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With thanks to Z. for the title.
I reread an old favorite, David R. Palmer’s Emergence, last night and something occurred to me. (Not as good as I remembered, but we’ll get to the review in a bit.) When we talk about Mary Sues, we treat them as if they represented some aspect of female writers, a visible sign of feminine ecriture. But men write Mary Sues too, not just Marty Stus, and men also can identify with them.
Emergence’s Mary Sue is named Candidia (Candy) Smith-Foster. Unusual given name, hyphenated last name – though Smith and Foster are pretty nondescript; I wonder what the names were before Palmer’s editor got to them. Anyhow, Candy is a genius, and, at 11 years old, a competent paramedic and a Sixth Level black belt, among other things. She’s also deeply bonded to an animal, to whom she refers as her retarded baby brother. People tell her she’s pretty, and going to grow into beautiful, throughout. I don’t know what color her eyes are, but I wouldn’t be shocked if they were violet. She drives, she flies, she saves lives; she does everything short of pureeing. That simpering Lt. Piper is a tyro; Candy is Mary Sue. Written by a man, and enjoyed by enough SF fans to get Palmer Hugo, Nebula, and Campbell award nominations for two of the short stories that, with additional sections, make up the novel.
It’s still a decent read, though nowhere what I thought it was when I was a kid. (By contrast, Gateway still grabs me, whatever you want to say about the sequels.) The story is a variant on a post-holocaust narrative; Candy survives biowar that killed everybody else, or so she thinks. She finds out that she’s a Very Important Person. Though the plot depends on so much coincidence that not one deus ex machina but an entire pantheon and some backup demigods are required, the writing is engaging and Candy is, in fact, charming. This is why people can get to like Mary Sues, especially if they’re not interfering with what you thought the story was supposed to be about, i.e. other characters about whom you care more.
Consider also that Heinlein, the sf man’s sf man, created Podkayne of Mars, indubitably another Mary Sue with her precociousness, her odd name, and her beyond-her-years wisdom. Carol Clover’s excellent Men, Women and Chain Saws: Gender in the Modern Horror Film argues quite persuasively that male viewers identify with female victims in horror films, particularly the Final Girl – and in the modern horror film, it’s always a final girl who defeats the monster/madman, not a boy – in ways similar to what I’m arguing about male readers’ potential identification with Mary Sues.
What may be different is that, as Clover argues, the Final Girl is invested with masculine or at least gender-blurring characteristics. She often has a male-sounding name (Marti, Stretch, Ripley, Stevie, Will, Joey, Max, etc.). She is sexually chaste, as compared to the other young women around her, who all die horribly, often while seeking, having, or just having had sex. This may serve to mitigate a straight man’s anxiety at identifying with someone whose social status is, according to her sex, to get fucked. The young age of Candy and Podkayne serves a similar sexuality-diffusing function, though notably Candy does talk a lot about her duty, in the near future, to help repopulate the world.
By contrast, women’s Mary Sues often get laid, and how. Perhaps this is because identifying with a woman/girl who’s as competent in bed as she is at everything else is less disturbing for straight women than for straight men. On the other hand, Mary Sues in slash stories generally don’t get laid, though they are generally rewarded with the delicious imaginings of two hot men screwing one another. Where’s the female author’s identification there? The reader’s? Better theorists than I have tackled that one. The point, to the extent that I have one, is that men aren’t necessarily identifying with the men in fiction any more than women necessarily identify with the women, even if the men have a gender privilege that seems to make male-identification the most ego-boosting strategy for both sexes. There’s pleasure in transgression, even if you’re already on top.
While I’m here, let me tell you about Eric Garcia’s Matchstick Men (soon to be a major motion picture starring Nic Cage, according to the dust jacket). I picked this up because I mildly enjoyed Garcia’s two previous novels about a private eye who’s part of a modern dinosaur culture. All the dinos hide behind human suits. It’s a clever concept, and he does a good job with it. Anyhow, Matchstick Men is a basic con-man story, well-executed. For spoilery reasons, I ended up feeling queasy about it, because one decent character comes to a rather bad end, but if you like capers and don’t mind which Westlake or Block you get (the funny one or the grim one), this book may be for you.
I’m not competent enough to set up a poll, but I’ll answer questions like every other lemming if you send them to me. I’d certainly like to meet more of the people who, for whatever twisted reasons of their own, read this journal, and the questions might be a neat way to do that.
I reread an old favorite, David R. Palmer’s Emergence, last night and something occurred to me. (Not as good as I remembered, but we’ll get to the review in a bit.) When we talk about Mary Sues, we treat them as if they represented some aspect of female writers, a visible sign of feminine ecriture. But men write Mary Sues too, not just Marty Stus, and men also can identify with them.
Emergence’s Mary Sue is named Candidia (Candy) Smith-Foster. Unusual given name, hyphenated last name – though Smith and Foster are pretty nondescript; I wonder what the names were before Palmer’s editor got to them. Anyhow, Candy is a genius, and, at 11 years old, a competent paramedic and a Sixth Level black belt, among other things. She’s also deeply bonded to an animal, to whom she refers as her retarded baby brother. People tell her she’s pretty, and going to grow into beautiful, throughout. I don’t know what color her eyes are, but I wouldn’t be shocked if they were violet. She drives, she flies, she saves lives; she does everything short of pureeing. That simpering Lt. Piper is a tyro; Candy is Mary Sue. Written by a man, and enjoyed by enough SF fans to get Palmer Hugo, Nebula, and Campbell award nominations for two of the short stories that, with additional sections, make up the novel.
