The Problem of the Obnoxious Romantic Hero(ine)

"F" is coming up on my A-Z List 2. One of the "F" authors is a romance writer; pondering my review for this author led me to contemplate the problem of the obnoxious romantic heroine.

A little background:

Excellent illustrations of Devil in Winter from

a blog of romance manga

For most of the 20th century, romance novels used demure, innocent heroines alongside domineering, brusque heroes. Towards the end of the 20th century, this combo pack fell out of fashion. It has thankfully come back--that is, it is currently, more than okay to have a feisty, worldly heroine but it is also okay to have a demure, innocent heroine (the best example of the latter type in my opinion is the heroine of Kleypas's Devil in Winter who is demure and innocent while fundamentally tough).

However, for about a decade or so (basically, the 80's), it was considered very bad, dare I say "politically incorrect", to use demure, innocent heroines. Romance writers began presenting readers with pushy, opinionated heroines.

Now, there is nothing wrong with pushy, opinionated heroines (says this opinionated, occasionally pushy blog writer). However, these 80's heroines came fraught with problems.

The two main problems:

1. The heroines were (still) paired with domineering, brusque heroes (who liked having their opinions challenged).
2. Nobody had a sense of humor.

#1 is a problem, not because domineering, brusque heroes never like having their opinions challenged. As Agatha Christie points out in her books, sometimes they do; sometimes they don't--it depends on the guy. #1 is a problem because 80's romance writers would inevitably make the heroines constantly, continually, unendingly challenging.

The hero likes Captain Crunch--she doesn't understand why he doesn't eat something healthier. He reads the Times; oh, he is too, too bourgeoisie. He voted for somebody the heroine doesn't approve of--shock, shock, shock!

A laid-back hero would just shrug and go on eating his Captain Crunch. But the domineering, brusque hero who loves a challenge goes to bat for his opinion, and well, exhausted yet? I mean, can this sort of thing really go on day-in-day-out without making all parties want to crawl into a hole and die? Does it seem even vaguely . . . homelike?

Maybe. But whenever I read these types of romances, I finish the book, thinking, "That marriage has maybe a 20% chance of survival."

And I can't count the number of 80's romances I've read where half-way through, I've started yelling at the hero, "Run! Run for your life!"

Just to be clear (and fair), the reason I yell this at the hero, not the heroine, is NOT because men can't be Mr. I've-Got-To-Challenge-Everybody-All-the-Time too. It is because in these particular novels the heroine is the one who always starts the arguments--presumably, to show how tough she is. The end result . . . Run, Run for your life!

So, can this type of relationship work? Sure!

The relationship between Dr. Cox and his wife/girlfriend/ex-wife/wife Jordan is a great example of a no-nonsense, challenging, alpha female married to a fairly high-maintenance alpha male.

The difference is (1) Jordan's no-nonsense attitude means she is more likely to tell Dr. Cox to cut his crap than to challenge him to death and (2) they both have a sense of humor.

Which brings me to Problem #2.

Romance novels throughout the 20th century are surprisingly lacking in humor (I except Heyer). I think part of this was the writers, but I think part of it was the industry. Romance readers nowadays pretty much expect humor in their romances from Family Ties cuteness to hilarious Powell and Loy dialog.

And it is far, far easier to take pushiness when everyone throws up their hands and laughs at the end of the day.

I will post later about problems with the more-alpha-than-alpha-male solution that still dogs far too many romance series. (These are series in which there are 4-7 male heroes, sometimes brothers, sometimes friends. There's a book for each male; the last book is always about the toughest, strongest, most domineering male of the group, and it is almost always--with few exceptions--a flop).

Agatha Christie was Right and So are Romance Paperbacks

In the recent BBC version of The Mystery of the Blue Train, the rogue husband of the murdered victim does NOT pursue the book's staid, grey-eyed heroine.

He does in the book.

I was disappointed by this alteration and considered it another example of how much the writers of the latest BBC Poirots don't "get" Agatha Christie. Don't get me wrong: I love the series, and some of the movies are pretty good--but like a great deal of television/movies/literary literature in the last decade, the stories are often edited to prevent the rogue from getting the girl.

Which is not in-line with Christie's vision.

It isn't that she was especially devoted to rogues. What makes her so entirely unique (and different from Marsh, who used the same romantic couple over and over and over, and from Sayers, who was only really concerned with one romantic couple) is that she believed in the individuality of love. She was willing to allow (in a very English tolerant way) that every relationship has its own vibe. Sometimes the good guy gets the good gal (4:50 to Paddington). Sometimes the adventurous guy gets the adventurous gal (Cards on the Table). Sometimes a tough strident woman gets a dreamer (Hercule Poirot's Christmas). Sometimes a passionate couple realize that they are actually also friends (Moving Finger). Sometimes the bad husband gets his wife back (Mysterious Affair at Styles). Sometimes the passionate exuberant gal really does want the limp, waffling idiot (Sittaford Mystery). Sometimes the girl-in-love-with-the-aloof-man learns to love someone more compassionate and real (Sad Cypress). Sometimes the taciturn brute gets the matter-of-fact Wren (Taken at the Flood).

And sometimes the rogue gets the princess.

I have found it downright refreshing how much the latter is allowed to happen lately, even in Disney. A perusal of teen fiction will tell you that not only is the rogue alive and well, he is flourishing, and nobody is being apologetic about it. Books like Jane by April Lindner (based on Jane Eyre) and The Hollow Kingdom by Clare Dunkle don't reform the supposed rogue-villain to be the "right kind of guy" but rather use him in all his roguery.

Now, I admit that like many people I find rogues such as stalky Edward somewhat problematic--although my problems with Twilight have always been more about the boringness of the heroine, rather than the bad-boy behavior of America's best-known vampire. However, the plot solution is for the rogue to grow up, not for the rogue to stop being himself.

The wrong solution (the rogue stops being himself or else) was one (of several) mistake made by the Buffy writers towards the end of Buffy's run: Spike is a bad-boy, ooh, we don't want to send the wrong message to teenage girls: Buffy and he mustn't have a real relationship!

Yeah, just check out the fan-fiction and see how well that little message of good behavior went across.

The truth is, a rogue without compassion and loyalty--a Flynn who actually does sail away--would be completely unappealing to any woman/human being (one hopes). But--and this is why the terribly insightful and human and well-lived/well-loved Agatha Christie rises above all other writers--creating a relationship where the gal is completely willing to take on the rogue with all his roguery . . . that works.

The solution is not to make the rogue less masculine or less clever or less edgy or less prone to hit people or less aggressive or less assertive or less insert-quality-usually-associated-with-rogues-and-men but, rather, to create couples that complement (not "compliment," as Bones points out to Booth though that is nice too) each other.

I will grant that not all writers can pull this off. Stalky Edward needs to get a new, more interesting, hobby. But some can. And nobody gets tired of it.

Which is why romance paperbacks will never, ever, ever die.

Guest Blogger: Mike Discusses The Problem With Comic Books

When first introduced to comic books, I fell in love when Marvel Comics. The series that hooked me was called "What If?" It always explored a variation on the events that had transpired in the Marvel Universe. Story-lines, such as "What if the Avengers had fought Galactus?" or "What if Wolverine became Lord of the Vampires?" were regularly explored and followed to an often tragic end. What thrilled me about these comics was how they played with an established, concrete history. I didn’t know it at the time, but what I really loved about the Marvel Universe was its incredible sense of continuity.

You would often see a character from another comic passing someone like Peter Parker or Tony Stark on the sidewalk. A little footnote below would exclaim "What is the Human Torch doing in Queens? Check out this month’s Fantastic Four for the scoop!" These characters lived in a connected world. Often a character would not be present in the book he guest-starred in because he was busy in his own comic or off teaming up with another hero. The writers seemed to realize and care about continuity, about what was happening, and when, in the world of Marvel Comics. And I was an addict.

In the last few years, this has all changed. The current head of Marvel Comics, who was hired around 10 years ago now, issued a new decree for the formerly continuity- heavy Marvel Comics: "Continuity can be ignored for the purpose of a good story." It was, for Marvel at least, a revolutionary concept. Suddenly, Spider-Man and Wolverine were EVERYWHERE. The problem is that while it worked for sales, the overall quality of the writing suffered once continuity was no longer respected. "A good story" seemed to be confused for "A story that sells like hotcakes."

Along with this sudden freedom, the comic industry also learned something evil. They realized that any time they changed the status quo, their sales picked up. Phrases like "The end of an Era!" or "The beginning of a new legacy!" began gracing the covers of more and more comics. You had Team and Roster changes, heroes donning new names and costumes, heroes dying in big, publicized events and then returning, triumphantly resurrected, having fought their way back from the grave to defend their homes. These days, heroes die all the time, and their resurrection may only be months hence.

When Captain America died a few years ago, it was a pretty big deal. The entire Marvel Universe was shaken, with every hero talking about it, going to the funeral, and dealing with the reality of emotional loss. There was an incredible mini-series published at the time--Fallen Son: The Death of Captain America--which shows different heroes, such as Iron Man, Spider-Man, and Wolverine, each dealing with a different aspect of the grieving process. Denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and acceptance are explored in a single issue, and it’s truly an emotional and moving book.

