Dancing, Envy, and Character

Last night I danced to New Order’s Blue Monday at Transmission and it was a freaking blast!

Why does a 40+-year-old man get excited about dancing to New Order? Well, you have to understand, I grew up in Iowa. That doesn’t help? Okay, New Order was the kind of music that if you requested it at a high school dance A) you were lucky if the DJ knew you were talking about, B) luckier if the DJ had it, and C) and “OMG go buy a Powerball ticket right now” lucky if the DJ actually consented to play it, but then when the DJ did play it the dance floor would disintegrate into a bunch of morons staring stupidly at one another until Poison came back on.

High school was four years of wishing I was both somewhere else, and someone else. I wanted to live somewhere where I could go clubbing and dance to New Order, the Smiths, and Depeche Mode, like those characters you saw in the movies. I soooo envied them, because I was that person, despite being locked away in backwards small-town Iowa. I’m sure this was a factor – at least in part – as to why my nose was stuck in a book for most of the time I was growing up. Reading about the lives of those I envied, admired, or identified with was so much better than my own stifling sentence in purgatory.
All this has led me to wonder, what is it about character that hooks a reader? Specifically, myself. Certainly, it’s all those things I just mentioned, but those span a wide range of possibility, and why would I be drawn to those qualities more than others?

Last week Mark talked about the everyman – that guy/gal who was is just a regular old person with whom we could all at least partially identify with. That kind of character never would have kept my attention back when I was a kid. I was already too much the everyman, and I desperately wanted to be someone else. The characters I was attracted to had powers. I didn’t read comics – there was really nowhere to get them and at the rate I read we just didn’t have money for it – so it was books and movies for me, fantasies that had characters with magical powers, and the wilder the better. Man did I eat that stuff up. For me, those kind of stories had the trifecta. I envied their power, I admired their fortitude, and a completely identified with their need to affect change and right the wrongs in their world.

A few of my faves:


Elric of Melnibone – Michael Moorcock
Raistlin Majere – Weis & Hickman
Garion – David Eddings
Arthur, Merlin, & Excalibur
And of course a certain boy from Tatooine who needs no introduction:

Nowadays, the characters who tend to draw me in aren’t usually superheroes.

They are regular people who find themselves in extraordinary circumstances.









These are characters whose devotion, stubbornness, anger, and pathology enable them to exceed their limitations and become something more.

To name a few:

Deena Pilgrim – Bendis and Oeming

Hawkeye – Fraction and Aja

Boyd Crowder – Justified

Roland Deschain – Stephen King

Londo Molari – J. Michael Stazcynski

Starbuck / Kara Thrace – Battlestar Galactica



Who’d I miss?

To Genre, Or Not To Genre

I’ve been thinking a lot about genre lately.

Specifically, genre as it relates to the speculative fiction we write here at the Scribblerati, as well as my Work in Progress, To Kill the Goddess.

Exhibit #1

It all started while reading Life After Life, by Kate Atkinson. This was a recommendation by my editor (I’ve made a habit of asking her what’s good) and I read it over our Fourth of July vacation to San Francisco.

In case you’re not familiar with it, Life After Life is a story about this woman – Ursula – who is reborn into the same body every time she dies. Each life is a redo, starting in the 1920s, and going through World War II or beyond, assuming she lives that long.

It was a fascinating story – mostly. Sometimes she made terrible choices and the story was hard to read, other times she chose better and the book was fun. But the longer it went on, and the more times Ursula died, it became… tedious. This is not to say it was a bad book, or that it was poorly written, because it was none of those things, but the author shied away from getting into why Ursula kept being reborn. What was the point of it all? Was there intent behind this miracle? Was there a lesson to be learned? A change to be made?

None of those questions were answered, and maybe I’m reaching here, but I think I know why. The answer to those questions would have taken the book out of the realm of literary fiction and into genre.