It’s still a decent read, though nowhere what I thought it was when I was a kid. (By contrast, Gateway still grabs me, whatever you want to say about the sequels.) The story is a variant on a post-holocaust narrative; Candy survives biowar that killed everybody else, or so she thinks. She finds out that she’s a Very Important Person. Though the plot depends on so much coincidence that not one deus ex machina but an entire pantheon and some backup demigods are required, the writing is engaging and Candy is, in fact, charming. This is why people can get to like Mary Sues, especially if they’re not interfering with what you thought the story was supposed to be about, i.e. other characters about whom you care more.
Consider also that Heinlein, the sf man’s sf man, created Podkayne of Mars, indubitably another Mary Sue with her precociousness, her odd name, and her beyond-her-years wisdom. Carol Clover’s excellent Men, Women and Chain Saws: Gender in the Modern Horror Film argues quite persuasively that male viewers identify with female victims in horror films, particularly the Final Girl – and in the modern horror film, it’s always a final girl who defeats the monster/madman, not a boy – in ways similar to what I’m arguing about male readers’ potential identification with Mary Sues.
What may be different is that, as Clover argues, the Final Girl is invested with masculine or at least gender-blurring characteristics. She often has a male-sounding name (Marti, Stretch, Ripley, Stevie, Will, Joey, Max, etc.). She is sexually chaste, as compared to the other young women around her, who all die horribly, often while seeking, having, or just having had sex. This may serve to mitigate a straight man’s anxiety at identifying with someone whose social status is, according to her sex, to get fucked. The young age of Candy and Podkayne serves a similar sexuality-diffusing function, though notably Candy does talk a lot about her duty, in the near future, to help repopulate the world.
By contrast, women’s Mary Sues often get laid, and how. Perhaps this is because identifying with a woman/girl who’s as competent in bed as she is at everything else is less disturbing for straight women than for straight men. On the other hand, Mary Sues in slash stories generally don’t get laid, though they are generally rewarded with the delicious imaginings of two hot men screwing one another. Where’s the female author’s identification there? The reader’s? Better theorists than I have tackled that one. The point, to the extent that I have one, is that men aren’t necessarily identifying with the men in fiction any more than women necessarily identify with the women, even if the men have a gender privilege that seems to make male-identification the most ego-boosting strategy for both sexes. There’s pleasure in transgression, even if you’re already on top.
While I’m here, let me tell you about Eric Garcia’s Matchstick Men (soon to be a major motion picture starring Nic Cage, according to the dust jacket). I picked this up because I mildly enjoyed Garcia’s two previous novels about a private eye who’s part of a modern dinosaur culture. All the dinos hide behind human suits. It’s a clever concept, and he does a good job with it. Anyhow, Matchstick Men is a basic con-man story, well-executed. For spoilery reasons, I ended up feeling queasy about it, because one decent character comes to a rather bad end, but if you like capers and don’t mind which Westlake or Block you get (the funny one or the grim one), this book may be for you.
I’m not competent enough to set up a poll, but I’ll answer questions like every other lemming if you send them to me. I’d certainly like to meet more of the people who, for whatever twisted reasons of their own, read this journal, and the questions might be a neat way to do that.
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From:
here's a question:
P.S I love your Clex stories. And if that doesn't explain why I'm haunting your LJ, NOTHING will.
From:
Re: here's a question:
What do you mean by spamming? I'm leery of offering to enlarge someone's penis, or give great mortgage terms.
Thanks!
From:
Re: here's a question:
It’s interesting that a growing number of final girls have an overtly sexualized appearance or character, but still remain essentially sexless – an odd mix of unattainable sex kitten and chaste soldier. It would be interesting to see if males identify with these characters as well as they do with more traditional, virginal final girls.
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Re: here's a question:
Three fics, and not one Clex?! Shame on you. Heh. Are they at least SV fics?
Spamming: posting short, senseless crap on LJ to annoy your friends.
From:
Re: here's a question:
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Re: here's a question:
LOL. Sorry, I misread earlier by going too fast. *g* Am so glad to hear that not only is there going to be Clex, but TWO Clexes! :)
You have made my day.
From:
no subject
Podkayne often gets things wrong and sometimes marvels at her own naivete. Her older friend Girdie (Gerdie? Don't have the book close by) knows more about men, and her younger brother Clark, while pleasantly sociopathic, knows more about everything. Poddy describes herself objectively as a pretty girl, but not beautiful, and I think she was Heinlein's attempt to write about girls at an age he found endearing -- still coltish, but starting to bloom into adulthood. It's a bit of a cliche, no doubt, but it's something I've seen plenty of in books and movies. The fact that some of the male characters in the book find her charming on exactly that level I think says more about how Heinlein felt men perceive a pretty, lively, interested girl at that age; i.e., like an endearing puppy, but with the bonus of sex appeal.
