I’ve been thinking a lot about unlikable protagonists lately. Quite a bit of this has been spurred by recent discussions on Mary-Sueness, but the truth is, if you read reviews of YA at all, it’s an issue that comes up again and again–whether characters are “annoying” or make terrible choices (How could she sleep with him?!), whether the problems they face are “white people problems” or problems of privilege and so therefore their conflicts render them unsympathetic, whether they are too stupid to live and why won’t they just die already?!

Sometimes even writers can’t stand their unlikable protags. The other day, I was talking to another writer, and the writer in question commented that she hated her one of her characters. “She’s so ANNOYING!” she said–but when I copped to enjoying that character’s arc, she added that she guessed that it was good someone liked her.

I’m not really rattled by unsympathetic characters as long as I understand them. I suspect I struggled with Lochan from Forbidden because there are plenty of poor children of divorce who don’t resort to incest–not only did I not like him, but I failed to understand the severe degree of his actions in light of his background. His actions seemed odd to me, and felt less than true to life. But honestly, that’s an unusual case. I’m usually all for characters who make terrible choices.

This isn’t to say that I like these characters as people. I probably wouldn’t want to be best friends with Quentin Coldwater, Bianca from The DUFF, or Tommy Mickens, but their actions make sense in light of their circumstances–I understand them. And I think that makes for good storytelling.

Sumayyah Dowd had a post today that was mostly about other things (revising history for the movies), but that I think helped me pinpoint what makes the unlikable tolerable for me: accuracy and discomfort.

I’ve never been much of one to turn to literature for wish fulfillment, even when I loved books that were about special girls riding gold dragons. Rather, I looked for books that illuminated real life (even through fantasy landscapes), bringing a secondary level of realization or depth to the world around me. In real life, I’ve often struggled to understand the terrible things people do: why they cheat on their spouses, or make such atrocious romantic decisions, or fail to see the very obviously correct practical career paths that are directly in front of them and choose to major in underwater basket weaving instead. Psychology is fascinating, and good literature can help us better understand human psychology even when we think we’re just reading about telepathic space aliens.

In real life, it’s easy (and perhaps mentally healthy) to default to annoyance, to think Get me the hell away from these people, to sever ties. But sticking around long enough to understand the motivations of people we don’t like can be illuminating, too. We can learn empathy, for instance, and come to understand why evil exists in the world, and why we should treat people well. Books with unsympathetic protagonists let us do that without, you know, forcing us to actually spend time around jerks.

And they also help us face the not-so-great parts of ourselves.

C’mon, admit it: you’ve made choices in your life that you’re not proud of. You’ve done ugly things, stupid things. We all have. Sure, those choices may have made sense to you at the time–in the heat of passion, flipping off your best friend at a punk show because she sat down next to the boy you liked seemed like the correct thing to do (um, if by “your” and “you,” I mean “my” and “me”), and you really thought you were doing the right thing when you read your boyfriend’s diary (that would be me again, of course), but I can’t help but wonder if the reason we’re so aggressive about characters who make bad choices is that somehow we think this will make up for the bad choices we’ve made ourselves.

Look, here’s a video where John Green agrees with me:

John Green thinks it’s much more interesting that Holden Caulfield is neither the guy you want to be with or the guy you want to be, but instead, the “guy you know yourself secretly to be.” And I agree that this is more interesting, edifying, enriching. If we’re out for accuracy–if we’re in this writing or reading thing for emotional truth and not just mindless entertainment and distraction–we’ve really got to embrace the ugly parts of ourselves, too, the parts that strike out and make ridiculous, stupid choices and are selfish and greedy and terrible sometimes. This is the accuracy that Sumayyah was talking about, the kernel of human honesty that literature is supposed to uncover.

So it’s not characters who make stupid choices–bad, selfish, ugly choices–who get on my nerves. Honestly, I have no problem with Bella Swan, a depressed teenage girl who has been forced to care for her irresponsible parents who are clearly incapable of parenting her, choosing to be with a guy who is a little threatening, intense, and fundamentally paternalistic. That’s a choice that I realize is honest. What gets to me instead is the notion that we’re supposed to celebrate this choice as the right choice–the right love.

Because I think if we’re going to have emotionally accurate characters, we have to adopt an expectation that our characters won’t always be heroes. Humans aren’t always heroic–they can be messy, ugly, selfish and weird. And emotionally accurate literature will reveal the ugly side of heroes. I think it’s a mistake to conflate “protagonist” and “hero.” They’re fundamentally different.

