#narrative analysis

[the-faustian-locust]

I think the reason Eva Stratt is such a refreshing character is because, for once in a blue moon, the male writers and directors didn't put her suffering on display in gruesome detail. We get her torn expression when Grace runs and a tattoo informing the audience that she went to or was sentenced to prison and it works perfectly!

[iteratorsex]

Rain World is a game about appreciating the little things as they come and go. The connections you make with the scavengers, that one time a vulture ate a predator that would've killed you, the lizard you had to leave behind in another region

It's about the little kindnesses creatures who are otherwise only thinking of themselves give to one another

When Five Pebbles gives you the mark and the k10, you can literally just spend as much time as you want having fun, finding pearls, looking at creatures, and just exploring the world before you can go to the Void Sea

There's a reason why the Shaded pearl's qualia was shit like "eating a tasty meal" and "watching dust on the windowsill", because it's the small things

And yet, you still have to learn to let go

The echoes are stuck here not because they appreciated the world, but because they cannot leave it behind

The Chimney Canopy echo cannot let go of how much the world has changed. The Shaded Citadel echo cannot let go of their precious memories and what it was like to live in a "flesh prison"

The world is constantly shifting and changing and you have to be able to accept that change and be effortless like the jellyfish, instead of tangling yourself up in your own mind

The world is vast and scary, and its easy to want to stay in the comfort of your own memories, thinking about how good it USED to be. Trying to find what is long gone

Survivor was separated as a pup, and even as a grown slugcat continues to reminisce and grieve up until they meet FP, and instead set on ascending and accepting that they will never find their family, and that's ok

[possiblyaspara]

Deltarune's Susie: The Spinner of Narratives

Hello again!

I’ve been meaning to round out the more central character-focused Deltarune essays for a little while, but honestly, Susie was paradoxically the hardest to write about. Perhaps because, at least compared to Kris and Ralsei, she’s simpler, and compared to Noelle, I don’t think she suffers from being in a narrative catch-22 that I can discuss at length. However, she certainly does suffer from similar issues to the other three when it comes to fandom perception, and in a very different way. Kris suffered from us vs. them mentalities and the inability to recognize them as a POV character; Ralsei suffered from a lack of analysis into the veracity of his statements and what he’s been hiding; Noelle suffered from a frankly shocking amount of babying by fans and/or replacement theories that disregard those around her; but Susie suffers from a little thing called mythologization. Broadly speaking, Susie is by far Deltarune’s closest equivalent to a standard protagonist. Kris and us are sometimes on completely opposite teams, and Ralsei is mired in mystery, misinformation, and misdirection, but Susie? Susie’s MO is to walk into a situation with Occam’s Razor in hand with the will to use it as much as she wants. If she can make her way through something, she’ll do it as simply as possible, and Deltarune fans clearly favor this. Many players will even claim her as the game’s best-written character, or describe her as “the true protagonist” of the story. Simplicity, in the mind of the fandom, appears to be a good thing.

However, the concept of a character doing something simply is far divorced from narrative simplicity, and Susie happens to be a character that is really, really good at playing into narratives that convenience her simplistic approach, whether or not that’s straightforward or even morally good. One might be tricked into thinking Susie is breaking things down and being the most explicitly non-conformist by her appearances and speeches, but at times, she can attempt to conform just as much as Kris or Ralsei, perhaps even more so. And what constitutes action can depend heavily on frames of reference. Let’s talk about it.

1. The Bully and The Broken Toy Nobody Wanted: The Bad Narratives

The part of Chapter 1’s story before the arrival at Castle Town establishes several crucial things about Susie. She is a bully that everyone in the class (sans Noelle) really dislikes, and is no stranger to abusing Kris with no prompting aside from what she herself offers. In the hall outside the classroom, she takes broad offense at Kris’s presence, and makes up excuses to lash out at them. She firmly asserts that she doesn’t really have agency in the most famous (and most misunderstood) single sentence in the game: “Your choices don’t matter.” People compare this to Flowey’s line from the start of Undertale, but unlike the soulless creature who has been numbed by his circumstances, Susie’s assertion is unsteady even in her own mind. Look no further than the moment Lancer attacks her and Kris atop the cliffs. Susie doesn’t simply run off, or use Kris as a shield as she jokingly does with Ralsei later in Tenna’s game; she simply yells out at Kris to run. You could read this as being in line with her statement about not wanting to make Toriel sad, but we see time and time again later that she is genuinely concerned, even if it only comes out of her in the heat of the moment. 

