My guts have been acting up these past couple of days, so I’ve been having some trouble focusing. I very almost wrote another Note about fiction that refers to history without knowing what they’re talking about–but I have one of those on-site on The Emperor’s Club, and I have trouble keeping an audience as it is without repeating myself so quickly.
Well, okay, I think I have written about Designated Love Interests before, though I can’t find it on the blog. That means it’s fair game, right? I thought about it a bit when I read Shadow of the Wind a couple of weeks back.
In other news, National Novel Writing Month is coming, and I feel like I should start outlining. I haven’t started outlining. Oof.
On Designated Love Interests
In the Spanish novel The Shadow of the Wind, our main character Daniel ends up falling in love with his best friend’s older sister Bea. Not slowly; head-over-heels, promising to show her things she’s never seen before to convince her to stay in Barcelona instead of traveling away with her sailor boyfriend. Though there is something to justify the romance–they have met before (though the first interaction was hostile) and the show bonding a bit over books–it’s still not enough to justify it as a meaningful romance, upon which the climax of the book rests. I couldn’t tell you why they’re so madly in love, nor why they’re willing to risk so much to be together. And this isn’t the only example in the book; Julian and Penelope apparently just fell in love by seeing each other, and end up ruining their lives because of their overwhelming passion for each other. This example is in the backstory, so maybe we can accept that we don’t have all the information, but given the main one between Daniel and Bea, I’m not sure. I don’t know why these people love each other so much, other than being young and attractive. And that’s a problem.
The Shadow of the Wind is a mystery novel. The point of the story is the mystery at its center; therefore, it’s not too egregious that the central romance isn’t that deep. It’s at least easy to look past. It reminds me of an idea that I think about sometimes, when it comes to making stories: writing romance is hard.
Very often, I look at romance arcs in stories and ask “Why do these two people like each other so much?” That’s the key in writing a romance between two characters. I’m not asking for fan explanations to do the work for the writers, I’m asking why these two characters are in what’s meant to be a meaningful relationship when they barely know each other, or have nothing in common, or never have a conversation. Don’t tell me it’s only because they find each other attractive, I’ll slap you with a fish. Too often, I’m scared the answer is “Love is illogical.” Maybe it is, but if you expect us to believe these two will drop everything for each other, you better have some work to show the audience, or else it’s another fish slap.
You can write dysfunctional relationships, if they’re meant to be so. Those can be interesting! As long as you know that’s what you’re doing. Too often we see dysfunctional relationships in fiction, and the writers don’t realize that these are toxic people ruining lives. If it’s on purpose, though–by all means, go ahead! One of the most interesting parts of the Witcher books is that Geralt and Yennefer’s relationship is all sorts of messed up–and you’re supposed to think that. If that’s part of the story you’re telling, you can get away with it. It’s when these relationships are too romanticized without developing them more that you run into problems.
If you want the discerning audience to think that the romance is more than mere attraction, you absolutely have to have these two characters spend time together, doing something they find pleasant. I don’t just mean sex–although you can deconstruct this idea that the two characters think that they love each other, only to realize later on that they have little in common, they just enjoy sleeping with each other a lot. If you expect a believable romance, they have to want to be around each other for extended periods of time. I remember from Das_Mervin’s sporkings of Twilight that she pointed out that a major problem with Edward and Bella’s romance is that we have very few scenes of them actually enjoying each other’s company (compared to Bella and Jacob, hence why that ship war was so viciously debated). If you want the audience to root for a relationship, they have to actually be friends!
Writers should also keep in mind: not everyone needs to be in a relationship. I’m not saying they need to enter religious life (although yes to more celibate priest, monk, and nun characters), but people assume that for characters to have a happy ending, the audience must see these people in a relationship of some sort. That’s not true. This is especially annoying with television shows that try a pairing or two and then drop them because fans don’t like them, only to end with another pairing as if that makes up for everything.
[I’m talking about Legend of Korra. In case that wasn’t clear.]
No! You can break up a couple, and have the protagonist single! AND you can do that without demonizing either party, because sometimes two people just aren’t good together. Then you can have the protagonist end the story single. Maybe audiences will decide in fanfiction to give them a new pairing, I don’t know, I don’t care–the notion that a person’s life isn’t complete without a romantic partner is dumb. And we’d avoid a lot of terrible fictional romances if we didn’t assume that they had to be there for completeness’ sake.
Absence of a romantic arc in a story is often better than a terrible one stuck in there for the obligation of having one. It’s not that I’m against romance in the fiction I read and watch, but I am against terribly written romance in fiction. And sadly, it’s all too common.
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