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thequibblah · 3 years ago

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⭐ honestly there are so many things that I'd likevto ask which is why I want to ask a broaderish question.. How do you approach the characterisation of your "Main cast"? I think you have created some really great complex characters even though they do not exist in canon or even fanon (Germaine in example)

I hope this isn't too broad lol

no, i don't think it's too broad! just let me know if my answer doesn't actually touch on what you were wondering about haha

character creation for me tends to be spontaneous rather than conscious — i.e. i'm just writing my way through a scene and i'm like anyway, these people are new and they're friends or they're dating or they hate each other, and there's rarely a ton of forethought put into it. the vast majority of the ct cast was like that, i would say, except possibly michael, who was the first love interest i invented so there was a little more intention there

(but other than him i was really pulling things out of nowhere for the rest of the students especially — including with emmeline which sometimes surprises me)

the exception is, of course, the main cast. they and sara were very intentional, and i wrote little bio thingies for them before i started even outlining the fic. i mean the non-canon main cast, of course, lol — mary, dorcas (they're both canon but i've invented virtually everything about them, so), and germaine.

i did actually do a lot of hemming and hawing about how many girls there would be in lily's year in gryffindor. as discussed in a previous "my beef with j/k/r" instalment on this blog, the numbers of the hogwarts population really don't make sense at all, so i knew i could be flexible and kind of hand wave any questionable bits away. but the composition of the gryffindor girls was crucial in deciding lily's characterisation, imo — an easy way to convey implied characterisation is to show someone in contrast to the people around them. so: who is lily within the context of her friend group? is she friends with all the girls she rooms with?

separately, i've always liked writing friends in groups of four. in the planning stage of this i was like urghhh it's four girls, the four marauders, is that like too perfect....... and one thing i HATED was that people could then map on each marauder to each girl (lily = james is a bit questionable, though i firmly believe they're much more alike than they seem, but it kind of works.... mary = sirius, dorcas = remus, germaine = peter). and i didn't, and don't, want to make it seem like i've just made vaguely distinct female versions of each marauder!

i've made my peace with that risk, of course, and i think each of the girls is significantly different from "their marauder" (LOL) that it's actually fine — and, better still, if that thought occurs to anyone i hope that their characterisations will go on to provide interesting nuance to the parallels

but, anyway, tangent aside, i love groups of four because i think basically all my life i've had groups-of-four friendships. to absolutely go to bat for us foursomes, it's nice because no single person is the obvious odd one out, and each combination in pairs brings something different to the table — the role that doe plays in the group of four at large, for instance, isn't exactly the same as who she is in her individual friendship with mary, lily, or germaine.

the three main cast members came of some very clinical answers to those initial questions about lily.

one, i have always liked having mary be one of lily's friends, and in my characterisation of her she's obviously a great foil to lily, as a fellow muggle-born student. so, she was a lock.

two, i wanted to write one other canon order character, but i didn't want it to be marlene because in my reading of her canon mention, lily is unlikely to write a letter to sirius with her full name (paraphrasing but "i was so upset when marlene mckinnon died, i cried for ages") or, indeed, write a letter discussing how sad marlene's death made her, if they were besties and schoolmates. i went with dorcas because why the hell not? in developing her i then added all these thoughts

three, i felt the need to make up an oc so i could have absolute freedom over their fate. i had certain preconceived notions about mary and dorcas and what their stories would be, so there were other things (e.g. playing quidditch) that i wanted to have a friend of lily's do that they couldn't. plus, i wanted to write a massive lesbian.

another little sticking point, though, was that i (for a very SHRUG?? reason) didn't want lily to be besties with everyone she's lived with, but i didn't want to insert a catty rival into her dorm either. (now, don't get me wrong, i do love a good rival. i did, after all, write mary and amelia, and i am a known appreciator of carlotta meloni, and i adore TLE's marlene mckinnon. but i wanted the gryffindor girls to be like lily's safe space — a contrast both to her home life and to her recently-strained friendship with snape, where she's spent some time having to second-guess herself a lot. in my mind her friendships with all three of her besties coalesced at various points organically, until she was like wow wait i do actually have a home base here.)

the compromise was someone who was friendly with lily, but there's no strain on that friendship to be more than it is — which, sara and lily respect each other but have also learned they're not so alike that they need to hang out all the time. sara, to lily, is the girl you do things with because you're schoolmates, and then once you're out of school you amicably drift apart and occasionally leave a nice comment on their instagram

so that was how the gryffindors coalesced in my mind as placeholder figures. i will fully confess i start with tropes and then work out ways to deconstruct them or complicate them — as i've talked about in multiple of these questions, i think a lot of my characters are caught between sticking to their perceived label and acting the way they want to, aka the ripest high school drama fodder known to humankind

Wearing a fake smile and watching her sister’s sickening love life had put things in perspective a little. Why should she always do what was expected of her?

