One of the fundamental aspects of writing a novel is developing a cast of characters to act out the story you want to tell. These characters will come from work/play relationships, hobby groups, proximity . . . and family.
Since family is the first and most significant set of characters we encounter in real life, we would expect family to be paramount in the development of a story. Cinderella’s step-mother starts the ball rolling in that fairy tale. A foolish mother, a gaggle of sisters, and a negligent father create the impetus for Pride and Prejudice, while Heathcliff of Wuthering Heights is a terrible dad in all respects.
Yet, despite the seminal role of family in real life, in fiction, especially romantic fiction, the family is often absent. Why? I have a few suggestions.
- A young woman without a family, is extra vulnerable. This vulnerability opens up many avenues for story. She may be victim, heroine, fighter, or survivor.
- The absent family may be the seed for a quest story. Our orphan sets out to discover her roots and perhaps some long-lost relatives.
- An orphan is a perfect foil for a misfit story. She may be adopted into a family that exploits her, or tries to shape her in their own image. Modern history is full of tales of Indigenous children taken into non-indigenous families. No matter how well treated, the orphan knows she is “different.” Of course, if she is treated badly, that is a whole other story.
- The orphan’s tale may be a story of self-discovery. Who am I? Did my mother abandon me? Where is my self-worth?
- A character without a family becomes a story of survival. How does she earn her bread? Where can she live? What obstacles must she overcome to achieve happiness and security?
My list is not exhaustive nor immutable. Clever writers take those tropes and turn them upside down all the time. I’m reading a Jennifer Crusie book where the heroine not only has a family and a best friend, she goes home to mother when her love-life falls apart. The results are hilarious.
“Barbie” has no progenitors yet the movie maker gave her a great life, a journey or self-discovery and a good ending.
Still, I’d bet most of us want to have a happy family, live in a comfortable home, and know where we came from. We want big family gatherings at Thanksgiving and Christmas, and birthdays, and summers at the lake. We’d like “Leave it to Beaver” and “The Waltons” as the backdrop of our daily lives. That’s why “fiction” is fiction. Given a choice, most of us don’t want to go hungry, or fall prey to criminals, or be homeless, or . . . But fiction thrives on a host of calamities afflicting the main characters. At heart, readers are voyeurs. We peer in at the lives of others and thrill to their adventures, ache for their mistakes, long for them to find true love — all from the comfort of our armchairs.
To all my friends in Canada, I wish you a Happy Thanksgiving with wonderful family gatherings.
Views: 87
Practicing gratitude is always a good idea, but here, in Canada, we set aside the second weekend in October to give thanks particularly for the harvest. This is a wonderful season of the year, warm days, cold nights, the leaves turning to scarlet and gold, and the bounty of field and garden coming to fruition. Thanksgiving is one of my favourite holidays, not only because I love the harvest, but because it’s an excuse to feast with friends and family, to have a day off work and be done. No weeks of shopping, baking, wrapping, decorating, concert-going and entertaining. Décor can be as simple as a pumpkin on the doorstep or coloured leaves scattered across the dining room table. And when it’s over, it’s over. Cook the pumpkin and make pie. Throw the leaves in the compost, and life goes back to normal.
In our lives we have relationships to nurture and be thankful for. Memories of loved ones who have passed but who still bless our spirits. Family who may frustrate and delight us in the space of a few minutes but who are “ours” bound together for life in the rich soup that is parents and children, cousins and aunts, in-laws and steps, siblings by birth or adoption. I’m never-endingly grateful for the messy, swirling mass of humanity that is my family.
I’ve just come back from a family reunion — the descendants of those pioneers I’ve mentioned over the past few weeks. We’re all older now. The cousins I knew as kids chasing through the hay fields are all grown up. Some are grandparents themselves. The old farmhouse has been renovated with a modern kitchen and new wiring, the barns expanded and modernized. Tractors and harvesters have taken the place of draft horses and hired men. What remains is the land and our story.
Continuing my theme of the hard-working pioneer, the lady pictured here is baking bread — at the age of 90. Once the habit of hard work is established it cannot be broken.
Recent Comments