Apparently it’s my weekend for wordy meta: sorry. 🤷 This is what happens when I take a break from job #2 and rediscover the concept of free time, I guess: I reread craft books and analyze the crap out of my favorite stories. Maybe I should take up knitting?
Anyhoo.
Jeff Gerke proposed something in Plot vs. Character that has stuck with me since I first read it, which is that every protagonist has a primary inner hang-up they’re constantly tripping over on their way to their goals. This doesn’t have to be some earth-shattering thing, as long as it’s significant to the character. They don’t even have to be aware of it. (Often, I think, they’re not: they discover it somewhere between catalyst and climax—usually closer to the latter—after barking up at many perfectly innocent trees on their way to the truth.) Gerke called this the knot, which is a nicely catchy term.
Hardly an original thought, and it applies to a specific approach to story structure, but I think it’s useful not only for writing but for reading/watching fiction.
And yeah, it’s formulaic, as a lot of general writing advice tends to be…but in this case, I find the simplicity appealing. Advice on characterization can get insanely specific, and after incoherent mumble years of studying the art of storytelling in its written and theatrical forms, the firmest conclusion I’ve come to is that I don’t think it really needs to be. Pin the big character stuff down, shove ‘em into a story, and let the plot do the work of revealing the character’s essence: that’s what plots are for. Too much detail in the prep phase can be as limiting as too little.
Which may seem like an odd thing to say coming from a nerd who likes to outline her long-form fiction in Excel and then graph it to the major elements of the Plot Mountain, but, dammit (janet): discovery is as much fun in creation as it is in consumption.
Basically, what this-all speaks to is internal conflict.
Conflict in plot is another thing where there are doorstoppers of advice on the shelves and online, some of it tedious and some of it great, but what it pretty much boils down to is desire + opposition, yes? The external stuff—character vs. character, -vs. society, -vs. nature, etc.—drives action. The internal stuff—character vs. self—drives character development. It's not that simple, of course: they do interact. The action grinds away the outer layers of the character, revealing the essential self and forcing personal change. That change pushes the action forward as the character tries new avenues around/over/through the obstacles between them and their goals.
Conflicting values, blind spots, guilt, shame, shit coping mechanisms, obsessions, fears, heavy secrets…the internal conflict is always psychological, and unless it’s confronted, everything the character does to leap the hurdles of external opposition is likely to fail, or at least to resolve incompletely. They can face down all the dragons they want, but they won’t get out of their own way until they face themselves. This is Gerke’s Knot.
What I love about Hwang Si-mok as a character—okay, yes, one of the things I love—is that Lee Soo-yeon pulled quite the bait-and-switch on the audience with his internal conflict. The side-effects of his brain surgery create major conflict, so significant to character development and action that it justifies a prologue sequence to set it up and various moments of exposition in the first half of the season to establish the details. Look, all of this explanation says: here is his knot, his central conflict, given to you right from the first scene. How will he overcome this?
Except that’s not actually it.
It’s external, despite its physical location within his brain. It was done to him; whether by his choice or not, we don’t know. External forces can cause a knot, but by definition they aren’t internal conflict. This was gloriously clear by the time Si-mok faced his reflection in the interrogation room with Yoon Se-won to reject aloud the idea that his condition and the effects of its treatment made him inherently dangerous, something he’d carried and possibly believed all season, and presumably ever since he was a child. He was judging Yoon Se-won’s choices, yes: but he was also saying We are not the same, you and I. Your choices are not mine. This is not who I am.
This is why I love Lee Soo-yeon's writing. It's so smart.
This is also why I love complex characters so much: so many layers. Si-mok sheds several of his in season one, and each subtraction reveals new facets of his character: to the audience, to the other characters, and to himself. He achieves a more complete understanding of himself and brings that with him into the next season.
Has his true internal conflict been revealed? I don’t think so, which is one reason I am still, in the absence of any news confirming it, confident that a third season was at least planned. There have been some lovely, subtle hints at what that internal conflict is, and god knows my headcanon for it is locked and loaded, but the arc of character growth isn’t yet complete: he still has miles to go.
Fingers crossed we’ll get to learn about it in 2022.