(we construct ourselves in contrast to those around us....)

mary started off as boy-crazy, doe started off as idealistic, and germaine started off as struggling to find her place. then i built up from those foundations, adding in tropey bits i enjoyed and wanted to engage with — i wanted doe to be passionately principled, but the gentler counterpart to mary, and even-tempered where lily runs hot. i wanted germaine to be a little bit thoughtless, changeable, someone utterly herself but still uncomfortable in her own skin. knowing, then, that the other two were going to be, how shall i put it, gentler hearts (LOL), i went back to mary and decided she would have this tough-girl, queen-bee persona.

then doe got her family background, which added in her ambitions and hinted at her future, and made it so her foundation would be threatened by events of the story. obviously i was writing mary in the aftermath of the mulciber/avery incident, so i needed to ask how much her take-no-shit vibe was threatened by it — and if not, why? how? unsurprisingly, even to people like amelia...

“At least I’m not overflowing with insecurity,” said Amelia. Mary laughed. The sound echoed through the courtyard. “We both know that’s not true.”

...the persona is put-on, but the "real mary" is so caught up in the invented mary that even she couldn't hope to uncover an authentic self...nor would she necessarily want to, because her affected self is still her...

wait don't get me started

germaine was already a quidditch player, and i wanted her to be a seeker because that's automatic investment in perhaps the single player with the most impact on the game — crucial for what i knew would be many, many quidditch sequences, where james wasn't always the most important pov! some of that seekery vibe leeched into who she is: she's searching, right from the start, for a sense of self that feels just out of reach:

“This year is going to be a year of change,” Germaine said [...] “Henceforth I will be going by... Gemma.” The girls looked at one another for a beat. Then Lily, Doe, and Mary burst into laughter.

she's more anxious and outwardly uncertain than her friends, and i wanted to consciously engage with that — proper teenage awkwardness, the kind that wouldn't really happen to Main Character lily, I Have No Sense of Shame mary, and I Am Overflowing with Good Sense doe. more than the other three, germaine is a normal person in the context of this world — she's not a muggleborn, so the war has a different impact on her; she's not the child of activists; she's not well-off. an absolutely spontaneous invention that i was really quite thrilled by was having her sister be crouch's secretary, because it's such a sudden, shocking realisation for her that she's got such a close connection in the thick of it

Germaine clapped a hand over her mouth. “Big news soon,” she mumbled. “Big news soon, that’s what Abigail said, only she didn’t say what big news…”

so germaine is really just... living her life, an indie coming of age film in which her friends' subplot is a fucking war LOL

i defined germaine in contrast to the other girls a lot when drawing out the characters for myself, mostly for a practical reason — i didn't want her to overlap too strongly with any of them, since she's the only one who's wholly my invention. i think some of that remains in her characterisation, but i decided to make it conscious instead:

Germaine saw herself as a happy medium, flexible enough to stretch sympathetically between her friends. But— What does it mean that I define myself in comparison to them? Nothing. She was only seventeen and she was finding her way.

i knew germaine was going to get the chaotic sporty romance pretty much right off the bat, but, fun fact, i hadn't actually picked out who her love interest would be until after i started spitballing other sixth years' names and had a basic idea of who emmeline was. wild!

i feel like i haven't said all i want to say but let's stop there or i'd go on forever, ha!

#director's cuts #ask me #anon

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ellynneversweet · 5 years ago

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Ok, so I’ve finished Normal People and I have ... thoughts. Mostly about whether it succeeds or fails as a text, and what the relative metrics are by which success should be judged (it’s succeeded in getting me to think about it, for sure). This got long and a bit ranty, and does discuss the mental illness aspects of the book, so I’ve put it below the cut. Spoilers etc.

I haven’t watched the show or read any of Sally Rooney’s other books (book?) or reviews yet, because I wanted to get down what I took away from the book by itself, rather than what other people thought about it. I did see the headline of like, one review that seemed to think it was all about capitalism, which struck me as a significant stretch as a primary theme, but hey. My take was that it was primarily concerned with (many and various) degrees of mental illness and unwellness experienced by various characters, the causes and effects thereof, etc etc, and it’s really because of that that I don’t know whether or not I actually liked the book.

