Killing Characters More Than Once

The Internet cut out some time on Friday when the storm was battering town (I was out of the house until about 6:30 or so), so for the first time in a while, this Saturday Note is being written in Microsoft Word instead of a Google Doc.

So that’s a fun fact for you.

I’m sorry that the Book Diary hasn’t been updated as frequently; because of my busyness right now, which I kind of hope will be a permanent fixture, I haven’t been reading as much. But I have been reading in the mornings, and on lunch breaks, so expect to see some stuff added occasionally, though mostly on weekends.

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On Killing the Same Characters

You know it’s kind of annoying when it’s the same characters who keep getting killed.

To be clear, I’m not talking about one character who keeps getting killed as a kind of joke, or that’s his superpower or something. We’re not talking about South Park’s Kenny (although to be clear, we’re almost never talking about South Park; I don’t watch it). We’re talking about a character who, for dramatic purposes, is killed more than once. And it’s supposed to be dramatic every time it happens.

For instance, Supernatural was a bit difficult to take seriously when it came to death, because so many characters had died and come back. The two leads had come back multiple times. Season five actually played with this surprisingly effectively though—when Sam is told that he’s going to be possessed by Lucifer, Sam threatens to kill himself, and Lucifer just says he’ll bring him back. Likewise, there’s an episode that begins with Sam and Dean being killed, and the Plot consists of their travels through the afterlife, trying to get an audience with a specific angel while trying to avoid being brought back until they can achieve it.

But after that, it became increasingly difficult to take death as a dramatic turn of the Plot. Part of this was because the show was supposed to end after five seasons and then just didn’t so the story kind of meandered along. But it was annoying when someone threatens Sam or Dean, and we’re supposed to, y’know, care, because after all, they’ve come back from being killed so many times. The drama just doesn’t work.

Agents of SHIELD just pulled a variation of this with one of its recent supporting characters (some spoilers ahead). There’s this alien robot guy, Enoch, who has been around for hundreds of thousands of years. He becomes friends with the main characters. In season five, in the time travel plot, at one point he sacrifices himself to save our heroes. Except then the timeline gets rewritten, and he’s alive again. Yay! But in the currently-airing season seven, he just got killed again, sacrificing his life to save our heroes in a way that’s not too dissimilar, which is played for drama again. Except… we already had this scenario go down.

It's hard to take a character death seriously, when we’ve already gone through this exact same scenario in this continuity. We’ve seen this character die, and we didn’t think we’d see him again. And him popping up again was a pleasant surprise! But now he’s dying again, and… it just doesn’t feel as strong of a dramatic point, because we’ve already lost him once to get him back. Furthermore, the show’s provided us with plenty of ways for him to come back—we’ve seen others of his species preserve themselves through brain uploads. So when he’s dying, and we’re not given any explanation as to why he doesn’t just do that… it kind of falls flat.

Another Marvel example: do you remember in Infinity War, at the beginning, when Thanos kills Loki? And do you remember how basically none of us believed it? Not as in, “We were so shocked we couldn’t believe it!” It was more like, “Yeah, I refuse to believe this isn’t some other trick.” Because Loki had died! And had a really dramatic death scene! And to be clear, I’m not sure if we believed it in The Dark World either, but then another death scene? Of course we didn’t buy it. We knew that this character had a habit of cheating death. So unless you did something extreme, like had his head ripped off and put on a spike, I don’t think any of us would have bought it. And even then, we probably would ask for someone to check a pulse or something.

Honestly, Loki’s death scene in Infinity War didn’t mean anything other than the directors looking at the audience and saying, “We don’t really care about any of the good parts of Thor: Ragnarok.”

If you are a writer, and you have a fakeout death scene (whether because the death is a ruse, or because the character comes back from being dead), you can’t turn around and have that character killed later on, or even in the next film, and expect it to play as well. It feels cheap. And it feels like some sort of trick, like either we don’t’ believe it, or we don’t think it’ll work as well. When death becomes a cheap way to milk drama, then you’ve got to come up with some other dramatic stakes for the story.

Don’t know what, precisely, but death for the same character more than once won’t cut it.

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Is Bad Representation Worse Than No Representation?

[rubs eyes] I’ve been…. Busy. But Peace Talks is finally out, and when I’m done with that we’ll have some words about that I imagine. And I have to talk about the cover art of the Squire’s Tales books one of these days, because the editions I get from the library have terrible photoshopped covers. Which is a shame, because the books are really good.

