Folklore: Halloween

Happy Halloween!!
(In three days.)

In terms of folklore, American Halloween--despite claims that it is tied to ancient Celtic and medieval European festivals--is a very recent invention.

Around Victorian times, Halloween in the United States began to involve private parties which would include fortune telling and apple bobbing. Themed costumes entered the picture in the 1900s, but costumes--and for that matter, begging--were associated more with Thanksgiving than with Halloween.

The link of Halloween to costumes and, specifically, to trick-or-treating by children didn't take place until the WWII era. The idea was to reduce adult pranking and general out-of-handness by concentrating on the child aspects of the holiday.

I grew up at the tail-end of this children's-oriented paradise. I remember going trick or treating, carrying pillow cases (none of those cutsy jack o'lantern shaped "bags"--those things aren't even close to big enough!), and I have a vivid recollection of my brothers discussing whether or not to go home and get my little red wagon, so (1) I wouldn't get tired; (2) there would be more room for the candy. When we did get home, we would count, categorize, and trade our candy. (Then, as now, I preferred chocolate to hard candy and just about anything to Baby Ruths.)

And nobody checked it. In fact, not only did nobody check our candy, people gave away seriously uncheckable stuff: soda, homemade caramel popcorn balls. I grew up in pure suburbia, and there were tons of kids on the street and tons of houses ready and waiting to hand out treats.

And then the scares started. Interestingly enough, the big scare--the Candy Man--happened earlier than I had remembered. The Candy Man, the murderer who used doctored Halloween candy to hide killing his own kid, committed his crime in 1974. As a testimony to the power of folklore, by the time I hit my late prepubescence (the early 80's), this isolated incident had taken over people's perception of the holiday. By the time I was twelve, Halloween had become what it is now (more or less): a day for parties, aimed at both children and adults.

Sure, there're still some trick-or-treaters out there, but the holiday does seem to have lost its non-commercial joie de vivre (maybe, I'm just getting old). Many movie buffs credit the 1947 film Meet Me In St. Louis as crystallizing the ideal mid-America old-fashioned Halloween. In the movie, the costumed children meet around a bonfire (in the street!); one of them runs off and pulls a prank (throwing flour at a neighbor man).

My childhood Halloweens didn't involve bonfires or pranks, but I realized, watching the movie, that the costumed children are completely unchaperoned; that freedom was part of my childhood (my childhood was basically Sandlot). Whenever I get trick-or-treaters now, they are almost always accompanied by adults. To be honest, I probably would accompany my kid too if I were a parent. But when I was young, Halloween really was a kids' night--our parents simply expected us to be home before . . . midnight, I guess. My parents weren't careless; they were products of the Depression-era. Since my siblings and I are all still alive, I guess that sense of security (or was it a sense of "if it isn't poverty or a bomb, it won't kill you"?) was justified.

And the truth is, there have been relatively few incidents of children being harmed on Halloween. The Proquest Newspaper search I used to locate the "Candy Man" turned up almost no other incidents of poisoning. I think I read somewhere that more kids are hurt from carelessly crossing the street while trick-or-treating than from "stranger-danger," but that could be propaganda by those companies that sell glow-sticks.

Factually incorrect or not, the surge of poison/razor blade scares had great impact. However, human beings are in general great adapters. Halloween didn't go away; it morphed. After the scares of the 1970's and 80's, at-home types of entertainment became more and more popular: for example, decorating one's house or yard for Halloween. To be technical, these "haunted" or "spook" houses are folk performances rather than folk lore, but with holidays, the two tend to merge: folk performances inform the way the holidays are written and talked about.

Literary/Modern Examples: Children's literature contains some of the best writing about Halloween, namely The Witch Family by Eleanor Estes and Jennifer, Hecate, Macbeth, William McKinley, and Me, Elizabeth by E.L. Konisburg (Konisburg references the folk performance of the costume parade at school). There is also a reference to Halloween pranking in Ghosts Have I Been by Richard Peck.

For media examples, there are the Monk and Psych episodes that deal with poison candy (the Psych episode just makes a reference, but the Monk episode uses the idea of poison candy as its central mystery).

Also, Home Improvement has several Halloween episodes in which Tim creates a "spook" house. This is part of Tim's repairman-persona; there are also several Christmas episodes where he competes with a neighbor man--not Wilson--on how many lights and elves and electronic reindeer he can put up. Although this seems to be entirely commercial, these types of displays are in fact largely folk-promoted. I could digress here into a discussion of the things people put in their yards, but it would get way off-topic. I mean . . . gnomes?

