Seanan McGuire (seanan_mcguire) wrote,
Seanan McGuire
seanan_mcguire

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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
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  • 113 comments
God yes. I love you.

This has always felt to me as partly an in-your-face and quite cynical rejection of romantic love, as well as a lack of authorial ingenuity. They can't think of anything else to do. It also often reveals a lack of trust in the consumers' sophistication -- the people responsible assume that the public WANTS melodramatic crap and wouldn't be happy with something that explored the complexity of established relationships.

There are a number of tracks one sees in media that operate unimaginatively: the only things to usually happen to the main character's girlfriend are getting killed, getting pregnant, cheating on him, or marrying him and THEN cheating on him, getting killed, getting pregnant, etc. The script that says that there is no happily ever after is one of these, and I find it infuriating. It gets worse the longer the characters are together in consumer time (tv series vs. movie, book vs comic book series).

I don't mind relationships that are under pressure, I find that entertaining. I even like love triangles or pyramids or whatever, I like anguish and emotional suffering and so forth. But it can be taken way too far. Smallville, I am looking at you; also, perhaps the most egregious offender I've ever seen: Dark Angel; when your characters finally overcome all the odds to have just ONE NIGHT where they can touch each other, and that is interrupted by a GOO-SPITTING PENIS MONSTER, you have jumped the shark. I am still angry about that episode, and the only reason I kept watching the series was because I am stubborn and I have a massive crush on Michael Weatherly.

When you almost never see characters together for the long haul, it's just so disappointing. With successful characterization, you hit a point where you have a whole lot invested in the characters, and if the writers won't quit fucking with them when it's very obviously being done only for the sake of fucking with them, then it's often easier to just disconnect and quit watching/reading/caring.

One of the enduringly wonderful things about J D Robb/Nora Roberts' Eve Dallas series (yes, I read them and love them, and offer no apologies) is the rock solid relationship between the two leads. She puts them through a lot, but there just isn't any question that it won't work, or isn't working. It's lovely.

And contrary to the justification I have seen most often used to excuse pointless relationship meddling, I'm 20+ books in and I AM NOT BORED OF THIS COUPLE.

IT CAN BE DONE.

And, as a final word, I would like to say that Mr. and Mrs. Smith gives me such joy every time I see it. From first viewing, it felt to me like a middle finger raised against exactly this kind of crap.
I don't even mind relationships that end for logical reasons. Sometimes it doesn't work out. But when it doesn't work out because the writers can't handle what they built/think we can't handle it, I get a little pissy.