Anyway this is something I’ve meant to talk about for a while but never got around to. Or maybe I did and I forgot! Who knows! And maybe I won’t do the topic justice, because again I’m writing at the last minute! I’ve been busy most days this week. But we’ll talk about that later too.

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Is Bad Representation Worse Than No Representation?

Back in the day, when we were young and full of age, there was a discussion on one of the sporking chapters of Mortal Instruments on ImpishIdea. And the gist of it was about how despite a lot of the fanbase praising Cassandra Clare for including a gay character (Alec), Alec is actually kind of a terrible person and a terribly-written character that fits a lot of gay stereotypes. So why should Cassandra Clare get any praise for that?

[I mean, arguably she shouldn’t get any praise for anything, because that whole plagiarism debacle but that’s not the point of this essay so we’ll get to that another time.]

The question came up by another commenter (one that was admittedly not much of a Clare fan either) who pointed out that, look, okay, no he’s not a great example of an LGBT character, but aren’t we being a bit harsh on this? This was published in 2007, where there weren’t exactly a lot of openly gay characters in mainstream fiction. Okay admittedly Alec wasn’t openly gay in-universe, but it was open that he was the gay character in the story. And if we’re asking that an author not write a gay character unless she does it perfectly… well, no one’s a perfect author, and someone’s going to get upset about it.

I thought about this when I somehow came across someone making a masterpost of things wrong with minority characters in Rick Riordan’s Heroes of Olympus. And to be clear, most of the posts linked to were critical, but not hateful, and merely pointed out that Riordan very clearly isn’t an expert on how headscarves work with long hair, or how frustrating it is that Frank’s grandmother fits the Asian ‘Tiger Mom’ stereotype.

There was also the claim that it was stereotypical that the Hispanic kids in the series were from abusive homes, but this didn’t have much weight with me because almost every single one of the characters was from an abusive home so that’s… not a stereotype, that’s Riordan’s writing style.

And again, most of these were critical, but not hateful. But there were some that seemed to think Riordan could not write minority characters at all, so shouldn’t have even tried, and that’s… I don’t know how I feel about that.

To be clear, here we’re talking about attempts to actually represent minorities as positive or complex characters. Examples of writers putting in a group just to demonize them obviously don’t count in this discussion. But on the topic of authors who are putting in minority characters, is it better for them to not try to be inclusive than it is for them to try and fail?

Laura and I have a running thing where we assert that we’re tired of Puerto Rican characters in fiction always being gangster or drug dealers. It sucks. There’s no reason that someone couldn’t just make a Puerto Rican character that wasn’t a gangster. There isn’t! Cisco Ramon from The Flash, for instance, is based off of a Puerto Rican comic book character; but he’s never specifically named as Puerto Rican in the show. Likewise, Elena Rodriguez in Agents of SHIELD was Puerto Rican in the comics, but she’s made another nationality in the show for Reasons.

At this point it’s pretty egregious. Because like we said, there are very rarely any Puerto Ricans in mainstream fiction, and the ones who are… are criminals. And very rarely are they well-developed ones, aside from something like West Side Story. Usually they’re just thugs to be the criminal element in crime fiction. In this case, I do think I’d agree that no representation would be better, because so few people are even trying. 

But I don’t know if that applies to all cases. Obviously, some care should be given and research be done. It’s certainly not okay if someone decides to write a story with a specific real world group of people represented, and then not bother at all to have any knowledge of what those people’s lives are like, building off of stereotypes or dramatic notions. There was a very public example recently of a book titled American Dirt, I believe? And this very sadly led to many well-meaning Anglo critics declaring that white Anglo authors shouldn’t ever write the stories of Hispanic people, when I noticed some Hispanic people suggesting that the issue isn’t that, it’s that Anglo authors shouldn’t ever write someone who isn’t like them, it’s trying to pass off a dramatized soap opera as the real life experiences of people (and in that case, the struggles of immigrants from Mexico).

Representing a certain real-life group who is not one you belong to (and in some cases those you do--I realize, for instance, that my life experience is not reflective of all Puerto Ricans), you need to actually have some knowledge from first-hand sources, whether that be spoken word, interviews or written accounts, of the people you’re writing about. And while I think if someone is genuinely trying to be inclusive in his or her writing, and mess up, that’s a bit more excusable. I think in that case, bad representation is better than no representation. But that doesn’t make it beyond criticism! No piece of fiction is. If the criticism doesn’t happen, then there’s no chance for these things to get better.