Exhibit #2

My own writing has been coming along quite nicely. I finished a new draft based on my editor’s comments, and now I’m making one last cleanup pass before I send it back to her. The process has taken about six months, which is longer than I’d hoped, but not as long as I’d feared. During that time, I’ve become a whole new writer. I’ve refined and honed my style, vastly improved my self-editing, but the most important thing I’ve learned is how to focus the story around character.

Character, is entirely what Life after Life was about. Ursula was the same character throughout the book, but her character changed (impressive, eh?). In regards to my own work, To Kill the Goddess has (I hope) become as much about the characters in it as it is about the fantastic world they live in, or the terrible/exciting events taking place around them.

A confession

I have – and this is an entirely unexpected development – thought about giving up writing speculative fiction.

It is, I think, a bit of snootiness, and a notion that will fade with time, but there is merit behind the thought. I still think about those cool sci-fi/fantasy things that used to completely melt my butter, but the more I think about character, the less I think about the facets of my story that make it genre.

I see now why so many choose to write literary fiction. There is a purity there, a laser focus on character that can so easily get buried within the fantastic elements of genre.

Genre, whether it’s fantasy, science fiction, dystopia, or something in between, allows the writer to confront their characters with challenges entirely outside the experience of our normal lives.

If I wasn’t writing genre, I could never so completely turn my characters’ lives upside down, not in any sort of way that wasn’t retreading events we’re all intimately familiar with (e.g. World War II), or turning it into a historical fantasy. Genre lets me tell a story that is fresh, engaging, and exciting.

Could I tell a fresh, engaging, and exciting story without writing genre?

Absolutely.

And I might even do that someday.

But I could never write To Kill the Goddess that way.

Fantasy Schmantasy

There’s been a huge kerfuffle on the interwebs recently about two reviews of HBO’s fantasy series Game of Thrones. One, by New York Times reviewer Ginia Bellafante, has caused the most outrage, as she pretty much dismisses the entire population of female fantasy fans as, well, fantasy, and implies that we girls would much rather read a book stamped by Oprah than a book with filled with swords and medieval political machinations. Whatever. I won’t try your patience; many folks out there in the interworld have very eloquently told Ms. Bellafante what for in that respect. What is stuck in my craw is that both she and Slate’s reviewer, Troy Patterson, dismiss the fantasy genre as not worth reviewing in a serious manner, while they’re reviewing it. Bellafante gets her facts shockingly wrong, and also says that the show, because of its content, does not belong on the venerated HBO. Patterson admits he dislikes the genre, and only kinda-sorta actually reviews the show.

Fortunately, we have Matt Zoller Seitz at Salon.com to set them straight: all you fantasy geeks out there, just try not to fist punch the air as he takes these two on.

Times Review

Salon Review

The whole hurly-burly, however, has gotten me thinking, and I realize that I’ve encountered more than my fair share of disdain for liking speculative fiction as an adult.

I love Buffy the Vampire Slayer, and I’m so not alone in this, and yet, when it comes up in conversation – Them: “What’s your favorite show?” Me: “Buffy.” I’ve gotten many blantant reactions of eye-rolling disbelief, from sneers to “Reallys?” Okay, right. Unlike Game of Thrones, Buffy the Vampire Slayer isn’t graced with a name that reeks of gravitas: so, those who haven’t seen it might lump it in a category with Sabrina the Teenage Witch, or, I don’t know, Small Wonder.

We’ve said it before on this blog, and we’ll say it again: Buffy is an incredibly well written, well acted, dramatic, creative and humorous show, full of characters who grow and change (okay, yes, sometimes into a werewolf, but still). And you know what? Some people just don’t like sci fi/fantasy, and that’s okay. I have a good friend who, because she loves me, watches episodes of Buffy with me. She generally only watches serious, realistic dramas, but she sticks with Buffy because A) There are moments of truly stellar drama in the series, and B) David Boreanaz is hot. That said, she could take or leave your standard “Monster of the Week” episodes, whereas for me, the Hellmouth is half the fun. The thing to note here is she’s not dismissive of the genre; it’s just not her favorite. Whereas many folks look upon we speculative fiction fans as childish, regressive, socially inept losers. Why is that? Really?