It would be easy to only read books where characters make choices we agree with–where our protagonists are also heroes, those unusual creatures capable of making all the right decisions under all the wrong circumstances. These books are more comfortable and force us to do less awkward examination of ourselves and the people around us. They never ask us to understand or empathize with people we don’t even like.

But they also wouldn’t be true.

If you ask me, it’s that truth–that fundamental frankness and honesty about the nature of humanity and our lives–that separates books that are just a pile of words from true literature. Truth is illuminating. Truth is good.

And the truth is, there are a lot of jerks out there (“There are more jerks than there are people,” as my Pop-pop used to say). I hope that writers keep cramming them into books, giving us people who are messy, ugly, and strange. I hope literature continues to be uncomfortable–that reading remains, at times, uneasy. To be honest, I wouldn’t have it any other way.

So I, like, haven’t been writing while I wait for feedback on my book, which has led to killing time. Sorta productive time-killing, mind you–things I’m glad to have done, like redesigning my website (come look; it’s pretty!) and going to the zoo (where we saw elephants, which are the best).

And making a book trailer! I’ve spent large chunks of the last week doing that. I’m not even sure how I feel about book trailers, generally. Do amateur ones sell books? Probably not. It’s not like I even have a polished book ready to sell (yet), but I’d had this idea for a trailer floating around in my head for awhile.

Guys, I have to warn you: it’s really, really dorky. Basically, I made a trailer that’s a vid of an old-school style RPG. With anime frames spliced in. And a midi of David Bowie in the background. Did I mention I spent a week on this? Coloring in tiny sprites and coding? And making sure all of my trees tiled properly? Well, I did! Call it dedication. Or madness. Or whatever. Just . . . watch it? Please?

So! Interesting day.

It’s difficult for me to even talk about this, to sum it up in a concise way. Writer Foz Meadows has a pretty good run-down of what the YA blog-o-sphere looked like today.

Go, read that. Then come back.

Here’s my role in all of this. Three years ago now, I started reviewing every book I read. Someone on metafilter suggested that a good way for fast readers to get paid small bucks for their work was to review for ALA Booklist. But you needed clips. So I started reviewing casually on GoodReads. Funny thing. I ended up loving reviewing, and loving the community I found there. And I never ended up sending those clips to Booklist.

I’ve talked before about how much reviewing has meant to me. All of that is still true. A few months ago, when I started getting ARCs, and, more, started reviewing works by people with whom I was a casual acquaintance, I took a long, hard look at my blogging and reviewing. Who did I want to be online? How did I want to present myself? Now, note that I’ve never been a particularly hateful blogger, though I have been frank in my reviews before. I knew that many aspiring authors choose to exude positivity in their public personas. I think that’s perfectly valid. But it didn’t seem true to myself, true to the person I know I am. Around this time, my mom was having surgery for her cancer recurrence and things were rough and I was at her house and read a copy of O magazine in the bathtub, and in it, Jay-Z was quoted as saying something like, “I decided I didn’t want to be famous as someone else. I decided it was only worth being famous if I was famous as me.”

And that sort of made my decision for me, you know? I decided to proceed largely as I have been. I must note that I’ve made some minor changes to my reviewing habits here on the blog–side barring only books I’d whole-heartedly recommend, removing star ratings (which I find reductive generally). But I’ve really wanted to continue the discussion as I’d been, and I have. Every book I’ve read to the end, you’ll find here on the blog.

When you review every book you’ve read for three years, it becomes a sort of logomania. Like, oh God, what would I be if I wasn’t my thoughts on books? But there’s something else here, too, a love of discussion, of sharing, of the genre in which I’m writing, of talking about what works and what doesn’t and how to make what doesn’t better. Again, no criticism of those who choose not to go about it like I do. But reviewing has been good to me, and I find it rewarding, and for the time being, it’s what I’m doing, a decision I’ve made. And I feel pretty zen about it.

So when all of this angst in the blogosphere started going down about writers/reviewers, it hurt. Not because it made me doubt what I was doing (because I’d made that decision, and it’s the right one for me, for the time being), but because I saw how people in my position, or positions like mine, were being made to feel pretty cruddy about the whole thing. It would usually go like this: author writers a post about how bloggers should just be nice or resign themselves to never writing fiction, authors’ colleagues and fans all agree, and tons of the reviewers get really, really upset about either specifics or the general feelings created by this kind of discourse.

