The Many Masks of Mary Sue

Who (or What) is your own Mary Sue?

So it is not uncommon for talesmen to project themselves into their tales, or see themselves in their characters. And when they do so in a way that is obvious and trite, and embarrasses us in the audience, we call what they have made a ‘Mary Sue.’

Sometimes the Mary Sue falls awfully close to the tree, and is a virtual self-portrait; this is the usual case for fictionalized autobiographies and memoirs in which the author tends to paint himself with a brush that is over-flattering. Other times the Mary Sue is nothing like the author at all, at least not as we see him. Instead, the author draws himself as he would wish himself to be, or even as his inner soul draws itself.

For example, when I wrote in the post on ‘Mrs Miniver’ that —

Any of you who are bloggers should read and study the ‘Miniver’ columns, and prepare to be enlightened as to a whole other approach to your avocation

— it occurred to me to try my hand at my own ‘Mrs Miniver’ and reshape some blog posts in narrative form. But what name, and what personage?

The answer came in an image of an old, weary but wise talesman. A man much older than myself, from another time, an oral talesman who spins his yarns in an old marketplace not far from the wharves where ships sail in from faraway coasts and climes.

This struck me as quite odd. The image just popped into my head, and wasn’t plotted out by any means.

Why an old man? Why that old man?

As an idealized image of the traditional talesman, the figure, I suppose, appealed to me as representing the wisdom I pretend to carry in this blog (though of course that is far from the truth!), and the marketplace by the docks in the old sea-town is right out of Romance.

Why old, though?

And in pondering this, I recalled that I have often felt the appeal of great age. Even in my teens, I would doodle out old men’s heads. At the time I reckoned this was simply because the old, craggy head was easier to draw. The flesh was gaunt and tight, the underlying structure of the skull showed through, and this made the whole easier to draw. What’s easily done is often done.

But it went beyond that. I also wrote of ancient characters in my tales. They were not the heroes, but they exercised a special appeal to me.

It seems that in my heart of hearts I am and have ever been old.

And so when I thought of my own Mrs Miniver, he must be old. It is how I see myself.

You might ask yourself the same question. Let your mind go soft, relax, empty all thought, and let some image come into focus. Do this several times, in different moods and times of day. Ask for your own story avatar to come to you — not the bad Mary Sue, but the best, your Mrs Miniver. See who appears, how often he changes, and if any patterns develop.

(Composed on keyboard Monday, July 21, 2008)