There’s Only One Woman in the World…

… and everybody who’s anybody is in love with her. (No, I’m not talking about Smurfette*.)

You can hardly blame the smitten masses, because this gal’s perfect: smart, funny, beautiful. She always brings out the best side of our main characters, and even antiheroes halfway down the path to villainhood have been known to stop in their tracks and assist the protagonist based solely on their memory of her. (On the other hand, her choice of the protagonist over them is often what turned them down said path in the first place, so it’s not entirely good.) And our hero’s iconic feature — the article of clothing he wears or the physical appearance everyone comments on? — that comes from her, too, whether by way of inspiring gifts or symbolic genetic inheritance.

Listing her virtues is like running through the old Guiding law: she’s trustworthy, loyal, helpful to others, a friend to all, a sister to other women, courteous, a friend to animals, obedient to deserving powers, cheerful, and, heck with it, pure in thought, word, and deed.

Oh, and, usually, she’s dead.

You may have met her under the name “Lily Potter”, or, if you played the most recent Professor Layton game, “Claire”. But, as we’ll conclude, her name doesn’t really matter, because she doesn’t actually matter, either.

You see, although her short life made a huge difference to the world, it did so entirely through her emotional effect on men. She never really did anything herself, except die. And even that wasn’t her fault: by leading a virtuous life, she somehow ended up the target or the collateral damage of some men working on their own goals, when all she ever seems to have wanted was a happy future with the guy she loves, possibly involving raising his children.

And, yeah, men. It’s not like she had any female friends or relations who are inspired to a life of good deeds by her wonderfulness; she may or may not have had them, but if they’re mentioned at all, they’re usually horrible and immune to the contagion of goodness she spread. And curiously (although I suppose it makes sense given the usual gender ratio of stories of this type), she is far more likely to have given birth to a son than to a daughter.

Okay, so I obviously have a problem with this kind of character, and you can probably guess part of what it is by my haphazard italicization of the word “men” in several places in the preceding paragraphs. In my defense, if I could think of a male character who fit this mould, I’d have a problem with him, too, but, thing is, I just can’t. No paragon-of-virtue dudes come to mind who catalyze the actions of a story based on every person of the opposite gender falling in love with them. Even the most attractive male characters are usually active, serving as more than symbolic inspiration to others.

And, seriously? I think the little mental exercise of imagining Liam Evans who inspires Severina Snape and marries Jemima Potter and dies for his baby girl Harriet is enough to show why I think this pattern of storytelling leaves a lot for women to desire (wouldn’t Liam be the wimpiest character you ever met?), but just in case: come on. This character isn’t a person, they’re a plot device. I want to be represented by someone who goes out and does stuff, now, in real time, instead of just inspiring other people to do stuff.

And the thing is, when you delve a little deeper into the paragon’s character and start asking questions like, dammit, who is Silvia? What is she, that all our swains commend her**? Well, the answers turn out to be less along the lines of “she’s an individual character with her own flaws, hopes, dreams, and aspirations” and more like, “she’s a representation of the creator(s)’ ideal of a woman”. And we all know that perfect characters are annoying characters, because perfection =/= personality.

Any sort of character, of any gender, who spends the story offstage being an inspiration to everyone else, is a boring character, particularly if that inspiration has nothing to do with dynamic action that character took in the past but rather some passive goodness that radiates from him or her the way heat and light radiate from a flame. And especially if the symptom of others’ exposure to that radiation is falling into hopeless, lifelong romantic love.

Even if I don’t care what that character is saying about the class of people to which he or she belongs, there’s still another reason why I don’t like this pattern of storytelling. It’s the same reason I’ve fallen out of love with prophecies in fantasy novels: it’s too easy. Of all the complex tapestry of human thoughts and emotions and beliefs, “because some nut in a trance said so in rhyme” is only slightly worse than “because a long time ago I was in love with someone perfect”.

Yes, people can be motivated by their feelings for another person, even if that other person is no longer living. Yes, some excellent, complex characters are inspired at least in part by romantic love in a way that’s engaging and intellectually interesting. But when that motivating Muse is practically a cipher, stuck in the story for no other reason than to inspire the active characters, without a personality of his or her own, you might as well write “because the author said so”. What new and cool thing does that tell me about the character being motivated? Or about life?

In the end, I don’t want to say that using this trope is somehow illegitimate or horrible storytelling; I understand, to each her own. But for me, the mix of subtle sexism with uninspired “answers” to major plot questions is a deal-breaker. That face may have launched a thousand ships, but if there’s no personality behind it,  then don’t expect me to hang around caring about it for too long.

* Oh dear lord, there’s a movie.

** In the mirror-universe twin trope of this one, she might be an evil embodiment of female sexuality whose only wicked power is making every straight male*** in the universe lust after her.

*** The second book in Geoffrey Huntington’s as-of-this-writing-and-probably-forever unfinished/unavailable Sorcerers of the Nightwing series has an interesting take on this, in which the characters who rescue the ensnared from their lust are the protagonist’s straight female friend and his gay male friend. Haven’t yet seen a version in which Lady Wicked McSeduction bespells lesbian or bisexual women, though.