The rest of Chapter 1’s Dark World segment paints a similar picture. Time and again, Susie ignores warnings, ignores what people say, and defaults to hitting things hard enough to make them an inconvenience. Her teaming up with Lancer puts this behavior on hold for a while, but it’s still her default, because it’s what she knows. Any attempts to claim that something else is happening are met with outright rejection by Susie, typically made by Ralsei’s naive attempts to sway her to goodness, and it seems this pattern will hold true when Lancer betrays her. Once again, however, her concern wins out, and her decision to not kill Lancer and agree to not kill King is a blank acknowledgement of the error of her ways. Her arc here is quite simple, and if you progressed from this point to the end of the chapter in a straight line, you’d think you have a good understanding of her. The bully with a soft heart who learns to show it.

But, once you leave the Dark World and go talk to her classmates, a shockingly different picture is painted before us. Susie wasn’t a bully like everyone claimed she was, except towards Kris in specific. MK and Snowy hate her for the most innocuous of interactions, where their lack of attempts to understand her make them believe she’s bad. Berdly talks bad about her, but we don’t get any substance as to what she did to him in particular. He simply expresses shock that Kris is okay. Jockington expresses a similar distaste. Temmie is mad because Susie told her that hardboiled eggs can’t hatch. Catti hates her guts for… some reason that never gets explained. Susie tries to give an answer in Chapter 2, but we’ll get there soon. All of these reasons to dislike her are incredibly stupid and close-minded, but what matters is what Susie took away from it. Her behavior for the first two-thirds of the chapter is recontextualized to be the new girl lashing out at those around her for not being accepted and buying into their lack of acceptance by abiding by her base impulses. Susie isn’t the class bully, she’s just Kris’s bully, but because the world around her paints her as the former, she acts accordingly, and propagates the same narrative by behaving worse. Her attacking all of the Darkners of Card Kingdom is proof of how deep-set this false bully narrative is.

The bully narrative isn’t the only time Susie makes false judgements based on the opinions of those around her and acts accordingly. In Chapter 3, we get an insight into why she acts this way: after a long childhood of ostracization, friendlessness, and a lack of a fixed home, she had grown closed off and isolated, and lashed out to match it. This is, simply put, conformity; she was assigned the role of “the bad girl,” the “toy” to be used and discarded by fickle or cruel peers, and, knowing little else, went along with it. Note that I say “little” and not “nothing,” for Susie was given several signposts. Not just Toriel’s kindness, but Susie explicitly mentions that she could make friends, and had done so before. The ostracizations were more common, the move in homes too frequent, and so it became more comfortable to assume that ostracization and distance would be the norm than seeking a better outlook, because the better outlook appeared futile.  To clarify, none of these choices Susie makes are something she should be blamed for; it’s reasonable, relatable even, for a person to give themself to loneliness after being burned one too many times. The point of the matter is that Susie had chances to be different, to reject the narrative that she was bad, that she was unwanted, unlovable, but did not, and let herself propagate it instead. It’s so deep-set in her that she still feels extreme guilt over her actions in the past and believes that she was fundamentally bad, even though she wasn’t. She was empathetic to Toriel, really not that mean to most of her peers, and behind her bluster concerned for the health of others. Her rationalizing not tearing Kris apart as “not wanting to upset Toriel” is simply what she thought her reasoning was, while the truth was so much simpler, so much more good-hearted. It’s pretty sad watching her self-deprecate over it to the extent she does, even when she offers moments where she did do things that weren’t good, such as the story about smashing the public piano. Even now, she believes that the bad narratives were the truth from which she is breaking away, and when failing like she does when trying to heal Kris, she backslides into this narrative. She has yet to cast off its shackles.

2. The Hero and The Good Kind Of Scary: The Good Narratives

One might be tricked into thinking by the game that Susie’s turn to good is the outright breaking of the above-discussed “bad narratives” of her life. It’s no doubt she’s changed, tremendously so; Lancer, Kris, Ralsei, numerous Darkners, Noelle, even Berdly to an extent, they’ve all helped her grow and change, but there are more narratives to her existence than the one she’s internalized so deeply she can’t imagine it being false, though her present actions don’t follow it. Her life in the present follows other narratives, and these ones, while much better for her self-image, are perhaps just as dangerous, and more insidious. I identify two narratives placed upon her that deserve this title. First, the narrative as prescribed to her by several parts of the story, most notably the Prophecy, as a “Hero.” Second, as described by Noelle, the girl who is “the good kind of scary,” or “the girl who doesn’t care about anyone.” 