Folklore: Alien Abductions

Let's start with a time line!

1947: UFO sightings
1961: Betty & Barney Hill (first widely known alien abduction story)
1970s: People are abducted from cars and the countryside.
1980s: People are abducted from bedrooms; aliens implant devices; sexual experimentation becomes part of the stories.
1990s to now: Two conflicting narratives--benevolent aliens versus aliens who interact with humans preparatory to taking over the world

Psychoanalytical explanations link alien abduction stories to the growth of post-traumatic stress incidents in the 1980's plus the increase in hypnotherapists and victim support groups, not to mention the whole false memory controversy!

Physical explanations link the stories to sleep paralysis. I've personally experienced sleep paralysis twice in my life. Sleep paralysis occurs when the brain wakes up but the body doesn't. Basically, while you sleep, the body numbs itself. This keeps you from walking around and acting out your dreams. Sleep paralysis occurs when you wake but can't move. You may believe that other people are in the room (I did), and you may feel a heavy sensation on your chest. It is completely terrifying, but not, oddly enough (at least for me) as terrifying--once fully awake--as an actual nightmare. The sensation that others are present does feel extremely real, however, so I completely buy this particular explanation.

However, researchers have pointed out that people get very angry when you tell them that they had sleep paralysis rather than an alien abduction. I think sleep paralysis is kind of cool, and I can't imagine why on earth (or space) aliens would be interested in me, but I suppose I would get angry if I hinged my entire identify on one (or two) totally unusual experiences I had! (On a side-note, I think "identity" is one reason people clutch so eagerly at false memories of abuse; if the worst-possible-thing-in-the-world happened to me, EVERYTHING about my life will be explained. Unfortunately, as these people discover, it doesn't. Life still goes on being life, which means it is often completely inexplicable.)

All the above being said, in terms of folklore, there is little to no point in debating whether or not alien abduction stories are true. Rather, abduction stories should be studied for their motifs.

And they have them! Abduction stories--as Scully points out in X-Files "Jose Chung's 'From Outer Space'"--follow a typical pattern:

1. The abduction occurs from a bed or car.
2. The abductee--or experiencer--sees a light.
3. The abductee meets occupants of the UFO.
4. The abductee loses consciousness.
5. There is missing time.

Some of these motifs are very old; the idea of a visiting "other" occurs often in fairy tales. For example, incubi and succubi, demons in the shape of men and women, would visit their victims at night, sit on their chests (or other parts of their anatomy) and scare them silly. Fairy tales are also filled with kidnappings by faerie folk. Sometimes the kidnappings were well-meant; sometimes, they were one step up from child predator types of incidents (makes you wonder if the Middle Ages did have serial killers, and faerie folk were the explanation--forget Dexter; it was that guy from beneath-the-hill!).

Literary/Modern Examples: X-Files, naturally (I highly recommend the very funny "Jose Chung's 'From Outer Space'" episode); later on, I will discuss the literary motif of the "captivity narrative" which I believe is related to alien and fairy tale abductions.

Folklore: Monsters

There are, of course, lots and lots of folktales throughout history about monsters.

What are the three most common monsters that you have heard of?

I would suggest that for many people, the three big monsters are Bigfoot, the Loch Ness Monster, and the Abominable Snowman. There are many others, though, from the Feejee Mermaid (a Barnum hoax) to Champ, the creature of Lake Champlain, to the Jersey Devil.

With the exception of the FeeJee Mermaid, what makes these folkloric creatures is the perpetuation of stories (by supposed witnesses) unconnected to proof. Occasionally, as with Bigfoot (or Sasquatch), the information becomes supposedly "authentic," but the stories seem to be based more on desire than scientific reality.

The truth is, it is unfortunately difficult to go on believing that there are creatures "out there," what with infrared thingies and satellite tracking. I think there is a tie here to the 20th/21st century rise in conspiracy theories. As the world "shrinks" and we learn that there are no Shangri-las, conspiracy theories--the insistence that something secretive is being kept from us--blossom. Perhaps, humans need Dover Demons and Memphres and Mothmans. Otherwise, the world is just too darn pragmatic!