Another story: A coworker of mine blew the ending of the sixth Harry Potter book for me. I’m crazy about J.K. Rowling, and I think those books are brilliant – I believe they will go down in history as great classics. The coworker in question was talking about Harry Potter and the Half Blood Prince, a book, it should be noted, that he hadn’t himself read, nor had he read any of the series – but his wife had finished it over the weekend and told him what happened. After repeated requests for him to stop talking about it, as I hadn’t finished the book, he looked me straight in the eye with an irate look on his face, and blurted out the ending.

I was furious and hurt. I’d been waiting breathlessly for over a year for the book to come out, I was looking forward to going home and savoring a few more chapters that night, and although he didn’t ruin the book for me, he certainly stole away one of the biggest surprises of the series. When I confronted him, his response was, “I don’t know what the big deal is. It’s only a kids’ book.”

Interesting. There was almost envy in that statement, as though he didn’t, as a Grown Up, allow himself to go there - to a fantasyland of magic and monsters - and the fact that I and many others could extract childlike wonder from the experience made him spiteful and mean. I picture him now: a grounded child sitting in his living room, palms and nose pressed against the front picture window, as unicorns and fairies and elves and wizards frolic around his yard.

What’s very weird is the idea that sci fi/fantasy, comics, magic and swords are childish, and if someone continues to enjoy these things into adulthood, it’s because they’re somehow damaged: they’re geeks and dorks, living on the fringes of society, holed up in their basement playrooms with their pewter orc figurines and dungeon maps. (Okay, well, those people do exist, too: fair’s fair.) Yet, hmm. Superheroes. Elves. Dwarves. Vampires. Wizards. Giant robots. Aliens. These are the heroes and villains of some of the biggest movie blockbusters of the last 15 years.

Perhaps it is okay to love the unreal as long as you have a bag of popcorn in your lap. Mighty Odin forbid you get your fantasy kick from a book or any other lauded medium.

Book Review: Joe Abercrombie's The Heroes

They say Black Dow’s killed more men than winter, and clawed his way to the throne of the North up a hill of skulls. The King of the Union, ever a jealous neighbour, is not about to stand smiling by while he claws his way any higher. The orders have been given and the armies are toiling through the northern mud. Thousands of men are converging on a forgotten ring of stones, on a worthless hill, in an unimportant valley, and they’ve brought a lot of sharpened metal with them.

Bremer dan Gorst, disgraced master swordsman, has sworn to reclaim his stolen honour on the battlefield. Obsessed with redemption and addicted to violence, he’s far past caring how much blood gets spilled in the attempt. Even if it’s his own.

Prince Calder isn’t interested in honour, and still less in getting himself killed. All he wants is power, and he’ll tell any lie, use any trick, and betray any friend to get it. Just as long as he doesn’t have to fight for it himself.

Curnden Craw, the last honest man in the North, has gained nothing from a life of warfare but swollen knees and frayed nerves. He hardly even cares who wins any more, he just wants to do the right thing. But can he even tell what that is with the world burning down around him?

Over three bloody days of battle, the fate of the North will be decided. But with both sides riddled by intrigues, follies, feuds and petty jealousies, it is unlikely to be the noblest hearts, or even the strongest arms that prevail…

Three men. One battle. No Heroes.
            - Joe Abercrombie’s The Heroes

I had grown tired of Fantasy.

After all the long years, I just couldn’t do it anymore. I was done. Finished. I was over it. This was sad, because I had grown up on Tolkien, on Lewis, on White, on Alexander. Jack Vance’s Lyonesse is still one of my favorite books, but the truth was undeniable, and that was, barring a few notable and well deserved exceptions, if I never read about another wistful elf maid in a flowing gossamer gown staring longingly out her moon-lit tower window again, that would be just fine with me.

The problem was I still really liked bits of the genre. Big bits. Dungeons. Dragons. Knights. Kings and castles. All that. I wanted it, but I didn’t want the lame Ren Faire bullshit that came with. I couldn’t take that “forsooth” crap anymore. No, thank you. And the next portly asswipe in goatee and curling moustaches that says “Have at thee!” at me is getting a boot to the nuts.

