Sorry I’ve been M.I.A. for the last three or four days. My plate is pretty swarmed at the moment with wrapping up The Last Cup (second round of edits now underway), designing artistic content for The Last Cup (more on that in the coming weeks), and studying for the GMAT in preparation for my upcoming business school applications. I was also sidetracked by my high school’s alumni soccer game, which was a heck of a fun time for me, except it led to a rather startling revelation. Just before the game, I was rummaging through the darkest recesses of my childhood closet in search of a bag for my equipment (I was staying at my parents’ house for the alumni game) and somewhere in the shadows my fingers scraped unblemished cardboard that had been neglected for 13 or 14 years by my estimate. I stretched farther into the abyss and wrapped my fingers around the mysterious form and withdrew from the depths of oblivion a weapon the likes of which man, I fear, was not meant to wield:
“If you aren’t humming ‘Duel of the Fates’ in your head right now, there is something seriously wrong with you.”
If you aren’t sure what that is, it’s an unopened, plastic, dual-bladed Darth Maul light saber toy replica from Star Wars Episode 1: The Phantom Menace. Considering that that sword was the one thing from that movie, in my opinion, that actually worked, it was kind of a big deal that I abruptly found this object which was clearly meant as some sort of Christmas gift for a happy-go-lucky 14-year-old Sean Chandler, who was HUGE into Star Wars back then. But somehow time forgot the precious light saber that was supposed to be mine and now I demand a mulligan on my entire childhood. I could have had a light saber??? What the f*** is that bull****?! The one toy that my mom evidently forgot to give me was the one toy that could have erased this chronic narcissism and sardonic outlook on life that has been with me since puberty. It was like finding out you actually did win the lottery way back when, but you never checked your numbers because you thought: No way is there a lightsaber IN MY OWN F***ING CLOSET!
My first instinct was to assemble my closest geek friends and bring them together around a table upon which the device would be placed. There would be Battlestar Galactica geeks, Star Wars geeks, Star Trek geeks, Dr. Who geeks…all the geek races I could assemble, and we would discuss the fate of the toy. Inevitably, I would probably bring together a…let’s call it a “fellowship” to take the lightsaber back to its place of origin (Wal-Mart, I’m guessing) and cast it back to whence it came. The Star Wars geeks, of course, would insist that I keep it and use it as the great chick magnet it was destined to be. The Star Trek geeks, however, would tell me that no one geek was ever meant to wield such power. And, of course, The Battlestar Galactica geeks would just be sitting there waiting eagerly to slip “So Say We All” or “Frak” into the conversation as soon as possible. So say we frakking all.
I can only assume that God must have intervened to keep the weapon away from me. College probably would have gone a lot differently for me if I had shown up freshman year with my double-bladed lightsaber in tow—carrying it to class, wielding it at fraternity parties, turning it on just before my finals. I either would have been the most popular student at Centre College or…No, I’m pretty sure I just would have been the most popular student at Centre College. Ever.
Anyway, I’m writing on the seat of my pants today so I’m going to weigh in on five clichés that I came up with while contemplating my dystopian clichés article. People seem to enjoy these sorts of pieces and it also gives me an excuse to be funny and biting without actually making anyone mad. So, hope you will enjoy this, folks! Here are Five More Clichés That Need a Stake Through the Heart (…Or Are They Immortal??)
Also, whose bright idea was it to rename werewolves “Lycan”? They now share their name with the cold-weather fungus primarily consumed by the terrifying caribou.
1. Vampires vs. Werewolves – “Stake through the heart! And you’re to blame! You give vampirism a bad name!” Sorry, when I wrote the title to this article, it got me singing Bon Jovi for some reason. Anyway, when did horror/tween-horror writers all come to the consensus that vampires and werewolves are like sworn enemies or something? Do bats and wolves regularly fight each other in the wild? It doesn’t seem likely. First you have Twilight and the Underworld series of movies, and I’m sure there are probably a thousand knock-offs that I don’t even know about (mainly because I tend to stay away from those sorts of books), but if there is one thing even True Blood has taught us it’s that when you get a bunch of vampires around nowadays, you can bet your bloody bottom that werewolves will be joining the party sooner or later. If you ask me, somebody needs to take one of those sticky-roller things that my mom uses to get dog/cat hair off our furniture and take it over the entire library of modern vampire fiction. It’s nothing against werewolves. In fact, I think every dog should have his day…just maybe in his own book.
