Archetypes: Tools, Not Masters
In the realm of writing, an archetype encompasses a universally recognized symbol, theme, character, or pattern that transcends cultural and literary boundaries. These fundamental elements serve as touchstones, evoking specific emotions and resonating with the collective human experience. Archetypes manifest as characters (think hero, villain, or mentor), symbols (like the quest or the journey), or themes (such as love and death) that are easily identifiable and laden with profound meaning. Writers frequently leverage archetypes to access the deep, shared cultural and psychological aspects of storytelling, establishing connections between their work and the broader human narrative. Despite their ubiquity, it’s crucial for us, as writers, to remember that archetypes are tools, not masters in the craft.
Greetings, Neophyte, and welcome. Today’s lesson is a dual-purpose one—it serves as both guidance and a cautionary tale, highlighting a pitfall that often goes unnoticed on our creative journeys, a blind spot we can all develop. This pitfall is none other than the misuse of archetypes. We’re all familiar with the trope: the Hero triumphs over the Villain, rescues the Princess, and the story concludes with the camera panning out as the Hero gazes into the distance where the Mentor is either depicted in the clouds or as a ghostly figure, casting a smiling glance backward. I’m certain you, much like myself, can easily recall at least ten stories fitting this archetype, Neophyte. Recognizing such a pattern doesn’t require genius or expertise—it’s a familiar narrative groove.
We even have archetypes for different types of stories; I’ve seen their number range from seven to fifty. It might seem like everything has already been invented, right? Now, drop the long face, Neophyte; you’re a terrible actor. You know my next words are going to be, “No, it is not.” Though a deeper exploration of the topic will follow later. I’m penning these words as a warning to anyone who stumbles upon them—a cautionary reminder that, like pretty much anything else, archetypes are tools, not masters of your craft.
Why do I say that? Let me counter with a question. Go back and reread the tale of the Hero, just as it is written. How interesting would a story be in that raw form? No, Neophyte, don’t embellish it with details or more plot twists—just as it’s presented. Not very captivating, right? I mean, it might serve as a simple narrative to unwind the mind, but it doesn’t extend beyond that. A story crafted in such a way stems from someone who thinks in terms of fitting into the craft, the genre, the themes, emulating their favorite authors, and meeting audience expectations. Such a person isn’t thinking responsibly about their work.
This tendency is a result of fear—the fear of not knowing one’s true capabilities. We live in an age where many dread danger, terrified to the core. It’s an age where we seek security in certificates and proven formulas. What’s worse, we’re scared of failing, so we cling to what has proven to work in the past. We study repeatedly what has succeeded and, therefore, is expected to succeed again. Consequently, our creations become mere puppet shows, lacking personality, and our characters become less than human. The fear of breaking convention paralyzes us, preventing our characters from growing, making them inhuman from the outset.
As mentioned in another article, every scene, chapter, and step in a novel should be propelled by change—change in external factors and in the inner worlds of the characters in play. Not all characters, of course; some are devices or serve specific functions. However, for those who hold significance in the story, relying solely on archetypes will condemn them to being mere cardboard cutouts of real people.
That they are not real people? Yes, you are right; my previous statement was a bit confusing. Allow me to rephrase: these characters have to feel like real people. Unless the story explicitly calls for it, if they continue to act and react at the end the same way they did when the story began, then, Neophyte, you’ve failed in at least one dimension of writing.
Just because someone is a Mentor doesn’t mean they should always adhere to our preconceived notions of how a mentor should act or how they would look or where they come from. The same applies to the King, the Hero, the Villain, or the Princess. Occupying a particular archetype at a given moment doesn’t mean they’ve always been that way or that they’ll continue fulfilling that role. Conversely, you can have characters that embody an archetype yet are written with enough proficiency that we perceive them as individuals rather than as the archetype they represent.
This also extends to types of stories. Just because you’re crafting a mystery novel, a romance, or an adventure, doesn’t mean you’re obligated to adhere to every expected element of a given genre. Yes, Neophyte, I see your raised hand; certain expectations must be met, but no one will dictate how you fulfill them, unless, of course, you’re bound by a specific agreement or contract.
To truly wield archetypes as tools, perceive them as integral parts of your characters—either as foundational aspects of their identities or as the roles they currently occupy. Embrace the fluidity and the endless possibilities; cease being afraid of change and daring choices. Don’t write merely to play it safe; write to challenge yourself. Success cannot be guaranteed with formulas, so never limit yourself, Neophyte. While writing, you should have no masters.
Until next time.
