Thursday, July 3, 2025

Frenemies: You're Not Who I Thought You Were

Another workable variation on frenemies is that the protagonists have misunderstood the essential character of the other.

In On and Off, Kang would remain irritated and uninterested in Ahn if Ahn truly was as conniving (I'll use any means, including my body, to get ahead) as Kang initially assumes. Sure, Ahn slept with Kang. But the relationship would never go anywhere if Kang thought he was dealing with a manipulator. 

A manipulative relationship CAN work. That is, a member of the couple can realize, "Wow, my lover is always playing games and looking for a personal benefit. Okay! I can handle that."

However, the manga On or Off establishes that Kang despises such behavior. He falls for Ahn when he realizes that Ahn was desperate to not let down his fellow "programming in a garage" freelancers. (And Kang feels guilty, though Ahn doesn't blame him.)

In fact, it takes a volume or two for Kang to figure out his youthful, impetuous lover. At the end of Volume 2, although he has begun to suspect that his original assessment was wrong, he still assumes Ahn will act coy and play a flirtatious game with him full of double-meaning. But, in fact, Ahn is entirely guileless. What he says is in fact what he means! 

Cherry Magic also begins with misapprehensions. Adachi assumes that Kurosawa is Mr. Handsome-Everything-Perfect Guy. He admires him, including how hard Kurosawa works. But he doesn't really begin to fall for him until he realizes that Kurosawa is kind of a mental mess and...mushy. 

It is Kurosawa's flaws that draw out Adachi's affection, not his perfections.

Sunday, June 29, 2025

Great Laid Back Action Hero: Hugh Beringer

On Votaries, I have reached characters from "P" authors. Since Ellis Peters is one of those authors, I naturally started thinking about the Cadfael mysteries.

Hugh Beringar is a great character, and I realized, much to my delight, that he falls into the category of laid-back hero (see list below). He is the sheriff of Shrewsbury and the surrounding area for most of the Cadfael series. He is spry and lean with dark hair and eyes. He marries early on. Consequently, his life and family parallel Cadfael's--including their pleasure in meeting their sons (new born in Hugh's case; full-grown in Cadfael's case). He remains Cadfael's ally and friend through all the books. 

He is also quite laid-back. Cadfael does not know at first what to make of Hugh, who is observant, calm, and capable of playing a long game. Cadfael begins to trust him and is relieved to have that trust affirmed when Beringar is amused--rather than angry--at being out-maneuvered in One Corpse Too Many

In the first season of the series, Beringar is played by Sean Pertwee. The look is absolutely right. Pertwee plays Beringar's character as a tad more uptight--I suppose two entirely sanguine-y characters onscreen would be too much--but he captures the easy push and pull with Cadfael. And Pertwee has this marvelous low-pitched baritone which captures the character's contemplative side.

Other Laid-Back Heroes

 

Wednesday, June 25, 2025

Tolkien's Great Romance: Beren and Luthien

I haven't watched Amazon's Rings of Power. I may some day. But even a brief review of the episode synopses makes me tired. It sounds like Elvish soap opera and doesn't cover the history of Middle Earth that I would now prefer to see. (Is a rehash of Sauron and the rings really necessary?) 

Rings of Power takes place in Middle Earth's Second Age rather than its First, and maybe someone like Jackson is holding onto The Silmarillion (First Age) to do it justice (I can only hope). In a recent rereading of The Silmarillion, I was reminded how much great stuff is available in Tolkien, if people will go looking for it. I'm a huge fan of Jackson's trilogies. I just don't think honoring Tolkien has to begin and end there. 

One of the best and most complete of Tolkien's earlier "lore" is Beren and Luthien. It has all the drama and angst anyone could desire. And, most importantly, it has a strong narrative arc.

Muddy Colors
Beren is human. His father is slaughtered when one of his father's followers unwillingly betrays him to Sauron. Beren kills his father's orc murderer and then makes his way through Ungoliant's niche to the realm of Thingol. 

In that realm, he comes across Luthien, who is the child of Thingol, an elf, and Melian, a Maiar. Thingol doesn't care for Beren as a choice for his daughter, but Luthien loves him and defends him. Thingol sets Beren a task to complete. Much of the couple's arc focuses on that task. 

The two perform rescues, face down Sauron (before the rings), sacrifice for each other. And they have this big pet dog! (Okay, he's more than a pet but...)  

Great characters! Great internal and external conflicts! Lots of material without having to resort to throwing a wizard-elf-dwarf-human-hobbit-villain-bunch-of-rings into a bag and shaking them about.

Saturday, June 21, 2025

The Problem with the Romantic Spy Novel

Agent Smith is NOT a nice guy.

