The Conundrum of the Secondary Character

By Shania O’Brien

I am writing this because I am upset. I have consumed a lot of fiction throughout my life, and the recurring trend in the treatment of secondary characters has hurt me deeply enough to demand validation from all of you reading this. Too often, I have noticed content creators butchering their (previously well-developed) characters for shock-factors, for the establishment of a new romantic interest, or for the main character to learn something from their mistakes. 

Dean Forester (from Gilmore Girls) is the first victim that comes to mind. I see you scoffing, being on Team Jess, telling yourself Dean was never good enough for Rory. But that’s propaganda! Think back to season one, where he was the perfect boyfriend and treated Rory like a princess. I will forgive him for his angsty teenage outbursts, but there was nothing else wrong with him. His character was altered to make room for Jess, reducing Dean to a plot device whose removal drives Jess and Rory’s relationship forward.

It is infuriating seeing so many great characters ruined because their creators no longer had room for them. They started off so wonderful, full of hope and potential, and were then reduced to an obstacle in the way of the story. Most of the time, this happens because side characters begin when stories do and do not have motivations outside of whatever little page/screen time they are awarded. It is essential for us, as creators and consumers, to treat our characters with respect. I understand that three-dimensional characters are not always required (and can be extremely hard to craft) but if I see one more character’s life and reputation butchered so that the MC can “evolve” or obtain a newer, cooler posse I will purchase a large tub of mint chocolate ice cream and cry into it.

I form personal bonds with every character I meet, and them suddenly turning into domestic abusers and homophobes ruins the process of intimacy. What do stories where we allow once-beloved characters to digress so severely we aren’t sure what’s left apart from one puny adjective say about us? What does it say about the people who write those characters? The ones who identify with them? The ones projecting so hard onto them they don’t know where to go once it’s over?

I always believed we assigned people roles based on how they fit into our story. Sometimes we’re Nick Carraway and Richard Papen, allocating importance away from ourselves and living vicariously through those around us. But most of the time, we’re just ordinary people, attempting to categorise our relationships based on simple pre-determined formats. The parts we designate to people determine our expectations of them. If we are familiar with how tropes play out in fiction, we anticipate real life to follow a similar trajectory. But life is not a story and  people are not secondary characters existing for the sole purpose of fulfilling our hero-narratives.

Perhaps this is just me, thinking too much about the distress authors and directors have put my favorite secondary characters through. They suffer more because they do it for the betterment of others. Perhaps this is me, requiring a check of my vibes this Libra season. Or, perhaps this is me, confronting the magnitude of the impact the way stories are told have on us. Either way, defending secondary characters is a hill I am willing to fight and die on.