I was done.

But I didn’t go easily. I still trolled the fantasy section at the bookstore from time to time, but… meh. I tried Jordon’s Wheel of Time series, and for a time that was alright, but well, we all know how that worked out, or didn’t. Then I found George R. R. Martin. The Game of Thrones and the rest of the Songs of Ice and Fire series that followed were like a well deserved and long anticipated homecoming. Fantastic, yet real. Noble, yet brutal. A grand and sweeping multiple POV fantasy masterpiece, brilliantly realized. Incredible. Amazing. And the HBO show looks like it’s going to be even more amazing than one has a right to expect. I consider him and Tolkien as bookends to modern fantasy. Unfortunately, while it’s true that George R. R. Martin is not my bitch, and despite the fact that the latest novel is coming out in a few weeks (allegedly), it has been almost six years since the last one.

Six years?

Six years!

I met my wife and got married in the time since the last one, which, let's be honest, was just treading water to appease the fans anyway, and George, baby, in the time since… I have strayed.

And that’s when I found Joe Abercrombie.

And up they came indeed. Four of them. New recruits, fresh off the boat from Midderland by their looks. Seen off at the docks with kisses from mummy or sweetheart or both. New uniforms pressed, straps polished, buckles gleaming and ready for the noble soldiering life, indeed. Forest gestured towards Tunny like a showman towards his freak, and trotted out that same little address he always gave.
“Boys, this here is the famous Corporal Tunny, one of the longest serving non-commissioned officers in General Jalenhorm’s division. A veteran of the Starikland rebellion, the Gurkish war, the last Northern war, the siege of Adua, this current unpleasantness, and a quantity of peacetime soldiering that would have bored a keener mind to death. He has survived the runs, the rot, the grip, the autumn shudders, the caresses of Northern winds, the buffets of Southern women, thousands of miles of marching, many years of his Majesty’s rations and even a tiny bit of actual fighting to stand – or sit – before you now. He has four times been Sergeant Tunny, once even Colour Sergeant Tunny, but always, like a homing pigeon to its humble cage, returned to his current station. He now holds the exalted post of standard bearer of his August Majesty’s indomitable First regiment of cavalry. That gives him responsibility—” Tunny groaned at the mere mention of the word. “—for the regimental riders, tasked with carrying messages to and from our much admired commanding officer, Colonel Vallimir. Which is where you boys come in.”
“Oh, bloody hell, Forest.”
“Oh, bloody hell, Tunny.”

The Heroes is Abercrombie’s fifth book, all of which take place in the same world, but you don’t have to have read the previous four to appreciate this one. Yes, the First Law trilogy (starting with The Blade itself) is a trilogy, but Best Served Cold stands alone and so does The Heroes. However, reading all five in order will give you the bigger picture of the world and add some weight to the familiar names that occasionally stroll through the various tomes.

Abercrombie’s world is one that at once resembles our own and yet is fundamentally different. He uses that old trick of brushing up against familiar cultures and countries and lands, drawing a quick sketch, and then skipping away again into new territory, so the reader will be comfortable settling in at first and yet enough of a stranger in a strange land to require the hand of a skilled guide to get around, a position Abercrombie excels at.

Some Background:
There were once three brothers. Juvens (the father of magic or High Art, as it’s called), Kanedias (or The Maker, a kind of scientist-magician and creator of technology, whose ancient House of the Maker is a looming and featureless giant gray mass of stone still rising over the capital city of the Union), and Bedesh (the one who famously destroyed the Old Empire—an ancient Rome like country now lost to antiquity and a near nuclear holocaust level of destruction). Eventually, Juvens and Kanedias warred and Juvens was killed, which caused his students—the Magi—to kill The Maker in revenge. But are the stories true? Is that how it all really went? History is written by the victor, after all. Now, thousands of years later, the Magi still haunt this world, and through their myriad of agents and spies, apprentices and puppet armies, they are locked in eternal struggle.

