Friends, it’s time for a deep dive into narrative tropes, and trust me, just as there’s a universe of beloved tropes, there’s an equally vast expanse of those that can make a story plummet faster than a poorly piloted TARDIS.
While I can navigate around the murky waters of Dubcon in fiction, and I vehemently dislike the Born Sexy Yesterday trope, there’s one recurring trope that has the almost supernatural power to derail an entire book or series for me: the dreaded Resurrection trope. And when it comes to iconic series like Doctor Who, the stakes are even higher.
Now, don’t get me wrong. I’m perfectly fine with deaths that are cleverly faked – the classic spy maneuver. Espionage thrillers, which I adore (and even dabble in writing at yolandiehorak.com/books/), often employ this with panache. Necromancy and implied or off-page resurrections? Bring them on. Ghosts, undead, you name it – I’m generally on board.
However, when a character dies on the page, amidst heartfelt mourning and dramatic goodbyes, only to be blinked back into existence by some narrative sleight of hand – a bright light, a convenient alien intervention, or worse, a retcon – then the story has lost its credibility with me. This is especially true in long-running series where character deaths should carry significant weight.
Here’s a breakdown of why this trope, particularly when clumsily executed, can be so detrimental to storytelling, often feeling like a betrayal of the narrative contract between creator and audience.
The Undermining of Sacrifice and Stakes
Death in a story, especially a meaningful one, should never be a plot device used lightly. It’s not a minor inconvenience or a temporary setback. When a character dies within the narrative – be it in a book, TV show, or film – it must serve a purpose. There needs to be a narrative justification, an emotional payoff, or a significant shift in the story’s trajectory.
What is the point of a character’s death if it’s rendered meaningless by a swift resurrection? It diminishes the emotional impact and the sacrifices made. It’s as if the narrative is saying, “Just kidding! None of that mattered.” The emotional investment the audience has made is suddenly cheapened.
I understand the romantic impulse. “But he loves her so much he’s willing to die!” Yes, we get it. Romantic sacrifice is a powerful trope in itself. However, isn’t there a more impactful way to illustrate profound love without resorting to a dramatic death scene followed by an immediate and unearned resurrection? Must we endure pages of final words and tearful goodbyes, only to have it all undone moments later?
Even worse is when a hero battles a seemingly insurmountable Big Bad for several installments, finally vanquishing them in a climactic showdown, only for the villain to reappear (perhaps with upgraded powers or a new entourage of evil minions) in the subsequent story arc. It’s narrative whiplash.
Every sacrifice made by the deceased character, every heroic effort by those who fought the Big Bad, is fundamentally diminished if death is not a permanent consequence. The stakes are lowered, and the sense of danger evaporates.
Doctor Who and the Case of Clara Oswald (Spoilers Ahead!)
Let’s consider a prime example from the world of Doctor Who. Clara Oswald’s apparent death in “Face the Raven” was undeniably powerful. Regardless of individual opinions on the character, her demise was moving. She faced her impending death with courage and resolve, accepting the consequences of her actions. Her final moments prompted even those who were not initially fans (myself included) to re-evaluate their perception of her character arc.
Clara’s sacrifice profoundly impacted the Doctor, leading to arguably some of the most critically acclaimed episodes of the series: “Heaven Sent” and “Hell Bent.” These episodes showcased Peter Capaldi’s phenomenal acting and explored the Doctor’s grief and subsequent actions in heartbreaking detail. It was a masterclass in emotional storytelling and character development.
However, the subsequent soft resurrection of Clara in “Hell Bent,” where she is effectively granted a form of immortality and her own TARDIS with Me, fundamentally undermined the emotional weight of her death. Sending her off on adventures effectively negated her sacrifice and diminished the Doctor’s profound grief and character growth experienced in the preceding episodes. Many fans expressed their dissatisfaction, and online forums were flooded with critiques of this narrative decision. The impact of her death, and the Doctor’s subsequent journey through grief, was significantly lessened.
The Emotional Betrayal of Resurrection
Many viewers and readers, myself included, become deeply attached to fictional characters. That immersive connection, that emotional investment, is a core part of the joy of engaging with stories. We read, watch, and play to experience shared emotions, to explore different worlds, and to form connections, even with fictional beings. When a character we’ve grown to care about dies, the emotional response is real. Tears might be shed, pages might be metaphorically (or literally!) ripped.
Resurrection, especially when poorly handled, can feel like a betrayal of that emotional investment. It’s as if the author or writer is saying, “Ha! Fooled you! All those feelings you felt? Didn’t really matter.”
The death of a character shouldn’t be solely employed as a tool to manipulate emotional responses from the audience. It needs to be narratively justified and have lasting consequences. Otherwise, it risks alienating the audience and eroding trust in the storytelling.
Once that emotional contract feels broken, it becomes difficult to fully immerse oneself back into the narrative. Defenses go up. “Oh, they’re dead? Who cares? They’ll probably be back.” And that cynicism can persist, making it harder to care about future events or character fates – if one even continues with the book or series.
If characters are simply going to be pulled back from the brink without a compelling narrative reason, perhaps they shouldn’t have died in the first place. Meaningful stakes require consequences, and death, in fiction, is often the ultimate consequence.
What are your least favorite tropes? Let’s discuss in the comments below!
Until next time,
Yolandie.
Share this:
Like this post? Share it with your friends!
