![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
kaigouI've been contemplating this most recent meltdown in the vampire corner of the fantasy-horror genre. (While, I admit, also asking what the hell is up with the sub-genre that it seems to have the largest, most public, authorial meltdowns: are the authors most likely to melt more attracted to that genre for some reason? or does the genre induce the melting? chicken, egg, someone?).
Anyway!![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
anghara explained that authors -- who can't control cover, back copy, inner flap, etc -- really only owe readers The Story. (And this does not, therefore, mean authors then owe The Sequel, nor can readers sue for it. Ahem.) All true. But I think this is oversimplication. The author owes us the story promised, and by that I mean: the author owes us a certain loyalty to, and recognition of, the story's beginning, and the characters' beginnings. Ignoring any information gleaned elsewhere (from reader reviews to back copy), in the first opening paragraphs, it's now down to me, and the author. Show your stuff, author. Tell me what I'm gonna get.
The answers, I've found, that must get answered somewhere in the first chapter are really very simple. I look over the list of the books I read past the first chapter, in 2006, and I can see their first chapters all have two things in common. They contain information on:
what the protag wants
what's in the protag's way.
And that's pretty much all that's mandatory. Some stories only gave the barest information about where and when; fewer gave me how and who; fewer still mentioned any of why. When I deconstructed the successful stories in my pile, I realized that the non-whats (who, where, why, how, when) are the icing: the barest amount is just enough for the first taste. Too much expositional icing and the chapter-cake collapses under its weight. Mmm.. cake.
In that opening chapter, then, we learn the story's conflict-premise, and with that, the promise is made. From there, the author owes it to me to live up to the implications, to the backdrop, to the obstacles, to the expectations, created by that first introduction, inherent in that promise.
It shouldn't be rocket science! Do not give me a marvelous world full of fantastical things and promise, and then ignore all possibilities raised. Do not introduce me to an entire cast of lively characters and never mention them again. Do not tell me that the insurmountable obstacle is X -- and then tell me in the next chapter say Y would suffice. Do not drop me into a lengthy and detailed courtroom drama, only to up and relocate to a dude ranch for the story's remainder. In effect, do not pull a bait-and-switch, and do not show me a gun in the first act and bloody well not use it by the end.*
Yes, an author may argue, "but this is The Story, and that's all I owe you!" ...to which I say, no, what you owe me is the story you promised me. I know full well the protag's goals/obstacles change as the story progresses. I also have finally realized the one hard-and-fast rule in storytelling is that for every change, the author owes me a damn good reason. If the opening premise is not what you're writing for the bulk of the story, then ditch those opening parts and start where the story really begins. That's what I mean by owing me honesty, and IMO it's the first half of the author's promise: I won't jerk the tablecloth out from under you without some kind of warning (however subtle).
*I do not mean a twist-ending. That's different. And yes, there are examples of successful bait-and-switches. Best known is probably Thelma & Louise, but that was a seriously risky storytelling move, and it did have warning notes of impending disaster before the turning point (even if those went over the heads of unsuspecting audiences). It's certainly not a move for beginner writers, or most readers, for that matter.
The second half of the promise is continuity: these characters will remain internally consistent, beneath any developments.
Don't introduce me to a protag who refuses to get married, doesn't have a romantic bone in his/her body -- falls in love and suddenly is weeping every night because the phone hasn't rung**... you'd better believe the author owes me an explanation. Don't give me a protag raised in poverty who wants nothing more than to be out of the ghetto, then have the protag cheerfully deciding inner city slums are just the bestest evah. The author will definitely owe me an explanation.
The characters -- regardless of what some authors (or fans) protest -- are not real, and more importantly, the characters are not buying the books. I am. I do get to complain if the author breaks his/her promise: if the author introduces me to a protag, to goals, to conflicts, and then changes the game on me without warning. Even in a long arc-based series, heading into book ten, the author's promise of continuity says that we will look back on our first impression, contrast it to the character's current position, and see a logical and reasonable progression from then to now. If the author doesn't do that, the promise is broken.
**Again, yes, this can also be done: Much Ado About Nothing. It's a silly place, but a great example of moving two characters from one position to the radical opposite -- and, proving my point, Shakespeare does give us a reason.
There you go: "I owe you Teh Story in return for your hard-earned $15" also includes the sub-parts of "I'll introduce you to everyone at my party, but if I drag you out of there to go bowling with a completely different set of people, I'll give you a reason why, and if three of my friends suddenly go off their rockers and speaking in tongues, I'll explain that, too."
