Intro to Common Narratives, Archetypes, and Tropes

There's an old saying - “There are no new stories.” All stories are created using the same building blocks. These blocks are common narratives, archetypes, and tropes, repeated over and over in modern literature, old fairy tales, legends, and myths. They can be put together in different ways to create something new, but the blocks themselves are a tale as old as time. I'm beginning a series of posts exploring some of these various literary tools, as well as their origins in our earliest stories. But first, let's take a closer look at some of them.

Some of these narratives appear in nearly everything. One of the best examples is a conflict between good and evil. Sometimes this can be a literal, massive battle – like Aragorn and his army facing off against Sauron in a last desperate stand. Other times this can be small. Many fables and tales use animals to present a lesson about right versus wrong. Lord of the Rings and Aesop's Fables may seem drastically different, but they rely upon the same narrative: making a choice between what is good/right, and what is evil/wrong. The vast majority of stories, both modern and ancient, rely upon this narrative in one form or another. It has made for some of the most popular stories of this time. The Rebels versus the Empire in Star Wars; the Battle of Hogwarts, where Harry and others fought against Voldemort and the Death Eaters; even zombie stories such as the Walking Dead, where the survivors fight against the dead, and others whose moral code differs from their own.

But that's a big narrative tool, and one that seems a little obvious. So let's take a look at some common archetypes in stories.

One of the most common archetypes in stories is that of the Magical Helper. There's usually two variations on this theme. The first is a human with abilities beyond the ordinary. In fairy tales, this is most often seen in the form of a fairy godmother showing up. In mythology, it can be Zeus revealing himself to his offspring, either directly or through another. I've recently started watching Grimm, and the Hispanic woman who helps Juliette understand the otherworldly side of things could fit into this category (or that of the Wise Woman, which I'll get into in a later post). The magical helper possesses abilities beyond the ordinary, and are more powerful than a regular mortal. They usually don't actually directly aid the protagonist in their quest. They can provide advice, armor/outfits, and maybe even an enchantment or two – but all they do is offer help, not solve things.

(Yes, I did just compare Zeus to a fairy godmother.)

The second type of Magical Helper is an archetype known as a Wise Animal. Ever wondered why every Disney princess has an adorable animal sidekick of some sort? It's not just a cutesy marketing tactic. Fairy tales are chock full of wise animals aiding the heroes. (Sometimes the helper is even a tree, oft times grown from a seed planted atop the grave of a loved one. Pocahontas, anyone?) Horses and birds are the most common, but there have been others.

The fairy tale of the Goose Girl depicts a magical talking horse, who aids his human even after her death. The Norse legend of Sigurd has the hero being helped by a bird. These animals usually only help the protagonists, being drawn to those who are good. They also usually don't speak to anyone other than the hero.

This archetype continues to be used in modern stories. Eragon and his dragon Saphira are one example. Disney movies are another – they tend to add Wise Animals to fairy tales that didn't originally have them. It's usually only the main character who has one. They're definitely cute, but they also serve to help the hero in their quest.

(Rajah and Maximus are my two favorites.  What about you guys?)

Moving along from archetypes, let's take a quick look at common tropes. Have you ever visited the website TV Tropes? They point out common elements used in various stories, ranging from television to graphic novels and more. Tropes can be major plot points or minor ones, but they're only considered a trope when they show up a lot. It's easy to lose yourself reading through the website, and I've always quite enjoyed it. You can look up a certain trope and see every example the article creators could think of in the expandable tabs beneath the description.

Well, certain tropes show up fairly often in fairy tales, myths, and modern stories alike. One common one is the Youngest Son trope. Heroes in a fairy tale tend to be the youngest son. A popular story element is to have the youngest son and his elder brothers set off on the same quest, but have only the youngest be triumphant. This can be seen in tales such as The White Cat. It's an underdog narrative of a sort, in which the individual who would never normally rise to greatness is able to do so. Being the youngest son in a fairy tale usually provides plot armor and weapons of some sort.

However, numbers are also important in this trope. It's good to be the youngest son, but it's better still to be the youngest of three sons. If a character in a story has two older brothers and sets off on an adventure, it's a pretty good bet he'll succeed. Want to really give him a boosted chance? Make him the seventh son. This theme is so popular that it's been made into a movie – The Seventh Son. Want super good odds for the kid? Make him the seventh son of a seventh son, as in the Septimus Heap book series. The more the odds would traditionally have been against the child making any sort of name for themselves, the greater their success shall be. This is an old, old trope, but remains prevalent in various stories. Daughters are almost always ignored in this. I say almost, because of Harry Potter. Ron Weasley was the sixth child of Arthur and Molly. He always wore hand me downs and wasn't expected to do any better than his older brothers, several of whom were quite successful. However, he became best friends with Harry and helped to save the wizarding world. His sister Ginny, the seventh child, arguably did even better – marrying the Chosen One himself, and going on to be quite a successful Quidditch player.

