Seanan McGuire (seanan_mcguire) wrote,
Seanan McGuire
seanan_mcguire

  • Mood:
  • Music:

The art of the breakup.

I am a media consumer; I consume media. I watch more hours of television a month than is probably strictly healthy (especially given how much of it is "reality" television). I go to the movies an average of once every three weeks. And as for reading, well...let's just say that there's a reason the city I live in considers my house to be a library, rather than a residence. (The cats appreciate my reading habit, as it causes me to build many interesting stacks of books for them to knock over. The housemates do not, as it causes me to build many interesting stacks of books for the cats to knock over. There's no pleasing everyone.) My interests are broad and easily modified to suit the type and quality of the work at hand. If you're looking for someone to consume your media, I'm probably your girl.

All this media consumption, however, comes with a price, and that price is a tendency to notice—and sometimes be bothered by—trends. Most recently, it's been an unexpected consequence of that old fairy tale saw, the happily ever after. You know the one I mean. Where they meet and kiss and marry and run off to live forever and ever in unchanging bliss. At least until the sequel, where she dies and he remarries and the new wife is horrible but luckily their daughter is beautiful and smart and looking for a husband, and...

Yeah.

This seems to have created the belief that once a couple hooks up, that's it, it's over, no more fun, no more fantastic adventures, no more anything but a rapid excuse to break them up. They can get together for good at the end of your story, but dude, once they're together? The happy ever after kicks in, and your options are "breakup" or "death." And it's not limited to the shows and stories aimed at a female audience, since we're supposedly the ones who are only in it for the smootchies; most of the relationships in male-targeted media meet the same end, which seems weird to me. After all, once you're together, you have access to regular sex, and you don't have to do all that sentimental "building a relationship" stuff. Maintaining, yes, but building, no. And yet only the sitcom couples who were married before the show started (or got married in the premiere) seem to stay together.

As Dave Davenport once said: "Where do I want to be in five years? Sleeping with a homicidal maniac, or sleeping with a homicidal maniac who occasionally cleans my toilet?"

I find this trend deeply upsetting. I mean, maybe this is my romantic streak showing through, but I like to believe that once I have invested in the relationships of fictional people—fictional people who were, in many cases, willing to spend years flirting and falling and feinting toward finally hooking up—that maybe I'll get some of the payoff. Not three episodes or one volume of the writers realizing they never figured out how this would work beyond "sweaty kitchen sex and SCENE" and breaking them up in a prefunctory, often utterly silly way. You sold me this relationship! It was for sale, and I wanted it, and now that I have it, I don't want a factory recall! By the time most fictional couples hook up, I am sick and fucking tired of the longing looks, the swooning sighs, the silly banter, all of it. I want them to get it out of their systems, settle down, and get on to telling whatever larger story they used to lure me in in the first place. What I don't want is another five seasons of sighing and swooning. What I don't want is the sort of breakup that could be resolved with thirty seconds of conversation and maybe a flowchart.

Romantic tension is awesome. But seriously, people! So is having a lasting romantic relationship! Where can I find the Nick and Nora Charles of today? No, really, where?

It doesn't help that, again thanks to the fairy tale structure, things get rushed like whoa as they try to give the media consumers "what they want." And yeah, we're a filthy-minded lot; we want Character A and Character B naked and sweaty five minutes after they walk in. But we're willing to wait if you'll promise to give us something that lasts for more than fifteen minutes. Promise me four seasons of Veronica and Logan making out after every successful case, and you will have my full attention for the four seasons it takes to get me there.

This is why I take my time. This is why I let my characters figure out what they want. Because I refuse to take it away from them just because I never bothered to consider the long-term consequences. And no, I don't believe that romance only belongs in the happy ever after.

I want my Nick and Nora.
Tags: contemplation, literary critique
  • Post a new comment

    Error

    Anonymous comments are disabled in this journal

    default userpic

    Your reply will be screened

    Your IP address will be recorded 

  • 113 comments
I like the two generations of married Vorkosigans: Aral and Cordelia, and Miles and Ekaterin. And, ummm...I can't think of another example.



