Yesterday a post went up on metafandom (and, as we all know, that is never good for my sense of procrastination) titled "In search of the female anti-hero". The post, by erinya posits what she views as an anti-hero (or, rather, what definition she's using) and the concept of a female anti-hero, then asks people to provide examples they feel fit.

I responded to it and I like what I said but, a day later, I feel like I still have more to say and most of it wouldn't be all that relevant to erinya's post. Which is what my LJ is for, is it not? Thus, a post on narrative functions in protagonists (sans villians). I'll warn now that it might not have a conclusion, but I wanted to put all my thoughts down.

Nearly a year ago I transferred from a larger, co-educational college to a smaller all-women one. Someday I'll write up exactly how different attending Mills has been and how much it's changed how I, someone who had been pretty self-aware to start with, view myself and the world, but for now it suffices to say that no one attends Mills very long without certain things coming into awareness. It's not that the school is one large feminist conspiracy (though I've heard its critics refer to it as that, as well as a den of sinful debauchery and lesbianism) but it's inevitable that you come to see certain things.

For one, even here, people start to notice that while the male professors in general seem to have trouble finding current, relevant texts and sources to convey what they want to in courses, the female professors don't seem to have that problem. And from that comes the awareness that it isn't that no women are writing academic works in traditionally male (or even not traditionally male) fields, but that those works aren't -- in large part -- being taught. I know they're being made because my female professors never seem to have trouble finding them. So, while no one's ever, not even in my film or literature courses, come right out and said "How does gender apply here?" without some sort of caveat it's mostly true that they don't have to.

Perhaps it's unsurprising then that when I clicked on erinya's post and read it all the way through, then read the comments all the way through, I wasn't only interested in her (I presume her, in fandom, but erinya might be a him) question about gender and heroism but in the presumptions that not only s/he was making but that the commentors were making as well. In the post s/he hesitates to call the "female anti-hero" an "anti-heroine" because that might be different, but it doesn't matter in the end: her commentors make the distinction for her. They classify a female anti-hero -- and by virtue of calling one a female anti-hero versus an anti-hero who happens to be female the discussion's already been started in that direction -- as something distinct from a male anti-hero, without ever defining why or if that makes these characters they list (including Starbuck, Laura Roslin, Izzie Stevens, The Bride, etc.) female anti-heroes instead of anti-heroines.

And that left me wanting for a categorization and for the distinction to be made between these narrative functions and then how gender does and doesn't play a role in those functions.

On the base, roles like Hero, Heroine, Anti-Hero, Anti-Heroine, etc. are all narrative functions which characters inhabit to further the course of a plot or conflict within a plot. In the case of these four roles they are narrative functions which can only be inhabited by the protagonist, where protagonist means "the main character in a drama or other literary work." (American Heritage Dictionary) Extending literary work to include all forms of media in which there is storytelling [specifically, for this discussion: television] the simple, working definition is the/a main character in a story.

As such Hero, Heroine, Anti-Hero, and Anti-Heroine are all narrative functions which can only be inhabited by a main character. Simply speaking, a narrative function is a general classification of behavior or tendency which defines what sort of role a character or action is representing. We all use them and we all read them. Some people call them conventions and, famously, Carl Jung referred to a very refined version of them as archetypes (which was later referenced by Joseph Campbell in "A Hero's Journey"). These conventions are a basic sort of shorthand so that the reader, or viewer, understands and can empathize with the characters being presented (either positively or negatively) on a visceral and immediate level. Even once the characters develop and grow past these basic formations -- as good and great characters do -- they should still be, to new viewers, recognizable and relatable as such.

What's important about this is that besides possessing certain definitions, then, each of these functions exist outside of gender. While traditionally each of these functions has a gender to the characters which inhabit them, the definitions do not by necessity required them to have such. And this essentially means that the classification of a female anti-hero is, by definition, unworkable. A character is either an anti-hero or not an anti-hero.

To make a point of this, examples seem appropriate. But, first, to establish the definitions:

Hero: A hero is a character who possesses (masculine) heroic qualities. These qualities include courage, independence and freedom of thought (in Western tendency), strength, honesty to allies, often but not necessarily cleverness, an unwillingness to go back on one's word or fight an unarmed person (a sense of fairness), and a willingness to risk oneself for others.