And now, we get to vampires, and more specifically, the most recent rant-spewing, online-connipping, logic-skewing, monkey-poking, meltdown.
difrancis mentioned on her journal of some of LKH's fans -- err, so-called fans? -- who were suggesting the fans band together to give LKH cancer, or AIDS. Ergh, that's harsh -- and these people consider themselves fans? What the hell are LKH's enemies like, then? No, don't answer that.
I've seen folks fuss about Anne Rice's writing going bland, stale, and needing an editor. But most of them just shrug that off, read the older books they like, and carry on. It's the LKH fans who describe themselves as bitterly disappointed, outright angry, and even completely betrayed. It's not just that LKH broke a promise, but that the promise she made was so big, and so phenomenal, and so promising, and in some ways so powerful -- even empowering. In realizing the author makes a promise at the onset of a story, I realized the logic had to be followed to the end: the bigger the promise you make, the farther you've got to fall if the fans think you've reneged. No safety net here, baby. They're going to hate you for it, because you didn't promise the foothills of the Appalachians, you promised Mount Frickin' Hood, and you delivered, and again -- and then you stopped.
But to really get why, in specific, LKH has been getting so much venom from her fans (as opposed to any other writer who certainly hears grumbling now and then, I'm told), you have to look at the specifics. When Joss Whedon was creating a counter-culture hero(ine) on television, LKH was busy doing the same in print. I mean, I don't read horror. I rarely read the vampire or werewolf genres; watching Buffy was, at times, a little odd, considering that. Yet even I knew about Anita; I cannot name another series' protag (other than Anne Rice's Louie, who reached the same proportions) who had recognition not only in-genre but ex-genre -- and I certainly can't name another female character in any horror series. In fact, the only long-running female-lead series I can think of is V.I. Warshowski, and she's influential for much the same reasons Anita Blake was: their original promises were to be kick-ass women.
I found the wiki entry on the Anita series, and it quotes LKH (from a very early interview) that she'd read tons of thrillers and dramas, and the men were always in teh spotlight. Women were always just on the edges of the stage. Male heroes got the chicks right there, but for female-heroes, everything happened off-page. LKH wanted a female character who could hold her own with the male protags, got the guys, got to ask the questions, got to pick the fights.
V.I. Warshowski's on her nineteeth book? Something like that. She still lives up to her promise. Somewhere along the way, Anita stopped.
If, at the end of Buffy's run, Joss had written Buffy as being a happy little wife, pregnant and barefoot, it would have gone against the grain of everything he'd shown me over seven years, and utterly betrayed the protag I had come to admire and adore, even to see as a kind of modern (and humanly falliable) role model. LKH's fans seem to say the same -- so when Anita stopped being strong-willed and conflicted, and became a mindless bedhopper with no real conflict, the fans knew the promise had been broken. That would prompt anger, yes, but there's an extra element here: I think it's far worse when you're the avant-garde, the sole example of that sort of protag.
People have told me -- and some of the less-than-stellar genre books I've read might bear this out -- that when you're the only one writing, you can get away with a great deal more slacking. I know when it comes to gay/lesbian characters, for a long time folks I knew (myself included) were willing to settle for anyone, even just a frickin' sidekick, just to see a non-het somewhere in print or on the screen. It's the same for any minority: the token black kid, the token asian, but at least it's something more than complete invisibility. That puts a lot of pressure on that token character, to live up to the expectations created by the specific audiences who've been craving this, waiting for a chance to see their kind of character as the protag, warts and all. For horror-fantasy fans, and vampire/Rice fans, Anita was that: the token female finally stepping into the protag's role.
And that means going a step further on the logic, to see why LKH is melting down now, rather than back when she'd first veered away from the original promise (apparently several books ago). I think it's because now, if I walk into a bookstore, or search on Amazon, there are at least four, five, maybe six different series with some kind of vampire-hunter female lead, or a part-demon female lead, or a female-ninja lead, or a whatever-female lead, invariably with non-human or part-human boyfriends in on-again, off-again tumultuous romances between damn good fights scenes and plenty of cussing and conflict and tight pacing. You don't even need to throw a rock in the average fantasy section these days, to hit at least three titles in which the lead protag is female, kick-ass, fights with the big boys, solves her own crimes thank you, can think on her feet, yet has a dark past or a dark future or a questionable amount of humanity.
Sorry, Anita, the field is getting rather crowded these days. As a protag, Anita may be the unspoken standard for the sub-genre, but she's no longer, apparently, the one with the real balls. All the come-latelys have come and are now passing LKH, from what it looks like, though LKH continues to reign supreme by coasting on her laurels (and her established name/reputation) as the precedent in the genre. I wonder how long that'll last, honestly.
