The young wizard as Byronic antihero
Last week, I blogged about AI image generator MidJourney and discovered that AIs excel at replicating social archetypes that reoccur in pop culture. This week I'm going to be exploring one of those archetypes - the young wizard as Byronic antihero.
The motivation for this blogpost is to discuss the fantasy media I've been reading and watching lately. It all started with a visit to TV Tropes, which is an amazing website for genre writers that describes plot devices in pop culture, and lists some places in which they're found. It's a great resource to help writers identify (and possibly subvert or avoid) hackneyed ideas.
One trope I occasionally check is Tall, Dark and Snarky. I have a character in the rewrite of my teenage trunk novel who I'm certain is a complex archetype (he wasn't inspired by a real person) and have this fear that, one day, I'll read him in someone else's book.
I have seen fictional men with vague similarities to Tirim Kraygor multiple times now, mostly in young adult fiction (I was 14 when I wrote the original book). He is definitely a pop culture archetype of some kind. The archetype seems to be:
A morally-grey, sometimes outright villainous, young-looking man with wizard/sorcerous powers who, although not conventionally attractive, appeals to a portion of straight female fans due to his need for emotional healing.
Aka, the young wizard as Byronic antihero.
In this blogpost, I wanted to dig down into the history of this archetype, where I think it's come from, and why I think it exists. I will be referencing a bunch of stuff I've read/watch recently - just because it's cool, and interested me.
The Byronic Hero
The original inspirations for Tirim Kraygor (and he has a complex personality model) included many characters in fantasy and sci-fi books I read as a teen. It was the 90s and much of the fantasy I remember in bookstores was of the 80s Tolkien/Conan the Barbarian/Dungeons & Dragons rip-off variety.
You'd often have a team of characters on a quest, with the heroic blokes frequently being muscular, blond, and not especially intelligent. Female readers seemed to be expected to root for these men and find them appealing, despite their real-life equivalents often being jerky bullies who were not remotely attractive to a straight nerdy female teenager.
Sympathetic villains and ambiguously evil teammates, however, were a completely different matter. There was a tendency for well-written evildoers of this period to be creepy wizards. Often very smart and cultured, but underhand and conniving, they would devise sophisticated schemes, which the heroes could only defeat through heroic battles and the openness of their hearts.
Ambiguously evil teammates, meanwhile, would usually be the creepy wizard of the team. Arrogant and brooding with a troubled past, they would often be very clever to make up for being deformed or different in some way (see Evil Cripple and Genius Cripple). This was the 80s/90s, after all, and there was no better way to identify the baddie than with a limp, weird skin/eyes, and a speech impediment.
As a smart, geeky teenager, with an interest in clever guys, I started very quickly crushing on these fictional villains and antiheroes - rather than the designated good guys. I don't think I'm alone here. According to TV Tropes, I'm not the only person to have huge adolescent crush on brilliant sorcerer Raistlin Majere from the Dragonlance Sagas, despite him having, erm, hourglass-shaped eyes, a terrible cough... and being an arrogant know-it-all who turns villainous midway through the series.
There are multiple other examples, I'm sure, but the one I most clearly remember as a teenager was Ansaryon, the mysterious, bookish, social outcast sorcerer from Pamela Belle's Silver City (who turns out not to be evil - but, interestingly, despite being the romantic interest, only wins the plot once he stops being physically frail).
More recent examples include The Darkling from Shadow & Bone (who only looks young - he's over 100 years old) and, of course, Darth Emo (aka Kylo Ren) from the Star Wars Sequel trilogy - the science-fiction version of the exact same trope.
The Byronic Hero
Where did this character come from? Well, the roots probably lie in the Romantic or Byronic Hero archetype, described by historian and critic Lord Macaulay (on Wikipedia) as:
"a man proud, moody, cynical, with defiance on his brow, and misery in his heart, a scorner of his kind, implacable in revenge, yet capable of deep and strong affection".
I'm not a literary expert, so can't comment on the roots too much, but TV Tropes points out that early vampire fiction was inspired by Byron - with many vampires written to this archetype. It goes on to explain how the archetype is highly intelligent, passionate and intensely driven, and often compared to evil or supernatural forces.
It's obvious why this character type is so often portrayed as an evil wizard, especially in 80s/90s fantasy. Stereotypical magic users in Dungeons & Dragons rules of this period were physically weak, but highly intelligent, often relying on the study of written scrolls for their supernatural powers. Oft times they quested for forbidden knowledge, with a passion destructive to the plot and other characters.