Literary/Modern Examples: Monsters, Inc.. gives us the (very funny) Abominable Snowman, complete with John Ratzenberger's voice. And for a very modern monster, there is Stephen King's Cujo. Monster folklore seems to be partly about fear and partly about wonder. Cujo falls into the fear part of the equation. He is completely vicious and random, which may be part of the "monster's" attraction: come to think of it, the random, indifferent, but wholly destructive Moby Dick is another example.

And then there is "The Jersey Devil," an X-Files eponymous episode (Season 1) based on the folkloric monster. The background story for the Jersey Devil is that during the Revolutionary War, a colonist fell in love with a British solider; she eventually gave birth to a winged devil-baby; the story is fairly old but sightings didn't occur until 1909. I'm not sure why such a late date or why "sightings" in 1909 would choose the Jersey Devil for its monster; I suspect that the same people, forty years later, would have seen aliens. However, once the sightings were made, they continued, all the way up to 1993.

X-Files, naturally, gives the creature a completely different background but keeps the location and name (total digression, not class related: X-Files postulates that the creature is a new type of human, a step up the predatory scale: it is intelligent but preys on humans. The problem with this explanation is that humans are a step up the evolutionary scale from, say, tigers, not because they don't prey on humans. They are a step up because they have superior firepower. It doesn't matter how "advanced" a species is: if it lives in the woods wearing a loincloth and less-advanced humans can blow it up, it ain't going to survive long, not matter how super-duper intelligent it is. This just goes to prove that even X-Files had duds although the episode itself is okay entertainment).

Many folklorists, including Diane Purkiss of The Witch Throughout History, suggest that our belief in monsters, specifically our belief in aliens, is part of the same desire? inclination? that led humans to believe in fairies. As stated previously, when our inability to believe that "the people" are here faded, we sent them "out there."

I will post about aliens and alien abductions in a few days.

Folklore: Vampires

My folklore class, should it ever run, follows this schedule:

• What is Folklore
• Folklore & Literature
• Regionalism and Folklore
• Native American Myths and Legends
• Colonial Religious Folklore
• Magic-based Folklore in Colonial New England
• Bogies: Witches
• Bogies: Ghosts 1
  
• Founding Fathers & the American Revolution

In keeping with the season, I decided to skip ahead to more Bogies—Vampires, Monsters, and Alien Abductions, not to mention folklore surrounding Halloween itself!

I'll come back to the American Revolution at Thanksgiving. The connection is actually more appropriate than it seems since Thanksgiving is, to all intents and purposes, a deliberately created piece of Americana!

Folklore: Vampires

New England vampires are not the same as European vampires. Dracula, Buffy and Twilight, although very different in atmosphere and approach, are descendants of the post-Stoker, European idea: vampires as dangerous predators who walk about, sometimes dressed in tuxedos, enthralling their intended prey. They are the "undead." Buffy, naturally, has an American high school twist as in the pilot episode where Buffy spots a vampire because his clothing is "carbon-dated" (i.e., it's 80's rather than 90's cool). ("Yes," Giles replies, "but you have to hone your senses. You didn't hone.")

New England vampires didn't walk. Their corpses (still buried) fed off living relatives, such as siblings. This belief/image thrived around consumption deaths in the 19th century. The only way to cure a dying child/parent was to dig up the grave of the dead sibling/child/spouse ("vampire")—if blood was found in the corpse's heart (not unusual for consumption victims), the heart was burned. This would hopefully spare the person who was dying.

This belief/ritual possibly existed before the 19th century, but that time period marks the advent of scientific responses to consumption. New England vampires appeared in written records as examples of "rural superstitions" (science versus ignorance, etc).

I found most of my information about New England vampires from Food for the Dead: on the Trail of New England's Vampires by Michael Bell. Bell does a good job explaining how a 19th century "peasant" could have doubted the superstition but still practiced the ritual. His psychoanalysis reminded me of a James Herriot story in which Herriot is trying to save dying cattle on a friend's farm; a neighbor man insists on carrying out "superstitious" rituals at the same time--such as burying a goat under the barn. Sure, the dead goat was useless, preventively speaking, but frankly, at that time, veterinarians were dependent on sulfur drugs and couldn't do much of anything anyway. If your livelihood depended on cattle that were dropping dead at your feet, you'd do anything: the vet, the superstitious neighbor man, the witch down the street . . . (then WWII and antibiotics came along, and it was a whole new ballgame).