About a year after Cap’s death, Thor used his great power to summon the spirit of Steve Rogers and visit with him. Moved by the Captain’s sadness at the use of his death for political agendas, Thor flies into high orbit, and uses lightning to silence every satellite broadcasting coverage of the anniversary of Cap’s death for one minute. One full minute of peace for his fallen friend. Again, the story was emotionally fulfilling and moving. It brought real weight to events of a fictional world. These comics not only made me miss the Captain, but also truly appreciate what the world had become after his loss.

And then, they brought him back. "Cap isn’t dead!" they told us. "He was just lost in time! See his return in the new mini-series, 'Captain America Reborn!'"

And suddenly, those wonderful, emotionally moving, and incredibly well-written books reflecting the death of Captain America lost all significance. They were rendered obsolete. Why would someone read a reflective piece on the life and death of an individual that’s still alive?

Death in comics has become a revolving door that nearly every character will pass through, disappearing for a short time before returning completely unscathed. It’s hard for a reader such as myself to really care much these days when a traumatic event comes to pass for a beloved character. They died? Aw, they’ll be back in a few months. No big deal. The most glaring example of just how bad things are in the world of comics is that even Spider-Man’s Aunt May and Batman’s butler Alfred have both died and returned. Let’s consider this. Aunt May. Really.

I think the main problem is this: If an event has no lasting impact on the life of a character, then it is of no importance to the reader either. Continuity must not only exist, it must be respected. If an event takes place, its consequences must be real and lasting. When you remove the consequences, you remove the meaning of the event.

For continuity to truly work, and for the life, adventures, and tragedies of a character to truly matter, there must be a clear beginning, middle, and end. Not only must the end be clearly defined in relationship to events,  it must be defined in time as well. When that cycle comes to an end, you can begin another. Maybe it’s a new character; perhaps it’s the child of the hero. But the life of a fictional character, especially that of a comic character, cannot continue indefinitely as it has in the past and have any credibility or structural stability.

One of my favorite comic runs in the last few years was Joss Whedon’s Astonishing X-Men. Completely free of the continuity of the X-Men comics that were being printed at the time, Whedon's comic explored a wonderful story that touched on many classic moments of the X-Men’s past. The series, while amazing, exemplifies both the problem and the solution to Marvel's continuity chaos. The series did rely on the pasts of the X-Men featured, but while there was a clear beginning, middle and end,  it did not have a clear place in the overall continuity of the X-Men timeline.

Furthermore, while the comic featured emotional growth for many of the characters, some events were spoiled by story-line ramifications appearing in other comics published before those events happened in the main series. Many events featured in the series, such as a long awaited relationship between two characters and the "death" of a hero, have since been undone; the relationship ended, the dead resurrected. Again. Perhaps most problematic is that the series actually featured the resurrection of a long missing character. (However, the character had been out of print for some time, and his resurrection did not undo what his death had accomplished.)

Unfortunately, when continuity does appear in the Marvel Universe these days, it has no real weight. Sure, if it will help sell a comic; a hero might cross over into the big company-wide story. But often, events are written and then ignored or undone according to what the sales figures dictate.

Any event that happens in the life of a character must be true to what he has experienced before and effect what he does in the future. The story must be the most important consideration. What does this story say? What did the character learn? How did he learn or grow? Once the sales of a series outweigh the importance of the story itself, the reader suffers, and the work suffers. Strong characters deserve not only strong stories, but a strong history and complete timeline. Without these things, comics will continue as literary garbage heaps, continually piling and piling yp until the audience is drowned in useless waste.

It’s time for Marvel Comics to change. And not just another reboot like DC’s "New 52" that graced shelves in the last couple months. Restarting continuity from scratch may resolve past problems, but it will still leave writers open to future problems. Soon this new, fresh slate will become as muddled and confusing as it was before. The future of comics, and other continuity-based entertainment, lies not in it's perpetuity, but rather in its end. By introducing complete character timelines (ending with death/retirement), and perhaps redesigning each story arc to function as its own graphic novel, the integrity of the characters and the stories being told would be strengthened and reinvigorated. Instead of following a character doing the same thing over and over for years without end, future comic readers can have complete epics featuring heroes whose lives are worth caring about, remembering, and, who knows, inspiring others.

The Villainous Hero

Many romances (G, PG, and R)* include villainous heroes--these are heroes that for all intents and purposes act not too differently from the bad guy: they kidnap the heroine, occasionally threaten her, and behave ruthlessly. Oddly enough, they rarely stalk (take that, Edward!) although they aren't adverse to interfering in the heroine's life when they believe themselves justified.

Naturally, in real life, one would question the advisability of pursuing a man of this type. In fiction, however, the villainous hero can be a lot of fun.

However, even in fiction, the villainous hero can prove problematic. I've read novels where the villainous hero won my endorsement, and I've read novels where the villainous hero caused me to roll my eyes: Oh, please, how on earth is the heroine supposed to know the difference between him and the bad guy?

I think it comes down to a matter of writing. Here are characterizations that distinguish the worthwhile villainous hero from the ridiculous villainous hero:

1. The villainous hero undergoes a change.

That is, by the end of the novel, the villainous hero has recognized the inappropriateness of his earlier behavior. In Prince of Dreams (R) by Lisa Kleypas, the hero actually undergoes a Scrooge-like dream sequence which teaches him a new way of relating to others.

However, in another novel by Kleypas, Tempt Me at Twilight (R) the hero is not only the same person when the novel ends, but . . .

2. The writer acknowledges that the villainous hero should change his behavior.

. . . the writer seems to justify the villainous hero's behavior.

By the way, I do mean the writer, not the narrator. One problem with the Twilight series, as Carole points out, is that Meyers didn't seem aware that she was creating a stalky, dysfunctional hero. If she just didn't care, eh, c'est la vie (this post is for writerly reasons, not politically correct ones), but she tried to justify Edward's behavior--always a mistake.

This issue of writer disconnect also arose in Buffy where Spike was treated like a villainous hero (a character capable of change and of being loved by Buffy) by the writers who then wanted to pretend they weren't doing precisely what they were doing: "Spike's a bad guy! Girls, don't you realize how bad Spike is?!"

Once the rules are established (some vampires, like Angel, can be forgiven), writers need to keep them.

3. The villainous hero is a bad boy--but not egregiously so.

That is, his faults fall into the forgivable range (I am excluding recently souled vampires). In the above mentioned Kleypas books, the villainous hero in Prince of Dreams confronts and scares off the heroine's current boyfriend. This is bad but not unforgivable. The boyfriend is a shallow Wickham-type character. Plus, the villainous hero does the confronting himself.

In the second book, the hero scares off the heroine's current boyfriend, but the boyfriend is just a waffling putz, and the hero doesn't do the confronting himself; he manipulates events into forcing the boyfriend to retreat. Setting aside the badness of a relationship built on manipulation, it's completely underhanded and not at all heroic.

Frankly, Kleypas did a better job with this particular plot device the first time.

4. The villainous hero is more interesting than the other characters.

Part of what makes the villainous hero so much fun is his sarcastic sense of humor. (In a total aside, Britishers do this better than anybody else; in the first Pirates movie, Jack Davenport as Norrington comes across as attractive and heroic ex-boyfriend rather than baffled and bumbling ex-boyfriend precisely because of his dry sarcasm and wry raised eyebrow. At one point, after he has declared that Sparrow is a terrible pirate, Sparrow gets away. A sailor exclaims, "That is the best pirate I have ever seen!" Instead of looking embarrassed or outraged, Davenport as Norrington just looks completely miffed.)

A villainous hero who can't outwit everyone else is a dead-loss. What's he the villainous hero for?

I place Mr. B of Pamela and Mr. B Speaks! (my personal tribute) into this category. As one of my characters states, "Mr. B is a very funny guy." Without Mr. B as a sparring partner, Pamela would be a good deal less interesting and interested. (By the way, it is not necessary to read Pamela to read Mr. B Speaks! since the plot of the original novel is fully described in both. Not that I normally discourage reading classics! But the writing style of Pamela seems to put off a lot of people.)

5. The reader believes at the end that the heroine is with the right person.

To refer again to Kleypas's books, the heroine in Prince of Dreams is exactly and precisely with the right person. She is strong-minded, tough, and more than a little capable of handling the hero.

However, I doubt the heroine in Kleypas's second book, who just wants a peaceful life but ends up with an alpha-needy-dominant husband, will have everlasting happiness (by the way, I feel the same way about romances where a highly opinionated, constantly challenging-the-man, pushy heroine marries a man who really just wants some peace and quiet).

For those of you who prefer G/PG* romance novels, check out Pamela (and Mr. B Speaks!), Georgette Heyer, and, naturally, Jane Austen. Richardson is quite convincing regarding Pamela's ability to handle Mr. B. Not only do you get the impression that Pamela can handle a man approximately 9 years her senior, you also get the impression she would be bored out of her skull with anyone else.

Regarding Georgette Heyer's novels, I consider the relationship between innocent (but worldly-wise) Leonie and the cynical Duke of Avon in These Old Shades entirely believable. I'm less sold on the romantic relationship in Devil's Cub although the villainous hero Vidal does fall under the "more interesting than any other character" label.