Conversely, a Heroine possesses many of these qualities, with the addition of some and the reduction of others. A heroine should be brave, kind (versus merely fair), pure of spirit (and body), honest, often but not necessarily clever, nurturing, level-headed, and willing to sacrifice oneself for others. Independence or freedom of thought isn't valued in a heroine, ultimately, as she should be willing to defer to her eventual love match or at the least her mentor, though she may possess these qualities at first. (Though they will usually be described more negatively, such as stubbornness versus strength of spirit, or being contrary versus following one's own path.) And much more emphasis is put on sacrifice rather than mere risk.

As such, an anti-hero and an anti-heroine follow different qualifications because one is a counterpoint to the Hero convention and another to the heroine convention.

An Anti-Hero is a character who lacks in (masculine) heroic qualities, especially bravery, fairness, willingness to risk oneself for others, and honesty. Necessarily s/he will be motivated by something other than the desire to do good, typically an ignoble emotion like jealousy, fear (survival), spite, or revenge. While ultimately s/he will do the right thing, even though they're more likely to do horrifying things to achieve it, they will not do so merely because it is the right thing, unlike the hero.

In contrast, an Anti-Heroine is something different. S/he isn't a character who necessarily lacks in (masculine) heroic qualities but rather in (feminine) heroinic ones (and, yes, I did just make up a word but, since the words available are so lacking to make the distinction, I'm going to go with it). Many of these characters are made out to be villains, but few do exist in a similar way to an anti-hero. Such a character typically is not selfless, not pure, not nurturing, and is independent and free of thought. Moreover, when you do see such a character in a narrative who isn't villainized they're portrayed as amoral versus immoral but capable of good (which I'll discuss in more length later).

With these definitions established, it's easier to put characters we know into each category.

In erinya's post she calls Malcolm Reynolds (of "Firefly") an anti-hero. It's a small point in a larger post but one which I initially got caught up on because while Malcolm Reynolds may not be a good man, necessarily, by the context of the modern Western construct of a "good man" (because he is a criminal) within the context of his universe his narrative construct is. What I mean by this is that Mal is, by our definition, a good man despite the fact he is a criminal against the Alliance. A case in point is when, in the episode "Train Job," he abandons a desperately needed payday in order to release a life-saving case of medication to the poor population of an outlying moon. In other actions, where he is salvaging from dead ships or stealing from the Alliance (such as in Serenity the movie), he is doing so against the established evil within the universe.

Malcolm Reynolds is a good man because the Alliance is a bad system and he wishes to stop them purely because they are bad (and narratively established as evil) and he believes it is the right thing to do. This is what leads him on his acts of heroic bravery towards Miranda in the movie and into facing the Alliance agent at the end instead of opting for self-preservation. It's also what leads him to keeping on the troublesome and death-attracting Tam siblings as early as Serenity (the pilot). He may do bad things but he makes good choices and wants to do the right thing in terms of the overarching universe.

On the same note, Buffy Summers of "Buffy the Vampire Slayer," who isn't pure or nurturing or selfless, is also a hero. She possesses all the (masculine) heroic qualities which define such. In doing so she also bucks many feminine qualities but, because she is motivated by the desire to do good, she also isn't an anti-heroine. By the same note, early seasons of Kara 'Starbuck' Thrace of "Battlestar Galactica (2003)" is also a hero; given that she was based directly off an originally male character, this is unsurprising.

What may be surprising to some is that as the character of Starbuck has developed she has become more of a heroine; she's begun to take on the qualities of heroinism, such as nurturing (with Kasey), purity (though this certainly isn't her strongest suit she's become more pure of spirit, if not body, as the show has progressed, as evidenced by her destiny), and willingness to sacrifice herself.

For a more conventional (and immediate) example of a classic heroine, one can take characters like Sam(antha) Carter of "Stargate: SG-1" or Claire Bennet from "Heroes." Both characters possess bravery, honesty, etc. and also purity (Claire in a child-like sense, Carter in the sense that she does not engage in sexual relations without an emotional attachment unlike her male colleagues), nurturing (ever notice how many of Claire's scenes have to do with the kitchen or taking care of her mother? Or how Carter is preoccupied with family and doubts her choice, which was motivated by her father's desire, of a career over family?), and selflessness. They're heroines in a distinct sense from the heroes that their shows also possess.

