Tempestuous Heroine In The Ice Cup

The Dark Heroine and the Fair Heroine

It is very easy to let archetypes become stereotypes in storytelling. Sometimes storytellers become so anxious about the possibility of their characters becoming sterotypes (that is, a mere two dimensional, cardboard “type”) that they avoid anything that resembles a standard archetype. Archetypes deal more richly and honestly with the qualities that belong to them — that’s why they are not “stereotypes.”

I went through all that in order to say that although USA Network’s Fairly Legal series began close to the edge of the stereotypes of the Fair and Dark Heroines, the show’s storytellers have managed to avoid the worst elements of the Stereotype Trap.

The principal characters of this series are Kate Reed, a passionate young woman who gave up being an practicing attorney to become a mediator. Her counterpart is her step-mother, Lauren, a competent woman who became a professional partner to Kate’s (now dead) father. It should be noted that whatever Lauren’s age (it has not been made clear), it is evident it is closer to Kate’s than that of the departed Eddie Reed. Where the Fair and Dark aspects play into this lies in the fact that Kate is a tempestuous, passionate brunette and Lauren a cool, collected blonde.

In The Scribbler’s Guide to the Land of Myth, I discuss at length the qualities exemplified by these two character modes. So I won’t go into all the details here (you can find them in the book!). But the key elements we need for this discussion are that the Dark Heroine is usually passionate and chaotic while the Fair Heroine is calm, cool and ordered. Other dichotomies that would go along with this could be night versus day, outside versus inside.

As I said, Fairly Legal plays with these archetypes.

Fairly Legal's Kate on the go

Dark Heroine in Motion and Disorder

Kate is frequently seen on the move. She doesn’t stay put in one spot very often. She perpetually runs late to meetings. She leaves chaos in her wake.

Passionate Kate of Fairly Legal

Kate easily becomes passionate about the things she takes an interest in, whether it is a client involved in a mediation or tickets to a performance by a Brazilian singer.

The "cool blonde" Lauren of Fairly Legal

Fair Heroine Holds to Order

Lauren, on the other hand, works hard to keep everything in order. As managing partner of Reed & Reed, she tracks as much of the work in the firm as she can, keeping on top of business. But she’s also subdued her emotions, placing them second to her dedication to keeping her husband’s firm afloat. She definitely comes across as the Ice Queen of the firm.

Kate and Lauren of Fairly Legal

For much of the first season the clash between Kate and Lauren was tinged with the clash of a Passionate Wild Child fighting an Evil Ice Queen. In the pilot (which was laden with Wizard of Oz references), Kate had assigned a ringtone to Lauren of the Wicked Witch of the West theme from The Wizard of Oz). That kind of opposition can work very effectively in a one shot. But for an ongoing series, unless they were going to commit to open warfare between the women, this clash needed to be adjusted.

Kate and Lauren work together on Fairly Legal

With Season 2, the storytellers have yoked Kate and Lauren together as partners in the firm, obliging them to find ways to work together. It is enough conflict in Kate’s tempestuous manner bouncing off Lauren’s sleek exterior. Additionally, Lauren’s prefrence to stick “by the book” to the rules of law and society gets bent by the heat of Kate’s passions. They make excellent foils for each other.

It should be noted that Kate is the main character in the series, so it is her goals which end up driving the main story lines in episodes.

More Elements of Kate As Dark Heroine

There are, however, additional things to demonstrate the Dark Heroine elements in Kate’s character. There are the men in her life.

Kate’s assistant Leo provides a small amount of balance to Kate’s trajectory. But, notably, he does not attempt to change her too much.

Kate and Leo of Fairly Legal

Kate’s ex-husband, Justin, however, is a different matter.

Kate and ex-husband Justin of Fairly Legal

Kate cannot quite let go of her relationship with Justin. He, as an Assistant District Attorney, represents order and stability – much the way Lauren does. But Justin cannot escape the fascination that the mercurical Kate creates for him. She stretches his boundaries, drags him beyond the limits he considers safe. But she leaves a lot of turmoil behind her, making him work harder at keeping his own life orderly.

With Season 2, a new man has entered the picture. Ben Grogan rescued the firm by buying into it as a full partner. He may be a practicing lawyer but his methods verge on Kate-level of chaos. Kate is now obliged to deal with someone who does not give her a clear, ordered surface to bounce off.

