Why Must the Protagonist Grow in a Story?
The Relationship Between Coming-of-Age Stories and Narrative
I decided to write an article on the theme of "the protagonist and growth," and found myself lost in thought for a while.
There are many coming-of-age stories. A child becomes an adult. The immature become mature. Because of this, the conclusion I want to reach might be difficult to grasp. Or, it might be seen as self-evident to experts.
In other words, the title "Why must the protagonist grow in a story?" can also be rewritten as "The protagonist does not necessarily have to grow in a story." This is a counter-argument to the logic that says "the protagonist's growth is the story itself." I don't mean to flatly deny that opinion. After all, I am a complete amateur when it comes to story creation.
However, as a reader and a viewer, I have watched a fair number of stories. Among them, there have been works called masterpieces and works considered failures. Some masterpieces have protagonists who do not appear to grow physically or mentally, and some failures have protagonists who appear to learn life lessons or grow physically.
Protagonists Who Do Not Grow
Shakespeare: Hamlet
Hamlet does not grow. He experiences every kind of ruin and ends up being swallowed by that ruin himself.
Jake Gittes from the film Chinatown
Gittes does not grow. He lets everything he was pursuing in the story slip through his fingers like sand.
Winston Smith from the novel 1984
Far from growing, Smith is stripped of his very soul at the peak of his degradation in the eyes of the reader.
Lisbeth Salander from the Millennium novel series
I have only read up to the third volume of Millennium, but I don't think Lisbeth grew. The same goes for her counterpart, the second protagonist, Mikael Blomkvist.
Laios, the protagonist of the manga Delicious in Dungeon
I believe Laios's humanity does not change much from beginning to end. If anything, I feel that the reader "came to know" the depth of Laios's heart throughout the story (synchronizing with the process of diving into the dungeon). Laios is the type of protagonist who is hard to like, but I think the brilliance of this story lies in how it brought the idea of "eating dungeon monsters" to the beginning of the story to stir the reader's curiosity, and created a structure where the reader gradually "gets used to" the protagonist, and ends up liking him as a result of getting used to him.
So Where Are They Heading?
The book I used as a reference for story creation is Robert McKee's aptly titled "Story." Although it is a textbook for screenwriting, I believe it can be applied to storytelling in general. In it, Mr. McKee does not write "make the protagonist grow."
In Part 3, "Principles of Story Design," there is a section called The Essence of Story, which describes how to draw out the mental strength and attention required to keep the audience engaged and moved until the end of the story. To summarize, I think the essence of a story consists of the following two points.
Take the audience to the extreme state permitted within that story.
As the story progresses, the protagonist must undergo an irreversible and meaningful change.
From the two points above, it can be said that the protagonist must possess enough to take the audience to the extreme state in the story of desire, strength of will, ability to act, motivation, and charm. Conversely, if they have that, it can be said that there is no need for growth.
When people talk about "extreme situations" or "meaningful change," they might think of things like "drawing a massive transmutation circle using the shadow of a total solar eclipse" or "a massive surge in combat power to defeat a great evil," but I think the important part here is the condition of the scope permitted within that story.
In other words, it means taking the reader to the very edge of the extreme range defined for each story set by the author—whether it's about being accepted by a crush in a romantic comedy, or cornering a culprit and uncovering every detail of the "why" behind a crime in a mystery.
I believe that "making the protagonist grow" is merely one of the expressive techniques for "climbing the stairs of the story" or "clearly expanding the range of the protagonist's limits."
If the protagonist's growth is an essential element, then the protagonist must be immature at the beginning of the story.
For a long time, I didn't like "Anne of Green Gables." I found Anne's childlike sensitivity to be pushy. However, after re-reading it recently and being able to interpret it as "a story about the adults surrounding Anne," I was able to enter the world of the story smoothly and was moved by it.
If a "coming-of-age story" is the principle of storytelling, then it means the foundation of the story cannot be established unless the protagonist has clear imperfections, even if they aren't exactly immature. The plot then becomes a process of compensating for those imperfections.
In other words, looking at the big picture, the beginning and the end are already decided. There is an immature protagonist who ends up mature. Doesn't that create a limit to the story? Isn't the history of storytelling the very history of writers summoning their courage to challenge the limits of expression and push the boundaries of possibility? Otherwise, would "1984" have been ignored, or would an encounter with a devil like in "Demian" be evaluated as literature?
The adult within the child, the child within the adult
Another reason I find it hard to accept an immature protagonist lies in my own childhood.
When I was a child, I felt several other beings inside me, and I think one of them had a very cynical way of looking at things. There were certainly many things I didn't know or couldn't do, but I hated being pointed out for them. I had a lot of pride.
If it is essential for a protagonist to start out immature, then it would mean that a mature child who could not experience what is generally called "immaturity" cannot have reality in a story. I think many people know that is wrong.
Also, I think another reason why childhood is often used is because of the unwritten rule that "the more impressive an event encountered in childhood, the more powerful it is." Like receiving a straw hat from someone you admired in your boyhood... If you flip that over, it becomes "a child who had nothing happen in their childhood has no dreams to tell." But in reality, aren't motivations and dreams just small triggers at first, and more like a partner that is strengthened little by little through the small actions chosen every day, growing along with the person themselves?
Any character called a protagonist in a story naturally had a childhood. That remains one of the elements that should be considered as a backstory. But is it always necessary to tell it when cutting it out as a story?
Why does my story need a childhood? Or why doesn't it? I feel like I could create a more refined story by thinking about it deeply.
The manga Escatologia will be released on Thursday, August 8, 2024, starting at 8:00 AM.
▼ I have posted the synopsis and main character settings.
▼ I have released the magazine.
I have compiled all the efforts I made as an ordinary woman in her late 30s to complete a 350,000-character story into this magazine. If you find it even a little interesting, I would be happy if you could give it a like and follow.