And it just seemed to be getting worse. Every time authors would tweet to their friends about how terrible or unqualified reviewers were, bloggers and reviewers would see it, and feel horrible and stew. Every time there was a dust-up on somebody’s blog, or on a message board, likewise. Bad feelings, increasing exponentially. And I noticed something: how sometimes, an author would quietly disagree with the prevailing discourse, and there would be crickets in response. How reviewers and bloggers would talk about their feelings privately, but everyone was too scared to say something in public.

So I started reaching out. I emailed a few authors who said nice things about reviews, or reviewers, or these kinds of controversies. Just to let them know, I guess, that reviewers are around, listening, and that we appreciated it. I posted my opinion to blogs where I disagreed, where I thought it might be productive to share my perspective. That didn’t always go well, but still, I don’t regret it. I’m all about open and honest communication, talking things out. That’s my schtick. So I talked.

And, fuck, guys, I don’t know why I elected myself the person to reach out, except I knew that I felt firm and confident in my decision and prepared to live with the consequences. That being said, there might be other people who could have done so less awkwardly, or more eloquently, who wouldn’t misspeak or say something dumb or write typo-ridden comments (no matter how many times they proofread!) or totally misremember things and put her foot in her mouth. Because I’ve done that. The comment I made that Justine Larbalestier quoted contained at least one factual mistake and made Cleolinda Jones feel bad (I’ve apologized in both cases; at least I have no problem doing that!). And that sucks, and I wish I were better–more exacting, more excellent.

But I don’t regret speaking up.

One thing I’ve noticed, in all of this, is how, when conflict arises, many people feel inclined to talk to an audience they suspect is already receptive to them. That’s a natural inclination, I think–but it’s prickly online. GoodReads communities and twitter and author message boards aren’t private. People on both sides hear things that aren’t really intended for them but are out there in public anyway. I think we all should be careful. I think we should remember that EVERYONE HEARS EVERYTHING ON THE INTERNET. So be circumspect, okay? That doesn’t mean you have to be silent. It just means that you act with integrity, that you own your words and your actions.

And that goes for everyone.

Be excellent to each other.

Now that I’ve talked about this for fourteen hours straight (and Christ, am I tired), I just really want to change the subject.

So here, listen to me play my favorite ukulele-inappropriate song. On the ukulele. Badly. Cause that’s how I roll.

So as you know, I’m pretty loopy about aliens and spaceships and things. And, though I’m cautiously optimistic about the future of young adult science fiction literature, the past few decades or so have been pretty glum–though you can find bright spots, if you look (Animorphs*! John Christopher’s Tripod series!). Still, you have to search pretty hard to find anything that hits the teen science fictional sweet spot.

Oddly, over the years, teenagers in space have popped up on television with surprising . . . well, I don’t know if I’d call it frequency, but they’ve certainly been an occasional presence. These shows tend to be sadly short lived (with one notable exception), but are often celebrated by their passionate fan-bases–and mostly with good reason.

Because they’re awesome.

And so I wanted to share with you, gentle reader, my four favorite teen sci-fi series of all time. I think any of the four listed below are worth a look if you’re a writer–because they each do some things really right in talking to their young audiences. But I also recommend viewing them–if you can find them!–even if you’re not a writer, because they’re pretty much plain ol’ awesome.

Space Cases

Oh man, Space Cases. This is the show that introduced me to fandom and, therefore, writing in earnest. It was a short-lived show, just two seasons on Nickelodeon, with one heavily derailed by executive meddling. But it was terrific.

What made it terrific? Well, the concept, for one–five misfit kids (and their teachers) from a remedial class in a space academy (“Starcademy”) find an abandoned biological ship which is then jettisoned to the other side of space. Adventures ensue. It was originally intended to have an elaborate, five-year story arc, a la Babylon 5, but, alas, that was never to be.

It’s got a great, jokey tone (reflected in the OMG-ridiculous theme song), but it balances that nicely with a touch of angst in the form of Radu (played by Kristian Ayre), their resident hunky alien. Now, I realize he might not seem hunky to you if you’re viewing the above clip as an adult–he’s short, with frizzy hair and cinnamon buns for ears–but he’s got the most complex biology and tragic history of any of the characters.

And he’s sympathetic!

I find it interesting, in our world of YA-bad boys, that this was the guy that ever fangirl loved on this show (and not, say, snarky human boy/black power ranger Harlan Band). He was a bit of a woobie, but he was also a really nice, sweet boy. With no family! A war orphan! How could we all not want to give him a big, super-strong hug?

Ahem.

The character interactions on this show are great, too, but what I love most about it is the core premise: a group of kids who haven’t done so hot academically are forced to overcome differences to fulfill their potential in the depths of space.