Kate and Ben of Fairly Legal

How does a chaos element (the Dark Heroine) deal with another chaos element? The boundaries are down. Order is not on the agenda. Emotion is definitely in play, for Ben has not made a secret of his attraction to Kate. He has even openly challenged her on her inability to really choose between Justin and himself. Chaos gives chaos plenty of problems.

Playing With the Archetypes

The point of all this is that Fairly Legal lets the archetypes play more fully, exploring all aspects of their natures. Just how controlled is Lauren? And just how much attraction does order and stability have for Kate? What happens when Lauren’s emotions get overturned or Kate has to play by the rules or lose everything?

These are the types of conflicts a storyteller can generate when he lets the archetypes really run true to their forms, rather than limit them to the obvious and thus end up as brightly colored cardboard. If you are going to use such motifs, pull out all the stops. You could end up with a character that’s as engagingly vivid as Fairly Legal‘s Kate Reed.

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Speaking at a Writers Conference

Next weekend, I’ll be one of the speakers at the Greater Los Angeles Writers Conference, giving presentations on both Friday and Saturday.

On Friday, at 4:45, I’ll be teaming with Maxwell Alexander Drake to discuss “Location, Location, Location”. Basically discussing setting and world-building for writers. On Saturday, at 3: 15, I’ll be holding for on “The Hero’s Journey” with my friend, Eric Swelstad.

You do have to register for the whole conference to attend these sessions. There’s quite a lot of material of all sorts being covered by the programming so it is worth checking out.

This is definitely an opportunity for me to get in some more practice speaking on front of groups. And I’ll be able to sell copies of The Scribbler’s Guide to the Land of Myth at the event.

The Conference is co-sponsored by GLAWS (the Greater Los Angeles Writers Society) and by Los Angeles Valley College.

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Journey and Genre

Once again the list of search strings in my website visitors statistics has turned up something worth blogging about. This latest offering is this search question: “What type of literature is the Hero’s Journey?”

It’s one of those questions that make me go “What?” and then realize there may be something worth considering in it.

There is a very powerful tendency for writers to regard the Hero’s Journey as being only about plot. It seems obvious, of course. It presents a sequence of motifs or events that very easily can shape themselves into a workable plot. That is certainly a perception that lies behind the search question. What type of literature is the Hero’s Journey?

 

The Hero’s Journey as Quest Story

It is worth starting with the obvious point, then. The Hero’s Journey, when regarded as a plot template becomes the perfect structure for a quest story. And when it comes to genre matters, quest stories are usually adventure stories. The Lord of the Rings, although a fantasy, is an adventure quest. The Searchers, by contrast, would be a serious adventure quest as a Western.

The Fellowship of the Ring

But what really is meant by “genre”? Basically, the term just means a “type” or “sort” of object. In literature, it can mean mysteries, science fiction, or historical fiction or things like romance, adventure, or coming-of-age stories.

Odysseus's ship on its journeyThe prototype for quest stories is The Odyssey. It hits all the major points of the Hero’s Journey: meeting the mentor (actually, the origin for that title is a character in the story), approaching the inmost cave, losing everything. If we consider The Odyssey in a typical genre way, we would probably call it an Adventure story. (You might call it an Epic – but that actually refers to the literary form the story was first captured in, a long narrative poem of a legend.)

So we’re still within the “expected” genres of a plot Hero’s Journey.

The Hero’s Journey as a Plot Shaper

What if we look at a supposedly unlikely genre for a Hero’s Journey plot?

Ghostbusters is a comedy riddled with elements of the Hero’s Journey, particularly if you use elements from Campbell’s outline. For instance, in Campbell’s outline, we find “Meeting the Goddess.” Depending on how you want to interpret the motif, it could either be when Peter meets Dana or when Dana becomes possessed. The “Belly of the Whale” or “Approach to Inmost Cave” element happens to involve the supernatural dimension.

The point is, again, we have aspects of the Hero’s Journey manifesting in an unexpected genre.

Can Romance Have a Hero’s Journey Basis?

What about Romance? Would we see aspects of the Hero’s Journey in such? Consider The Quiet Man.

It is, of course, more than just a romance, but the romantic relationship is at the heart of the story. In the “Refusal of the Call to Adventure,” Sean Thornton refuses to engage in brawling, much to the dissatisfaction of the locals. “Meet the Mentor” actually connects him to two characters, Michaleen Flynn and the Reverend Playfair. His “Supreme Ordeal” is, of course, finally dealing with his bullying brother-in-law, Will Danaher. But when we study the plot of The Quiet Man, it starts to look a bit different than an adventure story. We are moving into more metaphorical uses of the elements of the Hero’s Journey.