Out of all Heyer's villainous heroes, however, Dameral of Venetia gets the prize, not for himself but for the very real friendship that develops between him and Venetia. (This is actually the direction I think Whedon's writers were taking Buffy and Spike before they shied off.)

Regarding Austen, Darcy could be described as a villainous hero (he has the dark, glowering look), but as I argue in A Man of Few Words, Darcy's supposedly villainous behavior is more cluelessness and discomfort than outright villainy. In terms of hard-to-manage heroines, I think Knightley can manage Emma but only just and only because Emma's interferences are based on good will, not merely on a sense of entitlement.

On a slight tangent: Heyer has the under-appreciated (and under-utilized) ability to make extremely laid-back, non-villainous heroes interesting in their own right. The Quiet Gentleman and Sprig Muslin come to mind.

On another slight tangent: Jane Austen should be given kudos for creating villains who seem heroic but turn out to be deadheads: Wickham, Willoughby, and (that most subtle of villains) Henry Crawford.

6. The true villain still needs to be worse! 

Moral and ethical standards should never be entirely abandoned. A heroine who marries a villain, no matter how attractive, will lose the support of the reader. "My man right or wrong" only works as long as the man is weaving his way towards the right, and "my man must be right because I love him" only works if the reader knows the heroine is correct (by getting inside the hero's head). Otherwise, the heroine will come across as a vapid moron, the hero as a scoundrel, and nobody will be respected in the morning.

*I use these ratings not because I think they actually make sense in terms of evaluating a film (or novel) but because of their colloquial meaning in everyday life. For the purposes of this blog, "R" means sex scenes are described; "PG" means they are referred to and kissing goes on; "G" means the hero and heroine kiss, that's all. However, I'm not even broaching the issue of innuendo or theme. (Such as Dracula which is "G" only in the most narrow technical sense; actually the whole crazy novel totters on the edge of "R+"--not that Bram Stoker was aware of this.) I've seen "R" movies that were incredibly "clean" in the wholesome story sense, and I've seen "PG" movies that were technically clean but totally skanky in feel. Everyone has their own line when it comes to this issue, and my designations are simply to help people find their comfort level. 

What Makes a Good Hero?

This list was harder than the previous list: What makes a good heroine? There were several reasons it was harder.

First, my list for good heroines was informed by how I think women should actually behave. However, I can fancy a book or television hero without (always) making it personal. For instance, I can like a hero without having dated or wanting to date a similar personality. (I would never want to date someone like Booth, for example. Or Mr. Rochester.)

Second, many times my interest in a show is in the hero-heroine interaction. Without that interaction, the hero wouldn’t be enough to carry the show or to model behavior I would want to copy. Imagine Mulder without Scully—yikes! (“Scary Mulder” indeed).

Third, many of my favorite male characters aren’t necessarily the heroes. (Peter McNicol as Larry Fleinhardt is a good example.) On the other hand, the definition of "hero" is up for grabs! (Perhaps, I should say, "main protagonist.")

However, I have been able to come up with a list of favorite heroes (main protagonists) which I will use to create a list of good hero attributes:

• Booth from Bones as representative of the romantic hero.
• Patrick Jane from The Mentalist as representative of the troubled, semi-romantic hero.
• All the Stargate men—naturally (yes, I am including Dr. Rodney McKay).
• Benton Fraser from Due South as representative of the solitary hero.

What attributes do these heroes hold in common that I find satisfying to watch?

1. The heroes are confident in a nonchalant way.

Jack O’Neill and John Shepherd take the prize here. I doubt there are two more nonchalant heroes on television. It is appropriate to pair them together since they are an extroverted and introverted versions of the same personality type.

The best example of their similar nonchalance comes from the pilot to Stargate: Atlantis where the following exchange takes place:

O’Neill: This isn't a long trip, so I'll be a succinct as possible.
Sheppard: (After a long silence.) Well, that's pretty succinct.
O’Neill: Thank you.

The remaining heroes are less nonchalant but still manage to confront danger and uncertainty with finesse. Okay, McKay gets a little wild and crazy and talks too fast, but in general, these heroes tend to meet problems with aplomb. (McKay is actually the most heroic of the bunch because he overcomes a normal amount of cowardice and courage to perform truly courageous and selfless acts.) Patrick Jane's willingness to call things as they are gives him a little bit of House confidence (without the brassness).

I return to this issue of confidence below--from a slightly different angle.

2. The heroes have a sense of humor.

The heroic aplomb is helped by the heroes having a sense of humor. Benton Fraser may seem an exception here, but I’ve always considered Fraser's “straight man” persona to be partly put on. He isn’t faking so much as he is deliberately being more himself.

Ray: This is what's wrong with you, Fraser. You see a problem, and you gotta fix it. You can't even go to the men's room without stopping and telling some simple stupid charmingly witty Inuit story that inspires people to take on the world's social ills!
Fraser: Well, I'm sorry, Ray, but I fail to see how a small group of people banding together to form a neighborhood watch constitutes a form of political anarchy.

The remaining heroes are given to excessive irony (Jack and John), rampant sarcasm (McKay), and quick repartee (Booth). I also have to add Patrick Jane's unbelievably mischievous and charming smile. All by itself, it makes you happy!

Another aspect of hero humor is the ability of the hero to not get pissed at the heroine/react defensively to subtext. This may actually cross the fiction/reality line because it is an attribute I admire and wish I could emulate.

A great example comes from Booth in the first season. Bones makes a promise to a little boy which Booth then keeps.

Brennan: I knew you'd back me up. I knew you wouldn't make me a liar.
Booth: How did you know?
Brennan: Because you want to go to heaven
Booth: But you don't believe in heaven.
Brennan: But you do . . .

Here's the kicker (or "kickster," as Bones would say): Booth just smiles. Brennan's assumptions don't bug him; he doesn't feel used or manipulated or out-of-control. (I will refer back to this particular dialog later.)

3. The heroes respect women without putting them on pedestals.

Because, let’s face it, putting women on pedestals is just another form of condescension. (A woman on a pedestal can’t interfere or contribute. She’s just supposed to stay there.)

Some of the heroes (Benton, McKay) are a little uncertain around women and make up for this, in Benton's case, with excessive civility (McKay is just rude). But none of them are dismissive.

The Stargate heroes win the prize for heroes who, without taking women for granted manage to take them for granted. It's the difference between undervaluing or ignoring someone versus assuming someone has the right to exist/be there/contribute something. Booth, for instance, gets kudos for wanting Bones' opinion while not perceiving her as perfect. And Patrick Jane doesn't flare up when Lisbon takes a stand, like when she returns the lottery-won jewelry:

Teresa: All right, guys. It's been fun playing dress-up, but playtime is over.
Cho: I'm sorry, boss, what do you mean?
Teresa: This. (She gestures at the necklace Patrick gave her.) It's kind of a waste, don't you think?
Patrick: I would have bought world peace if I could. They didn't have it in the casino gift store. Very limited range of items for sale.
Teresa: You know what I mean.
Patrick: I know those emeralds look lovely with your eyes.
Teresa: Thank you. It's beautiful, but I can't keep it.
Patrick: I understand.

4. The heroes know themselves.

This raises a conundrum. The reason so many romance novels succeed is because the hero doesn't make his problems the heroine's problem. He takes care of things! Unfortunately, he also tends to be ultra-alpha and dominate, which becomes tiresome. Confidence and self-knowledge are not limited to ultra-alpha and dominate males.

Having said that, I will start with the most alpha of my listed heroes. One of Booth's most attractive qualities is that he DOESN'T kowtow to Bones. Regarding the dialog quoted above, one reason Booth doesn't get upset is because his ego isn't that fragile. This is very attractive.

However (note to women), it isn't just the male's responsibility to develop this quality! One reason I get tired of books like Twilight (and a number of mystery series) is because the heroine runs around wondering if she is good enough and having her ego massaged by the confident male. Geez, wouldn't he get tired of this?

To continue, good heroes are never so tunnel-visioned, they don't know who they are. Booth is proud of being a beer-and-skittles guy. He doesn't pretend to be anything else although, like Benton and Jack, he sometimes emphasizes certain personality traits deliberately (he isn't as uninformed as he sometimes acts). He is a good father who has "stepped it up" and sees that as a defining part of his personality.

Patrick Jane has accepted his past mistakes to the nth degree. In some ways, he is too hard on himself, but in some ways, he isn't. Setting aside the Red John stuff, defrauding people isn't terribly kind. And there are enough flashbacks in Season 1 to make it clear that Jane did deliberately defraud some people, even when what he did hurt them emotionally.

All the Stargate guys are totally honest with themselves. One of my favorite examples is McKay when he tells a bunch of bad guys, " I don't know if you noticed or not, but I'm an extremely arrogant man who tends to think all his plans will work."

And Benton, who is actually quite hard to read, is never dishonest. About anything. He is occasionally self-deluded when he thinks he can help someone he can't. In the first season, he tries to save a deceitful, dark-haired woman from herself. In the final episode of that season, he and his partner have this exchange:

Ray Vecchio: Benny, not every woman with long dark hair tries to kill her lover.
Benton Fraser: Oh.

