Article written by Rory Hawkins.
The Raymond E Feist event promoting his new book, King of Ashes, was a couple weeks ago. I picked up my own copy – I’ve been really enjoying it so far. But something Feist said in person plucked my interest: ‘I wanted to write a strong female character.’
Context time! Having read a few of Feist’s books, it’s clear that the majority of his pivotal characters are dudes. I’m not sneering at the fact and I’m definitely not slurring something about “patriarchy.” Personality-wise, they’re all interesting and varied enough to set them apart (*cough* Jimmy the Hand “cough” best character). But it’s still a sausage fest.
As writers, we all want to push ourselves to try something new. Taking leave from his long beloved world of Midkemia, I’m sure the same holds true for Feist. My critique isn’t about needing to write more physically diverse characters. Enforcing any kind of quota or dogma over this is exactly what it sounds like: enforcement.
But it’s a phrase that just has that ring to it. Strong. Female. Character. With social progressiveness a growing movement, I want to know what this is to writing and narratives. What does it actually mean? Can it be interpreted different ways? What are women like in fiction? I decided to pen my thoughts.
First off (to get it out the way): strong. Doesn’t have to be physically strong, just a compelling character that thinks about and deals with the sh*t slung their way, a personality worth reading about and journeying with. Easier said than done. A strong character isn’t perfect, not even at the end. Strength comes in acknowledging flaws, working towards the better.
The development and transformation they’ve undertaken makes a character strong. With all that, you might consider it odd to be specific about a character’s gender. It’s a basic description, yes – but it’s the connotations that make the difference.
Saying ‘strong female character’ implies that it’s a remarkable when compared to other female characters. And sure, as readers we can point to legions of undeveloped female side characters. Case in point: Ian Fleming’s Bond girls.
Most can hold their own in a gunfight but aside from that, they don’t bring much to the plot. Sex appeal and funny names is the prelude to 007 getting some down time. Imagining someone’s name to be Pussy Galore is stupidly funny, but it’s fan service, and we all know too much of that ruins a narrative. Fleming’s work and their early screen adaptions have already been flamed for their shallow female characters.
On the flip side, one of my favourite female characters of late is Midori from Haruki Murakami’s Norwegian Wood. Outgoing and brash, she’s one to ask a million questions of others but still be guarded about herself. In reading, I found this a weird contrast between parts of her personality – joking about how selfish she is but still so compassionate to those close.
Whilst my opinion of her went back and forth over the course of the novel, in retrospect it’s abundantly clear that Midori’s character isn’t happy to just be put on hold. The protagonist is stuck in a moral rut, always considering a mentally ill friend, disappearing for weeks on end, never telling Midori why. His situation can be soul destroying at times, but he never goes into details. Instead, Midori’s the one that has to slowly open up.
Reading on, you learn Midori has her own share of troubles: a high school romance turned sour; family business barely afloat; father not overseas but spending his last months in a hospital bed. Unlike the protagonist for most of the novel, Midori learns that just because a problem is yours, and you are responsible for it, doesn’t mean it’s for you to bear alone. There is someone there for you.
But wouldn’t that still work for a male character? Yes, I think so, but not to the same effect. Through a cultural lens, we see women as better caregivers, as more prone to compassion. This is reflected in the stories we tell – female centric narratives tend to focus more on personal growth in more everyday situations.
This makes a character more relatable, their thought processes articulated so that we as readers can easily follow. One interpretation of a ‘strong female character’ well suits this. Deliberately drawing on gender identity to highlight issues personal to them or part of the wider world. When part of a group, it helps break the monotony of an otherwise male dynamic (“lads, lads, lads!”).
Group dynamics are necessary in any long running series. It’s often our continued interest in the lives of characters – rather than whatever new villain – that spurs us to pick up the next Rick Riordan or such. The shortcomings of gender-heavy characters in these groups are of course: romance triangles. There’s better ways to draw an emotional sub-plot out.
Culturally, guys are the “do-the-thing” people. Hell, having a physical objective just makes sense to me. This too translates into narratives – male characters lean towards action. It’s not just explosions and gunfights and car chases but directly counteracting situations they’re put in: doing the thing because the thing needs to be done.
Another interpretation of ‘strong female character’ is just this… but they’re a woman. Criticized by some as ‘boys with boobs’, there’s plenty of female characters that due to writer’s choice or just the character’s circumstance don’t need to display overt femininity in their personality. They’re less any kind of social commentary and just what they are: a character in a book, fulfilling a role. Whilst these type of characters can be a refreshing contrast to other fictional women, a lack of emotional development can lessen the weight of their actions. Then again, missing that can be part of any character’s criticism.
To fashion a sort of conclusion, I think no matter the personality or motivations of a character, we always look for justification to their actions. Overall, gender doesn’t matter if a character fulfils a role in a story with enough of an emotional build up. Varying approaches to a ‘strong female character’ accomplish in making varying statements about women.
But in the end, thoughts need to match up with actions. We read for coherency. Woman or man, it needs to make sense.
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