I've been thinking about The Wheel of Time series lately...not only because I read it to escape other, less constructive thought patterns, but also because it strikes such real, human notes. At least for me. It's a fantasy series, with wizards and princes and queens and monsters, yet it is so vast (13 books with the final book on the way). The characters are so deeply developed, that I cannot help but compare myself to them. And, as you might expect, I find myself terribly lacking. I'm not out saving the world with my inherent magical powers, you know.
You'd think that after all these years of writing essays about paintings and sculptures and monuments, I would have some skill in (at the very least) making others see what I see in a given work of art. Technically I should also be able to convince you to agree with me that that is what said work is all about. These days, though, I don't feel very skilled. So I imagine that this is once again a collection of nonsensical typing.
I've been really annoyed with the main characters lately. Not because of the plot, or where it has taken them (it's all fantastic), but because they're young, powerful and innately good at what they do. Granted, it's easy to write a character with all the right specifications. This one learns how to be a leader in mere months, finding just the right mentor and just the right situations. That one is gifted with extra knowledge and just happens to influence thousands of people in a positive way. And supposedly they're all around 20 or 21 years old. Bastards.
Now, not every single character gets it right. There are plenty of fools, idiots that set back grand plans to defeat evil once and for all. And there are the nameless, the extras, that fill in this world that popped out of Robert Jordan's head. The extras are of course a mixture of good, bad and ugly. The main characters see them as subjects, people to be helped and fought for. They aren't doing their own fighting. Sometimes they have names, sometimes they do not. Some of them join the cause, elevated to major status because of (once again) some talent they were born with.
This whole world revolves around a Pattern, fate if you will...the classic struggle of heroes: to fulfill their destiny or to achieve what they really want. I myself don't see much fate at work in the real world. But wouldn't it be nice to believe that I am who I am and where I am for some great purpose? Automatically I place myself as an equal to the main characters and all their power. Isn't that arrogant of me, now? Naturally, they are the most developed characters, and I identify with certain traits, but...In reality, I don't feel as powerful. I don't feel I have any inborn talents, no skills honed while struggling to survive. And I definitely don't feel I am rising to any great station in life. I sometimes wonder if I missed something at the two universities I attended...was I supposed to obtain some sort of "power" there? Did I miss what fate intended?
I guess the question that this all boils down to--with the potential answer that taunts me--is this: If the real world were an epic novel, would I be one of the nameless throng or a main character?
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