Other Genres of Stories Using the Hero’s Journey

By the time you reach a story like the film Hope Floats, you can consider the elements of the Hero’s Journey as thematic beats rather than explicit plot events.

Hope Floats is a personal story, a woman trying to rediscover herself. Her only quest is inside herself. No adventure-quest storyline here.

HamletAnd Hamlet, though it exhibits many of the elements of Campbell’s Hero’s Journey, never goes anywhere (well, other than Hamlet’s brief excursion at sea). The Prince meets a “Supernatural Aid” in the Ghost. We could consider his encounters  with Ophelia as the “Woman as Temptress” moment, given that he realizes his love for her could distract him from his mission of uncovering the details of his father’s murder. He comes to better terms with the Ghost (“Atonement with the Father”), and on his return to the court is feted with a supposed friendly fencing match with Laertes (“Apotheosis”). Although there may be plot events that coincide with the Hero’s Journey beats, the thematic stages are more important in the play.

So the question needs to be made, is the Hero’s Journey about plot (actions, movement, events) at all?

The Hero’s Journey and Mythic Motifs

I say it several times in The Scribbler’s Guide to the Land of Myth: mythic motifs and patterns are about meaning. The Hero’s Journey can certainly help any writer shape the structure of a plotline. But if you do not understand the meaning those story beats can convey, you will not be giving your tale any extra juice in using the Hero’s Journey as your template. You need to remember that in using the Hero’s Journey you aren’t just structuring your plotline, you are structuring the story’s internal meaning.

There is no specific genre that comes from the Hero’s Journey. That “journey” is about shaping the meaning of a story. The “events” of the “journey” are what you want to make them. The “journey” can be the ride you the storyteller take the audience on.

The key lies in meaning. Myth and mythic patterns are about meaning. If you think of the Hero’s Journey as the meaning, you can find that even a poem can take you on that quest. No plot, no genre, just an experience.

 

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Death Is Not An Option

ABC’s The River played out its initial season true to the form of the Constant Jeopardy Syndrome. The very end of the eighth episode (last of the initial production order) has the crew of the Magus, along with the recovered Dr. Emmet Cole, believing they are heading home. [SPOILER ALERT] But the Boiuna River isn’t going to let them go. It changes the landscape around them, cutting them off from access to the main channels of the Amazon. They may have found Emmet, but the River is not letting them get away.

Of itself, that ending continues to feed into the restrictions of the Constant Jeopardy Syndrome. But the last couple of episodes also add another factor to the mix, which has a (pardon the pun) deadening effect on the over-all drama. Apparently, in the territory of the Boiuna, being killed does not necessarily mean you are dead.

No Exit Through Death

We had seen this in varying degrees all along, of course. But with this finale episode, the non-death death gets pounded home with force.

Lincoln gets shot and killed. There is no doubt about the death. He is dead.

In The River, Lincoln gets shot

In typical mother-fashion, however, Tess tries to find a way around it. She convinces Jahel to perform a ritual to raise the dead — and it apparently works.

 

Emmet is encasedEmmet, however, having spent the last six months skirting the edges of death (he may even have crossed the border, but we don’t know for sure), realizes that the reanimated Lincoln is actually possessed by a hostile spirit. Lincoln’s own spirit may be present, but they have to get rid of the invader to be sure.

They succeed in that, using father-son emotional bonds to bring it about. Lincoln is back, alive, himself.

And then they find they’re still stuck on the River.

Over the course of the eight episodes, the storytellers have played with aspects of death. But because the intention was to create an ongoing series with a limited cast of characters, they have created a situation that plays against the key archetype of the series, Death.

Death Has Meaning

When we look at Death, two things affect us — there is the deep sense of loss we endure; but there is also the sense that it is a part of a never-ending cycle. Archetypically, then, Death signifies massive change. Even if there is a resurrection in a story, our expectation is that there will be a drastic change because of it.

That is part of the horrible power of zombie stories, of course. We see the reanimated bodies of people we knew, but they are drastically changed. Usually because the personalities we knew and loved are gone.

In other stories of people who “go through death,” the characters come through the experience transformed. Perhaps their natures are purged of flaws, perhaps they gain extra powers from “the other side,” perhaps their attitudes are simply altered. But the point is that Death is the symbol of change.

In the stories of The River, however, we don’t see that. Death apparently doesn’t change anything. The spirit of the dead missionary child in the (really spooky) second episode just wants her mother back. No change. Lena’s father just wants to tell her again that he loves her. No change.