Important to the Byronic archetype is that it's a Romantic archetype. Romantic (capitalised) means from the romantic period in history when the social order was upended by the French Revolution. But many famous novel romantic heroes (small letter), such as Mr Darcy in Pride & Prejudice, are Romantic heroes (capital letter), as well.
It's no surprise, therefore, that these characters, when they appear in fantasy, get shipped to all heck - even if they were never intended that way.
Tall, Dark... And Archetypical
Now, I started the blogpost with a mention of the TV Trope entry for Tall, Dark and Snarky. It all started a few weeks ago when I checked that entry, and found the following intriguing example:
Air Awakens: Aldrik, the silver-tongued prince. Tall, dark-haired and handsome in a bit eerie way, he is very intelligent and a very powerful sorcerer but he often treats people with contempt or hides compliments within insults (and insults within compliments).
And I was thinking 'is that Tirim Kraygor, sort of?' So, of course, I had to read Air Awakens Book 1, which - of course - featured a brooding, morally-ambiguous young sorcerer and romantic interest. Aldrik seemed uncannily similar to Tirim for about three pages - but, unsurprisingly, turned out to be an entirely different person.
I've read the five books in the series and would recommend them to any readers who enjoy heterosexual fantasy romance. One of the joys of this sub-genre seems to be that, in comparison with the Bridgeton novels (which I've also read), there are real perils keeping the lovers apart.
The Bridgeton Netflix series is amusing comedy of manners, but the original books run out of steam about 50% the way through. This is because they have non-peril perils, such as 'man doesn't want to marry and have kids because his father didn't like his stammer', which struggle to sustain an entire novel.
In contrast, Air Awakens has perils like 'man can't love woman with rare magical powers because his father wants to use her as a living weapon to win a continent-spanning war'. This is sufficient peril to sustain at least three books, and possibly four, with a fair amount of action sequences mixed into the love affair.
The five-book series was all kind-of trop-ey, but I loved the bit where Aldrik [spoilers] threw her out of the window breaking all her bones [/spoilers]. That was near the beginning of the first book and author Elise Kova STARTED THE ROMANCE FROM THERE. Total respect for her skill at dropping that plot twist while maintaining the reader's belief in the couple.
And, finally... onto Avatar
I like to read GoodRead reviews of books I've just read. After finishing Air Awakens, I was fascinated to see readers comparing it to Nickelodeon TV series Avatar: The Last Airbender, and comparing Aldrik to a character called Prince Zuko.
I had never seen the Avatar TV series, despite it being hugely influential and released in 2005. But, of course, I had to go look see if it also had a weirdly-attractive Byronic male wizard.
So, folks, here I am - chronically late to the Last Airbender party.
I'm not going to talk in detail about Byronic heroes here. Elisa Kova, author of Air Awakens, claims that she had not watched Avatar when she wrote and edited her book. Thing is, morally-ambiguous young male wizards with troubled pasts are SOOOO prevalent in fantasy that it's entirely possible she created her (physically badass) hot-tempered fire-mage prince entirely independent of Nickelodeon.
Anyway, let's say that Air Awakens reads like she wrote a five-book romantic fantasy series shipping a grown-up Prince Zuko. And, if so, I can't say I blame her...
The point is, Zuko is the Byronic archetype. Young male antihero with sorcerous powers, a random disfigurement, and a troubled past.
And some bonus politics...
What I found most interesting about Air Awakens and Avatar was the storytelling implications of having these morally-ambiguous characters. Avatar deals with this and Air Awakens doesn't and, to be frank, it would be impossible for me to comfortably re-read Air Awakens having watched Avatar.
Avatar is visibly influenced by the animated masterpieces of Hayao Miyazaki, who is among my favourite filmmakers. I first encountered Studio Ghibli's films by watched Spirited Away at an arthouse cinema in my twenties, and now rate Porco Rosso and Nausicaa of the Valley of the Wind as among my favourite films of all time.
The appeal to me of Studio Ghibli is Miyazaki's love for old planes, non-medieval fantasy settings, and the moral ambiguity he brings into his work. He rarely writes uncomplicated bad guys, or even baddies at all, but - rather - flawed people in complex situations.
Avatar: The Last Airbender copies the aesthetics of Studio Ghibli, and some of their tropes, but the joy for me was the moral ambiguity. It's a story (over three seasons) about the Avatar, who can manipulate all four elements - earth, air, fire and water. The job of the Avatar is to keep the world in balance, and he's reincarnated in each of four nations in turn.