Bell also relates an interesting example of folklore to the second power: in his search for a particular "vampire's" grave, he came across a story about a teacher who told his or her students about the grave; the teacher's students went looking for the grave and found the wrong one. Residents blamed desecrations of the (wrong) grave on the teacher. Bell wanted to speak to the teacher. Eventually, he realized that the story of the teacher was folklore. Maybe it happened; maybe it didn't. In any case, although the story of the teacher was repeated to Bell by several people, there was no "source," and the teacher was untraceable.

Bell also makes it clear that New Englanders never used the term "vampire." So are they even "vampires"? Yes, actually. In fact, New England vampires are probably closer to the pre-Stoker image of vampires in Europe than our current, but still folkloric, post-Stoker image.

Literary Forms--And there are purely American versions of the New England vampire. You find them in Edgar Allen Poe's tales, specifically in "Ligeia" where a dead woman feeds off her living romantic rival. Poe was possibly influenced by European Gothic horror, but there's a definite consumption creepy feel to this and to "The Fall of the House of Usher."

Kate's Six Principles of History

Election Day is nearing. And I've become aware--all over again--of how much I dislike political rhetoric. Seriously, if you want to persuade me to do something, just send over your opposition to hammer me with rhetoric.

I'm not completely susceptible to reverse psychology, and I'm not completely immune to well-reasoned arguments, but the argument, "But this must happen or society will fall to pieces" has never, ever succeeded in convincing me to do anything (no matter which way the pieces are supposed to crumble).

My reaction is, to a degree, based on my study of history. Here's what I believe about history. Some of these things may seem contradictory, and, well, they are (superficially), but they all happen to be true (I think), so contradiction smontradiction, I still believe in them all:

1. Individuals do make a difference. An Abraham Lincoln or a Marie Curie can change the course of future events.

2. Society survives because ordinary people get up and go to work . . .

. . . or whatever they are supposed to do. Politicians do not enable societies to survive. England went through the War of the Roses, the Tudors (Henry VII, Henry VIII, those kids who lasted two seconds, Catholic Mary, Protestant Elizabeth, not to mention the Spanish Armada, and whatdoyaknow, England (part of Britain now) is still there. And it's still there because people got up and tilled fields or baked bread or sharpened swords or mined or traded or had babies or whatever. If they hadn't, there wouldn't have been much of anything for the politicians to "save".

3. The world has been slated to end many, many times. It hasn't yet.

In case no one noticed.

When I was growing up, the world was supposed to end when the Soviet Union nuked us. There was even that movie on television--The Day After--and everything.

It didn't happen.

4. If the world ends, it will be in a way no one imagined.

Call it the Black Swan effect--but it's true. When the Holocaust was going on, survivors and witnesses coming out of Europe told the British and U.S. authorities about the camps. They weren't believed. This has been put down to antisemitism, and that was a factor, but I don't think it was the only factor. The Holocaust was simply not imaginable. It was nothing that anyone had anticipated; therefore, it was nothing that anyone could imagine being true. Call it a failsafe device to the human capacity to suffer mentally. We can think up atrocities, but we can't anticipate them.

Not to mention, we can't even anticipate less horrific things--like the weather or the stock market.

5. Paranoia never did anyone any good.

Which means that expecting the world to end in THIS PARTICULAR WAY THAT FREAKS ME OUT isn't very helpful. Historically speaking, it's hard to get anything done when people think that THIS ONE PROGRAM/PIECE OF LEGISLATURE/DESIRED OUTCOME must or mustn't happen, otherwise, the human race should toss in the proverbial towel. Such thinking tends to make said people somewhat irrational and a tad on the non-constructive side when they don't get what they want.

6. On the other hand, sometimes things are over.

This is actually a problem that fascinates me since there's no one right answer. There are times when it is right for a country to have a revolutionary war, and there are times when it is dead wrong. There are times when it is acceptable for a couple to divorce and times when it is callous and cruel. There are times when it is right for someone to leave a job and times when it is a really bad idea. There are times when it is right to say, "Continuing in this direction must stop now," and times when such a statement is simply hubris.

My general rule of thumb--which is why, probably, I am a more conservative than liberal Libertarian--is that it is usually hubris, and if it's not, the people involved should be very, very, very careful. So careful, in fact, that time might actually solve the problem!

