Ellynne wrote:
Actually, Ellynne wrote a *lot* of very interesting stuff, and I'm tempted to quote the whole post, but I'll refrain. (Heck, this post ended up being long enough, anyway!)
The interesting thing about the h/c thread is that I feel like I keep jumping back and forth on it. Sometimes, I'm sure it's a genre I like. Other times, I'd say not. Part of it, certainly, is that I'm reading descriptions that don't seem to quite match with what I was thinking of. I'm still trying to decide if this is because I'm reading an analysis by someone who may not like it or whether I'm the one who's confused.
Actually, I think the possible source of the confusion is suddenly pretty clear to me, but let's see if I can put it into words adequately.
The thing is, it seems to me that h/c, like anything else, can be done well or it can be done badly. And whether a given story is done well or badly is a pretty subjective thing, and is going to depend not just on one's personal tastes, but also on one's view of the characters. After all, badly done characterization tends to make for a pretty bad story, but what one person sees as bad characterization may be entirely acceptable to someone else.
Anyway, it seems to me that a lot of people are saying "I don't like h/c" or "I don't like character-junkie stories" or "I don't like slash" because they equate those things with bad characterization (usualy of the overly touchy-feely variety). But, really, in any of those (very ill-defined, IMO) subgenres, lots of different takes on the characterization are possible: some good, some bad, and some whose percieved quality is going to depend *very* strongly on how well it lines up with the reader's individual take on the characters.
The example of the Avon-and-the-seeing-eye-dog story you mentioned (and which I haven't read, either) is a good one. It's a concept that could be done badly (possibly *very* badly: now I'm imagining Avon making a tearful speech about how much he loves his sweet little doggy and finding myself overcome with the urge to hurl), or it could be done well and in-character. (I can, for instance, imagine Avon loudly complaining to all and sundry about what a stupid, smelly, useless animal this is, but still being very kind to the dog, especially when nobody's looking. Heck, I think he sometimes does that with *Blake*. :))
I think a *big* part of the problem is that, face it, this sort of thing is much, much easier to do badly than to do well, particularly if the reader's tolerance for the "schmaltzy" stuff is very low. So somebody sees enough examples of it done badly and concludes that, inevitably, it all must be like that. But it *is* possible to explore the characters' relationships and emotions and all that other stuff that Avon would dismiss contemptuously as "sentiment" without making the characters *themselves* uncharacteristically "sentimental." Just because it often *is* done badly doesn't mean it can't be done well. (In fact, you could say the same for fanfic in general, really.)
Actually, another concrete example might help here... Coincidentally, I happen to have just finished reading a couple of stories in Sheila Paulson's "Jabberwocky" series, and although it wouldn't have occured to me to think of it in these terms if we hadn't been having his discussion here, the second story ("Mind-Rape") is a pretty classic h/c scenario, really. (Warning, mild spoilers for this story follow!) The setup is that Blake's been telepathically attacked, and he's in a coma while his consciousness is sort of locked away in a mental void like the one Cally was trapped in in "Shadow." Medical opinion says it might help if those Blake cares about sit and talk to him and try to reach him, to provide his unconscious mind with some incentive to come back from this state of telepathic isolation. So Avon sits by his bedside and holds his hand and talks to him.
Now, the thing is, this could easily -- *very* easily -- have turned into a positively wince-inducing piece of sentimental schmaltz. It's disturbingly easy to imagine that, at this point, we could have gotten Avon weeping at Blake's bedside and wailing "Oh, Blake, don't leave me! I never had the chance to tell you how much you meant to me!" or some equally un-Avonic kind of thing. Sheila, bless her, does *not* do this. (Actually, Sheila Paulson's writing is really interesting to me in this respect, because she tends to go a bit more into the "let's have the characters open up a little, because things would be *so* much better if they'd just let down their guard a bit and talk to each other" kind of thing than I am usually comfortable with. But she makes it work for me (the majority of the time, anyway), precisely because she knows just how to avoid taking it too far.) Anyway, the Avon in the story feels *extremely* uncomfortable doing this, but reassures himself that, well, there's a good, practical, medical reason for it. And most of the things he says to Blake are couched in a sort of affectionately sarcastic tone that seemed very familiar and in-character to me. Finally, and with some degree of difficulty and reluctance, he tells Blake, "You matter. Come back." And that *works* for me very, very well. Because this *is* our reticent, unentimental Avon, those three syllables -- "You matter" -- are more effective and impactful than the teary speech would have been. That's how I like to see this sort of thing done, and it certainly *is* doable. It just ain't easy.
Someone else tell me if this means I like h/c or not.
I'd say it means that you like h/c if it's done well, according to your definition of "well." And I'd say the same was true for me.
-- Betty Ragan ** bragan@nrao.edu ** http://www.aoc.nrao.edu/~bragan Not speaking for my employers, officially or otherwise. "Seeing a rotten picture for the special effects is like eating a tough steak for the smothered onions..." -- Isaac Asimov