As a reader of fantasy, I love a strong character—someone I
can root for while getting exasperated by the flaws which keep tripping them
up. Someone who might possess magical powers, yet is still human and fallible. Examples
exist all over middle grade and YA lit, whether it’s Harry and his growing
impatience as he edges into his edgy teens, Renee and her headstrong will in
Alex Lidell’s recent debut The Cadet of
Tildor, Lyra Belacqua from Philip Pullman’s His Dark Materials trilogy, who has an amazing propensity for
telling elaborate lies—the flaw that is her gift—or light-fingered Conn in
Sarah Prineas’s The Magic Thief.
So if they’re so human and fallible, what makes a fictional hero
or heroine? Are they born to greatness, or do circumstances thrust it upon them?
That question echoes the age-old Nature vs Nurture debate of Real Live Humans. The
word “nurture” can be a bit misleading, since to me it implies caring, and it’s
often lack of it that influences someone’s development. So really,
“circumstances” is a better word. An analogy I like is that a child is like an
undeveloped photograph; the potential is already fully formed (nature) but how
it forms, or even how much, depends on what happens (nurture). Neither one nor
the other accounts for it all; the developed picture is always an interplay
between the two.
In The Flame in the
Mist, it’s clear from chapter 1 that soon-to-be 13-year-old Jemma despises
the Mist surrounding Agromond Castle. She fantasizes a world beyond it, where
sunshine reigns—a world which has been described to her by her erstwhile
nursemaid and confidante, Marsh. Jemma is a dreamer. Her evil captor Nocturna even
refers to her as having been “dreamy-headed” all her life, leading Nocturna to
doubt that Jemma has the evil in her bones that would make her choose to come
over to the dark side—in other words, her nature decrees otherwise. In the eyes
of Jemma’s arch-nemesis, Shade, this dreaminess also makes Jemma weak, and worthy
of scorn.
“Dreamy-headed” is hardly the stuff of a heroine,
though…unless, like in Jemma’s case, it’s paralleled by her having prophetic nightmares.
She’s more than just a starry-eyed girl staring out of windows and longing for
something different: her blood is the blood of Visionaries, and provides her
with an innate sense that Something is Wrong at Agromond Castle. She knows she
is essentially different from the family she believes to be hers…and for good
reason. She is. Nature rules—so strongly, in fact, that she’s resisted all
attempts by the Agromonds to win her over to the Dark Side.
But at the beginning, her nature is not very developed. Without
a catalyst, she might stay at the castle and never be heard of again. What
better as an agent of growth and change than a little life-or-death challenge
thrown at a hero or heroine? When Jemma discovers the very real and great
danger she’s in, she has to pull courage from her core like a rabbit from a hat—and
fast.
“Throw adversity in your protagonist’s path” is something that
any aspiring writer hears along the way. And just like in real life, adversity
is what forces growth in fiction. Keep up tension by hurling one monster after
another (literal or metaphorical) at your main character, and they can’t help
but change. Bottom line, when it is
life or death, if they don’t meet the
challenge, they’re a gonner. Jemma faces jaws of…well, I won’t say what; but
she keeps having to call upon something she’s already learned and assimilate it
by using it, and comes out the other side that much stronger.
The Inner Hero’s growth can happen in subtler ways too. For
example, when Jemma does her first real healing, it requires a different kind
of courage and conviction from her. Her responses to outside forces, called up
from the depths of her, in turn strengthen who she is as bit by bit she steps
into the shoes of the Heroine. They were always there, waiting for her, but she
has to take the steps, and then fill those shoes.
Not that those changes come easily, or without resistance, or
without a price. There’s always that moment where a character can’t or won’t
take on the mantle of their mission. Adding to that, there’s those delicious
human flaws which can—and should—trip up the worthiest hero or heroine over and
over again. Those flaws are a character’s default, and often is a part of their
gift, as with Lyra Belacqua, whose lying gets her out of tough situation, or
Conn, whose thievery starts him on his path of Destiny. Jemma is headstrong and
stubborn, which are gifts that often help her survive. But part of being human
means learning to discriminate: when does such a characteristic serve our
heroine well, and when not? Often Jemma’s stubbornness means she doesn’t heed
advice, which lands her in hot water.
Jaclyn Dolamore was homeschooled in a hippie sort of way and spent her childhood reading as many books as her skinny nerd-body could lug from the library and playing elaborate pretend games with her sister Kate. She skipped college and spent eight years drudging through retail jobs, developing her thrifty cooking skills and pursuing a lifelong writing dream. She has a passion for history, thrift stores, vintage dresses, David Bowie, drawing, and organic food. She lives with her partner and plot-sounding-board, Dade, and three weird cats.