Susie the Hero is a very interesting narrative to tackle because, in contrast to the Broken Toy narrative, the Hero narrative takes up much of her screentime as she is in the present. It begins in the fight against King, where Susie takes the action to save Kris from a devastating attack, revealing her eyes in a moment that symbolizes her character growth thus far. In that moment, she becomes the hero of the party, saving Kris and Ralsei’s lives, whether it be in tandem with Lancer’s timely arrival in a pacifist playthrough, or buying time for Ralsei to use Pacify in a violent playthrough. This serves two effects: for one, it makes the truth of the bully narrative feel all the more hollow because we know more about Susie’s potential goodness, and for another, it sets up how Susie will approach this story going forward. Chapter 2’s main plot is, frankly, all about Noelle, but the way in which Susie responds is very interesting. Noelle is framed by Queen as the damsel in distress who gets kidnapped a comedically large amount of times, and Susie jumps right in to fill the trope, becoming the hero meant to save the damsel in distress. Every time Noelle is captured, Susie is the one jumping in to challenge Queen’s authority, playing right into the setup Queen has made to make Noelle happy. Susie isn’t uppity and about this narrative in the way Berdly is—who directly namedrops it, in case you hadn’t noticed—who dismisses Noelle as just the damsel in distress, but her repeated motivation of “we’re here to save Noelle!” still means she’s playing along. Once again, here it’s not necessarily a bad thing; she’s getting to have a fun adventure with her friends, she’s getting to connect with a girl she’s interested in and who has the biggest, gayest crush on her, but it’s important to acknowledge what she is implicitly doing here.

It doesn’t stop in that Dark World, either. Susie dismisses the thought of telling Noelle and Berdly the truth after lying to the former in the dream because, as she reasons, it would put others at risk when the world is in danger, and it’s her responsibility to save others. It’s heroic in the most basic sense, but it might not be very good, per se. Berdly has changed as a result of the events of Cyber World, but tries his best to not acknowledge it when he couldn’t turn his face away if he knew it was real. Susie seems disappointed that her heroism comes at the cost of getting to know Noelle better (We’ll come back to what’s going on more with that in a bit). No matter what, though, this choice of Susie’s does look a bit dubious in even generous interpretations when you think more about it. Noelle wants to heal Rudy in the way she could heal Kris in battle, with just a little spell, and being denied knowledge means being denied a chance to help her from potentially losing another family member. If you did a violent route, Berdly’s arm got badly burned in the fight against Queen, and that arm will remain paralyzed in the Light World. If he could go back, maybe his arm could be healed. The decision to adhere to the numbers of heroism’s looking a little iffy.

Chapter 4 is where things get really noticeable, however. Face to face with the text of the real Prophecy, not even the version Ralsei had given which she at first dismissed then welcomed, she finally feels included. The Prophecy, this immutable fact of the world, assures her that she has a place, that her good values exist and matter, that she will do something great, that she will prove herself to be a better person. It’s a relief from her doubts, proof that her new hero mentality is good, that she is good. In the Second Sanctuary, she practically spells out that this is the antidote to her poor self-esteem. But if you look closer, there are similar issues with the bad narrative. Breaking the Prophecy is portrayed as futile in just the same way as she had once believed escaping isolation was futile, and for the whole chapter, Susie doesn’t grasp the dangers of the Prophecy. She doesn’t break any of the panels intentionally until the very end, and that only occurs after she misunderstands the significance of Ralsei’s warning to not go ahead of him. Her attachment to the idea of heroism blinds her to its significance, and the bloody hand scene is the moment it finally sets in to her that the hero narrative she spent the past few chapters upholding was not an inherent good. She merely attached herself to the hero narrative because it provided so many goods to her that it became convenient for her to follow it. The bit with the puzzle before Jackenstein directly spells out how much she enjoys the convenience. 

What’s going on with Noelle should not go unaddressed, either. On the Ferris Wheel, we get to see what attaches Susie to Noelle, and what in return makes Noelle affectionate towards Susie. For the latter, there is an important stake here: what Noelle says is, in essence, a guideline for her to have external affection. The bad narrative of the bully is transformed into the good narrative of the scary girl, and hence made something good for Susie to follow. To be clear, this isn’t encouragement for Susie to go back to bullying Kris; neither she nor Noelle like the fact that Susie did that, but Noelle finds comfort in the idea of being treated in a similar way provided that she be cared for after the fact. In short, Susie is being offered a way to recontextualize parts of her badness into something good, something she can use to feel good about herself and provide comfort to someone she likes. Isn’t that a good thing? Yes and no. That aspect of their relationship by itself is generally good for them, but things get complicated by the existence of this same narrative. Susie showing her complete self might, in her eyes, be a turn off to Noelle, for Susie only knows she’ll be given affection if she follows the narrative’s template. Knowing this, the lie she tells Noelle isn’t just a heroic act, but an attempt to preserve this source of affection without risking rejection. It also plays into the narrative everyone sets up around Noelle as someone to be protected from harsh truths or pain, which is itself a whole can of worms. This isn’t the end of their dynamic, which we’ll get to discussing in the next section, but it’s very important to acknowledge exactly how many narratives are being preserved in this dynamic. They appear good to Susie, but looking at whether they are good for both of them in truth, the results look a bit grim.