American Revolution = good idea
French Revolution = not so much

All this is to say that if someone approaches me and says, "You MUST do this right now or everything will unravel!!" I tend to go, "Ye-ah, right there, what you said, that's a good reason for me not to believe you."

When I get it from both sides, I either sit the issue out or vote my gut, I-just-can't-vote-any-other-way reaction. (Example: Maine had an anti-bear hunting ordinance up a few years ago. I'm not a big hunting fan, and I think trapping bears is kind of mean and not very sportsmanlike; I have this Medieval idea that hunting should involve horses and dogs and javelins, not rifles with infrared devices. On the other hand, a lot of Mainers are pro-hunting, and a lot of Mainers, especially upstate, make their living off of hunters, including bear hunters. The ordinance would have hurt them badly, particularly since the anti-bear-hunters are mostly the same people against bringing industrial jobs to Maine. So I couldn't decide. I got in the booth, and every piece of 19th century literature about high and mighty lords sending poachers to prison to preserve their lovely estates popped into my head, and I voted for the poachers--I mean, hunters.)

Folklore: Ghosts

To review: I was supposed to teach a folklore course for a local community college this fall, but it got canceled. Hopefully, I will get a chance to teach it this coming spring! In the meantime, I have been posting occasionally about all the stuff I researched. These posts are basically my lecture notes (not the way I would present the material in the classroom).

Ghost folklore is actually split between two classes, but for the purposes of this post, I will combine the material.

First, the Puritans did believe in ghosts. I had a hard time tracking down this information. I got the impression that there was no official belief in ghosts but neither was there any official disapproval. Increase Mather (see below) collected a lot of ghost stories. Many of them used the following motifs:

The ghost with a message
The poltergeist (yup, the Puritans had poltergeists!)
The portent (somethings about to happen)
Headless ghost
Roadside ghost
Ghost protecting treasure

Ghosts have never really disappeared from American folklore but in the 19th century, they receive a huge burst of energy with the growth of spiritualism. Spiritualism, specifically mediums, was taken very seriously. Scientific American did investigations! It seems hard for us media savvy (and media-inundated) 20th century products to believe but people did honestly accept photographs such as the following:

The woman is spouting ectoplasm. Ectoplasm was supposedly a manifestation of spirits. It looks like a bunch of cloth to modern eyes, and it was, but keep in mind these were the same people who accepted Arthur Conan Doyle's fairies as more than just cardboard cutouts:

The same motifs listed above appear in 19th century ghost folklore. And they show up in contemporary ghost stories! With the help of the awesome Alvin Schwartz--who publishes scary folktales for kids and, even better, includes notes of where the tales came from--and Marcus LiBrizzi (Dark Woods, Chill Water: Ghost Tales from Down East Maine), I was able to locate modern tales about haunted houses and haunted dorm rooms. And I won't forget all the ghost tales that many of us grew up hearing around campfires and at slumber parties.

Literature examples: Possible the most famous "Americana" example of ghost literature is "The Legend of Sleepy Hollow" which uses the motif of the headless/roadside ghost. Ghosts also show up (or do they? wink wink) in Henry James Turn of the Screw, Sarah Orne Jewett's work, and they practically drip out of Poe's work. A great example of a classic poltergeist appears in the child's classic: The Headless Cupid by Zilpha Keatley Snyder.

Popular culture: To prepare for this course, I watched Spielberg's Poltergeist for the first time this summer. I was pleasantly surprised to see Craig T. Nelson, one of my no-hands-down favorite actors.

The movie works as entertainment, not so much as an example of any particular ghost motif. My reaction was that Spielberg collected every single religious/popular culture/folklore motif regarding ghosts in our culture and threw it all at the screen. Being the master storyteller he is, he doesn't lose the viewer because he concentrates on the parents' trials. If I use the movie, I will show the clip of the mom in the kitchen when she realizes that the chairs keep shifting--classic poltergeist behavior! (However, the explanation for the behavior is so confusing, I've forgotten what it was.)

Dr. Horrible: Yes, It Took Me This Long to See It

So, I finally saw Dr. Horrible's Sing-Along Blog. My reaction:

(1) Neil Patrick Harris is a fantastic singer! I really had no idea he was so good. After watching the movie, I went on to imdb to make sure he has been on Broadway. (Don't want that talent to go to waste!) He has.

