The Limits of Speculative Fiction as Metaphor

As I said in a previous post, speculative fiction offers a uniquely flexible arena for exploring social issues or ethical dilemmas outside of their sensitive real-life context. However, there is a difference between developing 'applicability' (as Tolkien called it) and trying for a one-to-one fantasy parallel to a real-world situation.

 The flip side of being able to detach speculative fiction scenarios from the immediate concerns of the real world is that a fantastical situation has its own unique nuances. It's important to let your hypothetical develop in its own right, rather than forcing it to conform to a set of expectations and concepts that don't belong in that fictional world.

One of the misaimed analogies I see a lot is prejudice against vampires (or some other supernatural creature) standing in for prejudice against racial groups (or sexual orientation, or religion, or the like). Unfortunately, there's an obvious problem. The supernatural creatures, for the most part, are legitimately dangerous, and some even purposely prey on humans. The fear is completely reasonable. So when you compare this to unreasonable fears, such as prejudice against a particular religious group, it doesn't stack up.

Also, characters in speculative fiction may have tools available to them which we don't have in the real world.  Perhaps your characters can fit a blind person with bionic eyes or go back in time or read minds, so they have the ability to solve problems which would not normally be solveable.

I think the main idea here is to create a world and situations that prompt critical thought and discussion, rather than try to dissect specifics. If you allow the world of the story to be true to its own rules and morality, you will have a much more compelling story.

Fictional Introverts vs Fictional Extroverts

A few months ago, there were a series of articles around the 'net debating whether or not there are enough intoverted protagonists in YA fiction. The original article argued that there are not enough introvert leads, while the other pointed to a slew of characters who self-identify as quiet and shy.

Actually, I think both bloggers are right. While there are lots of examples of main characters--particularly in YA, or in fantasy stories staring teenagers-- of introvert characters, many of these stories place a great deal of emphasis on the characters overcoming their shyness and kicking ass, as though it was a flaw rather than a personality trait*. In all fairness, extrovert characters are often written as being generally loud and sassy, but don't get a lot of depth.

One way to get out of this trap is to think about the two personality types more deeply. Although the shy vs loud stereotype can certainly have some truth, it's not the only manifestation of introversion or extroversion. Essentially, introverts are people who need alone time to process and recharge, and work best independently (preferably in their own heads); extroverts are people who need company (the more the merrier!) to recharge, and work best with groups where they can brainstorm and think aloud. It's totally possible to have 'bold introverts' who enjoy parties, public speaking and other stereotypical extrovert activities, but then need some time alone to re-energise. Likewise, one can have shy extroverts who have trouble meeting new people, even if they love the company of their existing social group. And almost everyone modifies their behaviour depending on social context.

Secondly, it's a good idea to look at the traits associated with each personality group instead of reverting to the 'wallflower' and 'class clown' types.  It would be great to see characters really taking advantage of their personalities-- have an extrovert 'working the room' at a party, or an introvert using their sensitivity to detail to solve a mystery. Instead of having the person 'overcome' their personality, let them figure out ways to use their natural strengths.

If you want a more detailed exploration of all this, I'd recommend the book Quiet by Susan Cain. It focuses on introverts, but there's lots of info about extroverts as well-- great food for thought when you're developing your characters.

*Personally, I'm an introvert (INTJ, for all you first-year psych students).

Dialogue: The Good Parts Version

Everyone has heard that it's important for dialogue to sound natural. Under most circumstances, you don't want your characters to sound as though they're reading from a book. They should also sound like individuals, not simply an extension of the author's prose voice.

That said, dialogue is a refined version of how people speak in real life. First of all, we use, like, a lot of filler words. You know what I mean, right? In real life, we barely notice this filler, since we are focused on absorbing the content in real time. Reading, however, is slower, and we will not only notice filler words that appear at the same rate they do in real life, but be annoyed with them. As a corollary, excessive swearing in dialogue quickly becomes this-- meaningless 'white noise' words the reader has to skim through to get the meaning of the speech itself. 

Second, we say a lot of inane stuff. Psychologists refer to our social natter as 'keeping the channel open'-- using chitchat about the weather or other light topics to show our interest in the other person and keep the atmosphere generally friendly. While this is pleasant in real life, it's boring to read and slows the pace of your story to a crawl. Ideally, any small talk which seems necessary to the setting can be either summarised or used as a vehicle for some other conflict-- perhaps an assassin is trying to make casual banter while keeping an eye out for their target, or two people are engaged in flirting or passive-aggressive jabs for power. 