The world-building is a little too convenient. The citizens of each nation - earth, air, fire and water - only have access to one magic, and immigration doesn't seem to happen, despite the obvious benefits of having air and water magic in the same city. More amusing (and I have this in my own teen novel), the citizens of each nation are dress-coded for your convenience, which must be SERIOUSLY inconvenient if you're living in the fire nation and red is not your colour.
That said, it's otherwise a great series. The last Avatar, Aang, is a young boy who has an accident while running away to escape his vast responsibilities. Frozen in ice for a century, he's defrosted by water mages, only to discover that the fire nation has - in his absence - gone on a rampage of world domination. Aang and his friends, obviously, have the task of stopping the Fire Lord and his navies/armies.
The cool bit of Avatar is that, although the Fire Lord is personally a total sh*t, the fire nation is politically complicated. In the first series, the main antagonist is the Fire Lord's exiled son, Zuko (remember him), who chases Aang and his friends around in an iron warship. In a typical kids' cartoon (or even a Marvel movie), Zuko would simply be horrible, but he's portrayed as a troubled young man desperate to capture the Avatar to regain his father's favour.
The fire nation is portrayed as the first elemental nation to industrialise, which prompts its people to use advanced military technology (plus magic) to invade everywhere in sight. The people are shown as heroes of their own stories, subject to fire nation propaganda and with a militaristic culture. In short, they're pretty realistic and the plotting is - also - powerfully morally ambiguous.
Characters like Zuko are shown making choices that are wholly bad, but entirely understandable given their history and motivations. It's very VERY watchable TV. Zuko's character arc is especially interesting. Over three seasons, he moves from largely villainous, to shouting at thunderstorms in a Byronicly brooding and conflicted fashion to - eventually - betraying his father and heel-face turning to Aang's side.
Air Awakens has a very similar setup to Avatar. There are four nations, creatively referred to as East, West, North and South** - each with a different element of magic. The Southern nation, ruled by the Solaris family, is in the middle of conquering ALL OF THE THINGS, and can only do this with the aid of an air sorcerer. The heroine of the book, Vhalla, is an air sorcerer. She is recruited by Aldrik, the Crown Prince, who is also a fire mage.
Vhalla and Aldrik fall in love and he comes into conflict with his evil emperor father, who barely sees her as human and wants to use her as a living weapon. Five books cover them falling in love, getting separated, fighting a war, getting married, and she becomes Empress at the end.
The problem with Air Awakens is that the politics, when you think about it for five minutes, are really dodgy. Vhalla is helping the fire nation (of that setting) colonise ALL OF THE THINGS because she is providing horizontal services to the not-Zuko character. And, although the romantic situation gets resolved, the author isn't especially interested in exactly how the politics sorts itself out after Aldrik becomes Emperor.
I mean, Vhalla has her happy ending, but everyone else on that entire continent is still under the iron fist of the Solaris family. And no amount of wedding and dress planning (seriously, why do people put pages of this rubbish in books) is going to take that away. Having watched the awful consequences of colonialism, militarism and genocide explored in Avatar, I just can't stomach the darkness propping up Vhalla's throne in a similar setting. The lack of moral exploration, or even proper moral acknowledgement, made me feel slightly sick.
It is, in short, a fun series - but, also, a character study of how Bashar Al-Assad (and fellow brutal dictators) stay married.
** NOTE: The nations do actually have fantasy names, but I had forgotten them. Going back to the book, I realise why, and it's political - and rather sad. Vhalla refers to other characters consistently as Westerners or having 'Southern pale skin' (I never worked out if the invaders were mostly white and the invaded were mostly brown. Aldrik himself is binational). This meant, although though the places have names, they never stuck with me. I ended up remembering them as the Compass-Point Nations, stripped of all identity other than their orientation to the 'imperial' capital.
The last book in this series simply doesn't solve this national self-determination issue. If crystal-corrupted zombies invaded Scotland, and the UK Conservative Party fought them off with magic, the Scottish National Party (SNP) would still want a referendum on Scottish Independence. Party leader Nicola Sturgeon wouldn't be, like 'Prime Minister Rishi Sunak, everyone was fighting with you to defeat the zombies, so now we're kinda cool with being part of the UK' (whether the people of Scotland would think differently is a question, but none of the compass-point nations are democracies).
Neither would Nicola Sturgeon be cool giving up Scottish nationalism just because Akshata Murty (Sunak's wife) was having a great time in bed. Because, again, politics doesn't work that way...