Reforming Mary Sue
Sep. 21st, 2005 05:56 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
truepennyThe Virtu, Chapter 5: 50 ms pgs., 11,205 wds
Running total: 239 ms pgs., 54,563 wds
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sosostris2012 made a post the other day about Mary Sues and the process by which a Mary Sue can become a real character--or at least a lens to examine the phenomenon of Mary Sues through. I commented with a link to this post of mine about Laurie R. King's The Beekeeper's Apprentice and the great Mary Sue-ness of its protagonist, and rereading that post of mine (and nattering at the ever-patient matociquala) prompted me to start thinking about Mary Sues, and Byron, and just what's at work there.
I use the term "Mary Sue" rather broadly, to indicate any protagonist1 who is clearly wish-fulfillment, whether she2 is the author thinly disguised and inserted into a daydream or whether she's a conglomeration of characteristics that the author, and the author's intended audience, are predisposed to consider "romantic." (And I use, as Cordelia says, sarcastic quote marks.) This is where Byron comes into the picture, because a lot of Mary Sues, especially in genre fantasy, are really Georgie Sues, in exactly the mode that Georgette Heyer pokes fun at in Venetia via the juxtaposition of Damerel with Oswald Denny.
The distinguishing features of this type of character, whether an uncomplicated Mary Sue or a Byronic one, go something like this (and feel free to add to my list--I don't pretend to completeness):
1. She's either extremely tall or extremely short. Height extremes are always a dead giveaway.
2. She is always thin, and usually stronger than she looks.
3. If she is in fact a she, she is very likely a tomboy. Or at least impatient with the normal lot of a girl trapped in a cod-medieval world.
4. If a he, he may be rather girly (e.g., Mercedes Lackey's Vanyel), though I don't know that this always holds true.
5. Long beautiful hair. Usually red or blonde. Or raven-wing black.
6. Tragic, guilt-ridden past. With scars. The degree of trauma depends on the inclination of the author and genre.
7. Unappreciated orphan child.
8. SPECIAL. Magic powers are good, or being especially empathic (Talia, also Lackey), or musically talented (Anne McCaffrey's Menolly). Or, you know, the long-lost heir to some kingdom or other, or the possessor of a miraculous birthright. It's not the specifics that matter; it's the Specialness.
9. Everyone who meets her either adores her or hates her. If they hate her, it's out of envy. People frequently adore her despite her acting like a spoiled bitch, because they can see the pain that causes her to lash out (see #6).
10. Drop-dead gorgeous. Often with peculiarly colored eyes.
11. A handicap or physical defect that nevertheless never impedes her in doing anything she wants. Myopia is a good one here, or some interesting illness, especially if you can finagle it to where the character coughs up blood on a more or less regular basis. (E.g. Raistlin Majere in Dragonlance, and hell YES Raistlin is a Mary Sue. And dripping Byronism all over the place with it.)
12. The more Byronic of the sisterhood frequently have borderline-psychotic tempers. Those who did not get the Curse of Georgie Sue are unfailingly gentle and sweet-natured and make friends with no provocation.
Now, it's easy to see why characters like this are appealing, especially if you're a teenager. (I loved Menolly and Raistlin in my time, so I'm not pretending to any moral high ground here.) They pander to the part of us that knows we are Special and misunderstood, and hold out hope that we will eventually, after suitable perils and suffering (which we endure bravely and from which we emerge possibly bloody but definitely unbowed), find a community or a person who will understand us and love us for what we are. Which is what we all hope for, and actually I don't have any problem with that as a plot arc.3 The problem is back there with the Special.
The message I wish The Incredibles had offered is that everyone is special, regardless of whether they have super-powers or not. Sadly, the movie only went with the inverse formation, and put it in the mouth of its villain, who wants to be sure no one is special, leaving the movie to assert that if you're special, you should be proud of it, and sure, using it to cheat is just fine, as long as you don't go overboard. Which is not a message I like very much. Being Special is a chimera, a mirage; even if you are special in some way or another, it doesn't make you a better human being or entitle you to anything more than the kid next to you. And being special in one way does not bring with it the attendant cluster of characteristics that make up a Mary Sue. That's the real problem with Mary Sues: they heap perfection upon perfection, or Byronism upon Byronism, until there's no room left for anything real.