Ultimately, Benton always acknowledges what must be done.

To end this section, I agree with Eugene's comment that the hero should not be "fixed" by the heroine. If you can't accept him as he is, ladies, or he doesn't know who he is, stay away from him (you shouldn't need Dr. Laura to tell you that.)

5. The heroes are loyal/stick around.

Okay, guys, if you want to know how to attract/make a woman happy, this is it. Evolutionarily, biologically, genetically, culturally-speaking, the way to a woman's heart is loyalty.

Booth, of course, is way up the list. Actually, they all are, but Booth is the most blatant. One of my favorite quotes comes when Bones and Angela are discussing Bones' brother:

Bones: I worshiped him. You know? God, he was so cool. Everyone knew I was Russ Brennan's little sister. I wasn't cool or pretty, so being his sister . . . You know that game, Marco Polo? I'd be sitting in class, and I'd hear out the window, "Marco!" It'd be Russ, checking in on me, letting everyone know that I was his little sister.
Angela: Did you "Polo"?
Brennan: Yeah, sometimes it'd be the only word I said all day. "Polo." And then Mom and Dad disappeared, and Russ took off. Suddenly, no one cared where I was. I miss that. Someone caring where I am all the time. (My emphasis.)

At this point, you hear Booth call, "Bones. Bones. Where are you? Let's go!" off-screen. It is immeasurably touching.

Patrick Jane demonstrates that, whatever his behavior in the past, he did adore his wife and child. He also states that he will always have Lisbon's back. When she complains that she can't trust him because he's always doing crazy stuff, he responds, "Lisbon, I want you to know that you can trust me. No matter what happens, I will be there for you. I will. I need you to know that. Now, can I catch you?" (They are doing a trust exercise, and he does catch her.)

Of course, saying, "Trust me" isn't enough: actions speak louder than words. The Stargate guys, for example, always follow through. The creed, "We don't leave our people behind" may not always be good military policy, but it's good romance and heroic policy.

And Benton, naturally, is Mr. Reliable. His reliability isn't confined to women; he is always there for his partner, neighbors, small children, pets, and total strangers!

To end, I'm going to give Bones the last word:

Booth: Mr. Decker, you and Donovan, you have a code word? Something to let him know that you sent me?
Decker: Paladin. Tell Donovan "Paladin."
(Decker leaves the room.)
Cullen: (stands) Paladin. Defender of the faith. Protector. Suits you, Booth.
(Cullen walks out.)
Bones: You know what? You tough guys are all very sentimental.

What Makes a Good Heroine?

I'm a big fan of the classic romance. Chivalry is not dead! However, I do demand that the heroine of the equation meet certain criteria (I likely have a similar list for heroes, but it is far more subconscious and visceral; however, I'll think about it and come up with a list for heroes at some later date). I consider heroines that don't meet this criteria to be very dull.

My list follows with examples from four television shows.

1. The heroine needs to have a job, interest, or hobby.

Boring heroines don't do anything.

For example, Bones (from Bones) is an anthropologist, crime fighter, and writer.
Scully (from X-Files) is a doctor and FBI agent.
Major Carter (from Stargate) is a physicist and engineer.*
Lois (from Lois & Clark) is a reporter.

2. The heroine takes positions on issues without getting defensive.

In other words, the heroine assumes that she has the right to state her mind. It isn't about telling off the big, bad, patriarchal man. Boring heroines either react or spend all their time marking their territory.

Bones has opinions about people, religion, and events even when she admits to a lack of expert knowledge. She has supreme confidence in her expert knowledge.
Scully has definite rational opinions about Mulder's theories. She also trusts her own experiences/senses and backs her own judgment.
Major Carter takes judicious stances on all issues.*
Lois has passionate and personally felt opinions about EVERYTHING.

3. The heroine takes action when there is a conflict and often saves the hero's life.

Boring heroines waffle, question themselves, and wait around for some action to be taken to which they can react. They rarely save anyone's life except sometimes small children and pets.

Bones shoots people. She also convinces Booth to take certain actions (such as going into the hospital).
Scully shoots people and often takes actions that put her in conflict with either Mulder or the bureau. She will step out of line to help Mulder, such as when she tracks him down on the ghost ship.
Major Carter shoots people. She also comes up with ingenuous scientific solutions that end up saving people's lives.*
Lois follows up dangerous leads and helps Superman, such as when he is blind (she rarely shoots people).

4. The heroine does not wait around to be rescued (no matter how often that happens).

The boring heroine is always being protected/rushed after. The boring heroine also needs constant reassurance from friends/family/the narrator that nothing is her fault (she is protected from emotional as well as physical ramifications).

Bones always fights back and struggles. For example, she blows up the car she is trapped in, alerting Booth to her presence. She often admits to being wrong about people and takes Booth's suggestions.
Scully uses her best judgment to save herself. For example, she decides to leave cancer treatment for her own reasons, not due to Mulder's paranoia. She struggles with personal issues on her own. (Admittedly, this may not always be the best approach, but it sure beats having people create a cozy, consequence-free zone around the heroine.)
Major Carter rarely needs to be rescued. In fact, she saves the spaceship and crew trapped in the gas nebula thingy (despite suffering from a concussion). She goes through totally ordinary ups and downs. She always fixes her mistakes.*
Lois is always being rescued. But she picks herself up and re-enters the fray again! She will admit, reluctantly, when she is wrong. She opens herself to Clark, radically changing her life. She faces up to whatever comes next.

5. The heroine defends the hero's right to be a hero.

This may seem like an odd attribute, but I think it explains the success of many romance novels. So he's an alpha male? So, what?! Get over it!! Too many modern romances create a struggle in which the heroine either beats the poor male into submission or, without making any real choice, collapses beneath the literal and metaphorical weight of his alpha-ness.

Bones consistently defends Booth's status as an alpha male. She tells off Sweets when he tries to cast Booth in the "strong but silent/can't talk about his feelings" mold.

SWEETS: Must be a challenge for you to access those feelings.
BRENNAN: Okay, stop. You don't know Booth. You don't know me; you have a limited view of us based on superficial data you've accumulated on a standardized questionnaire, and a subjective analysis from talking to us that is not at all scientific, so BACK OFF.
SWEETS: Just trying to help.
BRENNAN: By questioning his humanity?

Rather than undermining Mulder (as the evil minions hoped), Scully's support takes him out of crackpot status and gives his idealism a certain credibility.
Major Carter does not need to defend Colonel O'Neill. She supports him by being on his team and following orders like a good military officer.*
Lois defends Superman's role in society and later Clark's right to fulfill that role.

6. Last but not least, heroines have a sense of humor.

Boring heroines care about their figures, their attractiveness, their clothing, their relationships, and not much else. They never see the humor in the wackiness of life (which ages people, changes trends, and creates absurd, often silly human beings). They liked to be teased affectionately, and they will be delighted by children's antics. They do not make jokes, especially not about the serious, overwhelming world around them.

Bones plays the straight man to Booth's antics, but she goes into fits of laughter over obscure medical issues. Bones and Booth together create great patter.

BOOTH: Um, maybe he was rolled up in a carpet.
BONES: Where's the carpet?
BOOTH: Well, it rotted away with, you know, the meaty parts.
(Bones bends over, laughing hysterically.)
MISS JULIAN: Dr. Brennan is suspended from all crime-related duties.
BOOTH: What?
BRENNAN: For laughing at Booth?
BOOTH: That really doesn't bother me.

Scully also plays straight "woman" to Mulder's antics, and she is absolutely fabulous at rolling her eyes.

MULDER: He just wants some dating advice.
SCULLY: From whom?
MULDER: Yours truly.
SCULLY: [Long silence while she stares blankly into space.]
MULDER: Hello? Scully?
SCULLY: Mulder, when was the last time you went on a date?
MULDER: I will talk to you later. [Hangs up.]
SCULLY: The blind leading the blind.

Major Carter isn't particular jokey, but she finds Jack amusing.

SAMANTHA CARTER: Normally neutrinos pass right through ordinary matter, no matter how dense. I mean, something like five hundred million billion just passed through you.
JACK: No matter how dense.
(Carter smiles to herself and shakes her head.)

And Lois IS the person with all the antics. Although I usually get bugged by female heroines who talk incessantly about their personal problems, Lois is so funny and charming and self-aware, she doesn't bug me.

So, there they are: the six criteria that make for a good heroine. *Major Carter receives an asterisk because in many ways, she falls into her own category of awesomeness. She never has to prove anything. She just is smart and amazing, and that's enough.

But then again, Stargate really doesn't focus so much on romance.

Note to producers and writers: If you are making a romance, make sure the heroine is somebody worth rooting for!

The Mike-Kate Video Club began last Friday. Since the first video under discussion is Buffy, I thought I would mention here that Buffy meets all of the above criteria. She has a job (she slays vampires); she takes positions on issues (even if that position is having a politically incorrect Thanksgiving dinner); she takes action and saves all kinds of people's lives (Jonathan: "We're proud to say that the class of '99 has the lowest mortality rate of any graduating class in Sunnydale history, and we know at least part of that is because of you."); she doesn't wait around to be rescued, and she's doesn't get all dopey until that horrible season, yes, you know which one I mean; she defends Angel but also kills him: ain't love grand! and she has a sense of humor.

