Subversion and Promises
Ducks go quack quack, cows go moo, pigs go oink oink, dogs go poo.
Oh, you thought that was going to end with another onomatopoeia? Then consider your expectations subverted. I gave this blog post some thought, and I opted not to go the route of talking at length about something completely unrelated to subversion before making a meta comment on it to demonstrate it and then end the post. There’s a great joke that sort of does this and takes its sweet time with the setup, but I’d rather demonstrate the concept as succinctly as possible before talking about it explicitly (particularly as it relates to storytelling). So, as demonstrated, subversion is the event in which an expectation is undermined.
What is the literary purpose of subversion? It’s pretty thrilling to be surprised. Maybe it’s a pleasant surprise like when the main character has his back against the wall and no apparent way out but he manages to turn things around; or maybe it’s a dreadful surprise like when the main character has the villain on the ropes and he’s about to decidedly triumph but the villain manages to turn things around. Being a fan of shoujo (Japanese manga or anime aimed primarily at young women), I think some of the more delightful examples of subversion happen in romance. When the loner in school who’s notorious for being socially awkward and bad at communicating transcends an inhibitory boundary and finally smiles around others, it’s thrilling. When the super-handsome best friend who frequently receives confessions of love rejects every one of them due to the disrespect girls privately show the main character, it’s thrilling. When the cynical main character who seemingly hates everything including himself performs acts of self-sacrifice, it’s thrilling. Thrilling, thrilling, thrilling.
Of course, there can be times subversion is not effective. That is, the surprise is an unwanted one that instead of being thrilling is aggravating. Sticking with examples from shoujo, when the main character whose entire motive is getting revenge on a girl who wronged him discovers the girl didn’t actually wrong him, it’s aggravating. To briefly expand on why: the discovery subverts the MC’s driving motive as well as the primary plot and replaces both with nothing—that is, both the character and plot become stagnant. When the relationship built up between the two main characters over the first season suddenly reverts to distance and misunderstandings in the second season, it’s aggravating. Shifting to an example from shounen (Japanese manga or anime aimed primarily at young men), when the protagonists die left and right without much development or send-off, it’s aggravating. Aggravating, aggravating, aggravating.
Cold and calculating critics who may’ve seen every type of subversion ever can be impossible to please. Subversion to such types may be considered, unfortunately, a trope. Granted, there are good examples of when subversion is wastefully used like a trope—the aforementioned killing off of characters seemingly for the sole purpose of shock being one such example. Tropes in themselves aren’t bad, but there’s a reason the word ‘trope’ is used with negative connotations. The expectation that was subverted may be surprising, but beyond that surprise it may negatively affect the rest of the story. Take, for instance, jump-scares, the frowned-upon trope from horror movies when there’s a sudden loud noise, a sudden jarring image or event, or a combination of both. Jump-scares can be considered subversions, but they are typically wasted to affect the audience rather than the story.
In my own writing, I don’t actually actively think about using subversion as a tool. Maybe it’s something I should be more intentional in doing, but it sort of goes against my enjoyment in writing. Now, of course I’m going to want to keep in mind what is appealing to other people if I want to sell stories to the world. Yet, while writing when I start thinking about what someone else might like I start to feel like my writing is synthetic. When asked by a Pixar CEO about writing changes for himself and the audience, Hayao Miyazaki put it rather neatly: “I never think about the audience.” And then, on the other hand, art is this kooky thing that tries to communicate something to an audience. It’s neatly put in a recurring theme in the anime Your Lie in April when the main characters perform music to an audience and after the performance is over they think: Did it reach them? And so there’s a paradox of writing selfishly while optimistically hoping it connects with someone. Talk about having your cake and eating it, right?
Back to the main topic, subversion, at best, is a useful tool to keep people engaged with a story and, at worst, is a trope that frustrates people into dropping a story. Interestingly, doing the opposite of subverting expectations can also do great or poorly for audience satisfaction. That is, having things go exactly as one expects things to go. For example, in The Lord of the Rings there is significant exposition given to establish that the One Ring is alluring and it is demonstrated repeatedly. Not once is this expectation that someone entirely defies the allure of the One Ring subverted (forget about Tom Bombadil, and though Bilbo and Sam do let go of it voluntarily they do experience its allure). You could argue that Frodo’s decision to keep the ring at the end was subversion (in that people may expect the heroes to triumph), but it’s also expected that the One Ring would have warped his mind enough by that point to not let it go. The One Ring ultimately being undone by its own allurement can be considered both ironic but also perfectly fitting. This example I think is good in showing one of the key points of writing a story: delivering on a promise.
It’s said that stories essentially make promises: Hercules sings his “I Want” song about going the distance; Charles Foster Kane utters “Rosebud” as his mysterious last word before he dies; and Sulley and Mike work to be the best employees at Monsters, Inc. Delivering on these promises makes each story satisfying: Hercules goes the distance and gets the recognition and sense of belonging he wants; Rosebud is revealed to be Charles Foster Kane’s childhood sled; and Sulley and Mike become great employees at Monsters, Inc. Notably, each of these example stories involves subversion yet the subversion does not break the promises made at their respective beginnings. Hercules practically dies in the River Styx before he triumphs, Kane’s estate burns his sled while the mystery of what “Rosebud” means is revealed, and Sulley and Mike become great employees by making kids laugh instead of scream. Though things can be unexpected, ultimately the promise is kept. Back to the Lord of the Rings example, early on it’s pretty much promised the One Ring would have to be destroyed. How promises are delivered can be entertaining either with subversion or the lack thereof.
Going a bit further back to the examples of shoujo, it’s also important to note that the times subversion did not work also happened to involve promises not being delivered (e.g., Masamune-kun’s Revenge does not deliver any revenge whatsoever). That’s probably my key takeaway for how subversion should not be used (other than not being used gratuitously): if subversion breaks a promise, it is bad. There are several examples of broken promises in stories that come to mind: the sequel trilogy of Star Wars broke many, some of which involved Snoke, Finn, and Luke’s characters; The Legend of Korra broke many promises with familiar and new characters; and Harry Potter and the Cursed Child broke several promises with its characters and story (note that all of these broken promises are also coupled with taboo things like plot holes, retconning, and jumping the shark). It’s a weird coincidence each of my examples is a spinoff/sequel of an existing franchise, isn’t it? Anyway, as a final example, it would be bad if I made this blog post and did not deliver on talking about either subversion or promises.