Mary Sues also, as a species, have no sense of humor, and especially not about themselves.
As a writer, you start with Mary Sues because you have this nagging certainty that you have to make your character interesting, but you don't quite know how to do it. So you give her a shiny shiny surface and let her float through life without her feet ever quite touching the dirt. Byronism is actually a step up from that, because it grasps, however dimly, that making a character interesting has something to do with their interior life. So you go overboard, because you're still not quite sure what you're doing, and heap on the trauma in the hopes of generating sympathy.
And then one day you wake up and realize you've overloaded your poor suffering protagonist with attributes and traumas to the point that neither he nor you can keep the story moving for all the weight bearing it down, and you realize, blushing hotly, just what a little idiot you've been.
And you start over.
Which brings us to the idea of reforming Mary Sue. Because Mary Sues frequently do have an interesting character trapped somewhere inside them; it's just a matter of getting rid of the baggage. Or of letting the baggage be identified for what it is. Admit that your charismatic and beautiful character is an asshole. Admit that a Byronic past more often leads to PTSD than to romance. Like I said in my earlier post today, think things through. Let the consequences play out. Let go of the idea that Special equals worthy. Let Mary Sue get dirty; let Georgie Sue be laughed at. They won't thank you, but, you know, you're not in this business to make your characters happy.
Letting characters be real means letting them not be perfect. It means opening the carapace of Mary Sue and letting them come out. It means letting yourself breathe.
---
1Let's stick to protagonists for this post, although secondary characters can certainly also be Mary Sues.
2I also refuse the masculine back-formations such as Gary Stu or Marty Stu. A Mary Sue is a Mary Sue, regardless of the character's sexual equipment.
3Actually, I think that's one of the best plot arcs there is.
Running total: 239 ms pgs., 54,563 wds
sosostris2012 made a post the other day about Mary Sues and the process by which a Mary Sue can become a real character--or at least a lens to examine the phenomenon of Mary Sues through. I commented with a link to this post of mine about Laurie R. King's The Beekeeper's Apprentice and the great Mary Sue-ness of its protagonist, and rereading that post of mine (and nattering at the ever-patient matociquala) prompted me to start thinking about Mary Sues, and Byron, and just what's at work there.I use the term "Mary Sue" rather broadly, to indicate any protagonist1 who is clearly wish-fulfillment, whether she2 is the author thinly disguised and inserted into a daydream or whether she's a conglomeration of characteristics that the author, and the author's intended audience, are predisposed to consider "romantic." (And I use, as Cordelia says, sarcastic quote marks.) This is where Byron comes into the picture, because a lot of Mary Sues, especially in genre fantasy, are really Georgie Sues, in exactly the mode that Georgette Heyer pokes fun at in Venetia via the juxtaposition of Damerel with Oswald Denny.
The distinguishing features of this type of character, whether an uncomplicated Mary Sue or a Byronic one, go something like this (and feel free to add to my list--I don't pretend to completeness):
1. She's either extremely tall or extremely short. Height extremes are always a dead giveaway.
2. She is always thin, and usually stronger than she looks.
3. If she is in fact a she, she is very likely a tomboy. Or at least impatient with the normal lot of a girl trapped in a cod-medieval world.
4. If a he, he may be rather girly (e.g., Mercedes Lackey's Vanyel), though I don't know that this always holds true.
5. Long beautiful hair. Usually red or blonde. Or raven-wing black.
6. Tragic, guilt-ridden past. With scars. The degree of trauma depends on the inclination of the author and genre.
7. Unappreciated orphan child.
8. SPECIAL. Magic powers are good, or being especially empathic (Talia, also Lackey), or musically talented (Anne McCaffrey's Menolly). Or, you know, the long-lost heir to some kingdom or other, or the possessor of a miraculous birthright. It's not the specifics that matter; it's the Specialness.