Nathan Fillion can sing? The things one learns by having a library card!

(2) It's a pity we don't live in an age of musicals. Sure, we are coming out of the age of Webber, and huge productions like The Lion King and Wicked are NYC tourist traps, but I'm thinking of the age of Rodgers and Hammerstein when musicals were common not only to the stage but to film. I think Yentl was the last musical I actually saw on film. I'm not counting Disney (and Menken and Ashman ended with Ashman's death). Joss has a real gift; it's a pity there isn't a wider arena for him to practice it in.

(3) The movie has a weak script.

Ouch, stop throwing things!!!

I know, I know, Joss is The King, etc. etc. etc. But that doesn't change the fact that the movie has a weak script. It's funny. It's engaging and moves rapidly. It's well-filmed. It's good. But it could have been better, and it isn't.

I don't say this because (SPOILER ALERT) Joss kills off a main character; as Nathan Fillion says, "You're surprised? This guy LOVES killing people off." It's that he kills off a main character in such a non-pay-off kind of way. You can do that sort of thing once or twice because you want to point out the randomness of life or whatever; after awhile, it's just lazy writing.

And I wonder if this onset of weak writing (Dollhouse is apparently no great shakes) is a casualty of fame. When Whedon was still struggling to sell Buffy and even Firefly, he had to write, well, the kind of stuff that sells. Like it or not, being forced to satisfy an audience is not a bad way to discipline a writer. That's one reason I feel no guilt at making my students learn and practice certain forms. Writing well isn't about expressing yourself; writing well is about communicating. If you want to express yourself, start a blog! If you want to communicate, be disciplined and try to get published.

But Joss is an icon now, and, honestly, how does a person cope with that? Do you pretend you aren't an icon and make like everything you do is still authentic like Michael Moore? Do you create a musical and put it on the Internet for free to prove you are authentic? (Not that I'm complaining, mind you. I borrowed the DVD from my local library.) Do you start trying to shock your followers?

How does an icon keep going creatively rather than trying to live down or up to an image? How does that icon reinvent him/herself, so he/she is still producing strong art while maintaining his/her personality or touch?

Even Madonna, who did a fantastic job at reinvention through the 80's and 90's, has kind of given up. Michael Jackson reinvented himself completely, poor man, and look what happened to him. Shakespeare managed, but then Shakespeare was a businessman until the day he died; he never stopped trying to bring in the moola, mostly because he never stopped worrying about being poor (same with Dickens). Picasso reveled in being an icon, but he was also completely egotistical (maybe that's the solution!). Beatrix Potter reinvented herself out of being a writer and didn't much care (her fans did). There just doesn't seem to be a perfect solution.

In any case, Dr. Horrible is worth seeing, but I recommend seeing it for the fun of the thing and because it's a little bit of Joss, not in the expectation of being introduced to a long-term classic (although I do think the music will last).

Buffy & Riley, Buffy & Spike

For those of you who check this site on any kind of regular basis: Yup, you've seen this before. I'm moving it up because I recently got some more comments!! Out of all my posts, this post gets the most comments, no contest. I don't want to start a range war, but I'll say it anyway: Twilight is not going to be the lasting phenomenon; Buffy is.

I'm currently watching Buffy: Season 5 (just finished disc 5). Based on the travesties of Seasons 6 & 7, I'd forgotten that Season 5 is actually, well, pretty good.

It doesn't have as many classic episodes as the other seasons. Despite its weaknesses, Season 4 has at least three classics: "Pangs," "Something Blue," and "Hush" (oh, and "Superstar"). Season 5 really only has one: "The Body." I like "Intervention" personally, but I don't think it has that quality, the quality that makes one remember an episode for itself, rather than the story arc it belonged to.

Having said that, I do think Season 5 is well-written. It has a consistency about it that Season 4 lacks (and I'm not even going to get into Seasons 6 & 7!). If I remember correctly, there was a strong chance Buffy would be cancelled after Season 5, and the writers made a real effort to create a big, Buffy-worthy send-off.

Which brings us to the handling of Buffy & Riley. I was very impressed by the break-up writing for Buffy & Riley. Compared to the break-up writing for Anya and Xander--okay, I said I wouldn't get into the last two seasons. In any case, Buffy & Riley are handled extremely well. I found their break-up entirely believable and, even, inevitable.