Join us for a discussion of the Buffy pilot and more!

Iron Man and the Hulk: Conversation Between Mike and Kate

I recently saw Iron Man and The Incredible Hulk. I liked Iron Man, so much I saw it twice! I didn't care for The Incredible Hulk. I referred this conflict to Mike who presents the following explanations. (Mike's wife also prefer Iron Man to The Incredible Hulk, so this could just be a guy-gal thing. Mike tackles this posssibility as well as others.)

MIKE: The Incredible Hulk was fun for me because it, far more than Iron Man, really wove together and created the Marvel Universe on the screen. This is important because Iron Man and Hulk were the first two steps of a multi-movie franchise that will culminate in a couple years with the "Avengers" movie.

But it's not fair for a movie to be only accessible to the fans.

I think the main problem that exists with bringing the Hulk to the screen is that they keep trying for superhero when they should be going for more man-on-the-run western. The TV show got it right on some points, but many of the areas where the TV show got it wrong are the areas that the films also get wrong.

In truth, the Hulk is not and never was originally a hero. Jekyll and Hyde weren't heroes either.

KATE: This is an interesting point, Mike! I think it is notable how often the creation or alternate ego takes over in terms of interest. Frankenstein, for example, is actually the doctor, not the monster. The Beast is more interesting than the Prince. Dracula--who hardly appears in the original novel--gets more attention than the scoobie gang. The list goes on . . .

MIKE: The tragedy of Bruce Banner is that the Hulk is the consequence of his genius, and the price he paid to save a life. In the comics, there was no lab accident. Bruce Banner had created a bomb, a very powerful bomb. And when they were about to test it, a teenager wandered into the testing ground. Banner went and saved the kid, but he was almost too late: the blast went off, showering Banner in radiation, turning him into the Hulk.

I think the film does a better job than the Ang Lee Hulk (which is awful). A Hulk movie should, absolutely, be a chase movie. I think the film also does a great job of finding the humor in the circumstances. And, as I said, it really lays the foundation for the world that the next few Marvel films are going to exist in.

But marketing the film as a superhero flick is a mistake. While Banner has done good things, and is a hero in some ways, this is not a man out to save the world; he is seeking to save himself. And the Hulk, as an entity, is also not heroic. The Hulk can't be a hero because he embodies the worst of Banner: his rage, his guilt, his desire to be alone. Banner is seeking to reconcile himself: to bridge and repair his shattered psyche.

KATE: Speaking of heroes (what makes a hero, etc.), in my folklore class, I have used three traditional folklore images to explain modern superheroes:

1. The strong, down-to-earth countryman: Bill Bunyan, Superman
2. The wise-cracking Yankee: "The Yankee Peddler," Tony Stark
3. The backwoodsman or vigilante: George Magoon (famous Maine poacher), Batman

In all three cases, the hero is larger than life and, even if burdened by personal concerns, has some other larger objective.

MIKE: Now, in the film, when Banner is able to finally control the beast, to bend the Hulk to his will, THAT is when he becomes a hero. Not because he saves the city, not because he takes down a beast that his work unleashed. But, rather, because he is able finally to take the anger, fear, and other emotions that are raging beneath the surface and direct them; he is able to be constructive, instead of destructive.

Controlling our emotions and impulses can sometimes take heroic effort, and Bruce Banner's struggle controlling the Hulk is an amazing, though exaggerated, illustration of that struggle.

The problem with superhero movies is that, for most people, they are only compelling when the character is obviously human, like Spider Man or Iron Man. Superman or the Hulk are both difficult because they cannot go through the same things as a human hero. They can't always be hurt or screw up. The last Superman movie disappointed a lot of people, but that should not have been a superhero movie; it was more of a disaster movie, since Superman is more of a force of nature.

KATE: I think my dissatisfation comes in here. It isn't so much that I demand human characteristics, but that I prize cleverness over brute strength. I quite enjoyed the last Superman movie but what I enjoyed, when it came to the battle/action scenes, was Superman's choices. He makes quite active choices about who he will help next and how and when and where. You can see him thinking through the problem. This is true of Iron Man as well. Tony Stark is--in his blithe, capitalistic way--always thinking through his options.

In The Incredible Hulk, the action sequences were just . . . the Hulk throwing stuff. It was, I hate to say this, boring. (To be fair, I did enjoy the beginning of the movie: the chase stuff.) It reminded me of the critique of The Phantom Menace where the critic explains how much more satisfying the fight scene between old Obi-Wan and Darth is compared to the fight scene between their younger selfs. The fight scene between their younger selfs goes on and on and on and on and where's the emotional resonance? On the other hand, the fight scene between the older dudes is short and to-the-point and filled with emotional resonance.

That's how I felt watching The Incredible Hulk. He wasn't making choices, so I didn't care how many cars he ripped up. But when Superman decides to go back and lift Lex Luthor's island out of the ocean: THAT was cool.

MIKE: The strength of the Hulk concept is that through Banner, you have the protagonist and antagonist wrapped together in one person. A true Hulk movie would make the Hulk the villian with Banner and a close friend the heroes, working to overcome the Hulk and use him, when they can, for higher purposes.

The trouble, though, is that people want violence and action, and parents want their children cheering for the good guys. Which may be why Godzilla eventually went from Godzilla destroying the city to protecting it from other monsters.

KATE: There's a great philosophical problem here! The Hulk could struggle with whether the damage he unleashes as the Hulk is worth the good he could do if the power was controlled.

Mike also addresses the guy-gal issue:

MIKE: I think the Hulk resonates more strongly with men because rage, anger, guilt, stress are all emotions that a lot of men struggle controlling regularly. The Hulk is the end result of losing control: he is rage and emotion unleashed. To lose control, to fear cracking and having the emotions escape is something that all men feel to some extent.

KATE: I think this is an interesting point! And much more honest than the politically correct mantra that men and women are the same (I think women can do as much damage as men but not physically. It's a matter of straight-forward mechanics: the strongest woman in the world will never be as strong as the strongest man.)

I have had a few male students write essays on "Why the Hulk would win against Wolverine" or "against Superman," etc. In general, these male students are burly football types. I wonder, sometimes, how frustrated they feel--sitting cramped behind tables having a 5'2" 110 pound woman yap "Essay writing is fun!" at them--and if the Hulk speaks to them in some way. (By the way, they are also almost always my sweetest students.)

Mike gets the last word:

MIKE: But you are right: Hulk doesn't work as a hero. But I believe it's because Hollywood is trying too hard to make him one.

Good Bad Guys

I recently re-watched Bourne Identity. Bourne Supremacy is still my favorite of the three Bournes, but Bourne Identity has one huge factor in its favor: Chris Cooper.

I've been a fan of Chris Cooper since Matewan. His role in Bourne Identity as Conklin is much smaller than the roles of the CIA members in Supremacy. However, he stands alone as a strong behind-the-scenes protagonist to Bourne.

The scene I like best, though, is when Bourne confronts Conklin in Paris. I like it because Conklin isn't afraid of Bourne. Here is this agent who can kill him a thousand different ways with just his hands, and Conklin faces him down. He ends up dead, but he faces Bourne down. He is fearless.

This is the first quality of a good bad guy: fearlessness. A bad guy who begs for mercy may be pitiable or realistic or, even, funny, but it doesn't make for watchable entertainment. Besides, fearlessness in and of itself is frightening since it isn't completely normal or understandable.

This is why the Joker makes a good bad guy. I happen to dislike the Joker intensely (as a character), and I tend to avoid movies, cartoon episodes, and comics which use the Joker. I prefer my bad guys to have invested interests (see below). The point of the Joker is that he doesn't; he is random, amoral, anarchical.

But he makes a good bad guy--even if I can't watch him. Heath Ledger was correctly (posthumously) awarded an Oscar for that role in Dark Knight (even if I will probably never watch the movie again).

The second quality of a good bad guy is wittiness--and for what are probably sub-sub-subconscious reasons buried in the American psyche, it helps if the bad guy has a British accent. (In fact, whenever I see books or articles about how unfairly Hollywood has treated a particular race/nationality, I always think, "Yeah, and what about all those poor British men?")

One of my favorite examples is Shere Khan in the Disney animated version of Jungle Book: here's this tiger strolling through the jungle, uttering lines in this bored, drawling BBC accent. And let's not forget the unforgettable (and very sexy) Alan Rickman in Robin Hood: Prince of Thieves.

Robin Hood: Prince of Thieves brings us to the next quality: quirkiness.

I mentioned that I dislike watching the Joker: insane villains don't interest me. Quirkiness isn't insane, just unexpected. For example, for reasons best understood by folklorists, the Sheriff of Nottingham is often displayed as just a tad off-kilter. Here are some examples:

Alan Rickman in Robin Hood: Prince of Thieves
Q in "Qpid" (Star Trek: TNG)
Keith Allen in the recent Robin Hood television series
Roger Rees (very amusingly) in Robin Hood: Men in Tights

Quirkiness is one reason I like over-the-top villains: Lex Luthor (John Shea) in Lois and Clark and (again) Lex Luthor (Michael Rosenbaum) in Smallville are good examples. And, naturally, Bruce Campbell in, oh, just about anything where he plays a villain. And I mustn't leave out the mayor (Buffy: Season 3)!