9. Everyone who meets her either adores her or hates her. If they hate her, it's out of envy. People frequently adore her despite her acting like a spoiled bitch, because they can see the pain that causes her to lash out (see #6).
10. Drop-dead gorgeous. Often with peculiarly colored eyes.
11. A handicap or physical defect that nevertheless never impedes her in doing anything she wants. Myopia is a good one here, or some interesting illness, especially if you can finagle it to where the character coughs up blood on a more or less regular basis. (E.g. Raistlin Majere in Dragonlance, and hell YES Raistlin is a Mary Sue. And dripping Byronism all over the place with it.)
12. The more Byronic of the sisterhood frequently have borderline-psychotic tempers. Those who did not get the Curse of Georgie Sue are unfailingly gentle and sweet-natured and make friends with no provocation.
Now, it's easy to see why characters like this are appealing, especially if you're a teenager. (I loved Menolly and Raistlin in my time, so I'm not pretending to any moral high ground here.) They pander to the part of us that knows we are Special and misunderstood, and hold out hope that we will eventually, after suitable perils and suffering (which we endure bravely and from which we emerge possibly bloody but definitely unbowed), find a community or a person who will understand us and love us for what we are. Which is what we all hope for, and actually I don't have any problem with that as a plot arc.3 The problem is back there with the Special.
The message I wish The Incredibles had offered is that everyone is special, regardless of whether they have super-powers or not. Sadly, the movie only went with the inverse formation, and put it in the mouth of its villain, who wants to be sure no one is special, leaving the movie to assert that if you're special, you should be proud of it, and sure, using it to cheat is just fine, as long as you don't go overboard. Which is not a message I like very much. Being Special is a chimera, a mirage; even if you are special in some way or another, it doesn't make you a better human being or entitle you to anything more than the kid next to you. And being special in one way does not bring with it the attendant cluster of characteristics that make up a Mary Sue. That's the real problem with Mary Sues: they heap perfection upon perfection, or Byronism upon Byronism, until there's no room left for anything real.
Mary Sues also, as a species, have no sense of humor, and especially not about themselves.
As a writer, you start with Mary Sues because you have this nagging certainty that you have to make your character interesting, but you don't quite know how to do it. So you give her a shiny shiny surface and let her float through life without her feet ever quite touching the dirt. Byronism is actually a step up from that, because it grasps, however dimly, that making a character interesting has something to do with their interior life. So you go overboard, because you're still not quite sure what you're doing, and heap on the trauma in the hopes of generating sympathy.
And then one day you wake up and realize you've overloaded your poor suffering protagonist with attributes and traumas to the point that neither he nor you can keep the story moving for all the weight bearing it down, and you realize, blushing hotly, just what a little idiot you've been.
And you start over.
Which brings us to the idea of reforming Mary Sue. Because Mary Sues frequently do have an interesting character trapped somewhere inside them; it's just a matter of getting rid of the baggage. Or of letting the baggage be identified for what it is. Admit that your charismatic and beautiful character is an asshole. Admit that a Byronic past more often leads to PTSD than to romance. Like I said in my earlier post today, think things through. Let the consequences play out. Let go of the idea that Special equals worthy. Let Mary Sue get dirty; let Georgie Sue be laughed at. They won't thank you, but, you know, you're not in this business to make your characters happy.
Letting characters be real means letting them not be perfect. It means opening the carapace of Mary Sue and letting them come out. It means letting yourself breathe.
---
1Let's stick to protagonists for this post, although secondary characters can certainly also be Mary Sues.
2I also refuse the masculine back-formations such as Gary Stu or Marty Stu. A Mary Sue is a Mary Sue, regardless of the character's sexual equipment.
3Actually, I think that's one of the best plot arcs there is.
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no subject
Date: 2005-09-26 10:30 pm (UTC)Remembering that your secondary characters have no intrinsic reason either to like or to help your protagonist can make a huge difference. If you give them an agenda of their own, ever so slightly at cross-purposes to the protagonist (not just turning them into blocking figures, because that's just the negative of the Disney bunny and still not much of a character), they tend to develop in less simplistic directions.