To be clear, I am not one who loathed Riley. I am also not one who takes sides on the Buffy & Angel v. Buffy & Spike debate (except to say, I think Buffy & Spike were handled very badly in . . . OKAY, I WON'T mention the last two seasons). I actually quite like Riley. But he and Buffy would never have worked and even though Buffy went running after him, I think it's just as well Riley missed her.

Riley needs to be needed. Now, to an extent, we all need to be needed re: Xander's "comfortadore." But Riley doesn't just need to be needed in a Maslow's heirarchy kind of way, Riley needs to be needed in a "define me" way.

That is, Riley needs someone to tell him how to be needed; for another type of gal, that would work fine, but Buffy, for all her self-reliance, is not into managing her relationships. And her relationship with Spike points the distinction.

Spike is the ultimate romantic; even when he was William, his relationships with all women (including, we later learn, his mother) are founded on emotional highs. This isn't the same thing as chivalry by the way--that's Angel's gig. But Spike defines moments around him in terms of desire, lustful, affectionate, and fanciful. This makes Spike easier to control than Angelus (bad Angel) since Spike is willing to sacrific dreams of revenge for good onion rings. This also makes Spike (and I quote him), "Love's bitch," but, and herein lies the lesson, this is Spike's nature.

Spike isn't waiting for someone to define him. He's already defined. When he decides to love Buffy or rather when he decides that loving Buffy is inevitable, he goes at loving her (or stalking her) with all of himself. He doesn't wait around for Buffy's signals. He doesn't even wait around to see if she approves, and her lack of approval doesn't alter Spike's fundamental personality in the slightest.

Riley, however, needs the signals. He needs to be given definitions after which he is fine. This is one reason Riley becomes much more interesting once he re-enters the military. The military gives him definition. Now, there's an "every authoritarian institution is bad" theme going on in the last three seasons of Buffy which, other than being rather adolescent, also crippled a number of possible plot lines; I don't think the military MADE Riley want definitions; I think Riley is attracted to institutions that give him definition. There's nothing bad about that, and I respect Riley for recognizing it and going off to a life that will ultimately give him more comfort than Buffy can.

This brings us to why I think the Buffy-Spike relationship had much greater potential than, ultimately, it was given. In the last two seasons, the writers gave rather facile excuses for not promoting the Buffy-Spike relationship such as, "But Spike is evil." Yeah, sure, but the show had a regrettable tendency (repeated at the end of Angel) to pick and choose when exactly to remember characters' evil sides. I maintain that Spike's quest for morality gives rise to much more difficult questions of free-will, goodness and evil than, perhaps, even Buffy writers could handle.

In any case, I don't rest my defense of Buffy-Spike on the quality of Spike's evil. I rest it on the level of comfort Buffy feels around Spike. I think this is the key to the relationship; I think, to an extent, it is the key to every workable relationship (on television and off it). From the beginning, Buffy has no problem talking to Spike, and Spike has little difficulty comprehending Buffy. They speak the same language. To an extent, they even think the same. Until Spike starts stalking Buffy, she keeps her home open to him. She yells at him and then asks him to watch her family. She stops by his crypt at every opportunity.

I'm not saying that Buffy is secretly in love with Spike. She isn't in Season 5; I'm not sure she ever is. But she feels comfortable around Spike. Spike is sure enough of his own personality to take Buffy as she is. In Season 1, Buffy says to Giles (concerning one-episode-boyfriend-Owen), "Five minutes in my world, and he would get himself killed." Buffy finds no comfort in people who need her for what she can give them, whether the "what" is excitement or definition. Instead, Buffy finds comfort in people who love her but don't need her and go on being themselves (Giles, Willow, Angel, Xander, and Spike: interestingly enough, this means that Buffy finds comfort in people who may, ultimately, leave. If she had told Riley she needed him, he would have stayed; she told Angel she needed him, and he still left--thus the risks of loving people who have their own definitions and agendas).

I believe this desire for comfort outweighs all other types of love. Lust comes and goes. Affection is a long-term investment. Comfort is what people truly seek: to feel comfortable, feel like one can relax. In some Maslow's heirarchy way, this is the kind of love everyone is seeking: this person gets me, this person talks my language, understands what I'm trying to say. And really, what Buffy needs isn't someone who needs her to need him but someone who gets her and doesn't fall to pieces as a result.

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