Quickly now:
The three major countries involved in the near constant series of hot and cold wars are:
1. The Union, a large kingdom similar to Europe made up of a handful of formerly independent states and now governed by a King and Senate. It is the plaything of Bayaz, First of the Magi.
2. The Gurkish Empire, similar in set up to middle eastern empires of old, run by an Emperor and more importantly, Khalul, The Prophet, Second of the Magi, and his Hundred Words, a troop of half demon/half human vampire-esque warriors.
3. The North, a rough alliance of tribes patterned on Vikings and Celts and Huns and other barbarian cultures of old. They are a harsh people where warriors become recognized as Named Men (kind of like officers, but more generally regarded as bad ass) after proving themselves on the field of battle.

There are more nations, of course, like the Mediterranean-esque island nation of Talins, which is run by the Snake of Talins herself, Monzcarro Murcatto (the main character of Best Served Cold) for instance, but they do not feature as prominently in this specific book, so I will refrain from going into further detail...

No, this book focuses on a three day battle in an unremarkable valley in the North and two armies: Bayaz and the Unions’ red-coated masses on one side and the hardened warriors of the North backed by an agent of the Prophet, moved by the fingers of Khalul, on the other. More so, it’s about a handful of people on both sides, who they are and why they fight and their struggle to stay alive, to survive.

And that is how this book fits in with the others, in the larger story sense. And that’s part of what makes them such a great all together read; the story is about the continuing war between two opposing and opposite and inhuman forces, but it's never told from the grand heights. Bayaz, Khalul, they are unknowable things; they're dangerous, monsters in human skin. This story is about the people on the ground, the ones struggling in the wake of the giants that stride amongst them, and down there, it's never black and white. It's never good versus evil. It's all shades of gray and the only Heroes that ever appear in this story are the ancient ring of stones standing atop a useless hill in that unimportant valley.

Dark and grim, but funny and insightful, full of mud and blood and steel and death, but brimming with real life and honest characters, Abercrombie writes the type prose that draws you in and moves you along; the kind of prose that tells a great yarn in a grand way. It’s big and it’s bold and yet it's quietly human too and all in a story that is too damn good a time to put down.

I love it.

Conside me a fan.

Great settings:
“The place was a maze of sluggish channels of brown water, streaked on the surface with multi-coloured oil, with rotten leaves, with smelly froth, ill-looking rushes scattered at random. If you put down your foot and it only squelched in to the ankle, you counted yourself lucky. Here and there some species of hell-tree had wormed its leathery roots deep enough to stay upright and hang out a few lank leaves, festooned with beards of brown creeper and sprouting with outsize mushrooms. There was a persistent croaking that seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere. Some cursed variety of bird, or frog, or insect, but Tunny couldn't see any of the three. Maybe it was just the bog itself, laughing at them.”

Great characters:
“When it came to hatred, Brodd Tenways had a bottomless supply. He was one of those bastards who can't even breathe quietly, ugly as incest and always delighted to push it in your face, leering from the shadows like the village pervert at a passing milkmaid. Foul-mouthed, foul-toothed, foul-smelling, and with some kind of hideous rash patching his twisted face he gave every sign of taking great pride in.”

Great times,
Jon

The Random Post

So whatever happened to that #Reverb10 thing you were doing?

Yep. I feel bad about letting that one slide. I really meant to go all the way to the end with that one, but then there was all of this business:

And it was a weird one too. Yes, there was all the usual family and Christmas stuff going on, but the lovely @mplstravelkitty and I had this great idea that December was a wonderful time to start remodeling our master bath. To be clear, we hired it done because I'm about as inept at remodeling as I would be flying the space shuttle, but it takes a ton of time even when someone else is doing the heavy lifting.

Do I want a nickel or chrome finish on the faucets?

Undermount sinks?

Do I think Dave's Den is the right color to paint the bathroom?

Dave’s Den??

Thankfully, the aforementioned lovely @mplstravelkitty is a whiz at navigating the bathroom supply websites and we survived.

Admission: I liked Dave's Den, but it didn't end up in the bath.