Oh, also, keep an eye out for Kaylee from Firefly wearing a rainbow wig and talking to herself. No joke!

The Tomorrow People (90s version)

The Tomorrow People aired contemporaneously with Space Cases, but other than their shared places in the SF genre, they couldn’t be more different. The Tomorrow People is mostly known for being a remake of a more popular, and fairly camp, British series. However, this 90s spin on evolved, psychic humans takes itself very seriously.

It’s the story of a scattered group of teenagers who realize that they are the next step in human evolution–evidenced, apparently, by the fact that they can read minds and teleport to a mysterious alien space ship. It more a collection of several miniseries than a real TV series, with a revolving cast (only two characters–dark cutie Adam and the bizarrely nicknamed “Megabyte”–appear in all of them), but that didn’t really matter. What was important here was the mystery.

Who were the tomorrow people? What was up with the alien spaceship, or the government agencies that pursued the kids? Even though viewers got few answers in the show’s brief three seasons, the central premise–that normal human kids from around the world might evolve awesome powers at any second–is the kind that remains hopelessly engaging to this day.

Mission Genesis/Deepwater Black

Mission Genesis (called Deepwater Black in Canada, in keeping with the kids’ book series on which its based) was a joint production between the Sci-fi channel and Canada’s YTV. I’m almost–almost!–loathe to call this a teen series, because, thanks to over-the-top Dawson Casting, all of the actors are in their twenties, and their apparent youth is never addressed. But it was produced by a kids’ channel in Canada, based on kids’ books, and, when I watched it as a teenager, I “read” the characters as seventeen or eighteen or so, even if I don’t now. And it was like crack to me back then. So I feel the need to give it a nod!

Mission Genesis opens with a mystery: six (preposterously attractive) teens wake up from cryosleep to find themselves on a spaceship that’s under attack. After they fight off the attack, the ship’s holographic on-board computer, Gen, informs them that they’re clones tasked to execute the Deepwater project. You see, all of humanity has been wiped out by a virulent plague, and their ship, the Deepwater, contains enough DNA to revive the human race. First, though, they have to find a planet suitable for habitation, defend the ship from attack, deal with “prexing” (the seizure-like recollection of their “pre-existing” memories, programmed into them from their long-dead donors), and not murder each other.

This was a bottle show, with an extremely small budget, and set. And it’s terrifically claustrophobic. But it’s also a character study; though the crew awakens with only some of their memories intact, they all (especially Reb, and Yuna) have strong personalities which often clash. And, as is the case in, say, a tiny high school, there’s no way for them to escape their peers if they don’t get along. They’re all they have! So you get a mysterious premise, with loads of simmering conflict.

Worth a watch particularly for the acting chops of Gordon Michael Woolvett, who plays Reb, and Nicole de Boer (aka Dax II from Deep Space 9), who plays Yuna. Some of the other actors are a little hammy, but this is really the Reb and Yuna show, and their palpable chemistry is really compelling.

(Did I mention that everyone on this show is really attractive? Seriously. It’s ridiculous.)

The Tribe

The Tribe was the most long-lived of all these series, airing five seasons in New Zealand, and, is perhaps, the most ridiculous. Its central premise is dystopic: a plague wipes out all the grown-ups, and kids descend into anarchy. Kids wear silly face paint, and form “tribes” to protect themselves from the roving, violent bands of punks who roam the streets. Our heroes are the “mallrats,” a group of kids who live in an abandoned mall (awwwesome) and attempt to live democratically and peaceably.

But despite this, and despite the fact that the show’s long-term story arc contains some ridiculous twists (like . . . there’s a cult! Based around one of the dead characters from the first season! Led by a guy who looks like Dwight Schrute!), this is, at its essence, a soap opera. I like to think of it as Alas! Degrassi. Episodes are frequently “issue”-centric, tackling topics like anorexia or teen pregnancy (several times), and much of the focus is on the characters’ romantic relationships.

But it does all of these things really well. Even the more villainous characters are sympathetically complicated (my fave is Lex), and the central characters Amber and Bray are really believable as teenagers forced to lead. Amber is probably one of my favorite strong women on TV, and she’s, like, fifteen at the start of the show (as is the actor who plays her). Intelligent, complicated, and fierce, Amber is exactly the kind of teenage girl we need more of, on the pages and on the screen.

Heads up, though, The Tribe has the worst, most ear-wormy theme song I’ve ever heard. EVER. You’ve been warned!

*Interrobang Sean tells me I must mention The Animorphs TV show. So here we go: The Animorphs TV show was really bad. Like, terrible!