Dialogue should be the 'good parts' of conversation, moving information and creating conflict where it's essential to the story. 

The 'Apple Pie and Motherhood' Problem

Speculative fiction, by its very nature, challenges our ideas about how the world works. These fictional universes which don't play by our real-life rules can be fundamentally uncomfortable places. Perhaps because of this, there can be a tendency-- particularly in fantasy-- to revert to socially conservative messages. Author Greg Egan called this the 'Motherhood Statement', a scenario in which a story:

'posits some profoundly unsettling threat to the human condition, explores the implications briefly, then hastily retreats to affirm the conventional social and humanistic pieties, ie apple pie and motherhood.'

Part of this may be driven by a commercial viability issue. People simply fear that introducing an unusual theme or perspective they will scupper the marketability of their story. However, I think that's a risk well worth taking, especially in the speculative fiction genres. Furthermore, as I've pointed out before, if it exists, someone will be horribly offended by it. No exceptions.

Another part may be the author themselves losing their nerve. Having written a story requires posits unconventional ethics or an uncomfortable resolution, they panic and force a more 'acceptable' conclusion on  the narrative, even if it doesn't jive with the story's universe.


And there we go: the problem with the Motherhood Statement is that it undermines the defining feature of speculative fiction-- that these stories confront us with a world where the assumptions we make in our everyday life are no longer valid. You need to let your 'what-if' world stand on its own, and that means letting the characters resolve their problems in a way that makes sense in that universe, not what makes sense in ours.

Beyond the Leonard Skynard Shirt: Speculative Fiction and Metaphor

I'm a fan of the original Star Trek series, and not because of Captain Kirk's shirtless fistfights or the so-bad-they're-good special effects. It's because the show 'got' that speculative fiction, much like comedy, is a wonderful tool for exploring social and ethical issues in a non-threatening way.

When I say non-threatening, I mean that giving issues a new context strips away the emotional immediacy that occurs when directly discussing real life. Because our real-life perspective is so personal, we are inclined to haggle over minute-- I'm not a racist, I just like Leonard Skynard! Once we have stepped outside of our lived experiences and away from the historical and cultural baggage, we can see more clearly what the core of the conflict is. Discussing a distant and hypothetical problem in a distant and hypothetical context gives people a 'safe space' to explore their own ideas about the situation and debate with others*.

Finally, it breaks us out of our route responses. We all have issues about which our reaction is almost a reflex. Read any online article on any controversial topic and you'll see what I mean-- on any given topic, you can see a virtually cloned argument in the comments section, rehashing a variety of points that may have nothing to do with what the author actually said. Speculative fiction takes away our ability to revert to our mindless, scripted responses and forces us to think if the story makes us uncomfortable or brings up an ethical dilemma.

Fiction has a wonderful way of getting people to think, even if it's superficially silly. I'd encourage you to develop that aspect of your speculative fiction and create a truly thought-provoking story.

*To the Forgotten Gods reader who thought Sir Roger had a point-- go directly to jail, do not pass go. Ditto the person who thought there was nothing wrong with Alfred's initial viewpoint, and was disappointed by his subsequent character development. 

Character Jobs

I've written before about the tendency to give characters either 'cool' jobs, or an ambiguous job that doesn't interfere with the plot, or some combination of the two. I've also said before that I dislike the the fact that so many characters in Fictionland (and even more so in Fantasyland) look down on both manual labour and on 'cube farm' office jobs. All manual labourers are dumb and have no desire to get out of Dull Rural Fantasy Town #1,250, while all office workers are repressed, boring, and hate what they do. Unfortunately, there seems to be a very small number of jobs in Fantasyland which authors deem acceptably interesting, which contributes to the problem of rehashing the same overused plots.