In the coming weeks I plan to take a closer look at several narratives, archetypes, and tropes that appear frequently in stories. From Sleep Like Death curses to Prince Charmings, I've got a lot of fun planned. I'll see you next time!

Tyr: Can I Give You A Hand?

Hallo, reader!

As I mentioned last week, I sprained my hand and have been wearing a brace. I'm right-handed, so not being able to use it has been quite a challenge for me. Around the time the injury occurred, I was watching season three of Game of Thrones...and this happened:

It got me to thinking about heroes who lose hands. It's not an uncommon theme, particularly in fantasy and science fiction. A hero who has talent with a blade loses a hand or an arm, and must overcome the difficulties to continue their quest. You see it with Jaime in Game of Thrones; with Tenel Ka, one of my favorite characters from the Star Wars books, who loses most of one arm; with Luke in Return of the Jedi, at the hands of his father. Lindsey in Angel has a hilariously evil replacement hand. Wormtail in Harry Potter sacrifices his own hand for Voldemort, and is rewarded with a magical one in return. Let us not forget Captain Hook, or his more likeable persona, Killian Jones. Ash in the Evil Dead series replaces his missing digits with a chainsaw (it seems the most logical choice).  The list goes on and on.

But why is this particular appendage so frequently lost? Well, it does make the most sense from a writer's point of view. Losing a foot or a leg would be equally dramatic, but would leave the hero at a severe disadvantage (unless they got an especially good prosthetic, a la John Kennex in Almost Human (or are rocking a peg leg, like Captain Barbossa)). So leg loss does occur, but far less frequently than hands. Loss of fingers is another option; take Captain Davos in Game of Thrones, or Frodo in Lord of the Rings. Still, losing a few fingers is far less dramatic than losing an entire hand. Eyes are another option, and are sometimes lost – for instance, Nick Fury in Marvel, or Odin in Norse mythology.

'tis but a flesh wound!

And it is to Norse mythology that I now turn, because I believe one specific character is part of the reason why losing hands is such a popular fantasy trope.

Enter Tyr, god of valour, courage, and (sadly) oathbreaking. (The more I look into this, the more I realize just how much Jaime Lannister was inspired by Tyr!) He's mostly known as a warrior deity associated with victory.

Tyr begins the myths as a mighty warrior still in possession of both his hands. Then, everything changes when the giant wolf known as Fenrir attacks. Fenrir, also called the Fenris Wolf, is a giant wolf. He's also one of the children of Loki, along with Jormungandr, the snake who wraps around the world, and Hel, goddess of...well, Hel. Charming bunch, right?

Much like his siblings, Fenrir is known to the gods as a bringer of great evil. He's tied to various prophecies about Ragnarok, the Doom of the Gods. Knowing this, the gods cast Loki's spawn into various prisons. Hel is banished to Hel, Jormungandr devours his tail as he encircles the world...and Fenrir is brought back to the home of the gods.

There, seeing how strong the wolf grows daily, the gods realize that they have to bind him. A mighty link of chains is forged. They approach Fenrir with the fetter, and offer the wolf a challenge. They have heard that he is strong and mighty – is he powerful enough to break through the chains?

Unfortunately, Fenrir inherited his cunning from his father, the Trickster. He knows his own strength, and is confident that he can break the bonds. The wolf allows the gods to bind him, and then effortlessly breaks through his bonds.

The gods were horrified, and more determined than ever to chain Fenrir. The best of their smiths were able to forge a chain twice as strong as the first. Again the gods challenged Fenrir. Again the wolf deemed the chain susceptible to his great strength. And, again...the bonds were shattered.

Their own abilities already at their limits, the gods turned to others for help. A commission was given to the dwarves, who wrought a chain of their own from six ingredients. Yet these bonds were unlike the others – instead of metal, it was made of the lightest silk.

When the gods brought the silken cord before Fenrir, the wolf suspected trickery. He agreed to allow the gods to bind him, but only if one of the gods was offered as collateral. Tyr agreed to place his hand in the mouth of Fenrir. If the gods' challenge was in good faith, then no harm would come to the god. However, if Fenrir was unable to free himself, and if the gods left him bound...well, one of their mightiest warriors would be down a hand.

Tyr agreed to this deal, knowing full well what the outcome would be. The gods bound Fenrir with the silken chains. The wolf shook and pulled, heaved and fought – but he could not break free.

The gods did not help him. In vengeance, he bit off the hand of Tyr. And so Tyr became the god of perjury, among his other titles.

But the story does not end there, dear readers. Norse mythology is full of foreshadowing, and every little thing turns out to have meaning in the end. When Ragnarok arrives, Fenrir shall at last have grown strong enough to escape his bonds. He shall meet Odin on the battlefield – and there, he shall kill him.

And what of Tyr? Though a mighty warrior, the god is weakened by the loss of his hand. He shall fight in Ragnarok, but ultimately fall. The loss of his hand will prove too great of an obstacle for him to overcome.

So what do you guys think? Is Tyr the first in the long line of the handless-hero tradition? Which hero is your favorite?