And that, to wrap up, is where the pr0n comes in. If you can't come up with plot, if you can't tackle the conflict, if you've taken your character so far from the original promise that getting back again would require retconning five books or more, then you've got to do something else to stand out in an increasingly crowded field. So... you write pr0n. Soft-core, and not very well-done, but still, there don't seem to be as many other vampire-hunter-sub-genre authors reveling that much in the pr0n, so for those readers who want all the horror-fantasy that comes with vampires/demons, and all the softcore throbbing manhoods that come with romance, Anita can remain a superlative. The problem is that to do it, she has to continue breaking the promise that began the entire series.
So. Uhm, basically: it's a lesson to learn, I suppose. It's not just Teh Story that you owe me, but your honesty about where it'll go, and your commitment to the characters' continuity -- and integrity. And you owe it to me to remain true to both of those -- and if you break that promise a chapter in, I'll probably just toss the book on the "to be donated" pile and be done with it. Break that promise nine books into the series, after I've fallen in love and your character's moved into my heart and there's a spot by the sink in my head for his/her toothbrush and every new book is a chance to spend more time together... when you break that promise, don't be surprised if the reaction is more than a little bit passionate. Expect something more along the lines of viciously betrayed.
I wonder if LKH ever admits to herself that half her reason for melting down is because she knows the readers' anger is justified.
Anyway!
anghara explained that authors -- who can't control cover, back copy, inner flap, etc -- really only owe readers The Story. (And this does not, therefore, mean authors then owe The Sequel, nor can readers sue for it. Ahem.) All true. But I think this is oversimplication. The author owes us the story promised, and by that I mean: the author owes us a certain loyalty to, and recognition of, the story's beginning, and the characters' beginnings. Ignoring any information gleaned elsewhere (from reader reviews to back copy), in the first opening paragraphs, it's now down to me, and the author. Show your stuff, author. Tell me what I'm gonna get. The answers, I've found, that must get answered somewhere in the first chapter are really very simple. I look over the list of the books I read past the first chapter, in 2006, and I can see their first chapters all have two things in common. They contain information on:
And that's pretty much all that's mandatory. Some stories only gave the barest information about where and when; fewer gave me how and who; fewer still mentioned any of why. When I deconstructed the successful stories in my pile, I realized that the non-whats (who, where, why, how, when) are the icing: the barest amount is just enough for the first taste. Too much expositional icing and the chapter-cake collapses under its weight. Mmm.. cake.
In that opening chapter, then, we learn the story's conflict-premise, and with that, the promise is made. From there, the author owes it to me to live up to the implications, to the backdrop, to the obstacles, to the expectations, created by that first introduction, inherent in that promise.
It shouldn't be rocket science! Do not give me a marvelous world full of fantastical things and promise, and then ignore all possibilities raised. Do not introduce me to an entire cast of lively characters and never mention them again. Do not tell me that the insurmountable obstacle is X -- and then tell me in the next chapter say Y would suffice. Do not drop me into a lengthy and detailed courtroom drama, only to up and relocate to a dude ranch for the story's remainder. In effect, do not pull a bait-and-switch, and do not show me a gun in the first act and bloody well not use it by the end.*
Yes, an author may argue, "but this is The Story, and that's all I owe you!" ...to which I say, no, what you owe me is the story you promised me. I know full well the protag's goals/obstacles change as the story progresses. I also have finally realized the one hard-and-fast rule in storytelling is that for every change, the author owes me a damn good reason. If the opening premise is not what you're writing for the bulk of the story, then ditch those opening parts and start where the story really begins. That's what I mean by owing me honesty, and IMO it's the first half of the author's promise: I won't jerk the tablecloth out from under you without some kind of warning (however subtle).
*I do not mean a twist-ending. That's different. And yes, there are examples of successful bait-and-switches. Best known is probably Thelma & Louise, but that was a seriously risky storytelling move, and it did have warning notes of impending disaster before the turning point (even if those went over the heads of unsuspecting audiences). It's certainly not a move for beginner writers, or most readers, for that matter.
The second half of the promise is continuity: these characters will remain internally consistent, beneath any developments.
Don't introduce me to a protag who refuses to get married, doesn't have a romantic bone in his/her body -- falls in love and suddenly is weeping every night because the phone hasn't rung**... you'd better believe the author owes me an explanation. Don't give me a protag raised in poverty who wants nothing more than to be out of the ghetto, then have the protag cheerfully deciding inner city slums are just the bestest evah. The author will definitely owe me an explanation.