At least, that was a major breakthrough for me. Of course, as
no subject
Date: 2005-09-27 12:37 am (UTC)My concern, in this context, is that I find myself identifying much more with a secondary character. I mean, still a profoundly important character, but not the hero. I guess I'm trying to make sure that I'm not crossing the line between identifying and Mary Sueing. I've wrestled with not identifying closely enough with the main character for some time. Though he may bear more of the marks of a Mary Sue than anyone else does. I've actually completely tossed two years of manuscript because my secondary characters had too much agenda; too scattered, too many stories, too much going on. I've got lots to learn. I've been replotting the story I actually want to write out of the remains of the last versions, and trying to iron out at least most of the problems therein at the same time.
Anyway, I appreciate your thoughts and your advice. I will cling to them. :)
no subject
Date: 2005-09-27 01:49 am (UTC)Certainly. And we all do it. Half of being a writer is flailing around trying to figure out how to do what you're doing. And if it isn't easier, it's at least less painful if you have somebody to talk at.
Okay. ObDisclaimer (unnecessary, I know, but I feel better for having it here): I make no pretenses of infallibility, and of course I'm only going off of what you describe, not any actual knowledge.
The problem with Mary Sues isn't the author identification. We have to identify with our characters in order to write them, even if it's only in one small thing with the rest of the character growing like a crystal in some completely different direction. If you don't identify with your characters, you write cardboard and unbelievable people. So that's no good.
What happens with the kind of Mary Sue I was posting about (and my definition is not the only definition out there, and it may not necessarily be the best one, either) is where the author idealizes the character. (For example, I identify very strongly with one of my short story protagonists, who's neurotic, introverted, and pathologically shy. But he's also timid, ineffectual, and rather selfish. It's actually hard to write him sympathetic enough.) Identifying with a character doesn't mean you can't be ruthless with him. Idealizing a character means you protect him, both by not letting him do anything stupid and/or bad and, if he does do something with potentially nasty consequences, being sure he has his Get Out Of Jail Free card.
That being said, when you say you're identifying too strongly with a secondary character, do you mean you're making them too perfect, or do you mean that they keep trying to take over the story?
no subject
Date: 2005-09-27 02:42 am (UTC)And I think I just like this secondary character too much, which is probably a bad sign. I wouldn't call him perfect, and his actions are definitely not without serious consequences, but I'm going to be very careful about his construction in accordance with this discussion here.
I started out with a very clear hero story arc; purposely drawing on the cues from the genre to create a very classic hero who I can then sort of deconstruct and challenge. I don't think it's particularly revolutionary, but I'm interested in heroes and and what it means to be one in a society that needs you to do one thing and then disappear. So I have the clear hero who fits into that story, and then the people around him who either support him in being a hero (for good or for ill) or support him in pretending he's not a hero (again, for good or for ill). And then I'm trying to create a small cadre of people who are able to move past those binaries, and that's where this secondary character is.
I really appreciate the language you're giving me here to clarify some pitfalls. Rather than just generally hope I'm not making fatal flaws, it's really helpful to have some concrete ideas to pit my ideas against.
What's really freeing right now, for me, is that I'm really not thinking about what will or won't publish. I just want to write a good story, avoiding some of the more obvious pitfalls at least, because I just love my story and my characters and I want to do them justice. If the thing is publishable when I'm done with it, great. If not, fine. It's a great experience for me anyway. :)
no subject
Date: 2005-09-27 03:21 am (UTC)And I hear you about what a difference vocabulary makes. Writing is so verbal, and at the same time so much of it actually happens in the parts of the brain that don't have access to language and can't say what they mean for themselves. I do tend to think that finding language to articulate the problem is--well, not half the battle, but it at least means you've got your armor on the right way round and you haven't left your sword in your Sunday trousers.