The fact that she can do higher-level math, to me, just means she can match the absolute basic requirements for most Heinlein protagonists. He doesn't go on from there to make her a genius in physics and someone who can shoot to kill accurately from either hand -- and lord knows he was quite capable of giving those gifts to other characters.
It's not as if Heinlein never wrote Mary Sues. His trademark "competent man" is pretty damned Mary Sue-ish, I think. But Podkayne seems far less so to me than most of his other protagonists. And then, her fucking up something at the end -- depending on which version of the book you read -- causes her own death or injury. Given how many of Heinlein's protags are survivors, that seems telling.
From:
no subject
Yeah, but don't they all? Or their magical heritage, or half-breed status, or whatever. And Candy's much more advanced than any of the other known hominems, relative to her age: a giant among giants.
Re: Podkayne. I have a rather broad definition of Mary Sues; they can be charmingly incompetent too. But your points are well-taken. Peewee from Have Space Suit, Will Travel is a more prototypical example (I had such a literary crush on Kip!), and even there the age gap between Kip and Peewee is such that sexuality is a non-issue, though Peewee does argue that in five years Kip will be begging to date her.
My point is really more that the female-POV stories written by men and enjoyed by significant numbers of men suggest that cross-gender identification isn't a wholly female endeavor, even though it's often assumed to be such because women are thought to enjoy putting on the male mask of power, while for men to do the reverse would be perverse (Laura Mulvey and too much academic slash analysis, for example). And Podkayne, unlike Peewee, is the POV character for most of the book, thus she's more likely to be the focus of the reader's identification.
Also, my secondary point: female characters written "for" men may be less likely to be sexual than characters written "for" women.
I realized as a result of this that my copy of Podkayne is MIA, so I had to order another one from Half. Clark was one creepy little kid. And Uncle Tom was one sexist bastard; that's why I always hated the end of the book, with him chewing the kids' mother out for having a job instead of staying home with her kids. I also find it fascinating that the readers voted to kill Poddy.
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no subject
I wonder if men identify with Lara Croft? Sure, they're looking at her on the computer screen, but isn't she the pov character as well? Hmmm.
Intriguing post.
Hmm, a question...who are some of your favorite authors? I read your journal for the books, books, books!
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no subject
Judging by my memory of my bookshelves, I am a big fan of Catharine MacKinnon, David Brin, Stephen King, Laurell Hamilton, Michael Marshall Smith, Frederik Pohl, David Foster Wallace, Barbara Hambly, Robert Heinlein's juveniles, Nancy Kress, Connie Willis, Joss Whedon, Stephen Brust (recent grumbles notwithstanding), Pat Conroy, and numerous others who just aren't coming to mind right now.
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no subject
Sorry, I came in in the middle of this. Brust is one of my favorite writers. Are these recent grumbles yours or his? And, in either case, why?
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Re: BRUST
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By what criteria do you evaluate a story, pro or fannish? That is, what allows you to deem one story a success and one a failure, or at least a lesser success? Presumably it's partly or even wholly an emotional response to the narrative, but I'm wondering here about the literary tools used by the author to invoke your response, both emotional and intellectual (if the latter is part of your reading experience--I don't want to presume anything). Because I'm demanding this way, I'm looking for more besides, say, "well-rounded characters," since that begs that question of how one constructs a well-rounded character. *g*
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no subject
A failure is one in which the characters don't make psychological sense to me. In fanfic, that range is much narrower, because I already have an idea of what the characters should be like, so in that sense it's easier for me to judge a fanfic a failure. At the same time, I'm fairly willing to judge an individual episode of a series a failure, even though it's canon, because it doesn't fit with my preconceptions and ideas about how much contradiction a real person can contain.
Of course, this all goes along with Sturgeon's Law: 90% of sf is crap, but then 90% of everything is crap. For me, a failure isn't membership in the 90%, because that fiction is not worth the bother. A failure is something that almost works, that gets a few big things wrong, destroying what could have been great. A lot of Robert J. Sawyer's work strikes me as this kind of ambitious failure; he has the most amazing ideas, consistently, and half the time he just cannot make the ideas cohere into plot. A failure makes me dream of how it could have been.
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no subject
David Weber has created her as:
1. empathetically bonded with a treecat, with a bond that goes deeper even than is customary with other people so bonded and in a direct line from the first person ever to bond with cat
2. a tactical genius
3. a martial arts expert
4. someone who can take up swordfighting and a year later outfight with one blow the top swordsman on the planet
5. a shooter who can take out a professional duellist from the hip
6. genetically modified so she never puts on weight despite a fondness for cocoa (her dislike of coffee is an amusing character trait. Sorry - I mean its the amusing character trait)
7. never ever being wrong about her tactical/operational decisions
8. going through agonies of pointless guilt about the people killed in course of 7. nothwithstanding all other alternatives would have lead to the destruction of the planet/ annilation of Manticoran society etc etc.
9. the first female steadholder on a deeply sexist religious planet - universally beloved by the Church leaders notwithstanding
etc etc
How does he get away with it?
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