Ultimately I think my ambivalence comes comes down to how the narration is structured, and the way Rooney doesn’t at any point step in explicitly prompt the audience in one direction or another.

So what took me a hot minute to realise was that the book’s written in a very close third person narration, alternating between Connell and Marianne’s perspectives.The thing is, however, that this close third person isn’t immediately obvious, because Rooney subverts the whole ‘show don’t tell’ advice. There’s a lot of phrasing given as ‘she felt good’ ‘he felt anxious’ ‘then they had sex’ etc. The most personal aspects of the plot are constantly elided with this flat, clinical, definitive language that sounds almost like a witness statement in a criminal case. That’s especially the case with Marianne, who disassociates a lot, and slightly less so with Connell, who’s anxious, but the flat description is pretty present throughout. There are moments when the narrative dips into describing sensation, but that seems to occur only with regards to things that are irrelevant and impersonal, like drinking a glass of (insert carbonated beverage here), or feeling the breeze from an air conditioner. The book is all about this very intimate, arguably co-dependant and unhealthy relationship between these two intermittently sexually involved characters, so the aforementioned flatness struck me as an odd choice initially.

However. There’s two things that this does. The first, and IMO more significant, is that is creates an illusion of the narrative voice as omniscient and impartial, rather than biased and unreliable as it actually is. The seeming authority of the definitive statements in the narrative is emphasised by the stock filler phrases that the each of the dual protagonists uses in direct dialogue, and which inevitably mean the opposite of what’s actually said — in the case of Marianne we get ‘okay’ (I disagree but I want this conversation to end) and ‘I don’t know’ (i believe this to be profoundly true but it makes me unhappy), and in the case of Connell we get ‘obviously’ (I’m not sure at all, what do you think?). So the upshot of this is that especially in the earlier parts of the novel the audience is led into thinking the description of a particular plot point is what objectively happened, rather than the biased viewpoint of one of two people who keep talking past each other (I’m thinking particularly of the part in which Connell moves home because he can’t make rent, and each of them was waiting for the other to propose his moving into her flat instead).

So it is really interesting on that level of language structure. I do feel that the section headings (‘two weeks later,’ ‘six months later,’ ‘five minutes later’) were a bit of a red herring — especially towards the climax of the book, when things became violent, I was frankly expecting it to take a schlocky turn towards one or both of the main characters being maimed or killed in a domestic violence and/or drunk driving accident, à la Jodi Piccoult.

It didn’t, which was a relief, but I didn’t subsequently find the ending satisfying, and I think that’s because the way that it ended — a breakup that’s not really a breakup, just a breather — felt like something that had occurred at least three or four times already in the text. It’s always tricky to write a satisfying ending when all the main characters are alive and young and (presumably) going to continue their lives. Why stop the narrative here, rather than there? I think for that sort of ending to work, a story does need to feel like it’s shifting into a different stage of the characters’ lives, one that can be inferred, however dimly, but is distinct enough from the part described in the text to form a natural break. This didn’t feel like a break from what had gone before. It felt like a groove in an emotional cycle that had already been repeated, that had been shown as being repeated, that gave every sign of being repeated again and again, forever and ever amen.

This leads into the part where I talk about what I didn’t like, fyi, and fair warning, mostly what I didn’t like was the characterisation of Marianne. Sorry if she’s your fave.

So Marianne gets the last word of the narrative, in which she thinks about how ‘they’ve [Marianne and Connell] been so good for each other’. And i would argue two things, which is that 1) unreliable narrator or not, this being the last part of the text gives weight to this being read as a true statement 2) this is, uh, pretty clearly not the case. Marianne’s still fundamentally the same, teetering on the edge of self-destruction, and Connell is still anxious (and being made more so by Marianne’s reaction to his small successes).

Now, neither character is perfect. They’re also not bad people -- but they are struggling people who use maladaptive coping strategies and don’t ever really appear to move past those.

