#holy shit this took like two hours to write. i need to sleep now g’night

[classpect-crew]

Aspects and Narrative Structure

What exactly are Aspects, anyways? Well, in the comic itself, Aspects are forces of the universe that influence and are influenced by the “Heroes” present in the story. But what does this mean on a broader scale? We all have a pretty good idea of what each Aspect represents in canon, but what if that’s not the whole story?

Before we begin, I’d like to direct you to an excellent video by @revolutionaryduelist (optimistic Duelist on YouTube) that will prime you for what I’m about to discuss. I highly recommend checking out their channel, as it’s extremely informative and fun to watch!

So, now that you’ve no doubt enjoyed the video I’ve linked, let’s get into what each Aspect represents in terms of a broader narrative. One of the big narrative themes of Homestuck is that the story is essentially a stage performance, or an “interactive play,” which we see throughout the comic, from the “Acts” and “Intermissions” to the curtains opening and closing on each Act. There are plenty of times where the “fourth wall” is completely shattered, and the layers between the cast and the audience start to blend together. With this in mind, it’s not difficult to reason that each Aspect not only represents a certain universal force in the comic’s universe, but also represents an aspect of narrative structure. I’ll begin with the definitions shown in optimistic Duelist’s video, and then expand upon them from my own perspective.

Let’s start with some easy ones: Space and Time. Space and Time represent the Setting and Pacing of a story. In our stage play metaphor, we can expand this further. Space is represented by the scenery that tells us where the characters are, but it also represents the physical space that the actors take up. Different prop placement, lighting, and scenery can make the stage feel bigger or smaller to fit the needs of the scene, and a change in these things will naturally translate to us as a scene change. Time, on the other hand, is represented by the progression of the story through actions, dialogue, the opening and closing of curtains, and even the music that accompanies each scene and plays continuously during intermissions. In a musical, this is even more obvious, as each song tells a distinct part of the story and opens up ideas about character motivations, illustrates choices, and so on—though this aspect of Time is merely the lens through which these things are viewed, since choices/motivations/etc. are truly representative of other Aspects entirely. As in real life, these two Aspects intermingle considerably, creating “spacetime” as the spatial and temporal backdrop of all the events we witness as audience members, the framework that allows both depth and progression to occur in the narrative and sets the foundation of the stage itself.

Light and Void represent Relevance and Irrelevance. The difference between the cast and crew on stage is easy to tell because the spotlight will always be on a character, not on a member of the crew, unless ironically referencing a crew member (thus breaking the illusion) is a part of the performance itself. Those who are illuminated hold the attention of the audience, and the light allows us to see their facial expressions, their clothing, their movements, etc. and understand the character better through these things. A character who is self-assured may wear a smug grin, holding themselves upright with confidence. A character who is poor might wear old, ragged clothing. Light is all about which characters are relevant, and it also allows the audience to discern information about the characters and about the larger world within the play itself. On the other hand, Void is represented by the unlit areas of the stage, the shadows behind props and characters, and even the crew itself. The ties between Void and the stage crew can be illustrated through bunraku, also known as ningyō jōruri, a traditional Japanese puppet theatre with a long and fascinating history. Puppeteers are clothed in black robes, often hooded, and blend into the black backdrop in order to direct attention onto the puppets themselves and away from their operators. Stage crews in American theatre will often wear dark clothing for the same reason, moving props and scenery as necessary without drawing attention away from the story itself. Although they’re absolutely vital to the execution of the play itself, the crew is in most cases irrelevant to the play’s narrative, thus they work in the shadows to place pieces where they need to be, going unnoticed by the audience.

Life and Doom represent Agency and Conflict. As every good storyteller knows, both of these are vital to the lifeblood of a story, as characters who have no agency are simply puppets, empty vessels with no will of their own, and a story with no conflict doesn’t go anywhere or challenge the characters in any way. In our stage metaphor, Life is the appearance of each character’s free will. Even though we recognize that a script is in place, and the actors are simply working within the framework of scripted interactions, they bring the characters to life through their performances and give the illusion that the world presented onstage is a vibrant one. A good actor can draw an audience into the story by fully embodying the character in question, stepping into the role and allowing us to relate to them, cheering on the heroes and rallying against the villains as the story progresses. We begin to forget that the world we’re presented is mere fiction, and we come out of the experience feeling much different than when we entered. This is what makes a good stage play so compelling, as we watch these characters grow and change based on what they endure and how the world reacts to their actions. In the same vein, Doom is the conflicts, obstacles, and limits placed in the way of the characters to challenge them and help them to grow. In the case of a tragedy, this can also be the end result, whether through a character failing to achieve their goals, a villain succeeding in their heinous plot, or even the death of a protagonist, which removes their agency in the story itself. No real person becomes stronger without facing hardship, and the same is true in fiction. What sort of character would Hamlet be if he wasn’t challenged to find a way to cope with the death of his father, or the knowledge that his uncle was the one who killed him? These conflicts enrich the stories we’re told and provide roadblocks on the road of success, testing the limits of each character’s willpower and strengthening their resolve, or even forcing them to reconsider their goals entirely. There’s no such thing as a free lunch, and these necessary hardships fill out the story itself, ensuring that something is learned through the experience through delayed—or, in some cases, entirely absent—gratification.