3. Who Susie Actually Is: Beyond Narrative

Of course, Susie does more than take part in narratives. She sets up and propagates the narratives of her life, following ones that are physically or emotionally convenient, but she isn’t a slave to these narratives. She exerts a great deal of agency many times throughout the story, and many of her best moments arise from when she isn’t acting in accordance with any narrative. Her development at the end of Chapter 1 is not, as discussed above, a breaking of the bad narrative, but the realization that she can do more than strictly adhere to it. Her character dynamics become extremely tangible and interesting the moment she strays a bit from the perceived narrowness of these narratives, though she doesn’t break them. Her and Kris go from bully and victim to straight-up best friends the moment they confirm that her growth in Card Kingdom was more than a dream (which, in hindsight, makes her decision to conform to narratives and hide the truth from Noelle and Berdly more frustrating; imagine what they could achieve knowing the truth about how they all feel!); her and Lancer connect very, very quickly over the idea that being “bad” doesn’t necessitate loneliness; her and Ralsei bond extremely quickly and intensely once they leave behind the “bad guy” and “good guy” narratives respectively.

To digress for a moment, her and Ralsei’s bond is a perfect example of how important it is for Susie to look past the narratives around her. In Chapter 3, her desire to follow the hero’s role and go off to seal the fountain meets an obstacle in the form of Ralsei’s desire to slow down and enjoy his time with her and Kris. Ralsei asks to take part because of his clearly sharp pain at not being able to accompany the two of them to events like the Festival, life events that will supposedly stick in their heads for a long time to come, defining their relationships going forward. Following the hero’s role would dictate that Susie move on and seal the Fountain before other people, most notably Toriel, risk getting involved, but Susie doesn’t do that. Susie does what she does best: be a good and caring person who looks after those around her. She sticks around to help Ralsei enjoy himself, and both of them reap the benefits. This is Susie the Good Friend in action, the narrative Susie does get to spin for herself. She doesn’t take part in something that tries to define her externally. She doesn’t follow it for convenience. She acts in a way that fits who she is as a person, and the narrative thread comes after.

This special narrative, the one Susie has created, is what lets us see her for who she truly is, when she doesn’t give into her flaws, doesn’t accept external ideas as truths, doesn’t try to cut through matters. This is the ennobling power that lets her know people and others know her. This is what she gets to exercise with Lancer in Chapter 1, what she gets to exercise with Kris all the time starting in Chapter 2, what she exercises with Ralsei even when we aren’t around to see, and what she’s starting to try to do towards Noelle, too, even if she’s hesitant at the time. Just look at what the other three have shown her: that she is a person who can get along with others, trust others, look out for others, and learn more about herself from others. The Susie who gives into her flaws and hides behind the narratives she latches onto for convenience wouldn’t befriend Lancer, wouldn’t move past her guilt to connect with Kris, wouldn’t discover parts of herself she didn’t know existed with Ralsei. The end of Chapter 4 is an all-time low for her: her perceptions of the “good narratives” of her life have shattered or are crumbling down around her, many of the connections she holds close risking fracture at the seams, but she doesn’t give in. She is at her lowest point, but she is not alone, and she is thus open to greatest change.

Thank you for reading.

[holyschnitzel]

Calling this a “bait” twice and responding to it in detail is contradictory on your part.

Tags are a tool and do not negate the way the topic is presented. They give only a choice — but do not remove the question of artistic approach and its content.

Many forms of violence are also based on power asymmetry and lack of consent, yet somehow they are allowed to be aestheticized. If everything is reduced to subjectivity, the very possibility of analyzing art disappears.

If romanticization is always subjective, why do you recognize an objective framework in the case of incest, but refuse to do so in the case of violence? You don’t notice, but violence is also exploitative, regardless of context.

Arguments are reduced to long-standing interpretations that have no relation to the personal issues of real people and the freedom of art. We are talking specifically about the context of an artist presenting violence now, not in the past. You do not notice one important thing — presentation is also exploitative. The presentation of violence also has an aesthetic side.

Calling this censorship is still a sophism, or labeling others as oppressed. Art is subject to audience interpretation and cannot be exclusively accepted.

