examine the classic Freudian Trio, one of the most prevalent combos and, in some ways, a precursor to all others.

As you might expect, the Freudian Trio borrows heavily from Sigmund Freud, specifically, his theory of the Id, the Ego, and the Superego.   The main idea is that the human mind is divided into three parts: the Id, which comprises our basest animal instincts; the Superego, which comprises our concepts of morality and social norms; and the Ego, which struggles to find a balance between the two.

In the Freudian Trio, these elements of the psyche are represented by:

Each of these character archetypes are fascinating in their own right, and deserve to be examined in much greater depth.  However, in the Freudian Trio, it’s the combination of the three that proves so fascinating.

When faced with an interesting moral dilemma, the McCoy often wants to screw the rules and run in with guns blazing, while the Spock advocates caution, reminding us of the prime directive.  Or maybe the McCoy is paralyzed by indecision, while the Spock is the only one cold enough to make the sadistic choice.  In either case, the way the Kirk manages to resolve it will almost always reveal something deeper about the world or human nature.

The thing that’s truly amazing is how prevalent this trope is in fiction.  To name a few:

  • Star Trek: McCoy (Id), Spock (Superego), and Kirk (Ego).
  • Star Wars: Han (Id), Leia (Superego), and Luke (Ego), also:
  • Star Wars: Emperor Palpatine (Id), Grand Moff Tarkin (Superego), and Darth Vader (Ego).
  • Ender’s Game: Peter (Id), Valentine (Superego), and Ender (Ego).
  • Lord of the Rings: Gollum (Id), Sam (Superego), and Frodo (Ego), also:
  • Lord of the Rings: Gimli (Id), Legolas (Superego), and Agagorn (Ego), also:
  • Lord of the Rings: Dwarves (Id), Elves (Superego), and Humans (Ego).
  • Arthurian Legend: Sir Gawain (Id), Sir Lancelot (Superego), and King Arthur (Ego) (I would argue that Guinevere fits the Id role better, but I’m not an expert).
  • The Dark Knight: The Joker (Id), Harvey Dent (Superego), and Batman (Ego).
  • The Matrix: Neo (Id), Trinity (Superego), and Morpheus (Ego).
  • Shaun of the Dead: Ed (Id), Liz (Superego), and Shaun (Ego).
  • Fullmetal Alchemist: Edward (Id), Alphonse (Superego), and Winry (Ego).
  • The Melancholy of Haruhi Suzumiya: Haruhi (Id), Yuki (Superego), and Kyon (Ego).
  • Final Fantasy VI: Kefka (Id), Leo (Superego), and Emperor Gestahl (Ego).
  • Final Fantasy VII: Barrett (Id), Cloud (Superego), and Tifa (Ego).
  • Myst: Achenar (Id), Sirrus (Superego), and Atrus (Ego).
  • Starcraft: Zerg (Id), Protoss (Superego), and Humans (Ego).
  • Homestar Runner: Strong Mad (Id), Strong Sad (Superego), and Strong Sad (Ego).
  • The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly: Tuco (Id), Angel Eyes (Superego), and Blondie (Ego).
  • 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea: Ned (Id), Conseil (Superego), and Aronnax (Ego).
  • Twilight: Jacob (Id), Edward (Superego), and Bella (Ego).
  • Archie Comics: Veronica (Id), Betty (Superego), and Archie (Ego).

The Betty and Veronica one is particularly interesting because it’s also a love triangle.  In fact, most love triangles feature some kind of play on the Freudian Trio: the good girl vs. the bad girl, the nice guy vs. the jerk, the girl next door vs. forbidden love, prince charming vs. the loveable rogue.

Sometimes, the villains come from a dysfunctional or broken Freudian Trio, where one of the three died, was kicked out, or was never part of the combo in the first place.  When this happens, it’s called (aptly enough) a Evil Duo.  Examples include Pinkie and the Brain, Lex Luthor and the Joker, and Kefka and Gestahl (though that particular duo was very, very, VERY short lived).

Finally, it’s worth pointing out that the Freudian Trio is so common, it even occurs in real life.  Perhaps the best example of this would be World War II, where Churchill was the Id, Stalin was the Superego, and Roosevelt was the Ego.  With quotes like “never, never, never, never give up,” Churchill practically embodied the McCoy (his drinking penchant also helped), while Stalin, with his fanatic adherence to communism and his “million is a statistic” approach to the revolution, was as cold and calculating as you can get.  FDR was the one who held the alliance together, and it was only after his death that the Cold War really broke out.

Of course, it’s possible that we only see this trope everywhere because our brains are programmed to see it.  But if that’s true, it makes for an even stronger argument that the Freudian Trio plays on some powerful, universal archetypes.