The Lex Luthors also, usually, have very narrow motives; the fourth quality of a good bad guy is an invested interest in something real. Yes, there's a place on the villain's pantheon for the Joker, but usually (99.9% of the time), the villain needs to care about something definite.

This is one reason Stargate is so successful a television series: both the Goa'uld and the Wraith are intense villains with narrow, understandable (if deplorable) interests: survival of the species in terms of procreation and food. King Miraz (Sergio Castellitto) in Prince Caspian (the movie) makes a good villain because he has a narrow definable (and from the viewpoint of European history) defendable position (he makes a good villain in the book too).

This is also why the villain of Bones: Season 3 (Gormogon) was a dead loss. There was no "there" there--no real purpose behind his actions or, for that matter, Zach's. 99.9% of conspiracies are a dead-loss in terms of long-term interest. House, for example, almost always produces GREAT villains, mostly because the villains (or antagonists) are so darn human and specific in their desires.

On the other hand, I do prefer the no-nonsense villain to the villain who suddenly, pesto chango, becomes a terrific human being--give me early Vadar versus later Vadar any day. Still, it helps if the no-nonsense villain has a focus (Princess Leia or, for bad Angel, Buffy), and it also helps if the no-nonsense villain has a less villainous, more quirky sidekick like Spike.

Last but not least, the good bad guy needs to have charisma. Now, this quality is problematic because the bad guy's charisma needs to balance the good guy's charisma: the good guy needs a worthwhile antagonist but shouldn't be overshadowed by said antagonist (the snake should not get all the lines). This is terrifically hard to do.

I think charisma is balanced in these instances:

• Ari (against Gibbs and the team) in NCIS: charismatic but completely untrustworthy; besides, he kills the wonderful Kate.
• Q in Star Trek: TNG. Patrick Stewart can hold his own against John de Lancie--barely. (Q ends up being more ambiguous than bad in any case.)
• The bad prince (against our intrepid heroes) in Princess Bride: he's just so icky smarmy: icky smarmy helps to undercut expansive charisma.
• Liam Neeson as the bad mentor guy in Batman Begins (although I think his character misses on all other points except for witty with a British accent: one of my favorite villain lines comes from him: "You took my advice about theatricality a bit literally.").
• Hugo Weaving (all by himself really) in the Matrix.

Of course, few villains meet all the aforementioned criteria. But then, few heroes can match all the aforementioned criteria in terms of fearlessness, wit (with a British accent), quirkiness, invested interest, and charisma.

And the winner villain (today) is . . .

Nicole Wallace (Olivia D'Abo) from Law & Order: Criminal Intent.

I happen to think Law & Order: Criminal Intent falls to pieces after Season 2. Nicole Wallace is a terrific villain though. AND she meets all the criteria.

1. She is fearless. Goren cannot overwhelm or outmaneuver Nicole as he does so many of the other villains on Law & Order: CI.

2. She has that British accent!

3. She is quirky. She's just as messed up as Goren which makes her a good mirror for him.

4. She has an invested interest: namely, Nicole Wallace. Her interests are very narrow and very self-serving--even when she's bent on revenge.

5. She is charismatic. She's also a Star Trek alumni!

MOVIES

The Problems of Romance Heroes

In genre romances, the hero usually has two problems:

1. He hasn't been able to commit to one woman. In Regency parlance, he is a rake. He has slept around; he is an expert in love-making; he has seen it all, done it all. He just hasn't found the right woman. When the right woman comes along, he will change his rake-making ways and become monogamous.

2. An external or internal distress. Modern romance writers have expanded this distress to the psychological. The hero's problem isn't just boredom or a war wound or a displeased father. His problem is depression, mood swings, etc.

Both problems have to be solved and/or confronted in the course of the novel. Usually, the heroine's appearance is the catalyst that solves both problems.

I consider the first problem somewhat more solvable than the second. Granted, it is hard to credit that a promiscuous man will automatically stop being promiscuous just because a wonderful woman shows up in his life. On the other hand, I think a large number of men find the dating/courting/flirting game rather tedious. Some men do enjoy the chase; Scott Petersen obviously enjoyed wooing women more than actually settling down and having children with them. However, I would argue that many (if not most) men would far prefer an available, committed, and agreeable woman on tap than scores of hypothetical women that have to be pursued and sometimes persuaded.

The only snag here, romance-novel-wise, is that so many of the heroes are described as insatiable sex-machines who enjoy displaying their great sexual prowess (they are almost always Alpha males). A good insatiable man might be monogamous; he also might come up with a few excellent reasons he should be allowed to marry several wives (and yes, I am writing that as the product of polygamous ancestors).

However, committing the hero to monogamy still seems a more solvable problem--especially since romance heroines, no matter how virginal, become instant experts in this department--than fixing the hero's distress, particularly if the distress is psychological. I particularly balk at the typical romance-novel solution of the "good woman." Anyone who has been in a psychologically traumatic relationship or has read about Charles & Diana knows that trying to solve other people's psychological problems is a really, really bad idea and trying to solve other people's psychological problems by being "good" for them is a lesson in masochism.

I'm not talking about showing love and support and putting up with the other person's bad side. I'm talking about trying to fix things that now-a-days get a person medicated. Specifically, I'm talking about trying to make another person happy; this, I maintain, is a complete impossibility. A positive relationship can be a source of strength and happiness, but it is the relationship that supplies the strength, not one person taking on the emotional baggage of the other person (i.e., fixing the other person).

That being said, I understand the fantasy: in the romance novel, the heroine who "makes" her hero happy (cures his distress) becomes indispensable. He needs her. It's the sort of thing that makes (some) feminists, me included, nervous: here is this woman subordinating herself all over the place in order to make a man happy. But our nervousness kind of misses the point--basic biology is at work here. An indispensable woman will keep her man and therefore, her security.

And I can understand the impulse to chase after such security even if I don't believe it is possible. It is, frankly, terrifying to enter a relationship knowing that the other person is not under one's control--and yes, I know that sounds vaguely psychopathic. But this lack of control is the risk of relationships: love is not a guarantee, only a hope. In a way, guaranteed love is what makes genre romances not only satisfying to read but also rather fascinating--can the writers solve the hero's problems in such a way that the heroine will still remain indispensable? Contrawise, can the problems be solved without leaving the reader with the impression, "Boy, that marriage is doomed!"?

In one novel (Devil in Winter by Lisa Kleypas), the hero agrees to marry the heroine for money. He then, of course, discovers that she is beautiful and charming and witty and great in bed (not necessarily in that order) although his distress--cash shortage and unhappiness/boredom--is still a factor. However, part of his new wife's dowry is her father's club, which has fallen on hard times. Our hero becomes fascinated by the club. To protect his assets, he becomes directly involved in running the club and subsequently discovers he has a knack for business. 150+ years later, the guy would get an MBA and buy up a bunch of resorts: same principle.

I found it rather satisfyingly believable on a psychological level. Running a club is a bit low-class, but the guy has nothing to lose and everything to gain by taking charge. His motivation is also believable: his lovely wife doesn't inspire him to take an interest; he takes an interest because he (initially) wants to sell the club at a good price. The impulse comes from him, not her endearing example. (In other words, he works to find a purpose for himself in life; he doesn't wait around for his wife to nudge him into finding a purpose--I suppose the latter works for some couples, but generally, I think being someone's personal standby pep rally sounds enormously tiring.)

I will state now that I found another of Kleypas' books much less satisfying: there are only so many romance plots out there, and some of them are pretty darn silly (and what's up with the obsession with Scotland? For some reason, a stunning number of romance novels take place in Scotland and the Wild, Wild West. The first choice makes me feel cold; the second choice makes me feel itchy--not terribly romantic).

One reason Devil in Winter works is because the problems are reasonably solvable--this, however, immediately moves the spousal relationship back onto voluntary grounds. The woman is no longer indispensable (especially since the relationship is, relatively speaking, about two seconds old). In order to keep a heroine of a romance indispensable, the hero's problems must be solvable only in the short term except romance writers want us to believe that the problems are entirely solvable in the short and long term. Yet the woman must remain indispensable. How is that done?

She has a kid.

A number of feminists figured out a long time ago that romances are about the most conservative fiction on the market, and I have to agree. Setting aside the explicit sex (and the odd lack of social--forget religious--guilt), the plots are entirely aimed at creating or obtaining a marriage in which men get jobs, protect their wives, and take care of their children.

Interestingly enough, the female characters express a sense of freedom within this arrangement that is entirely authentic to their writers' voices. So Phyllis Schaefly wins! But why she wins is something all feminists should pay attention to. Frankly, anyone who thinks a well-functioning patriarchy doesn't benefit women to some extent is a fool. However, what those benefits are exactly and what should/can take their place if/when patriarchy falls should be closely examined before babies get thrown out with bathwater.