Self-mutilation

Yesterday I tried to kill one of my toes. I'm not entirely sure why kicking the side of the couch seemed like a good idea but I did and the lovely @mplstravelkitty insists it's not broken but I'm kind of a whiner and ooowwwwWWWW! Plus, I can't really do much yoga with my toe like that so – POUT!

Hey man, isn't this supposed to be a writing blog?

Well, yes, so here’s my WIP update.

I'm so frakking close to being with this draft that I'm ready to freak out!

I don't know if anyone else is this way, but when I was a kid in school, taking those standardized tests, I would get all squirmy and itchy and sweaty the closer I got to the end. Kinda like: oh my God make it stop! That's how I feel about my WIP right now. I've been on a serious push the last couple of months and I'm “this close” to done. Can't wait!! And not just because I want to be finished, but because I want to hear what the rest of The Scribblerati has to say about it. So far so good, but…

Unicorns kick ass and I don't care what anyone says

It may surprise some of you to know that unicorns are a frequent topic at the Scribblerati meetups.

It all started with people making fun of me because I have a unicorn in my WIP. It's not just that I have a unicorn, but that I have an elf princess who rides the unicorn. Now, in my defense, I am writing high fantasy, and I can't help it that fantasy has elves and unicorns, but still, I know how it looks.

I suppose I could've stayed away from the cliche, but that's really not my style. When you get right down to it, my whole book is about taking fantasy cliche, tropes, whatever you want to call it, and turning them on their head. Yes I have a unicorn, but my unicorn is kick ass. And my elf princess? Hot, of course. Okay, so I have one tiny little cliche…

But it all works and it isn't crochet.

(Um, that's cliche, voice translator, not crochet.)

You'll just have to take my word for it – for now!

PS. This is for you, Scribblerati:

We Can Be Heroes

"Look at what's happened to meeee....eee, I can't believe it myself!"

In my last blog entry, I talked about villains, so this time I thought I’d give their counterparts some equal time. As I said before, I tend to prefer the villains; they have way more fun, but nevertheless, I love me a well-written hero.

Last time, I came up with some possible categories for types of villains, so let's see if I can pull off the same feat for our heroes (the way I’m defining them, they don’t have to be the protagonist, just someone, to put it simply, 'on the side of good'), again, sticking somewhat, but not entirely to the sci-fi/fantasy genres.

Hero as the Perfect Person: This category was more common back in the day – especially in comic books and young adult literature. Superman, Nancy Drew, Aragorn (in fact, many of the characters in LOTR)… you get the idea. It’s harder to pull off today, because we 21st century denizens tend to like at least little darkness in our good guys (look at the majority of television drama protagonists these days).

I can think of a couple of exceptions, keeping in mind that these people have little moments of imperfection, but for the most part, it’s the outside forces in their lives that are messed up, not them:

Jack Bauer from 24 (I’ve only seen the first 2 seasons, so I can’t vouch for subsequent episodes) – the writers can afford to make him perfect, and by that I mean beyond smart, quick, capable, moral, brave, etc., because the whole season takes place over only 24 hours, and therefore everything moves very quickly. There’s no time for deep introspection or character development. In fact if our hero were flawed, it would get in the way of the action, and he’d be less fun to watch – part of the appeal of the show is that, no matter how dire things get, you know the hero is going to triumph in the end.

John Crichton from Farscape: Crichton is an earthling stuck in another part of the universe, far, far away. The big joke of the show is that he is the very best of humanity: he’s a genius (literally a rocket scientist), unbelievably brave, unfailingly moral, athletic, attractive, kind, funny, etc., but the aliens he encounters all think he’s about as evolved as a trilobite. (Okay, more accurately, an ape.) So, the writers have fun playing with everyone’s incredibly low expectations of him (his morality especially is seen as a weakness), and his constant struggle to prove himself, and gain the trust and love of these strangers.

Pretty much every main character in Star Trek: This is, in fact, one complaint that many people had about the shows; everyone's too perfect. At least we’ll always have Lt. Reginald Barclay.