This is a hint to reconsider the presentation, not a direct ban on drawing it. But if everything for you comes down to oppression or censorship, it seems everything needs to be spoon-fed, since you lump such questions into one category without considering that you might be mistaken in your own words.

The dialogue sounds one-sided, as if everyone must remain in their opinion, not in a conversation for mutual compromise. If there is no compromise, one side can always control the other.

Again — when there is a request to “romanticize less” — it is not a direct ban on everything a person does. You exaggerated this to colossal proportions, attributing moral panic and directives, as if it were a mass call to censor someone. Calling this moral panic is also incorrect on your part. It devalues others’ moral frameworks.

Calling the same things by different names does not make them automatically separated concepts — it is the same category related to morality and taboo and will always be considered by the audience and its presentation.

You do not put violence in one category, but you put people in the category of moral panic just because of a request to smooth the edges slightly, not to fall into an extreme.

We are not enemies just because of different views — that breeds conflict, which in our case is unacceptable. Do not see this as a ban on everything a person does. A person’s work, even after a request, does not attempt to devalue the author’s vision. It is still valuable regardless of the “moral panic.” Everyone is valuable in their own way.

Here is a metaphor:A person who drinks alcohol — someone asks them to drink less, but they feel their freedom is being restricted, not just a request. Nobody tried to take anything away from them; they were only asked to take a break. Yet they couldn’t grasp that they weren’t being controlled or ordered, only asked.

Yet, try to look at life not only from the perspective of some people. Not for yourself or for others. For Harmony.

There is one side for freedom of expression and another for moral restriction. Complete freedom guarantees chaos. Complete restriction brings boredom and uniformity. But there is a third — when there is freedom, but also constraints.

People’s freedom and morality shouldn’t cancel each other out, but should work together.

This is Harmony.

Merry Christmas 🎄

I’m going to stop this here, because we’re no longer discussing art, we’re discussing whether artists owe strangers “compromise” over their creative choices. and my answer to that is simply no.

you keep insisting this is not censorship because it’s “only a request.” but a request made through moral framing, invoking victims, and routed through third parties is pressure. social pressure does not stop being pressure because it’s polite or philosophical. calling it “harmony” doesn’t change the dynamic, it just softens the language.

you’re also conflating two different things: analysis and obligation. of course art can be analyzed. of course presentation matters. of course violence can be exploitative. none of that creates a duty for an artist to adjust their work because someone else is uncomfortable with how it looks or feels. interpretation does not entitle intervention.

the reason incest and violence are treated differently in discourse is not because one is “objectively allowed” and the other is not, it’s because incest requires the denial of structural harm to function as romance, while violence does not require denial to be depicted. that distinction exists whether you like it or not. acknowledging that is not reducing art to subjectivity; it’s recognizing that different taboos operate differently.

what I reject explicitly is the idea that artists must “smooth the edges” of their work to maintain moral harmony with an audience. that’s not balance. that’s respectability politics. and we are not interested in curating our spaces around the lowest level of shared comfort.

your alcohol metaphor fails for the same reason: you are not a friend expressing concern about harm. you are a stranger asking for behavioral change in someone else’s creative life, framed as benevolence. those are not equivalent situations.

I don’t see this as enemies versus allies. I see it as incompatible values. I do not believe in negotiated limits on fictional expression imposed by audience morality. you believe art should adapt to ethical discomfort. that’s fine, but it also means our blogs are not for you.

this is not about chaos versus order, or freedom versus morality. it’s about boundaries. mine is simple: I do not mediate, soften, or redirect artists’ work on behalf of others’ sensibilities. if that disrupts your idea of harmony, then we are talking about different things, and that’s where the conversation ends :)

Merry Christmas to you too 🎄

[th3p0rtalmaker]

Prowl's Death in TFA Doesn't Actually Make Sense

A fun persuasive essay by me, Portal Maker! ☺️

Thesis Statement:

I have pondered the evidence, and I believe it would've made more sense narratively for Prowl to have somehow survived giving up his spark in the TFA S3 finale.

Exhibit A: He said 'risk' his chassis, not 'sacrifice' his chassis.

  In S3:E6 of TFA (Five Servos of Doom), we see a flashback where Prowl says to Yoketron, "Why should I risk my chassis for anyone? Nobody ever risked their chassis for me!"

  'Risk' and 'sacrifice' are two different words with very distinct meanings. Prowl risked his chassis for others constantly during the course of the show: fighting the Decepticons and the human villains; rescuing the Dinobots; protecting Bumblebee and Sari from the space barnacles, etc. And the other members of Team Prime put their own chassis at risk for Prowl's sake during the show as well. The most notable example is probably when Bulkhead helped him rescue the Dinobots and agreed to keep it a secret from everyone in S1:E6 (Blast from the Past). When Prowl sacrificed his spark in order to accumulate and contain all the broken shards of the Allspark itself (S3:E13), he didn't just put himself at risk - he sacrificed his very life.