Or y’know just you could mostly circumvent this whole issue altogether by reading work by actual minority authors, who are likely to have a better idea of how to represent themselves in fiction.

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Games Should Be Fun

Oh hey there. This Note is written within the actual last minute because I was very busy this week, with Stuff and with Camp NaNoWriMo. Things are, objectively, going well, but because they are going well I’m convinced that they’re about to go badly very soon. And if that happens I’ll be in like the Worst Emo Phase, so, uh, brace yourself for that.

Anyhow I’m going to talk about video games.

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Video Games Should Be Fun

I haven’t played The Last of Us Part II. I can’t review it or comment on its content too heavily. But something I’ve seen in a lot of reviews, both positive and negative, is that while it’s got an ambitious and detailed story, it’s not that much fun to actually play. Tor had a glowing review, but the critic made a point of saying that it’s not a game that really invites replays. It was a good experience as a piece of art, but it wasn’t fun. And… that’s kind of weird, I think?

To be clear, this isn’t that strange of a jump to make: games that are more interesting to watch than they are to play. I made this complaint about Uncharted 3: Drake’s Deception, which is full of cinematic moments that are cool to watch but not so much to play. And that was made by the same studio that made The Last of Us. In both cases, they’d make great movies, but (at least with Uncharted) it made a less-than-stellar game experience, because I wasn’t having fun playing the game.

There are other similar examples that pop up every now and then. I recall that when the game Asura’s Wrath came out, there were reviews that pointed out that the gameplay was really repetitive and not very inspired, with tons of Quick Time Events, and basically you spend the entire game button mashing until you fill your BURST bar so you can unleash a cutscene. But plenty also pointed out that if you looked at it like a kind of interactive anime, then it’s a much more enjoyable experience. And maybe that’s not exactly the same deal either, because as far as I could tell fans of that game did enjoy playing it, but gameplay seemed to take a backseat in the mind of the developers, as they wanted to focus on presentation.

While I don’t hate that idea, it is not how I approach video games. I remember very distinctly a line from a Zero Punctuation review (and yes, I get that Yahtzee shouldn’t be the end-all, be-all of video game criticism, just bear with me) where he replies to an argument about a game making him angry or frustrated being the point with, “Shut up, it’s a game. Games are fun.” And that is kind of where I stand on this.

I wondered if the idea that games don’t have to be fun is related at all to the popularity and influence of games that are incredibly difficult and unforgiving--saying something is “ like Dark Souls” is cliched at this point, and kind of ridiculous to all the games it’s applied to, but Dark Souls has been an incredibly influential game that’s famous for being incredibly difficult. But I don’t know if that’s a fair game series to point a finger at for this idea, because I think people who play those games do actually enjoy them, and they find it fun to have ridiculously hard games. It’s not what I’d find fun, but someone else does. The point of the game was still to have fun, just not in the way that I would.

But how did we get here with games? That a game that many critics who love it admit they didn’t actually enjoy playing it is getting rave reviews? And again, that’s not a condemnation of The Last of Us Part II, because I haven’t played it. But… a game that wasn’t designed to be fun to play?

It’s a bit funny, because this is a design choice that’s well-ingrained into other mediums of art at this point. Movie critics love fawning over films that are incomprehensible or outright boring to the average moviegoer; there are playwrights who are disgusted when everyday audiences enjoy their works on stage. And books? Look, have you looked at award-winning “literary” fiction? Or sat in a high school English class reading modern books? Most of it is utterly boring to the average reader, leading to high-minded book critics to lament the stupidity of the common people every so often.

I wonder if we’re going to get to that point in video games, or if we’re almost there. If soon enough developers are going to regularly be pumping out video games that are deep and meaningful in themes and ideas, ambitious in their execution, but not much fun to play, and most players don’t want much to do with it because it’s not fun. I’ll be very sad if that day comes, because even though I generally value story pretty highly in games, the fact is if a game’s not fun to play I don’t consider it worth my time.

I don’t think we’re quite there, and I’m not sure if we ever will be. But I find it uncomfortable to think about.

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Last Kids on Earth! and the Zombie Apocalypse

So real talk: I might have landed a full time job, but when things seem to be going well on the job front is when they tend to go very badly and I am very scared. I’m panicking. Especially because this would be a very good job.

Anyhow let’s talk about Last Kids on Earth!

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Zombies and Last Kids on Earth!

[Note: this applies to the animated Netflix series, not the book series. I haven’t read the books.]