The Superhero with a Couple of Flaws and/or Weaknesses: These folks are either literally super-powered in some way, or far superior to any living human being, and therefore might as well have super powers. Most modern comic book superheroes fit into this category, as does Sherlock Holmes. Here are a couple of my favorites:

Buffy the Vampire Slayer: Oh, man, she can kick some undead patookis, but put that girl in a romantic relationship, guaranteed it'll eventually fall apart, and then she’ll fall apart.

Veronica Mars: (Great show, by the way, go rent it if you haven’t seen it). Veronica is one of those not-really-superpowered-but-no-person-could-possibly-be-that-clever-in-real-life types. So fun to watch her big brain work, and she always gets her man, however, like Buffy, she acts a little screwy when it comes to the boys. More than that though, she’s itty bitty teeny tiny - pocket-sized, even, and not in the least bit kick-ass. Put her in physical danger, and she’s fairly helpless. Also, she's a little - vengeful, a little hard.

As a subcategory, I’d go so far as to say that most protagonists in Hollywood films fit this bill, sans the superhero part. (He’s great, but he: lacks self-confidence/doesn’t connect with his son/can’t commit to a relationship/can’t forgive himself for his wife’s death, etc. etc.).

Hero as Everyday Schmo: Pretty self-explanatory. In sci-fi/fantasy, this person is usually tossed into extraordinary circumstances. Sometimes they become great heroes (Luke Skywalker), sometimes they just survive (Arthur Dent from The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy). Who else? Frodo and Bilbo Baggins. Many of Neil Gaiman’s protagonists. Harry Potter (despite the magical powers, I’d put him here. Everyone in his world has magical powers, and he’s hardly exceptional). Simon from Tad Williams’ Memory, Sorrow and Thorn series: In fact, a lot of fantasy books use this type of hero.

Hero as Redeemed Rogue: Han Solo! Han Solo! One of my favorite types of heroes, they’re so fun to watch/read about, and for some reason are often quite sexy. Must be the bad boy/girl thing.

Of course, it all comes back to Buffy with me – and the show excelled at portraying the Redeemed Rogue - Spike, Angel and even Anya and Andrew fit this bill. Who else? Xena, Warrior Princess. Artemis Fowl. And one of the best: Severus Snape from Harry Potter.

A subcategory might be ‘Misunderstood hero’ – folks we think are bad, but actually turn out to be good. Serious Black springs to mind, as does Mr. Darcy from Pride and Prejudice. For obvious reasons, though, these folks are almost never the main characters.

Hero as Seriously Damaged/Flawed Individual: This is a late addition, due to Jon's comment on my Batman neglect. I had thought of Mr. Batman, but didn't know where to put him... now it occurs to me that I was missing a category. Far from possessing "a couple of flaws," but not quite an antihero, these folks show up most often in ongoing series (otherwise they tend to end up a Redeemed Rogue), and they usually are extraordinary in some way, otherwise we wouldn't put up with their antics. Tony Stark (narcissistic, womanizing alcoholic), Batman (brooding vigilante), and House (jerk) all fit the bill.

Antiheros: I thought I’d give a nod to this type of character, even though they’re less ‘heroes’ and more ‘nasty protagonists’- your Taxi Drivers, Clockwork Oranges, Catchers in the Rye and the like. If they turn out to be actual heroes in the end, like Thomas Covenant (even though it takes a LOOOOOOONG time for him to shape up), they’d belong in the Redeemed Rogue category. I can think of two possible exceptions (you be the judge), and both are sociopaths:

Dexter: Sure he’s a psychopathic serial killer. But he DOES rid the world of bad guys.

Kate Mallory: She’s a cop from a wonderfully suspenseful series of books by Carol O’Connell, and although she’s a diagnosed sociopath, she does right in the end because of a code set up for her by her adopted cop father and his wife. (Sound familiar, Dexter?)

So then. There’s a bit of Hero sandwich for you to chew on. What are your favorite types of heroes? Name your favorite all time heroes!....GO!