Exhibit B: Yoketron's First Lesson

  The first lesson Yoketron ever taught Prowl was about the rewards that come with opening oneself up to new relationships - an inherently risky act. In the same flashback from S3:E6, Yoketron replies:

"Keeping you out of the Stockade, I am risking something for you. But if you are willing to learn, that risk could be very rewarding."

  This lesson definitely applies to Prowl's personal character flaws, as well as his implied past experiences. Yoketron understood that Prowl's selfish outlook stemmed from an utter lack of healthy, caring relationships with other bots. He was also willing to put himself at risk for the chance to mentor Prowl, and help him grow into his full potential. Throughout the episode, we see more flashbacks that indicate how caring and trustworthy Yoketron was as Prowl's master. And near the end of his training, he declared that Prowl could become his greatest student, as long as he mastered the advanced technique of processor-over-matter.

  We don't know the exact level of risk Yoketron accepted when he took Prowl in. But it was never treated as though he had put his own life in danger. And in the end, both of them reaped valuable rewards as a result of their relationship.

Exhibit C: Prowl achieved his 'character want' and his 'character need' before death was even on the table.

  In the art of storytelling, a single character often has two goals - one they pursue consciously (their 'want'), and one they pursue unconsciously (their 'need'). In Transformers: Animated, Prowl's 'want' is his goal to master the technique of processor-over-matter, while his 'need' is to achieve a sense of belonging with other bots. Mastering processor-over-matter is the final step necessary to complete his training, and officially take his place among the Cyberninja Corps. But Prowl is unable to achieve his 'want' goal until after he achieves his 'need' goal. He finds the sense of belonging and community that he's so desperate for as a member of the repair crew led by Optimus Prime. He also gets much needed closure about his past when he finally discovers who murdered Yoketron. Only then is he able to commune with the Allspark and unlock the full power of processor-over-matter.

  And he achieves both of these goals before facing the problem of protecting Detroit from the self-destructing Omega clones in S3:E13 (Endgame - Part 2).

So what about Yoketron's final lesson?

  The spirit of Yoketron's final lesson doesn't actually apply to the context of Prowl's death. 

  Just before he died in Five Servos of Doom, Yoketron gave Prowl a profound piece of advice that did apply to his doomed (and arguably selfish) attempt to save his master's life:

"You must not sacrifice a piece of the future to bring back the past."

  Prowl's past (what we know of it) was resolved when he achieved both his 'want' and 'need' goals. There were no pieces left to be mis-prioritized over the future that he was finally free to explore. So when Prowl gave up his spark to protect Detroit, he didn't sacrifice the past to preserve the future, as Yoketron advised. He actually sacrificed his own future for the collective futures of his loved ones and the universe. Which, I would argue, is a step beyond Yoketron's final lesson.

In Conclusion: Prowl's Death was an overreach.

  Did Prowl's death highlight his development from a selfish, traumatized victim to a sacrificial, loving hero? Absolutely. Was it necessary to complete his character arc? Absolutely not. Prowl's character arc centered on his aversion to risk and vulnerability, and how that aversion prevented him from achieving his goals. And he completed that arc before he was thrust into a situation where sacrificing himself was a viable option to save the day. Despite it being an in-character move for Prowl at that point in the story, his death was not a necessary or valid way to complete his personal arc. Therefore it doesn't fully make sense as a narrative tool. 

[cloudseeker7]

Rhysand: Morally Grey, Morally Perfect, and Somehow Both

I think one big reason Rhysand is so controversial is that SJM tried to make him too many narrative archetypes at once.

1. Morally grey

Rhysand is framed as morally grey because he repeatedly commits immoral acts for a “greater good” (usually the protection of Velaris). He wears a fearsome mask for centuries to deter other courts. He commits crimes Under the Mountain to maintain that cover. He steals from Tarquin—who offered him genuine friendship—to keep the Hybern from using the Cauldron.

On paper, that is morally grey. And it’s fine—interesting, even—to like a character who makes unethical choices.

Except—

2. Morally perfect

Within the narrative, Rhysand is never allowed to be wrong.

None of his morally questionable actions receive lasting backlash. After centuries of cultivating an image as the most feared High Lord in Prythian—an image he deliberately created—most characters accept his explanation of “actually I was good the whole time” with minimal resistance.