Until next week!

The Great Flood

Greetings all!

Today's post is actually an old essay of mine from a mythology class.  With a little bit of tweaking, I felt that it fit for this blog's theme.  Without further ado, let's jump into the myth of the great flood!

In many cultures across the world stories are told about a great flood that all but wipes out humanity.  The stories vary depending on the locale, but all of them have much in common, leading one to wonder where these stories originate.  Some common themes include the great flood itself, and the fact that a god normally comes to warn a worthy human of the coming disaster.

In the Bible a great flood is depicted as God's wrath upon the world. Mankind had fallen into evil, and most were corrupt. God, looking down upon them, decided that He had had enough. He warned a man named Noah, one of the few good men left, and told him to build a great Ark that would carry he, his family, and two of every animal on the world - one male and one female. When the flood came Noah was prepared, and he and his family were saved.

A similar story is found in the writings of many Greek scholars, though all have a slightly different take on it. During what is known as the Age of Iron, mankind became so corrupt that Zeus looked down upon them with loathing. He swore to destroy them and called upon a great flood of waters to do so. Ovid and others speak of two humans surviving aboard a raft, but it is Apollodorus who offers an interesting perspective. He claims that the man, Deucalion, was warned by his father Prometheus that the flood was coming. Prometheus bade him build a great ark with which to escape, and Deucalion did so. He and his wife Pyrrha escaped because of this, and were instrumental in the repopulation of the earth.

The Sumerian myth of Ziusudra dates back to the old Babylonian Empire. The tablet it is inscribed upon speaks of a man named Ziusudra.  The god Enki, lord of the sea, warns that a great flood is coming. Ziusudra is told to build a boat to survive the waters. He complies.  Though much of the tablet is lost, it is obvious that he survives from the last part of the tablet, where he may be found prostrating himself before the gods as thanks for his survival.

In Hindu mythology the god Matsya appears to the first man, named Manu, and warns him that a great deluge is coming to destroy the earth. Manu is told to build a great boat to house his family and animals, who will later repopulate the world.  He obeys.

You can see that a powerful god bidding a man to build a boat to save himself and his family is a somewhat common theme against numerous mythologies. The trend continues in many other stories from many different cultures; the Qur'an and the Epic of Gilgamesh are but two of many that exist.

For me, the most interesting part of these stories is the fact that they originate from so many different places. While I am leery to believe that only two people survived to repopulate the earth, the number of cultures that reference the flood leads me to believe that it may have happened. The fact that cultures that had little to no interaction all bear the same myths fascinates me. Did such a disaster truly happen? The evidence of seashells and fishbones scattered beneath what is now solid ground across many countrysides leads me to wonder.

I hope you guys enjoyed this!  And if you're near an area where flooding is expected, please, stay safe.

Posts for the next several weeks are likely to be a bit shorter than usual.  I sprained my hand, and typing is somewhat difficult (and painful) with my thumb immobilized by a brace.  I do apologize for the inconvenience.  I'll do my best to keep my posts interesting, whatever their length!

I'll see you next week!

The Sunchild

Hey guys!  I apologize for the lateness of this post, as well as the lack of pictures.  I'll do my best to add them in the next day or two.  I suffered a hand injury at work, which is making typing difficult, and also wound up helping out a friend who was in the ER.  Thanks for bearing with me, and again, I'm sorry.

Today's story can be found in The Grey Fairy Book, and has its origins in a Greek fairy tale known as Maroula.

There once was a woman who had no children. She begged the Sun to send her a daughter, promising that he could reclaim the girl when she turned twelve. The Sun gave her a child named Letiko.

Letiko and her mother lived happily until the girl turned twelve, at which point the Sun reminded the woman of her bargain. She attempted to hide the girl from the Sun, blocking all light from entering her house. In her haste she forgot to block the keyhole. A beam of sunlight entered the house and took Letiko. The woman mourned fiercely.

The girl was taken back to her father's house. He often sent her on tasks, but she took a very long time on them. She would sit and cry instead of completing them.  Her tears were because she missed her mother so much.

One day her father followed her on one of her tasks, curious as to why she took so long at them. Overhearing her sorrowful weeping, he decided to send Letiko back to her mother. He tasked two hares with escorting the girl back to her earthly home. Though a lamia attempted to kill and eat the girl on the trip, they managed to make it back to the village.

A dog, a cat, and a cock who lived in the village all announced that Letiko had returned, but her mother refused to believe it, still caught up in her grief. Only when the girl was before her did she accept the truth. The hares were rewarded for returning her daughter to her. Letiko and her mother lived the rest of their days together in happiness.

Thanks for reading through my Fairy Tales Without Dead Moms (Or Wicked Stepmothers!) series!  These are some of the stories which show that good mothers do exist in fairy tales – and even sometimes survive the whole tale!  Which one was your favorite?  Do you know of any that I missed?  Let me know in the comments!

I plan to return to mythology for a while after this.  I'll see you then!