But I'm not going to do that today.

BOOKS

The Brooders

In her essay about Edmund, "King Edmund the Cute: Anatomy of a Girlhood Crush," Diane Peterfreund explains why Edmund is her favorite of the Narnian heroes. He's mine too (like Diane, the fan fiction I wrote about Narnia involved Edmund), and I agree with Peterfreund's perspective. She points out that Edmund qualifies as a bad boy, but what makes him appealing is that he is a reformed bad boy: a bad boy who made good and has used his bad boy past to gain insight into himself and others. (In response to my brother Eugene's post about Anne of Green Gables and Twilight, I should mention that Peterfreund does dismiss Peter as date-worthy since "while Edmund is logical, clever, understanding, damaged, grave, and quiet, Peter is just perfect. Perfect is boring." He isn't so perfect in the movies--gotta have that internal conflict!--but yes, he is in the books; I think Lewis created Peter as the King Arthur figure of Narnia.)

Despite his bad boy past, Peterfreund points out, "Edmund . . . seemed [to me] to have pulled it together. He may have been somewhat graver than Peter, but he was still a cheerful guy, overall." In other words, he isn't a brooder.

Totally!

But that got me thinking. I agree with Peterfreund in principle--brooders are a total cliche and sooo boring! But do I agree with her in fact? I decided to go through shows (and books) that I like and list the brooders:

Brooder #1: Angel

I have to admit, Angel is a brooder, and I like Angel, but I think much of Angel's broodiness is undercut by Whedon's humor, not to mention Boreanaz's interpretation. Personally, Angel always struck me less as brooding guy and more as intensely introverted guy (which, considering Boreanaz's current alter-ego, the totally extroverted Booth, is fairly impressive). Angel doesn't say much, sure, but I mostly put that down to grumpy guy who lived through the Depression syndrome ("I'm not cheap," Angel says on Angel, "I'm old.") There's a scene in "Earshot" where Buffy, who can now hear people's thoughts, comes to Angel's house to see if she can "hear" him. After following Angel around his house for several minutes, he finally says, kindly but bemusedly, "You can't hear my thoughts. Why don't you just ask me?" Not exactly brooder behavior.

Still, he does brood more than Spike, who seems to brood mostly in spurts.

Brooder #2: House

Granted, House is a class-1 brooder. Again, however, the brooding is undercut by the writing. "You don't have Asperger's," Wilson tells him. "You'd like to, but you don't." And House is always exposing his psyche to people who will not take his brooding seriously or, at least, will point out its absurdity. This makes House's brooding tolerable.

Brooder #3: Hamlet

Personally, I've always preferred the Mel Gibson action-hero version to Launcelot Olivier's blond, swooning prince. I can't speak to Branagh's version. The movie is interesting, but I've never been exactly sure what Branagh was trying to do with Hamlet.

Brooders #4: The English Detectives

I quite like Wimsey who, like House, seems to deliberately act against his own broodiness, but--sorry, PBS mystery fans!--I can't stand Morse, and Lynley gives me a headache. So much angst!! So much melancholy!! Just pull out the violins already: *sigh.*

Brooder #5: Sidney Carlton

When I was in high school, us arty types swooned over Sidney Carlton, the sarcastic, brooding anti-hero of Tale of Two Cities. I think I would find him rather tiresome now; I certainly found the hero of A Separate Peace tiresome (maybe it was just the book). However, I did quite like Lord Jim. But not Ethan Frome. So apparently, I'm an all-American girl: sure, my heroes can brood, but they have got to DO STUFF while they are brooding.

Brooders #6: Mulder & Edward Rochester

Who can forget Mulder?! Mulder is definitely a brooder, but he has the happy accident of being a nutsy brooder. Also, like many of the brooders I have already praised, he is both funny and active. He ACTS. Also, like Edward Rochester (Jane Eyre), he spends his time brooding on one particular problem, at least for the time period that we know him. The brooding has purpose and seems to be less "I'm such a jerk" oriented and more "other people have made my life miserable let's get them!" oriented. Watching a man brood about himself is far less interesting than watching a man brood about an issue.

Brooders #7: The Women

Yup, women can brood too! Buffy springs to mind although, overall, Buffy is thankfully upbeat (yes, I'm ignoring Season 6). Seven-of-Nine doesn't brood since she belongs to the "I don't like it, I kill it" mode of dealing with problems. B'Elanna, similar to Seven in make-up, broods but in moderation, and Tom is very good at handling her broods.

So I'm not completely opposed to brooders, but I do have a healthy love of the ordinary guy who doesn't brood at all, such as Xander (Buffy), Dave (News Radio), Charles Parker (Lord Peter Wimsey mysteries), almost the entire cast of both Stargates (especially O'Neill and Sheppard), Greg (Dharma & Greg) and Columbo.

And I like the non-brooding gals too: Cuddy (House) (maybe that's why I like Amber--she doesn't brood); Carter (Stargate); Monk's assistants (yes, I am excusing Monk as a brooder--he does brood, but there's just so much else going on in the guy's life, the brooding kind of gets lost); Dharma (D&G), and of course, Scully (who is allowed her occasional brood, considering her circumstances, such as--eh hem--her partner).

Conclusion:

So brooding isn't always a turn-off, so long as the brooder has humor, does something about the brooding, and gets over it (now and again). And the brooding is especially tolerable if the brooder is off-set by healthy, upbeat, kind, cool people.

TV

House's Muses

I am now in the middle of Season 4 of House. It is a wonderful season; the Wilson-Amber relationship is paying-off even better than I expected (yes, I do know what happens; yes, I do refer to the season ending in this post).

I have been impressed by how (relatively) distinct House's new team is from the old team. Relatively--they come off a bit flat in the middle of the season, but I put this down to the writers' strike. House seasons usually contain two arcs: the main arc at the beginning of the season followed by a bunch of loose episodes followed by a small arc at the end of the season. Season 4 skips straight from main arc to small arc. All the get-to-know-them-better episodes are missing which makes the distinctiveness of the new team doubly impressive.

Having said that, I think the new team members fulfill similar roles to the old team members: House needs certain types of people around him.

Taub/Foreman Role

First, House needs someone who will disagree with him. As Dobson (played by the marvelous Carmen Argenziano--Carter's dad for you Stargate fans) points out, House doesn't need someone to tell him what he thinks. Rather, House needs the stimulus of a hard logical mind that comes at problems from a different perspective than his own. This is one reason House gets so annoyed with Foreman's "que sera sera" attitude in Season 2. House wants conflict because conflict enhances his ability to process a problem.

Cameron/Thirteen Role

Setting aside the fact that both Cameron and Thirteen are beautiful women (and, as House discovers in the hilarious Ugly, he does prefer his female doctors to be pretty and smart), Cameron and Thirteen force House to consider psychological explanations as part of the diagnosis. Cameron is more of a people-person than Thirteen; Thirteen possesses a remoteness that Cameron would like to have but simply doesn't. Still, Thirteen, like Cameron, is apt to ponder "why" when it comes to a patient.

Basically, Thirteen and Cameron are Wilson, and House needs Wilson. House may loathe psychiatrists, he may mock Wilson's psychoanalyzing, but he wants the pressure to understand a patient's mindset, not just a patient's physical health. (One of the best indications of this is in Season 1, "Kids," when House realizes that Cameron would have learned about bathing-suit-girl's relationships long before Foreman, Chase, or House.)

Chase/Kutner Role

Chase has always been one of my favorites. I think he adds a nice, occasionally deadpan, contrast to Foreman's ambition and Cameron's preoccupation with House. I could never understand, though, what led House to hire Chase in the first place (he was the first person hired of the old team).

Kutner's selection made Chase's selection clear. Both Chase and Kutner are odd men out: they have interests that lie beyond medicine--interests, in fact, that make them immune to good doctoring (and sometimes prone to bad doctoring, as when Chase misses a diagnosis while in emotional shock--an event House takes responsibility for). In Season 1, when Chase betrays House, he does it to save his job, not his reputation. Unlike Foreman and Cameron, he isn't a natural diagnostician, but he becomes a very good doctor under House's aegis and would probably make a fantastic GP. But, ultimately, the job doesn't run Chase. Once he falls in love with Cameron, for instance, he is perfectly willing to go where Cameron goes, not to the best position. This lack of ambition, oddly enough, gives him the capacity to walk away from House's games in Season 4 more than Foreman and Cameron.

Likewise, Kutner likes danger, blowing things up, magic, and secret Santas--non-medical things. Like Chase, he has a wryness that makes him more attune to House's humor. (Kutner also has a gentle guilelessness about him that makes him extremely appealing.)

I think House needs a Chase/Kutner for the same reason House needs clinic duty (no matter how much he resists it). Foreman/Taub may think differently than House. Cameron/Thirteen may go down roads he would prefer to ignore (but knows he can't). Nevertheless, for Foreman/Taub/Cameron/Thirteen and for House, medicine--the case, the patient, the solution--is the controlling interest. For Chase/Kutner, it isn't. House needs this. He needs not just his mirror-self but his non-self.

