Bickering Couples

This weekend I intend to begin my first Dragon Age, as Inquisition was on sale in the Playstation Store. I’ll let you know how that goes! I’m still debating whether to utilize the Dragon Age Keep to make story choices.

I’ve been re-watching season two of Elementary, and along with reading The Sherlockian, maybe a re-read of my Holmes book is in order? Regardless, now I’m on another book, this one about the Inklings. Long ago, in high school and as an undiegrad, I had the idea to form a writing group like that; years later, I realized that I lacked the charisma, drive, cleverness, and bluntly, the likability to do such a thing.

Anyway, bickering couples.

On Bickering Couples

In fiction, often the way that writers demonstrate that two characters are made for each other is to have them fight. All. The Darn. Time. It’s used often enough that it might as well be shorthand. And to a certain extent, it sort of makes sense? The idea is that these two people have strong emotions for each other, and that it gets warped into something like belligerence because they can’t/won’t express their true feelings. Because if they expressed it, then that part of the story would resolve itself, in many of these cases, and the character arc would have nowhere to go.

That’s the common wisdom, anyway. I don’t think this always has to be the case. You can have characters admit that they like each other, and then they have to figure out how to make that work. There are cases where this can be just fine as is, though–notably, Percy and Annabeth in Percy Jackson and the Olympians (the books, not the movies or television show) do have some bickering, but that’s because of other reasons. Their attraction to each other is certainly part of it, but Annabeth’s initial hostility towards Percy is partly because her mother (Athena) is a rival of Percy’s father, Poseidon. Other times their attraction causes arguments, but not because of the attraction itself, but because of misunderstandings and problems it causes–like Percy missing hints, or something like that.

Also, when these books start, they’re twelve. Like, yeah, of course they haven’t worked out how to express these feelings, they’re kids. And while Riordan has many faults in writing relationships, he understands that there are other ways to write them, as not every couple in his children’s books have this dynamic. Off the top of my head, I think most of them don’t, though I haven’t made a tally.

The Problem is when a writer decides that this is the only way to write a romantic couple. Re-reading Great Tree of Avalon, this came into my head–which is weird, because not every couple Thomas Archibald Barron has written in his books fits into this, but the two main couples in this one do, and one character even suggests that it’s just… like that, for romantic couples.

[I told my sister this while brainstorming for this Note, and she said, “If that’s the case, I’ve lost count of the people I’ve apparently been madly in love with.”]

It’s less egregious with our main pair, Tamwyn and Elli Lailoken (HA! I see what you did there, Thomas Archibald), especially given that when they’re introduced, Tamwyn accidentally breaks Elli’s family heirloom. What’s less understandable is secondary couple Scree and Brionna, who argue all the time because… they just do. Okay, yes, she shot him the first time they met, but she was under duress, and he doesn’t hold that against her. Immediately afterward, he expresses interest in her because, I don’t know, she’s pretty, I guess. I don’t even remember what they argue about, we’re told that they’re always arguing, though, and this proves that they’re deeply in love with each other and in denial about it.

Alright, Real Talk Time: this is not a good measure of attraction. 

Many like to point towards Pride and Prejudice as the Ur-Example of this, bickering that means attraction. What those people miss, though, is that said bickering actually doesn’t equal mutual attraction at first. Sure, Darcy is head-over-heels for Elizabeth. But Lizzie? It’s not attraction, she honestly despises Darcy because he’s been nothing but rude and condescending to her. She doesn’t revise her opinion until Darcy cleans up his act, and he realizes that he’s been a massive doof to her.

Jane Austen knew what’s up.

If two people, two adults, are constantly at each other’s throats (verbally, of course–physically, this is obviously a no-go), then that is not going to work! Not in a healthy way. You’re free to write it as an intentionally unhealthy relationship as being constantly argumentative, but do not expect it to be given that arguments mean True Love. Why would you want to be with someone who is always getting on your case?

“Because she/he challenges me!” And do you need that, all the time? Every single day? Are you a masochist?

“Because he/she doesn’t take any crap from me!” Why are you giving crap, then? You need to stop doing that if you’re going to be a healthy adult! Again, an unhealthy relationship is doable, as long as you know that’s what you’re doing.

“Because it proves we feel strongly about each other!” Buzz off! That’s like the idjit who says a piece of art is good because it made you feel something, even if that something is despair at the artist’s idiocy or bad taste.

Wouldn’t you rather spend more time with someone you get along with? I have criticized Terry Pratchett’s writing of romance at times, and I’m steadily revising my opinion, especially because he doesn’t do this that much–the enduring couples in his books are those who get along with each other. 

I am begging writers to understand this: you don’t need to have bickering couples to convince us that two people like each other. Especially if they’re grown adults. There are other ways to do this, I promise. We’ll stick around if you do it well.

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