Defending the Complexity of Antagonist Protagonists: A Perspective by Rory Power
Hey there! As an author with a new book on the horizon, I've added some new tasks to my list. Like stockpiling photos of me with the book, looking fancy-schmancy to dodge the "I thought you were just wearing Old Navy sweaters" questions. Or hiding Instagram back on my phone, even if it means scrolling all day. And jotting down answers to potential book event questions, so I don't sound like a complete airhead.
But the most crucial one? Learning to spin a good yarn when people ask, "What inspired you?" Oh, they want the deep, meaningful responses - the photos, the movies, the personal connections that shaped the story. They're less enthusiastic when I tell them I was binge-watching Pretty Little Liars and fuming over their inability to let the characters kill people. I get it, though - advertisers, network focus, young audience, and all that - but it's also about the genre.
Crime fiction's like a modern-day morality play, reinforcing what we think is good and right. We dive into the darkness, only for the world to be put back together. The grizzled detective with a tragic past reassures us that the world's safe - as long as we don't venture into the woods.
There's a particular plot beat in these stories that tickles my fancy: The main character wakes up after a wild night out, blood under her nails, a fuzzy memory, and a suspicion that she may have killed her partner. Horrified, she questions her own actions, her own goodness. But let's face it - she didn't do it, or if she did, it was probably self-defense or because he was a jerk.
This plot device works just like crime fiction as a whole - it shakes up our perception of safety, then seals the crack. But in this smaller story, it tells us that we're good, that we don't need to doubt ourselves. Readers can't help but connect with the characters, feel their doubt, and then find solace in their eventual comfort.
Fast forward to today, where doubt seems like the norm. Lines get crossed left and right, and it's tough to be shocked anymore. As a writer of whodunits, I found myself struggling to find new angles, to craft a story that feel fresh and resonant. Until I sat down and watched Spencer Hastings fascinatingly holding a field hockey stick instead of a knife.
In Kill Creatures, my young adult novel, the protagonist, Nan, opens with an honest confession: She murdered her three best friends a year ago. She regrets it, but she wouldn't change it, and she isn't sorry. That question, asked and answered.
With Nan's confession as the foundation, I was able to reconceptualize the story, free readers from serving as Nan's jury, and delve into the questions that truly intrigue me: How do we move on when we've damaged ourselves and others? What lies beyond guilt? And, as always, where do we go from here?
Truth be told, the book isn't overwhelmingly long - I didn't get all the answers. But maybe, if you read Kill Creatures, you'll find yours.
- Share on FB (Opens in a new tab)
- Share on Twitter (Opens in a new tab)
- Share on Google+ (Opens in a new tab)
- More
- Share on LinkedIn (Opens in a new tab)
- Share on Reddit (Opens in a new tab)
- Share on Tumblr (Opens in a new tab)
- Share on Pinterest (Opens in a new tab)
- Share on Pocket (Opens in a new tab)
DelacorteKill CreaturesRory Power
Rory Power
- Wilder Girls
- In a Garden Burning Gold
Engrossing yourself in the world of 'crime fiction' books often provides a unique form of 'entertainment', offering profound explorations of morality, safety, and human nature. In my latest novel, 'Kill Creatures', I do precisely that, presenting a gripping tale that challenges convention and sparks intrigue.