2. Split Personalities – How many times have you seen this scenario: An author or detective or, let’s say, professional masseuse is trying to come up with an idea for a horrible murderer, is trying to find a horrible murderer, or, um…is trying to massage a horrible murderer (I probably should have picked a better third example…) when suddenly that person discovers he HAS BEEN THE HORRIBLE MURDERER ALL ALONG. Oh, the humanity! A few examples that come to mind are Chuck Palahniuk’s (who is now celebrating the twentieth time I’ve had to look up the spelling of his name on Google) Fight Club and the movies Identity, Secret Window, High Tension, Hide & Seek, Perfect Stranger, The Number 23, and, I believe, Babe: Pig in the City. If you’ve never heard of half of those movies, it’s because most of them were deemed terrible (except for Fight Club, which still rules to this day) because of this totally exhausted twist ending, which is now viewed as the ultimate copout in murder fiction.
3. The Damsel in Distress – Growing up, I must have played Mario Bros. for Nintendo about 3,000 times. Maybe that’s why I have such a problem with “Damsel in Distress” narratives. That’s just not the world I live in anymore and, frankly, I’m tired of seeing characters run from castle to castle trying to rescue princesses that probably should never have gotten themselves kidnapped in the first place. It’s the 21st century, people! Where are our “Mansels” in distress? I think there’s more than enough room for strong heroines in this post-Ripley, post-Samus Aran, post-Erin Brockovich, post-Jane Eyre, post-Hermoine, post-Katniss, post-Dora the Explorer world! If you all will take the pledge to portray more strong female characters, I promise to uphold the oath, as well.
4. Mentor Trains Young Destined Hero – Another tried and true formula of many a genre is “Elderly sage offers free mentoring and wisdom to younger, naïve, destined hero”. You don’t have to stretch far to find a thousand examples here: Mr. Miyagi, Dumbledore, Gandalf, Obi-Wan Kenobi, Morpheus, Aslan, and I could keep going. The whiter the beard, the better. Of course, as I pointed out before, if the hero is truly “destined”, why do we even need the mentor? I say, “Step aside, Beardy—I’ll figure it out.” Wax on, wax off, my ass (Karate Kid, in case you don’t get the reference).
5. Dark, Stormy Nights – One of my favorite clichés and something has haunted literature ever since Madeleine L’Engle’s A Wrinkle in Time. Dark, stormy nights are a cheap and tired way to lend suspense or menace to a scene. Imagine this: “It was a dark and stormy night when the alien spaceships descended through the clouds and began obliterating New York with their cosmic death rays, murdering thousands in one fell swoop as lightning roared throughout the sky.” If alien spaceships wiping out humanity doesn’t lend enough menace and sinister tone to your novel, then there is some other problem with your book—and it ain’t the weather. Your writer will not read that sentence and say, “It wasn’t enough that the aliens were invading and killing everyone, but the weather sucked too?? Boy, what a rollercoaster ride this author has crafted!” By bringing weather into any narrative, you’re implying some sort of unnecessary link between the action and climate, as if the characters in that scenario might be thinking: “The spaceships and aliens I can handle, but this storm? Oy vey! Why couldn’t the aliens have picked a nicer day to invade?” If you’re a Seinfeld fan, this sort of writing can only make me imagine that you are George Costanza’s parents.
But Are These Clichés Immortal? Having laid out five more clichés that frustrate me in fiction, I do want to ask the big question: Can all of these clichés ever truly be eliminated? Can hero stories operate without the mentor, who serves as a crucial plot device in usually providing the reader with necessary exposition and a clear explanation of what’s at stake? Speaking of stakes, are vampires unfairly limited by operating in worlds where they are the only monsters? Do werewolves and vampires need each other because, as tired as vampire-werewolf wars might be, those wars are still better than retreads of Dracula and The Wolfman? Do we need the split personality cliché to continue because there are few fears more profound than the thought of losing one’s own mind? I might be tired of these clichés but I can’t help but be drawn to the question of why they have endured, so I ask you this: In what bold new directions can we take these exhausted gimmicks? How does one break the cliché?