The one crime he’s truly accused of (killing the Winter Court children) turns out to be the one thing he didn’t do. Everything else goes largely unchallenged. Tarquin forgives him after a long speech. Characters who don’t immediately trust Rhys—despite having every in-universe reason not to—are framed as irredeemable villains (cough*Tamlin* cough*Beron*).

We’re told Rhys has flaws, but the story consistently insists he’s right. The “good” characters side with him; anyone who doesn’t is condemned. That dissonance is what feels hypocritical to many readers.

3. The underdog

Rhysand is also written as an underdog. He’s half-Illyrian in a High Fae–dominated society. He opposes sexist traditions. He wants to reform Illyrian culture but is supposedly powerless against entrenched warlords. He had to wear the mask, we’re told, because otherwise his court would be destroyed.

He’s framed as trapped by circumstances larger than himself.

4. The most powerful High Lord ever

And yet—simultaneously—we’re told Rhysand is the most powerful High Lord in history. Capable of mind-controlling other High Lords. Nearly unmatched in raw magical power. On top of that, his Inner Circle is repeatedly framed as being powerful on the level of other High Lords themselves, turning his court into a concentration of power that rivals entire courts on its own.

At that point, the underdog narrative starts to crack.

If he’s that powerful, why was the mask necessary for centuries? Why can’t he dismantle toxic Illyrian traditions? Why is he perpetually constrained when the text insists he could dominate everyone in the room if he wanted to?

Conclusion: Rhysand is controversial because SJM wanted him to fulfill every popular archetype—all at the same time.

[siderealcity]

So, one of the things I love about Dawntrail is the way the four competitors are introduced and framed.

Spoilers ahead.

We meet Wuk Lamat first. She's the reason we're here. But we'll come back to her.

So then, Zoraal Ja. He doesn't speak a single word throughout his first appearance. Even when approached, the first, and only, thing he does is tell his lackey to talk for him.

Look at what Erenville says about him when he exits the palace to the cheering of the crowd:

Erenville: Zoraal Ja. The First Promise and commander of the Landsguard. Sareel Ja, the palace seer. As he was so careful to remind the crowd, Zoraal Ja is indeed the natural child of Gulool Ja Ja. Alphinaud: And “Resilient Son”? Is that another title, like the First Promise? Erenville: After a fashion. Common knowledge has it that two-headed Mamool Ja cannot sire children… Yet Zoraal Ja was born all the same, with the Head of Resolve's features and the Head of Reason's scales─an extraordinary example of life's unyielding resilience. Alisaie: And a warrior's reticence. He says little, but the way he moves… I know a hardened soldier when I see one. Erenville: He's a natural swordsman─a gift he inherited from his father. Some even say that the son has already surpassed the sire. Should he come to power, the First Promise means to employ that martial prowess in the conquest of foreign lands. For this, he and his supporters have been labeled expansionists. This puts him in direct opposition to Wuk Lamat, who advocates for the preservation of peace. You may recall that she spoke of a claimant who “cannot be allowed to rule.” That is Zoraal Ja─the warmonger.

Zoraal Ja is clearly framed as the favorite by all of Tural to win the contest, but look at how Erenville describes him. Every compliment is instantly returned to his father. He's the Resilient Son, whose impossible birth was a miracle only Gulool Ja Ja could have managed. Look, see how much he resembles both his fathers. His sword skills are great--he inherited them from his father.

He resents his siblings because they, being adopted, are granted nothing by nature. Everything they get from their father is learned. Not innate. Koana's studies and Wuk Lamat's people skills are theirs. He doesn't see Bakool Ja Ja as a threat because they're too similar. All that makes both of them special came from their parents. But Koana, he sees as a threat or a useful tool. Koana has been recognized for what he's done on his own.

He's the perfect example of the pressures of the first-born child, even though we never get the impression that his father puts any pressure on him at all. It's the public who puts the full weight of their expectations on him, purely for a quirk of birth. Everything's expected of him, but if he succeeds it's not because of him, but because he's his father's son. Which is maybe why he refuses to engage with the people at all.

That's… going to come back to haunt us all later.

Then there's Koana. When Bakool Ja Ja insults his older brother, whom he desperately does not want to win this contest, he immediately jumps to Zoraal Ja's defense. The supporters who approach him don't have anything to say about him at all, they just want cool stuff. Bring us trains and airships and magitek doodads! He escapes from them as awkwardly as humanly possible. And note how differently Erenville describes him:

Erenville: Here we have Koana, the Second Promise, who spent time as a pupil at Sharlayan's own Studium. Alisaie: Now that you mention it, I think I did see him in the halls once or twice. There was nothing to suggest he was Turali, much less from a royal family. Erenville: That was by design. He forewent his usual garb and took an Eorzean name to avoid attention. Alphinaud: So it was Koana who introduced the dirigibles. And the railway, too, given what we just heard…? Erenville: In furtherance of his goal: to enrich Tuliyollal with every bright notion he learned of in Sharlayan. He is the hope of those who prize innovation. As aloof as he may seem, Koana and Wuk Lamat actually get along rather well. They bicker and banter as only close siblings do.