The characters -- regardless of what some authors (or fans) protest -- are not real, and more importantly, the characters are not buying the books. I am. I do get to complain if the author breaks his/her promise: if the author introduces me to a protag, to goals, to conflicts, and then changes the game on me without warning. Even in a long arc-based series, heading into book ten, the author's promise of continuity says that we will look back on our first impression, contrast it to the character's current position, and see a logical and reasonable progression from then to now. If the author doesn't do that, the promise is broken.
**Again, yes, this can also be done: Much Ado About Nothing. It's a silly place, but a great example of moving two characters from one position to the radical opposite -- and, proving my point, Shakespeare does give us a reason.
There you go: "I owe you Teh Story in return for your hard-earned $15" also includes the sub-parts of "I'll introduce you to everyone at my party, but if I drag you out of there to go bowling with a completely different set of people, I'll give you a reason why, and if three of my friends suddenly go off their rockers and speaking in tongues, I'll explain that, too."
And now, we get to vampires, and more specifically, the most recent rant-spewing, online-connipping, logic-skewing, monkey-poking, meltdown.
difrancis mentioned on her journal of some of LKH's fans -- err, so-called fans? -- who were suggesting the fans band together to give LKH cancer, or AIDS. Ergh, that's harsh -- and these people consider themselves fans? What the hell are LKH's enemies like, then? No, don't answer that.I've seen folks fuss about Anne Rice's writing going bland, stale, and needing an editor. But most of them just shrug that off, read the older books they like, and carry on. It's the LKH fans who describe themselves as bitterly disappointed, outright angry, and even completely betrayed. It's not just that LKH broke a promise, but that the promise she made was so big, and so phenomenal, and so promising, and in some ways so powerful -- even empowering. In realizing the author makes a promise at the onset of a story, I realized the logic had to be followed to the end: the bigger the promise you make, the farther you've got to fall if the fans think you've reneged. No safety net here, baby. They're going to hate you for it, because you didn't promise the foothills of the Appalachians, you promised Mount Frickin' Hood, and you delivered, and again -- and then you stopped.
But to really get why, in specific, LKH has been getting so much venom from her fans (as opposed to any other writer who certainly hears grumbling now and then, I'm told), you have to look at the specifics. When Joss Whedon was creating a counter-culture hero(ine) on television, LKH was busy doing the same in print. I mean, I don't read horror. I rarely read the vampire or werewolf genres; watching Buffy was, at times, a little odd, considering that. Yet even I knew about Anita; I cannot name another series' protag (other than Anne Rice's Louie, who reached the same proportions) who had recognition not only in-genre but ex-genre -- and I certainly can't name another female character in any horror series. In fact, the only long-running female-lead series I can think of is V.I. Warshowski, and she's influential for much the same reasons Anita Blake was: their original promises were to be kick-ass women.
I found the wiki entry on the Anita series, and it quotes LKH (from a very early interview) that she'd read tons of thrillers and dramas, and the men were always in teh spotlight. Women were always just on the edges of the stage. Male heroes got the chicks right there, but for female-heroes, everything happened off-page. LKH wanted a female character who could hold her own with the male protags, got the guys, got to ask the questions, got to pick the fights.
V.I. Warshowski's on her nineteeth book? Something like that. She still lives up to her promise. Somewhere along the way, Anita stopped.
If, at the end of Buffy's run, Joss had written Buffy as being a happy little wife, pregnant and barefoot, it would have gone against the grain of everything he'd shown me over seven years, and utterly betrayed the protag I had come to admire and adore, even to see as a kind of modern (and humanly falliable) role model. LKH's fans seem to say the same -- so when Anita stopped being strong-willed and conflicted, and became a mindless bedhopper with no real conflict, the fans knew the promise had been broken. That would prompt anger, yes, but there's an extra element here: I think it's far worse when you're the avant-garde, the sole example of that sort of protag.
People have told me -- and some of the less-than-stellar genre books I've read might bear this out -- that when you're the only one writing, you can get away with a great deal more slacking. I know when it comes to gay/lesbian characters, for a long time folks I knew (myself included) were willing to settle for anyone, even just a frickin' sidekick, just to see a non-het somewhere in print or on the screen. It's the same for any minority: the token black kid, the token asian, but at least it's something more than complete invisibility. That puts a lot of pressure on that token character, to live up to the expectations created by the specific audiences who've been craving this, waiting for a chance to see their kind of character as the protag, warts and all. For horror-fantasy fans, and vampire/Rice fans, Anita was that: the token female finally stepping into the protag's role.