The result, at least between House and Chase, is a subtle sweetness that House really only shares with Wilson. Chase is the first person House "sees" in Season 4. When Chase shows up in surgery, the potential team members ask, "Are you going to hire him?" Instead of making one of his snarky replies, House glances up at Chase in the observation booth. Chase shakes his head, an almost imperceptible but distinct motion; then, House makes his snarky comment. He allows Chase to make the decision, rather than forcing his decision on Chase--not something he commonly does with Foreman or Cameron.

Not that Chase and House could be friends. Chase isn't Wilson. But there's a purely human, non-doctorly element to their relationship that is missing from House's other relationships. Time will only tell if he establishes the same rapport with Kutner.

I think House's team member choices explain, to an extent, why he is so much fun to watch. I've been surprised by how much I like Amber, House's other-self--even before she started dating Wilson! There was something refreshing, even amusing, about her complete ruthlessness, her desire to pursue her interests at all costs. House has this quality plus another that Amber, cut down in the prime of life, lacks: he wants to be stimulated, he wants to think outside the box, he wants to be shown a different mindset; he even, sometimes, wants to be wrong. He may be arrogant, obnoxious, condescending, and a thorough jerk, but his willingness to test himself, constantly, against different selves excuses many of those flaws.

And makes him devilishly fun to watch.

TV

Why Rimmer Is Such a Great Character

I've been rewatching Red Dwarf recently and have been reminded, once again, what a truly awesome show it is! It is a surprisingly low-budget sitcom with only three (later five) main characters. Of those characters, it is easy to like Lister and the Cat, but I have always had a soft spot for Rimmer, played by Chris Barrie. Here are my reasons:

1. Rimmer has great lines.

This is a very British approach to comedy. The British, more so than us earnest Americans, allow their "smegheads" to be more than just the dupes of the show. The "smeghead" in British sitcoms is often the holder of sarcasm, the rude character who speaks the truth. He is Becker, only, unlike Becker, he isn't the hero of the piece. (One U.S. example is Family Ties where Alex, who is always proved wrong by his so-called enlightened parents, nevertheless has most of the good lines.)

2. Rimmer is unhappy.

The writers make it clear that Rimmer has decided to be miserable. Non-misery creates extreme dissonance in Rimmer's brain. He has constructed a story to explain away all goodness in his life, and he accepts nothing that doesn't jive with this story.

He has also, the writers make clear, had a more stable upbringing than either Lister or the Cat. He has even had more opportunities than Arnold "Ace" Rimmer. Rimmer has literally and figuratively created his own hell.

Yet he remains a pathetic character. His upbringing, however stable, was nothing to write home about--ha ha. And he is truly unhappy. I think this is one of the smartest characterizations on the show. Rimmer's obnoxiousness is grounded in real unhappiness, rather than intrinsic horribleness. Two of the most continuously sweet (but unstated) aspects of the show are that Rimmer and Lister continue to sleep in their original assigned quarters (yes, I know this is largely due to the show's expense budget, but it makes psychological sense) and that Lister never does replace Rimmer with a different hologram. They accept each other as what they are, no matter how annoying. In "Justice," Lister admits that although Rimmer has no friends, Lister cares what happens to him, and Rimmer, who would never be so honest, depends on that emotional support.

3. Rimmer is a good counter to Lister.

Lister is the moral center of the show, but he is also lazy and slobbish. In "The Inquisitor," Lister judges himself the hardest since he has the most potential and knows that he doesn't live up to it.

Lister's live-and-let-live policy is very relaxing, but every so often, this makes him miss the obvious. In "Thanks for the Memory," Lister gives Rimmer the memory of being in love. He gives Rimmer the memory of one of Lister's relationships. Rimmer immediately recognizes the worth of the relationship, something that Lister had shrugged off (I was young, I was playing the field--"I thought that?" Rimmer responds. "I must have been mad. She was great, and she thought I was great.").

Lister does take the moral high ground as he argues that Rimmer (and Lister himself) should retain the memory since it is better to have lived and loved, etc. etc. However, and this is why Lister remains the character all the other characters rely on, he respects Rimmer's insistence that the memories be removed. Rimmer's insistence that the memories be removed takes us back to point 2. Sure, Rimmer is wrong, but which of us hasn't wished (a la Willow in "Something Blue") to simply remove our heart ache, like an appendix? How many of our true fears and attitudes does Rimmer vocalize?

Red Dwarf always astonishes me. The individual episodes are so fundamentally simply, and yet, the psychology could keep a person talking for years.

The Romantic Hero: Three Versions for/by Women

Romance OCD-Style

The first is the most common. This type of romantic hero is all about the girl. He notices what she wears. He notices how she smells. He notices where she spends her free time. He picks up on tiny clues regarding her tastes, her wishes, her whereabouts. Edward from Twilight is this type of romantic hero. Darcy from Pride & Prejudice is a dialed-down and more realistic version. This hero has an impressively retentive memory: for instance, if the heroine leaves town due to some minor misunderstanding with the hero, he will remember that she once mentioned her grandmother used to live on Bailey Island in Maine, and since her grandmother recently died leaving her an inheritance, he will cleverly deduce that she has gone to her grandmother's house on Bailey Island and follow her there.

Positives: The obsessive can be alluring. Darcy is, without a doubt, one of the most attractive heroes in all of literature and television. Colin Firth's interpretation of Darcy as intensely introverted helps to offset the intensity of his observations (and Darcy, thankfully, doesn't notice everything). Still, this particular romantic hero feeds the seductive idea that the woman is the all-consuming and constant center of the male's universe (and he is not usually written as complexly as Darcy).

Drawbacks: Unless tempered by time or some outside interest (like, ya know, an estate), this hero runs the risk of being a domineering jerk. If he isn't violent or manipulative, he might just irritate the heroine to death with all his minute "observations." And if he doesn't have a moral compass, he will simply move on to the next woman who fills his universe whenever he gets bored with the previous "all-consuming" interest.

The White-Knight or (as Shawn refers to him on Psych) "Dwight"

The White-Knight flies to the rescue at the right time with the right equipment. He kills the dragon, uproots the bad guy, and, if he's a variation on the first type, remembers chocolates. But he isn't necessarily a noticing short of chap. He notices big problems like dragons, mean relatives, pirates, and the end of the world, and he tries to make an appearance at those events. He has a long and reputable history in film, including Wesley (Princess Bride) and Shrek. (I had a hard time coming up with an example from literature, believe it or not! Jane Austen's heroes occasionally perform rescues, but they never rescue the heroine--although Darcy does rescue Elizabeth's reputation--and Bronte's Jane Eyre rescues Rochester. I settled for Ellis Peters' Cadfael series since men do lots of rescuing in those books but it's nice and not totally annoying.)

Positives: The White-Knight plays to male strengths. While I find it completely unlikely for a heterosexual male to remember such minor details as the mention of a grandmother's inheritance (see above), I do consider it likely for any male to render a physical service, such as finding a dog, fixing a roof, or mowing the grass. Granted, killing a dragon is a little more exciting but evolved biology has nested the desire to protect within the male psyche. (Which is a good thing, I say to any "all-male-behavior-should-be-stopped" feminists. I'm a feminist, just not that type.)

Drawbacks: The desire to protect may also be accompanied by the desire to smash things. Which is fine so long as it isn't illegal. Also, once the romantic hero runs out of things to fight, he might not be able to adjust to home life. Dragons v. lawn . . . as the princes in Into the Woods discover, once the enemy is beaten, the girl isn't quite so interesting (or as House says to Wilson, "You're right. It was the schizophrenia."). And, here's my feminism, the heroine can sometimes rescue herself. (And should in the case of Bella from Twilight; okay, okay, I promise not to bring up Twilight again.)

The Only Guy Around (for Miles and Miles and Miles . . .)

I admit a preference for this particular hero/romantic situation. In this set-up, the hero and heroine are trapped somewhere--a small community, an island, work. They may even be trapped on a trip á la It Happened One Night and The Bourne Identity. In an extended sense, Mulder and Scully belong to this situation since, although they work amongst many people and have many contacts, they are tied together by their knowledge of the conspiracy. No one else is as fully informed, as invested, or as close as they are.

Positives: First, by necessity, the emphasis is on the relationship. Because there are no other options--because no one has to prove him or herself the better match--the focus moves from "Will they get together?" to "How will they stay or function together?" which is far more interesting to my mind. I have stated elsewhere that I consider Mulder and Scully the most romantic couple in all television precisely because in (almost) every episode, the intimacy and mutual reliance is assumed rather than proved. I also find the "trapped" situation interesting due to what I learned (in my master's program) to call liminality: people who might not otherwise come in contact, meet on the edges of their cultures. It isn't the rebel factor that interests me (Romeo and Juliet disobeying their parents), it's the negotiations that have to take place in order for the involved parties to understand each other (My Big Fat Greek Wedding).

Drawbacks: Stockholm Syndrome anyone? I can't help but wonder, "Would they stay together if you removed them from this situation?" Is the relationship built on necessity or desire? It could depend on the participants, but without the setting or, for that matter, the thrill of the unknown, would the relationship have the ballast to survive? If you got rid of the aliens, would Mulder and Scully still have Paris?