Another example of a heroine is also from "Heroes". Peter Petrelli is very much a heroine in the qualities that he possesses, with the anvilicious hospice nursing job as the tip-off and all his resulting actions as basically supporting qualities. Not only is Peter selfless, willing to sacrifice himself (for example, knowing that to save Claire he will have to die and doing so anyway is far beyond merely risking himself), but the need for validation is the underpinning of his entire relationship with his brother Nathan. Nathan steps in as an authority figure to follow, and when Nathan becomes lacking Peter substitutes Simone and, then, Claude. He's even established as pure, with Nathan -- and the recent revelation of Mama Petrelli -- taking the taint onto themselves to protect Peter's purity.

As I hope is becoming clear by now, as narrative functions conventions like "Hero" and "Heroine" are genderless though the words to describe them and attributes encompassed by them may not be. In the same sense, the anti-hero and anti-heroine are conventions which can apply across genders (and to genderless characters, if we really want to go there).

Which might be why the most obvious anti-hero on television is, to me, Veronica Mars of "Veronica Mars". While purported to be a marshmallow, Veronica is motivated almost exclusively by revenge and a sense of protectiveness towards what is hers. She lacks is nearly all heroic qualities excepting a nearly suicidal sense of bravery and her idea of right and wrong is questionable at best. She often does the right thing but to suit her own needs or to satisfy her own curiosity or, in the case of pursuing Lilly's murderer, because she's incapable of letting go. The incident with Madison's car, though she ultimately withdrew her plan, is quintessential Veronica Mars (and parallels nicely the destruction of Dick's new surfboard in S1).

Other anti-heroes include Jayne Cobb of "Firefly", as much as he can be considered a protagonist at all. Jayne's motivation to do the right thing often has a monetary or personal payoff and, when it doesn't, he fights against doing it (his primary conflict with Mal Reynolds, in fact). And one of my favorite anti-heroes ever is Cole Turner of "Charmed," who is motivated almost exclusively by his desire to please Phoebe Halliwell and does good only to get on her good side.

And, finally, the anti-heroine. The anti-heroine is distinct from the anti-hero, as the heroine is distinct from the hero. They contain many of the same traits, of course, but the way anti-heroines manifest, in particular, in order to become tainted, selfish, and often cold without becoming villain(esses) is very much exclusive or singular to the anti-heroine process. Unlike anti-heroes, who can be presented sympathetically without having to be necessarily justified (because spite and revenge are acceptable masculine emotions and masculine persons aren't expected to be selfless), anti-heroines must be worked up to being sympathetic. A common way to do this, the most common way, in fact, is by first breaking them down into nearly nothing and then rebuilding them.

River Tam of "Firefly" is the best example of this on recent television. To take from my comment on the post that started this all, because I can, anti-heroines are characters who began as representations of goodness, who have been broken down by the moral or social majority, and who were rebuilt into something outside of the moral lines but still capable of good actions.

In River's case, she began as an adorable prodigy, who was destroyed by the Alliance, rebuilt by her brother with the assistance of a confused ship captain and his crew, and who came to be something more than she could have achieved within the lines of the Alliance. Ultimately, her choice to stop the Alliance -- and it is her actions which lead to the Alliance being stopped, with Mal's actions paralleling hers in importance -- isn't about doing the right thing like Mal's is. River's motivations are about making the crazy stop and saving her brother's life. She manages to accomplish both and, in the course of these actions take down the monster, but that isn't her goal. Her goal is to survive and stop what's hurting her in a visceral way.

It's not surprising that anti-heroines often go through phases of being crazy. Faith, from "Buffy the Vampire Slayer" and "Angel the Series," also has to go through that crucible (driven there by Buffy and her paradigm of goodness) in order to come to a place where she can live with who and what she is while still doing, ultimately, the right thing. As late as her appearance on season seven of "Buffy," Faith's motivations are less about saving the world and more about having a monster to fight. She doesn't perceive herself as good and neither do the other characters (a tense confrontation with Dawn draws attention to this) and, when at odds with Buffy, Buffy's morality wins out as always.