Breath and Blood represent Plot Development and Character Dynamics. As the Aspect of movement and change, Breath translates into our metaphor quite nicely, ensuring that the story is as dynamic as the characters themselves. It’s the sequence of events that takes us from exposition to resolution—in essence, it’s pretty much the story itself, which is why John is able to do what he does, escaping from the narrative of Homestuck entirely in order to affect things from the outside. The plot is the engine that drives the story—the twists and turns that the narrative takes as difference pieces take their turns on the board. Character motivations are explored, actions are taken, unexpected events take place, and lessons are learned. All of this happens within the plot, and it’s a very external force, as opposed to what we’ll explore in a moment with Blood, which hones in on characters specifically, rather than the whole narrative. Breath is also represented by change, and any change in motivations, scenery, tone, and even tempo can be attributed to Breath in addition to the Aspects normally represented by those things. Blood, however, is a matter of interpersonal relations between characters in a story: their feelings about—and for—each other, the various factions within a story, and the natural associations one can make, such as “protagonists/antagonists, nobility/commoners, obedient civilians/ruthless scoundrels, and so on. Part of what makes characters so interesting is their dynamics with other characters. For example, on her own, Elphaba Thropp from Wicked is a very interesting character. Blessed with innate magical skills, but cursed with green skin, she is ostracized by many and reluctantly admired by some, and this makes her interactions with others very dynamic. Her insistence on bringing much-needed attention to the oppression of Animals in Oz, social consequences be damned, comes in direct conflict with a character like Galinda Upland, who strives to maintain her place in the social hierarchy, even if that means masking her true feelings on controversial subjects to paint herself favorably in the eyes of others. As the story progresses, the two find that they have much more in common than they could’ve guessed, and they begin fighting for the same cause, shifting from bitter enemies to best friends through the course of a few excellent musical numbers. This shift in their dynamic is vital to the story, yet this is merely one of many such dynamics.

Let’s move on to two Aspects that are a bit more abstract in our narrative format. Hope and Rage represent Coherence and Contrivance. These words may sound quite different from what we’re used to from these Aspects but hear me out, because there’s a method to my madness. A story’s coherence is how well it can be understood, and furthermore, how well it can be related to by an audience. It also represents the enthusiasm with which an invested audience will respond to the narrative taking place. In our stage play metaphor, this is part of what drives us to immerse ourselves in the story. It’s the excitement we feel when our favorite character completes their goal as set up in the exposition, or the fear we experience when an adversary comes close to unraveling it all. It’s the ability to escape from our own lives and enter the world presented onstage, and a big part of why walking out of a great performance can feel like we’re waking up from an intense lucid dream. It’s the magic of excellent storytelling. Hope is what drives us to overlook mistakes, either in the narrative itself or in the performance, and allows us to enjoy it as a whole. On the other hand, Rage’s contrivance delights in tearing open plot holes, exposing the divide between performers and the audience, and dispelling the illusion that the world on stage is in any way “real.” It’s the heckler at a comedy show, or the critics in the nosebleed seats. It’s the breaking of the fourth wall that occurs when a character in the story directly addresses the audience, or begins to critique the narrative itself. While it can certainly seem like a negative force, this Aspect is what keeps us firmly grounded in reality, pulling us out of “la la land” when the show is over and it’s time to return to our lives. It marks an end to the magic, a disbelief in the “miracles,” and the voice of reason.

Finally, our last two Aspects, Heart and Mind, represent Inner Character and Outer Character. This is fairly obvious, given what we already know from canon, and it translates fairly literally in our metaphor. Heart is represented by a character’s “true self,” or what remains the same in every performance of the play. It’s what makes each character recognizable, no matter how the script, costumes, set design, etc. have been adapted. Peter Pan, for example, is always presented as childlike and carefree, bold in his actions and protective of those he loves. He can also be incredibly naive and immature, which humanizes him and allows room for growth. Regardless of which actor might play him, or whether the story is adapted to a sci-fi setting, or tells the tale of a much older Peter, or is even presented from the perspective of an entirely different culture, these character traits and motivations will always be the same. They’re what make him the “Peter Pan” we all know and love. The “true self” involves every trait that is essential to a character. If these traits were changed in some way, they would cease to be the same character, much like adding or removing a proton from an atom would change its element entirely. On the contrary, Mind is represented by a character’s “projected self,” or how they present themselves in the company of others. For some characters, their “true self” always shines through, and they rarely act in ways that aren’t in accordance with their deeply-held values. For others, such as Billy Flynn from Chicago, the creation and maintenance of a constructed, outward “self” is vital to their survival and prosperity, and sometimes deception is the name of the game. Billy, an incredibly successful defense lawyer, comes across in his musical number as a caring, compassionate man who couldn’t care less about money and values “love” more than anything else. This is extremely ironic, however, as the audience is soon presented with a very different view of Billy: as a stern, ambitious man who’s very concerned with money, but also loves the challenge of winning cases for clients on death row. As his “true self” is revealed, his choices and motivations begin to make sense to the audience, and we gain a deeper understanding of the man behind the mask, so to speak.

Each Aspect plays a vital role in the narrative structure of any story—or performance, in this case—and perhaps we can use these interpretations to further understand what our own Aspect connections are. After all, all the world’s a stage, right?