On Votaries, I post about Spies & Spouses

The below is a repost.

* * *

The problem with the romantic spy novel is that (realistic) spies are not the kinds of people who should inspire commitment.

I argue on this blog that dysfunctional relationships can work as long as all the people involved know what dysfunction they're signing up for. But there are lines. And a firm line stands between ordinary-dysfunction and con-artists/grifters.

Spies--actual spies--fall into the latter category. Someone like Philby comes across not as clever, resourceful, daring, or even dangerous (in the James Bond sense) but as someone essentially hollow.

Lee, from Scarecrow & Mrs King, is
more like Seeley Booth.

John Le Carre's chilling depiction of spies in The Spy Who Came In From the Cold (wherein the sincerely loyal-to-his-country character is sacrificed for the sake of protecting a sleazebag asset) is a far more realistic depiction than the noble secret agent who wants to protect his/her country.

A variation to the amoral agent who protects a sleazebag asset is the tough assassin. The problem here is that generally speaking, tough assassins are like the mafia hitman serial killer in an episode of Criminal Minds: a fascinating character with a great deep voice  who has no soul.

Every romance writer wants to create Jason Bourne (who doesn't?)--as opposed to the schemer in the backroom. But unless the character IS Jason Bourne and has a good reason to protect himself without becoming callous, amoral, and deranged, the romance writer is stuck. (In Person of Interest, John's determination to regain his soul means he has created a set of personal criteria that he sticks to no matter the cost--he is constantly watching himself--plus he already walked away from being an official "spy".)

Spy movies should not even try to be
realistic--put the secret agent in a tank!
The end result is often spy novels that end up being (even more) unrealistic (than the average adventure movie). In one I read recently, the spy handed a gun to the object of his assignment, the mark (and love interest), within 24-hours of their meeting. At that point, I rolled my eyes and gave up on the book being anything more than a series of chases (well-written, I'll grant, but still--). A hard-headed, intelligent, resourceful, non-novice, non-amnesiac expert spy simply HANDS over a weapon to a wild card?

Where did my suspension of disbelief go? Oh, there it is, wafting out the window...

I love the "but love conquers all doubts" theme as much as the next romantic. Only, please, not in a spy novel and not in the first three chapters. Even Leverage gave its grifter several seasons to "repent" (and she was a nice grifter).

Tuesday, June 17, 2025

Shakespeare's Couples: Henry VI and Margaret

I read somewhere that Henry VI was Shakespeare's idea of a truly virtuous king.

I'm not sure Shakespeare would agree. The Hollow Crown portrays him as sweet-natured and sincere but troublingly naive. He tries to bring his magnates together but doesn't understand the underlying politics and isn't tough or honest enough to take a position that could result in violence since he would then have to defend that decision. Dante would have stuck Henry VI in a circle of hell that punishes those who undermine or ignore the need for social order. 

Henry VI is married to Margaret of Anjou, who was chosen for him by her lover. Towards her, Henry VI is bashful and romantic while she is...

Bored by him.

As a romantic, I could wish that like a tough Christie heroine, Margaret would be happy to marry a sweet guy who won't challenge her but rather give her safe harbor and scope to do as she wishes. 

But she isn't, and she isn't happy in a very believable way. She is tough, clever, manipulative, a chess player (the queen figure that moves!). She is derisive of Henry and can't shed her derision. She is such a strong character that some critics think that Shakespeare really wrote the plays (Henry VI, Parts 1 and 2) about her. Hey, he even brought her back in Richard III! And the critics have a point. In The Hollow Crown, which is fairly faithful to the plays, Margaret starts out out-maneuvering various ladies at court. The politics are as petty as all politics; they are also a fight over who will control Henry and therefore, the throne. She eventually burns down a guy's house and slaughters him.

I'd never seen a production of Henry VI, in part because I thought it was about a sweet king being manipulated by evil advisors and...okay, it is a play about a sweet king being manipulated by evil advisors (The Hollow Crown is also incredibly violent, showing what Shakespeare has characters describe; I skipped through the last hour or so). But the play is about more than sweetness and evil. Everyone, including Margaret, has legitimate grounds for their particular agenda: a wish to survive, too-long memories and grudges as well as past reason to distrust and fear, lack of better options, loyalty. Advisors play off against each other, creating distractions from more important issues. And many of them behave as decently as they can in the moment.

Shakespeare understood human behavior, including the wretchedness of political behavior (it's rather astonishing that more of his plays weren't banned by the powers-that-be but he was clever enough to use the past for his criticisms and to cloak his plots in apparent symbolism about something else). 