Ben Hawkins of "Carnivale," who has been so twisted by those who surround him that he no longer possesses an accurate sense of what is right and wrong, and thus relies mostly on what's least likely to get him probably killed (or just what he's stubbornly attached to at the moment, such as the insistence on his mother's burial in the pilot) is an anti-heroine in that sense. The world has broken him, despite his wondrous gift, and he refuses to accept his destiny when confronted with it. Instead, only once it's pushed onto him, by his father, his mentor, and the mastermind of the entire plan, does Hawkins begin to accept what he must do. And, ultimately, it is not the desire to do good that leads him to action but the desire to save a woman he loves (as much as he's capable of love) from herself and to draw revenge on the evil that's been plaguing him -- metaphysically -- at every step since this journey began.

The reason Ben Hawkins is an anti-heroine and not an anti-hero, however, is because we're given glimpses of the qualities he was once and would still be capable of if not for what the world -- and his mother -- had done to him. His purity of body and spirit, especially in a world as casual about sex as the one he's surrounded by; his willingness towards self-sacrifice in the way he attempts to kill himself to save Ruthie; and the way he was once nurturing, especially in the scene of his childhood where he resurrects a dead kitten only to have his mother drown it, are all qualities a heroine, not a hero, possesses. If not for the fact he'd come so twisted by what people did to those qualities, he would be a heroine (even his skill lies in healing).

And that's most of what I have to say, though I have some final thoughts on pairing two or more of these narrative functions together. For example, the pairing of Hero and Anti-Heroine in "Firefly" with Mal Reynolds and River Tam. Or, for an example I'd like to talk about, the pairing of Hero and Anti-Hero in "Supernatural."

This example has a particular significance because of two things: (1) who the roles are assigned to within the show and (2) how close the character's actions are to each other, so much so that it comes down primarily to motivation. In "Supernatural," a tale of two brothers fighting supernatural forces that maim or kill, there is one brother who is something of a slut, who causes trouble and drinks too much, who is perfectly okay with lying or stealing with survive and continue on with his mission; and then there's the moral brother. However, it's the moral brother, Sam Winchester, who's the anti-hero because of what their motivations are.

While on the surface Dean's actions are more devious and deviant, he only does these things (well, okay, except the sleeping around thing and even then Dean's established as desiring the chance to settle down and taking the multiple women as a second best) in order to be able to continue the mission. And he does the mission to save people, to destroy evil, to make the world a better place. He considers it his duty to do these things because it's, in his view, the only thing he's good for. That and protecting his brother, which he may or may not be able to do anymore.

On the other hand, the more morally adept brother, Sam, does not see it as a duty, or a mission, or the right thing to do. He is on this road, like his father was before him, for revenge. He wants revenge for the death of his girlfriend, for the demise of his safety, for the man his father become and the sacrifice of his childhood, and for the fact that the evil singled out him to take part. He wants it dead and gone because he wants to survive and be safe from other things and from what he could become. When he does single out someone to save it's almost certainly someone with an emotional, personal connection to him and not merely someone innocent (as Dean seeks to protect).

The difference between Dean and Sam then is motivation, and the Supernatural writers do a job of making that distinction clear. In a way, this makes both of the characters more effective in their narrative functions. Like the villian and hero offset each other, the hero and anti-hero (or anti-hero and heroine, or hero and anti-heroine, etc) compliment each other and bring each other's strongest qualities to the forefront. I think that in part, if both brothers were heroes in narrative function, Supernatural wouldn't work as a two-person cast. As is, it does.

And now I've finally come to an end of this very, very long piece of observation. I hope those of you who made it to the end found it interesting and if you'd like to discuss it further comments are open, as always. I'd be interested in knowing, well, how people see the subject and the characters and, etc. There are other examples on television, I'm sure, who I didn't reference, but don't let that stop you from bringing them up. For now, I'm going to go do something I'll actually get graded for and then go to bed. Sweet thoughts everyone.

[Notice: The above has spoilers through the CW's Supernatural; HBO's Carnivale; Fox's Firefly/Serenity the movie; the current U.S. airing of NBC's Heroes; WB/UPN's Buffy the Vampire Slayer; SciFi's Battlestar Galactica (2003); CW's Veronica Mars; and with references to SciFi's Stargate: SG-1 and WB's Charmed. Click at your own risk.]

- Andrea.