At first glance, on a scale of quantifying unhappiness, Marianne gets the raw end of the stick. She’s a character who’s sympathetic and pitiable, because she starts out as the smart, bullied kid who turns out to have an abusive home life and who is brutally dumped by her first boyfriend. So far, so sad. Connell, by contrast, is much less upfront about the things that cause him trouble (although they’re very much there) and has the initial upper hand. Connell also comes off as much more self-aware than Marianne — the part where he’s lying on the floor in a post-shower depression slump reminds me of that piece that goes around tumblr occasionally, about lying on the floor sobbing about the state of the world, and simultaneously noticing that the last time you painted, you didn’t do a good job with the brushwork in the corner you’re looking at, and thinking about how you should re-do it once you finish crying.

But the thing I can’t get my head around with Marianne is how Rooney feels about her, and it boils down to this: what level of awareness and intentionality is Rooney operating at when writing about Marianne’s mental health arc? Does Rooney agree with Marianne’s self-assessment of herself as ‘better’ and ‘normal’ (ie still acting in more or less the same way as she did throughout the text, but no longer a subject of gossip) at the end of the book, or does she not?

As I mentioned, I haven’t seen the adaptation, but I’ve seen a gif or two, and what struck me as I was reading was that the way that Marianne is described as looking (and styled in the show) is reminiscent of the pop-culture caricature of Sylvia Plath — increasingly thin, indie-fashionista, bangs, statement lipstick, weird but precociously brilliant, magnetic, male muse and male victim, mentally ill in a way that is complex but always sexy and sexualised (of course she developed a cute, posh eating disorder that involved eating half an expensive sugary pastry and a sugarless black coffee every day. Of course she did).

Basically, what I want to know is, is Marianne someone Rooney wrote based on that image of Plath, or is Marianne someone cosplaying as that image of Plath, whom Rooney is consciously deconstructing?

See, I think writing Marianne as someone (possibly unintentionally) cosplaying Plath is interesting. The myth of the hot, damaged girl is pretty pervasive (Harley Quinn, the suicide girls, etc etc) and writing Marianne as a character who has legitimate issues that she has trouble facing, who then instead focuses her self-awareness into this trope of ‘acceptably damaged’ has potential. I feel like there’s an opportunity there to examine the line between struggling with a mental illness vs self-consciously performing that struggle in a way that’s socially acceptable, which is a topic that suits the period when the novel’s set.

Unfortunately though, I think Rooney is probably buying into that myth rather than examining it, because the fact that no-one, in a book that starts in 2011 ever sits Marianne down and goes, ‘yes, I get that people have told you you’re mentally unwell as a tactic to bully you, and that was shitty, but you pretty clearly have a raging case of ptsd which is NOT YOUR FAULT, please accept some help’ — that is frankly hard to believe. Not Connell who seeks out therapy and takes some dubiously successful medication? Not Joanna, who is by all accounts well adjusted and who makes a point of caring in a friendship where she’s doing a lot the heavy lifting? Not Lorraine, parent of the decade? Not some random teacher or professor, looking out for an obviously promising student? Really, no one?

Marianne is supposedly brilliant and a tireless researcher, but she apparently never becomes aware of the possibility that there might be ways to process her past experiences in a way that would allow her some measure of peace. Never wants it, even in the worst of times. Never ceases to wallow in her own unhappiness. And it’s relevant, I think, that in the period of the novel where Marianne is (kind of) happy, when she’s making a success of things at uni, the focus of the book is on how she’s making Connell jealous by dating an abusive man. The closes she comes to self-awareness is recognising her proclivity to seek out unhealthy relationships and decide to lean into that, in what is consistently the least unhealthy romantic relationship she has. That feels like a cop-out.

Like, I’m not suggesting that every story that features mental illness as a theme needs to show recovery. That’s, unfortunately, not always the case. Some people never get better. Some people can’t bring themselves to believe in the possibility of getting better. It’s not even the case that recovery is a straight line, when it happens. I know that. I’ve seen people I care about it struggle with a whole range of problems, I’ve struggled myself. But this felt like 13 Reasons Why for adults, like depression-porn, and I just...am a bit angry, I think, that I can’t tell if that was the intention, it that wasn’t the intention but was the outcome, or if that’s just my take and I’ve misread the thing entirely.

Obviously people can write whatever they want in fiction, but I do think that when you’re dealing with a topic that has impacted a lot of people, that’s been poorly handed in fiction in the past, you do have a responsibility to treat it sensitive and thoughtfully, and not glamorise something that is ultimately destructive under the guise of ‘this is interesting and cool, and a good way to treat yourself and others, actually.’ And I don’t know if that’s the case here.

#textual analysis I guess #ranting about writing #normal people #i'm aware there are five thousand 'i' statements here #but I can't be bothered going back to remove them

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