About a year ago I noticed a book series in Barnes and Noble titled Last Kids on Earth!, aimed at middle-schoolers and seeming to be a kids’ take on a post-apocalypse. Which is weird, but not that weird, all things considered. And then I found out that Netflix had made a series. So I decided why not check that out?

And it’s… okay, I guess. I should go ahead and say that I think if you’re for the target audience it’s probably better and more entertaining. But I felt like even for a cartoon for children, there was this feature that stuck out to me: the main characters all refuse to kill zombies. The town’s infested with them, and at no point does anyone really question this.

So let me backup and explain: Last Kids on Earth! tells the story of Jack Sullivan, a kid in a suburban town that one day inexplicably gets invaded by monsters falling out of portals from the sky. And then a zombie virus instantaneously breaks out. Jack is living in his tree house at the beginning of the series, the only one he knows of that’s alive and well, as his walkie talkie that he used to talk to his best friend Quint is broken. They do eventually link up, along with Dirk, the guy who used to bully Jack and Quint, and June, who is Jack’s crush. They have adventures from Jack’s treehouse and the Plot develops from there as they find out more about the apocalypse and its causes.

You may notice that there’s a lot I glossed over from the situation, and to be clear, the show glosses over it too. It’s not that these kids’ parents aren’t mentioned, but they’re handwaved as being not there for whatever reason. Jack’s a foster kid who’s adopted family up and left, Quint’s family was on vacation, June’s family evacuated the second things started going south, and Dirk… I don’t think he has a family? They’re all conveniently out of the way, and while there does seem to be some trauma about what’s going on with their families, it’s mostly put in the background.

You’d also think there’d be a lot of violence in this show, but there’s not that much? I suppose they do fight monsters and zombies, but rarely ever with anything like lethal force. Jack makes a point to tell his friends that they shouldn’t kill zombies; his excuse being that after all, they can’t help that they’re zombies! And that doesn’t… that doesn’t sound right. It doesn’t seem as if he’s holding out hope for some kind of cure to the zombie virus. He doesn’t even seem particularly bothered to see zombies of people he used to know, like the teachers at school. So they don’t kill zombies, only restrain them, beat them back, or run away from them. And as the zombies are shambling and not very smart, this tends to work. 

But… why? Why not kill the zombies? They’re zombies, and they’d very easily kill or turn our protagonists if they had the chance. The protagonists do have spears and blades, but for the most part use a lot of… well, crap and toys that they’ve repurposed into weapons, like launchers of footballs and hockey sticks. There’s a story arc in season two about the zombies mysteriously disappearing, and it’s played as creepy because they don’t know what’s going on, they do seem to be actually horrified that there’s a creature out there taking out the zombies, even though that’s actually a good thing. It gets weird when Dirk becomes attached to the zombie they’re using as bait and does everything he can to save him from being devoured, like he’s the team pet or something.

It feels less like a character decision that makes sense and more indicative that the makers of the series are trying to avoid showing too much on-screen violence. I get that for the audience they’re courting, they don’t want gore and violence, but that’s kind of unavoidable when your setting is a zombie apocalypse. Even if they don’t want to show gore, they could easily do violence without making it graphic.

I’m reminded of Kipo and the Age of Wonderbeasts (which had a second season recently, which is fantastic and you should go watch it), which is also a cartoon set during the apocalypse, and in all is not a very dark story. It’s got dark elements, but it’s incredibly optimistic in tone. And to be clear, it also doesn’t have a bunch of graphic violence. But the threat of it is always there, and there’s evidence of it at every turn, and the ongoing fear that it might happen to our protagonists. Wolf wears the skin of an intelligent wolf that she killed and skinned herself. It’s not all up front, but it’s there, and we know that these characters are in actual danger.

Last Kids on Earth! has characters clamp their hands over a zombie’s mouth and no one brings up the fear of being bitten or infected, and that’s poor writing. June has an actual spear, and we at no point see her stabbing something with it. These kids can apparently take down hordes of zombies, but do absolutely nothing to make sure those same hordes don’t get back up again to hurt them or others.

It also diminishes the danger of the story? Because we’re meant to think that the zombie virus took over the world, or at least this small town, and they can be beaten back by a bunch of kids? Creative, skilled kids who know what they’re doing, but still kids. And that’s a bit of an egregious writing blunder. Yes, again, it’s a show aimed at children in middle school, and middle school fiction shouldn’t traumatize its audience, but there are ways to do these kinds of stories that don’t narratively talk down to the audience. There are ways to do violence without making it graphic, for instance. 

Not gonna lie though, this story would make one fantastic RPG.

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