He was a student at the Studium, but we don't hear of any other achievements there. No graduating with honors. No inventions of his own. His accomplishments are mostly… being a royal, and therefore in a position to get other people's ideas implemented in Tural. And he seems to feel that. He doesn't want to be noticed, doesn't want to be lauded, won't take the encouragement of his followers, and doesn't promise them anything because he doesn't feel like he can.

He is very much caught in the middle all the time.

Between his love for his brother, who doesn't love him back, and whom he knows can't be allowed to rule, and his sense of duty to his nation. Between his feelings of inadequacy and his fear of failure. Between Tural and Sharlayan. Between his beloved baby sister and the contest that makes them rivals. Between his ideals and reality.

Perfect middle child.

Then we get Bakool Ja Ja. The outsider.

We know from the Dawnservant's introduction of the rite that historically only two-headed mamool ja were allowed to rule. He is set up, then, as the symbol of the old order.

And the moment he steps outside, the crowd goes wild.

He isn't the Dawnservant's son, but he is, as far as most of those onlookers are concerned, the next Gulool Ja Ja. The person who reacts most negatively to his appearance and bravado, tellingly, is a boonewa. A member of one of the clans that actually makes blessed siblings. That's… that's going to be meaningful later. Unlike the two claimants who preceded him, nobody asks him for anything. His supporters don't support him because they think he can help them. They support him because of what he is.

Erenville's description of him is notably brief:

Erenville: The chosen of Mamook, Bakool Ja Ja. Winner of the recent martial tournament, and the only claimant not of the Dawn's Promise. His strength is undeniable, but…you see how he is. A few devoted Mamool Ja are his only supporters. Krile: What would he do with the throne should he win it? Erenville: His policies and so forth? I doubt he's thought much beyond winning the contest itself. But one thing seems certain: if he does become Dawnservant, he will see the Mamool Ja exalted as the ruling class, and all others forced into subservience.

And yet… he's not the one Wuk Lamat was afraid of winning. Which is somewhat prophetic foreshadowing, really. Bakool Ja Ja is the only claimant who has no thoughts of the future. He has to win this contest because he exists. That's it. That's all there is.

He has to win because blessed siblings always win. If they don't… then why should they even exist?

That's… yeah.

And finally, Wuk Lamat emerges from the palace. With her mom.

If it wasn't clear before that she's the baby of the family, the fact that she makes her grand public appearance as a contender for the throne with her nursemaid should be a clue.

We have, at the moment that Erenville asks if we're sure we really want to be part of this, so far seen her wander off distracted in Sharlayan, get panicked by a talking bird, eat her weight in barbequed monster, and get extremely seasick. The one thing we know she wants out of this contest is to stop Zoraal Ja from starting a war the second he takes the throne. She is doing this, not because she wants power or has a vision for Tural, but because she opposes a bad vision.

She is so much the underdog in this contest that most of the crowd left before she appeared, assuming the show was over, and what's remaining is standing within earshot gossipping about how pathetic she is compared to the others.

Wuk Lamat is constantly in someone else's shadow. Her father. Her elder brothers. That random guy who got in here somehow. Sphene, when we get to Alexandria. She's invisible, and she seems to feel like that's just how things work. Even the soldiers who meet us at the docks need to take a minute before they realize who she is.

Erenville doesn't say anything about her, though he has a few words about how her supporters are mostly the elderly who remember the war. (I would imagine that includes a lot of non-elderly shetona, too.) But he doesn't really have to talk her up. The Reigning King of Dry Understatement may have insisted back in Sharlayan that they are not friends, merely long-standing acquaintances, but when she asked him for advice about finding allies for the contest, he recommended a god-slayer. Talk about fixing the fight. Not just recommended, he dropped what he was doing and went back across the ocean to recruit them. He could have pointed her at the Students of Baldesion. He was working with them already. Instead, he came back to Sharlayan and asked the Students to go get WoL. A person he knows is capable of crossing the entire universe to avert the apocalypse and also, for some reason, stopping to catch stray marmots along the way. He really wants her win. He just won't quite say that out loud.

"As you just witnessed, Wuk Lamat has no great army of supporters. Not yet, at least." Oh, Erenville.