Heh. I was actually thinking of the exchange in A Civil Campaign where Kareen basically says what Seanan is here:

"I don't want to stop. ["Is that how you see marriage? As the end and abolition of yourself?"] It is for some people. Why else do all the stories end when the Count's daughter gets married? Hasn't that ever struck you as a bit sinister? I mean, have you ever read a folk tale where the Princess's mother gets to do anything but die young? I've never been able to figure out if that's supposed to be a warning or an instruction."


As to why a lot of media is reluctant to keep its couples together...well, I think too many recall that Moonlighting tanked after the leads hooked up, mostly because the writers had no idea how to write the couple. A combination of the writers not getting better at it, and people not realizing that the writing was the problem and blaming it on the relationship, has a lot of media creation refusing to take the plunge. (The only reason I know this is that I'm on TV Tropes, and I specifically did not link to it here.)
I thought about linking to TV Tropes. Decided it would be an impressive feat of cruelty and refrained.

Something I'm thinking about is, yeah, most writers don't really know how to write an ongoing relationship. Which makes for an interesting chicken-and-egg situation: they don't know how to write an ongoing relationship because, well, they don't have any* cultural referents for ongoing relationships, because nobody* writes ongoing relationships...


* - for versions of "any" and "nobody" which accept that there are individual exceptions, but that those exceptions don't represent the prevalent norm.
Remington Steele tanked for the same reason, yes.

Because writing relationships for TV is really difficult.

Comics? Not so much. Reed and Sue have been together forever and usually happy.

Jo and Tinya, too, before the rebootage starts messing things up.
Actually, the death of Remington Steele had much less to do with the writing of the relationship (although the introduction of Jack Scalia's character was a complete misfire) than it did with a number of external factors, not least the fiasco surrounding Brosnan's first chance at playing James Bond and the very odd and foreshortened structure of the last "season".

Unless I'm misremembering, the series finale ended by showing the central relationship moving forward at last, with both parties' eyes wide open. I counted that as an "upbeat" ending, if not a guaranteed happy-ever-after.
mostly because the writers had no idea how to write the couple.

That's the heart of it, I think. When the characters are dreamed up, their 'normal' relationship status is locked into their character as part of it. They're not people, they're archetypes. Changing the fundamental nature of the relationship changes the archetype, which means it's not going to attract the same audience if the characters have been fairly cardboard. Thus the unending will-they-won't-they series.

It's only when the characters have grown beyond their origins that the writing can start to be about the people instead. At least, for primary characters. Secondary characters can be jerked around depending on what the writer needs to be in place to make a joke work or a plotline run smoother.
Word.
Bujold also does it with Dag and Fawn in the Sharing Knife tetrology -- the first book handles all the 'starting a romance', to the point of ending with a wedding. The next three are about them as an intercultural couple trying to find out where they and a future family might be welcome.

And also occasionally killing monsters.
I adore that series.
Same here. I'm a big fan of partnerships between characters -- romantic or plantonic. Which is one reason this rant agrees with me. I don't mind UST, but the series doesn't have to end when the couple hooks up, as long as the writers realize how to bloody write for a couple. Plenty of drama, even interpersonal drama, that can be done without re-hashing the 'will they break up with me'?

And if the main point of the series is the killing of monsters*, then you're golden.

* Or solving paranormal crimes, or what have you.
Mark and ...(checks book) Kareen? Not actually married, yet, but well on their way. After all, she has an Option on him. :=)
That's true -- the whole book was kind of about Relationships in various permutations, and the Kareen-Mark part was in the way of... "established couple grapples with (small-scale) social expectations/disapproval that keep them apart" more than anything that needed to be solved between them by a 15 minute conversation and a flowchart.

Although Tante Cordelia kind of managed the 15 minute conversation part... ("Butter, meet laser.")
I love the couples in Lee and Miller's Liadin books. They're so awesome.