And that means going a step further on the logic, to see why LKH is melting down now, rather than back when she'd first veered away from the original promise (apparently several books ago). I think it's because now, if I walk into a bookstore, or search on Amazon, there are at least four, five, maybe six different series with some kind of vampire-hunter female lead, or a part-demon female lead, or a female-ninja lead, or a whatever-female lead, invariably with non-human or part-human boyfriends in on-again, off-again tumultuous romances between damn good fights scenes and plenty of cussing and conflict and tight pacing. You don't even need to throw a rock in the average fantasy section these days, to hit at least three titles in which the lead protag is female, kick-ass, fights with the big boys, solves her own crimes thank you, can think on her feet, yet has a dark past or a dark future or a questionable amount of humanity.
Sorry, Anita, the field is getting rather crowded these days. As a protag, Anita may be the unspoken standard for the sub-genre, but she's no longer, apparently, the one with the real balls. All the come-latelys have come and are now passing LKH, from what it looks like, though LKH continues to reign supreme by coasting on her laurels (and her established name/reputation) as the precedent in the genre. I wonder how long that'll last, honestly.
And that, to wrap up, is where the pr0n comes in. If you can't come up with plot, if you can't tackle the conflict, if you've taken your character so far from the original promise that getting back again would require retconning five books or more, then you've got to do something else to stand out in an increasingly crowded field. So... you write pr0n. Soft-core, and not very well-done, but still, there don't seem to be as many other vampire-hunter-sub-genre authors reveling that much in the pr0n, so for those readers who want all the horror-fantasy that comes with vampires/demons, and all the softcore throbbing manhoods that come with romance, Anita can remain a superlative. The problem is that to do it, she has to continue breaking the promise that began the entire series.
So. Uhm, basically: it's a lesson to learn, I suppose. It's not just Teh Story that you owe me, but your honesty about where it'll go, and your commitment to the characters' continuity -- and integrity. And you owe it to me to remain true to both of those -- and if you break that promise a chapter in, I'll probably just toss the book on the "to be donated" pile and be done with it. Break that promise nine books into the series, after I've fallen in love and your character's moved into my heart and there's a spot by the sink in my head for his/her toothbrush and every new book is a chance to spend more time together... when you break that promise, don't be surprised if the reaction is more than a little bit passionate. Expect something more along the lines of viciously betrayed.
I wonder if LKH ever admits to herself that half her reason for melting down is because she knows the readers' anger is justified.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 7 Jan 2007 10:21 pm (UTC)The biggest problem from book ten on, was Micah. The character (despite numerous references from other characters to his supposed compatibility with Anita) didn't fit and continues to serve no real plot or developmental purpose in the stories.
Honestly, I saw Micah's initial introduction as a rape scene. I was disgusted that Anita - supposedly rested and adapting after her stint with Edward and the white witch - stopped being the plausible, flawed protagonist and started to act like the heroine from a trashy bodice ripper.
The resulting explanations for why Anita, after nine books of 'sex comes only after emotional connections are formed', falls almost literally into bed with this man are hasty, ill-conceived and have no grounding that I can see in the previous books. It's rather like LKH fast-forwarded three or four years in the space of less than three pages and I spent the rest of the book wondering what I'd missed.
During a recent discussion on this, a friend of mine put her finger on what bothered me about Anita. She is no longer a heroine as such, she's become a 'man's hero' with the genders reversed. She's the only strong woman in her series and again, during the later books, the inferiority of women as a whole in the Anita-verse means that Anita stops being a role model and starts being a man in woman's clothing.
no subject
Date: 7 Jan 2007 11:52 pm (UTC)Reminds me of Joss Whedon's comment about setting out, purposefully, to make sure that the men around Buffy are as strong as she is (in many if different ways) and are not threatened by her, but find her strength a positive attribute -- and that the women around her, equally so. That she does not exist in a world of weakness where she's the only strong one, but that her strength reflects the world she comes from: one in which strength (of mind, of humor, of character, of body, of heart) is prized and cherished.
The resulting explanations for why Anita, after nine books of 'sex comes only after emotional connections are formed', falls almost literally into bed with this man are hasty, ill-conceived and have no grounding that I can see in the previous books.
Which is why I say that if an author is going to expect me to read (and pay for reading) on my end, then the author can't go changing boats mid-stream on a character. There must be continuity; lacking that, just start a new frickin' series with a whole new character, then!