 

Jonas was found hanging.The return of Jonas is a bit more complicated, though. Yet even so, in the last episode we discover that his character has not  really changed in spite of experiencing death. And most importantly, once the resurrected Lincoln is freed of the hostile possessing spirit, we find … he’s pretty much just the same as he always was.

If the storytellers for The River are not going to allow change in the characters, they end up undercutting the power of using Death to “scare” us. If death really isn’t an option, if “everyone comes back” and does so without changing because of the experience, the accumulative effect on the audience flattens out because nothing is at stake. There will be neither loss nor gain for these characters as they go through death after death. It would be difficult to sustain emotional credibility, because though we watch them revert back to a status quo, we don’t believe the experience could mean so little to the characters.

Killing the Impact of Death

Death is a very tricky archetype to play with. If you take away its power to transform people and circumstances, seriously transform them, you make it insignificant. And the problem is, the audience cannot believe that. For the audience, Death is the ultimate event. It must have significance. It cannot be treated as a plot tool to heighten emotional engagement for this moment. You cannot say, “Let’s kill the main character this week. The audience loves him. They’ll be shook up and so happy when we bring him back to life.” Well, okay, yes, you can say that. Once. And it will have to have an ongoing impact on the characters.

Unfortunately, for these eight episodes, The River wasn’t doing a very good job in giving us the transformations that should go with Death.

When Death is not really an option, you destroy your most powerful agent of change.

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Father Knows Worst

Most of the time, storytellers use Father Figures in a positive fashion. They use the figure to provide a Mentor to the main character, to give the Hero something to aspire to, or to provide an emotional anchor for the Hero (or other characters).

But interesting things can be done if you turn the purpose of the Father Figure upside down. When Father Figures go wrong, a storyteller can get a lot of drama and conflict from the resulting turmoil.

The third season finale for White Collar does just that.

Earlier in the season, we had been introduced to Peter Burke’s Mentor in the FBI, Special Agent Kramer. Kramer is skeptical about Neal’s reformation and makes no attempt to hid this skepticism. He does, however, apparently like Neal personally, and he certainly likes the asset Neal has become to the White Collar Crimes Unit.

Kramer as father figure to White Collar's boys

 

But Kramer acts as if he is still in full-on Mentor authority to Peter. He tells Peter that he believes Peter is getting too close to Neal. In doing so, in his very “I’m doing this for your own good” manner, Kramer treats Peter as a wayward son still in need of supervision, rather than a competent adult peer.

Likewise, Kramer’s attitude toward Neal shows the mindset of an oblivious, ruling parent. He believes Neal to be incapable of chosing the “right” action, and so intends to restrict Neal even more, by making sure Neal’s sentence is not commuted, and by removing Neal from the (actually healthy) influence of Peter, taking Neal back to the FBI’s DC office and making him work for Kramer there.

White Collar's Peter with Kramer

 

Peter advises Kramer that the senior agent is making a mistake. If Kramer treats Neal like a wayward minor child (or more brutally, like slave labor) by removing Neal’s freedom of choice, Peter warns him that Neal will react badly. But with all the willfulness of an out-of-balance Father Figure, who is sure he knows what is best for all concerned, Kramer plows right ahead with his restrictive plans.

The result, of course, is the season’s cliffhanger. Not only has Neal gone on the run, but Peter basically warned him to do so, rather than see Neal in Kramer’s smothering clutches. In this case, the next round of drama for the show will involve two “sons” in rebellion against an erroneous Father Figure.

Storytellers should note an interesting point here. Kramer is not actually evil. In spite of what we may think of his intended restrictions on Neal’s actvities (and his idea of forcing Neal to work with the DC bureau does reek of slave labor), Kramer believes his choices are good. He fears Peter’s character may be contaminated by association with Neal. He believes Neal needs even greater discipline. He believes he really does have the best interests of both younger men at heart.

He has mistaken the subtleties of the relationship between Peter and Neal.  And his mistakes cause conflict. He is trying to assert one aspect of the Father Figure (Ruler) when he would be better served if he exercised a different aspect (Priest). Instead of paying attention to Peter’s reasoning (treating Peter as a less-than-peer in understanding), Kramer asserts rulership authority without experiential knowledge. He only knows what is in the files on Neal and the cases he’s worked.

Skewing the effectiveness of a Father Figure can benefit storytellers looking for additional ways of adding drama to their tales. There are plenty of evil Father Figures, of course. But one who is just plain getting things wrong can be far more engaging in a story because of the unsettled emotional dynamics.

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