I witter on occasionally about the importance of having metaphors for writing. (One of mine is here (http://www.livejournal.com/users/truepenny/355753.html) and another one here (http://www.livejournal.com/users/truepenny/347112.html). My Old Reliable is the Great Grimpen Mire, complete with Hound or Hounds of the Baskervilles.) And it's becasue it's the best way I know to get the brain to describe its own process to itself. If you can find or make up a metaphor that helps, it gives you something to hang on to.
---
If you're thinking in terms of deconstructing and challenging, I think odds are pretty good you're not going to end up writing Mary Sues. Because they don't stand up to deconstruction--as my original post proves. Deconstruct a Mary Sue, and you're left with something shoddy, sweet-sticky, thin. A checklist of characteristics with an apparatus of snide remarks. Accepting Mary Sues requires a lack of self-awareness, an ingenuous (or willfully disingenuous)
I think your project sounds really cool, btw. I am a complete sucker for the deconstruction of genre tropes (behold, after all, my novel about the Gay Mage and the Thief :P ), and heroism and Being A Hero are such contested issues. (I'm assuming your project is a fantasy, but I just realized I could be wrong--not that that invalidates my point, since I think heroism is something that our culture doesn't know how to deal with very well, and it either gets ignored or sentimentalized, and so there's all sorts of room in non-genre fiction to talk about it, too, She Says, Digressing Madly.) And getting past binaries is important; it's also something that's really hard to do, and I wonder if perhaps that's where part of your Mary Sue anxiety is coming from. Because writing somebody who can do that takes some careful balancing so that they don't come across Perfect and Special.
no subject
Date: 2005-09-27 04:27 am (UTC)And I'm so glad to hear about the contested nature of heroism and being A Hero, I find it all very interesting. And you're completely right, it is a fantasy project. I'm absolutely loving all the conventions that go along with that genre too, because they're a lot of fun to work within/flout. I love using history for fiction, but I also enjoy the idea of medieval ideas mixing with modern elements. So yes, my project is completely fantasy, but not particularly medieval or anything. Partially rural, mostly urban. Lots of magic.
One of my prime motivations at the moment is thinking about creating a sort of tremendous hero figure, christ figure in a way, who really has no place in society once his world-changing act is complete. And how being that incredibly powerful, important person means losing pretty much everything that would ever be considered normal. And then of course finding how to live diagonally in the horizon between those two binary bookends (normal and Hero). And it's not this Mary Sue-sounding hero that I worry about. It's another one, a supporting character. The prime motivation I'm considering for him is faith. If faith is the thing that makes both the binaries exist (belief in the system), then what makes it possible for a person to see beyond the binaries is also faith, but of a more personal and direct kind. So while I enjoy my Hero, it's the faithful one that intrigues me most.
So there is specialness there, no question. I will ponder that specialness in light of this discussion, of course.
Anyway, blah blah blah! This conversation has prompted me to write up new character sketches from the point of view of a person who hates each character. All the annoying traits, everything that's frustrating. I always write character sketches from a place of a lot of love, but maybe focusing on the negative would actually help me to love them more. :)
Thanks so much for this, I can't even describe how helpful this has all been. And I so appreciate the ear. I really needed that just now.
no subject
Date: 2005-09-27 03:07 pm (UTC)And it sounds to me as if part of what's throwing you off is that, while the question of what happens to a hero when he's finished Being A Hero is a really good one, it's also one that is imposed externally on your character. But the other question, the one about faith, is intrinsic to who this character is--and therefore is a lodestone for attention from the moment the character is introduced. The actual Hero-type doesn't really get to the interesting bits (since we all know the dynamic of -You must save the world!- -But I just want to be normal!- We've seen it a thousand times, and while you can still ring changes on it, it's not got a lot to it to be intriguing) until rather later in his character arc.
I don't know. That may not be the problem at all. But I know that if I were writing the sort of book you describe, that would be an issue I would have to deal with. So I throw it out fwiw.
no subject
Date: 2005-09-27 10:31 pm (UTC)Again, thanks for all this. I'm going to do some serious work on this tonight and see where I end up. :)