As someone who is strongly identified with my 9-5 office job*, I'd like to see a bit more diversity. There's plenty of interesting stories that could be hatched by authors willing to think outside the paranormal investigator box. Think about what jobs make your fantasy world run. Are their specialty grocery stores which cater to creatures which go bump in the night? Are there marriage counselors who deal with all the interspecies marriages which inevitably go belly-up? If a werewolf gets hit by a bus, do they need a paramedic who is familiar with their particular anatomy and physiology**? Do community colleges offer associates degrees in communicating with poltergeists? Can you get a PhD in alien languages? Do dragon trainers post fliers at the local vet, offering their services to people whose cart-pulling wyrvens keep eating the neighbourhood sheep? Do teachers need special training to deal with the offspring of the aforementioned human/non-human pairings who show up in their classrooms? Are there lawyers and lobbyists who deal with inter-species rights issues? All of those people could have absurdly interesting jobs in a sci-fi or fantasy universe and provide you with more than enough plot whilst they're stuck at the office.

Alternately, someone could have (*gasp*) an entirely 'normal' job which influences their interactions with the rest of the characters and plot. Perhaps the main plot occurs at their 'off the books' work or in their personal life, but there's no reason that their day job as a bus driver or telemarketer or physics teacher can't influence the plot.

*I'm a data scientist. We are awesomesauce. 
**Like most greyhound owners, I had to shop for a 'greyhound-savvy' vet for Jack, as the breed has  unusual enough blood chemistry and drug sensitivities to cause flusterment in non-specialised vets; surely the physiological differences between a were-creature and a human is greater than that between a greyhound and a bulldog.

I See Dead Gay Love Interests

'By now the pattern was clear. Characters of questionable sexuality would meet with a nasty end in the last reel.'
--The Celluloid Closet

During last month's blogfest, I was picking which trope to do for the letter B, and came down to 'Burger Fool' vs 'Bury Your Gays'.  I decided that I hadn't written about classism in Fantasyland for a while. Besides, the Dead Gay Couple was an outdated trope, right?

Blog post written, I settled down to watch the BBC mini-series In The Flesh. The first episode was fantastic-- great premise, great characters, great acting, and lots of tantalising subplots. And then the ending happened. As it turns out, reports of the aforementioned obnoxious trope's death were greatly exaggerated. I will refrain from ranting about specifics, or this post will expand to novel length; instead, I'd like to take the opportunity to rant about the offending trope.

Just as I've said that evil should be an equal-opportunity employer, I think that any given character should-- in theory-- be vulnerable to death by dramatic necessity regardless of race, gender, orientation, etc. The key words here being 'dramatic necessity' (and also, as the author, you should have the ability for some meta-cognition about death tropes that have acquired unpleasant baggage and subtly avoid them).

So this is more than 'the gay guy dies'. The identifying features of this trope are one or more of the following:

• The LGBT characters and/or their love interests get killed off in numbers disproportionate to their overall population in the story; 
• Random disasters (alien attacks, hurricanes, meteor strikes, witchcraft-induced movement of the moon) seem to have a laser-guided ability to take out queer people without seriously damaging any named heterosexuals in the vicinity; 
• The deaths are pointless and do not occur out of dramatic necessity;
• The death is a plot point as far as it occurs to cause angst to the surviving queer partner (much like the Disposable Woman), but this doomed character is not developed and/or serves no further dramatic purpose; 
• Queer characters in happy relationships get their romantic partners squashed by the hand of the author  fate while characters in opposite-sex pairings get to have a happily-ever-after;
• If a villain killed the queer character, they go unpunished, or only get punished for events peripheral to the queer character's death. 

I add a few of those caveats because some authors just have it in for happy couples, and will squish them like bugs regardless of orientation; Joss Wheadon is a prominent example. Similarly, if the story ends with a total party kill, the queer casualties probably don't have any more significance than the dead straight folks.

Also, I'd like to draw attention to the fact that I said 'angst' instead of 'motivation' when discussing the 'disposable' love interest. The surviving party cries and gayngsts and maybe kills themselves, but does not go off on a revenge-fueled killing rampage against the baddies like the bereaved hetero heroes (if I'm incorrect, please leave your counterexamples in the comments!). Unlike the Disposable Woman manifestation, which at least operates under the guise of getting the plot rolling, this just makes the queer characters miserable.

Ultimately, that's what really pisses me off about this trope. It pushes aside good storytelling or credible causality to make sure the LGBT characters get punished for existing...in the author's fictional universe. It's the author going out of their way to make the point that queer people can't have nice things, even in universes populated by telepathic horses or reformed zombies or aliens.