Shakespeare's realism here is why I'm not a big fan of royalty romances--contending with real-life politics is demoralizing. Bonding with a royal can in fact be dangerous--to health, rationality, emotional stability, and one's actual life. In real life, Henry VI and Margaret got along okay since they shared interests in intellectual pursuits and art. I still suspect--William and Kate aside--that these royal relationships are inherently kind of awful. 

Powerhouse!

Friday, June 13, 2025

The Dysfunctional Relationship that Works: Ten Count

Generally speaking, I'm not a fan of dysfunctional relationships. As I state in my post about Violence & Romance

Romantic love can't solve everything. It can't wipe out years of abuse. It can't overcome drug addiction. A person who has suffered such problems needs time and space to sort themselves out. Often, running into a relationship will only compound the problems, even sabotage the new relationship. Drowning people can drag other people down with them.

In books of this type, the trope "I saw someone across the room and knew we should be together" stops being cute and becomes intensely selfish, even skin-crawling. Sure, the object of the pursuit will cave--that's what vulnerable people do. Doesn't mean it's right.  

In addition, as I point out in a review of a light novel, if a person falls in love with someone with serious dysfunctions, might the person be in love with the dysfunctions? Or in love with the role of rescuer? What happens when the lover improves?  

Kudos to Ten Count by Rihito Takarai for tackling this issue upfront and quite honestly. Shirotani and Kurose become linked when Kurose promises to "cure" Shirotani of his OCD. In truth, he can't, which both men know (though Shirotani does get better). But years earlier, Kurose met a man who appeared to also be germaphobic. Kurose initiates a relationship with Shirotani based on the nostalgia and guilt and even attraction associated with that teenage encounter. 

His "patient," then boyfriend, is aware of Kurose's past. Consequently, one of the most touching scenes in the series is when Kurose confesses, "You are nothing like him." 

The behavior tics may have brought them together--and may in fact still define HOW they communicate--but Kurose fell for Shirotani (and Shirotani fell for Kurose) for his specific personality. The foibles are part of the attraction/charm, not the only thing that matters.


Monday, June 9, 2025

Character Transformation in Romance: When It Works

I point out in several posts that one reason I will walk away from an author/series is the abandonment of the character. That is, the author starts using a character for an often completely unrelated agenda by giving the character attitudes and behavior inconsistent with the character's earlier attitudes and behavior. 

The issue here is complicated by the fact that people do change. 

They change in terms of age. They change in terms of focus (what they care about, what they have time for). They even change by improving: shedding bad habits; acquiring good habits; treating others' better; treating themselves better. 

In Niffenegger's Time Traveler's Wife, the wife is at first somewhat disappointed when she meets her husband in chronological time. He isn't the older, wiser, gentle, mature guy she has grown up knowing. She knows what is coming, however, and waits for him to become that guy. 

Generally speaking, I do not advocate marriages built on "in the future, she/he might...."  In this case, what Clare knows about the man is something of a given. She still takes a leap of faith. But she isn't signing up for a complete unknowable. 

And, from a writing point of view, Henry doesn't instantly become somebody else. He is THAT guy, simply younger.

What keeps a character a character, even while that character matures? 

In my review of "Humbug," a Scrooge-tribute, I wrote that the novella succeeds because the author, Joanna Chambers, doesn't abandon the (thirty-odd) Scrooge's base personality: 

Chambers characterizes her thirty-something Scrooge, Quin, as inherently obsessive. That is, his personality is such that no matter what he does, he has to go at it to the nth degree. He gets into the consulting game by accident but once he is there, of course, he's going to be the best consultant ever whose team is also the "best". He's on the fast-track to becoming a manager.

Problem: the gig isn't totally in line with his personality, so he becomes--as characters in the story repeatedly tell him--a "dick." He later tells Rob, the Bob Crachit character, "I think [this job] brings out the worst in me."  Instead of becoming the kind of leader whose team is the best because they admire him and feel appreciated, he becomes (is becoming) the kind of leader who wrings work out of people through unreasonable demands and sheer sarky irritation. He is acting in accordance with what he believes to be the "role" of manager--and he does it well, but it makes him absolutely unpleasant to be around.

After his epiphany, he returns to his first plan to be a math teacher. And here is where Joanna Chambers really knocks the characterization out of the park: because of course, Quin has to be the BEST teacher. Only this time, what he wants and what he brings to the table are in line. He'll get in his students' faces ("They'll love you," Rob says, "because you're sarky"). He'll get in their parents' faces. He'll tick off the school board but still win. The aggressive energy that makes him unlikable in one field (that he doesn't feel at home in) will make him an excellent advocate in another.

That is, the triumph (and difficulty) of the character who changes is that the character remains the character, only better

A spouse can get better--but not because the spouse turns into someone else. The spouse is THAT PERSON improved, not "what I really wished I'd married instead."