A reminder about self-worth, for Valentine’s and any other day
The Wrong Takeaway
I’ve spent my life learning the wrong lesson from the books, TV, and other media I consumed. At best it was an important lesson that I gave too much of my attention, to the detriment of myself and the people around me.
This insidious message, drilled into me from nearly the cradle? The great importance of friends, partners and generally being surrounded by people.
Harry Potter, Friends, and Star Trek ceaselessly focus on the value of building and maintaining relationships. In Lord of the Rings, Bram Stoker’s Dracula, and just about any of the TV serial dramas I used to watch with my parents, the group is essential; being alone is to be at the mercy of our chaotic and cruel world.
I subconsciously saw this as a kind of golden tenet, and followed it in the misguided belief that my place in a social group was more important in the long run than my own personal development. Throw in some staunch moral values and this approach certainly seemed to carry Frodo, Harry, Phoebe Buffay, Jonathan Harker and so many others across the finish line without much character growth to speak of. Where are the stories dedicated to personal growth and achievement?
A brief aside: what’s something that can - or used to - emotionally gut you? For me it was the image of no guests at a kid’s elaborately planned birthday party… and still is, given how high my gorge just rose while writing that. It feels like there’s a connection there: individual worth put out of reach by social estimation.
Paul Atreides - rarely alone - by Anato Finnstark
In My Experiences
As with so many lessons I’m now re-evaluating, cracks in the logic have been appearing for a while - though they are hard to recognize in media res. This has most often been when playing or watching Dungeons & Dragons, and feeling conflicted about moments where individual characters put their goals and motivations ahead of the group’s.
The very first D&D show I watched had such a moment within its first 25 episodes. A new and mysterious player character - a dark wizard named Banon - tries to steal a priceless artifact the party needs (probably in order to save the world - it happens a lot, let’s face it). Between dice and a bit of role-playing, his betrayal is quickly uncovered and the group’s fighter Vincent demands an explanation. It isn’t forthcoming, so Vincent deals out swift and casual justice - saving the party’s quest and rendering Banon’s story unto the void.
I was already fascinated with the show and even more so with the game they were playing, but this moment knocked me off my feet. I had believed that individual motivations were the miscellaneous spices accentuating the party as a whole. Gimli’s adoration of Galadriel and Ron Weasley's protectiveness of his family, even Lucy Westenra’s competing suitors never truly interfered with the aims of the collective. But of course there are contrary examples once I think to look for them: Boromir’s duty to Gondor, Snape’s love of Lily, every ridiculous and selfish action of the Friends cast.
In the decade since seeing Banon’s failed coup, I’ve seen some epic narrative twists pulled off by players and Dungeon Masters alike. The first season of Critical Role ended with a battle of epic proportions - 5 hours of screen time, plus at least 20 hours of preparation, and saw multiple series guests temporarily returning to the table. Amidst the bittersweet ending, this happens (spoilers). I don’t know how the sheer drama of the moment can ever be outdone, but I can hope!
Individual Growth
True to my difficulty with having learned this lesson, it was tough to pick out many speculative fiction books which highlight individual growth and acceptance over social bonding. [Technically there’s Ayn Rand, but I refuse to engage with her brand of far-right individualism].
Josiah Bancroft’s Books of Babel series follows small town school teacher Thomas Senlin as he searches for his missing wife Maria and blunders through an alien and chaotic environment. His existence to this point has been linear and sensical; his relationship with Maria placid and uninteresting as the town from which they embarked.
The first six levels of Babel, drawn by author Josiah Bancroft
Immediately upon arrival, Senlin has a kind of chemical reaction with Babel; his sensibilities and the Tower’s strangeness sparking unstoppable and irreversible change. Maria vanishes into the touristing crowd in an eye blink, and the suddenly unstable Senlin must adapt and learn or be devoured by the myriad desires constituting the Tower.
His journey is harrowing and thrilling, heartwarming and soul-crushing. The four book series sees him crossing paths with a rich cast of characters on fascinating journeys of their own, spending time together before losing each other to the chaos of Babel. He learns hunger, pain, and need; in turn he develops cunning, determination, and the tremendous importance of action.
Thomas Senlin and Edith Winters imprisoned - art by Tom Kidd
Part of my love for this series comes from how it handles Maria’s reintroduction. All of Senlin’s development arises from complications in his quest to find Maria and return to the simplicity of their life together: it should be unachievable if his journey is to matter, right? But Maria changes too. Only slightly more worldly than her husband, Maria has been fighting against Babel’s current in her own way, disrupting it and being disrupted in kind.
Maria is not a princess to be rescued in the Tower, nor is Senlin a chivalric Prince Charming: they are individuals struggling to survive, and once reunited must assess their relationship anew.
Departing
As with Senlin, Maria and the entire cast of The Books of Babel, I think we must be dedicated to ourselves before we can hope to be a help to others. Author Josiah Bancroft also demonstrates that self-worth is its own reward detached from romantic relationships, through many memorable characters.
Upper Babel in moonlight by Tom Kidd
I’m left searching my mind (and shelves) for other books that explore this idea. Ann Leckie’s and A.K. Larwood’s novels are perhaps the most promising, yet I wonder if they really fit. It’s certainly amusing to write this while listening to Gone Girl, wherein two people are incredibly dysfunctional whether together or apart. I also just started My Grandmother Sends Her Regards and Apologizes by Fredrik Backman, which may have some similarities. I wrote about Murderbot last week, which could also work in its way.
How did you learn this lesson? Are there any books on it that you think I should read?
Thanks for reading! Until next week~
Comments