Star Wars and Genre: Swashbuckling Adventure

Errol Flynn, king of the swashbucklers, in art for Captain Blood
Errol Flynn, king of the swashbucklers, in art for Captain Blood

What is swashbuckling adventure? The term conjures images of dashing heroes rescuing damsels in distress via energetic swordfights in a romantic historical setting. It should be obvious that there is some of this in Star Wars’ DNA: it is dominated by dashing, high-octane heroic adventure, and sometimes openly apes the tropes of swashbucklers. Twice, a lightsaber-armed Luke Skywalker rescues Princess Leia and escapes by swinging across a gap on a rope (it’s not real swashbuckling adventure until somebody swings from a rope, vine, or whip). At its core, Star Wars is a spiritual descendant of swashbuckling adventure, which means the genre should occupy a significant place in the Expanded Universe.

There are certain tropes that go along with the swashbuckler: elaborate fencing-centric action sequences, romance with a damsel in distress, a bold and idealistic hero fighting against oppression or cruelty, a wicked villain in a position of power (who must inevitably be defeated in a swordfight), a historical setting of approximately 1200-1800 (or a fantasy version thereof). Think Robin Hood. But fundamentally, swashbuckling adventure is about an attitude. A swashbuckler’s approach to entertainment is energetic and flamboyant: its characters are larger than life, its plot one of constant thrills and excitement, its tone exuberant. It is almost never in question that the hero will win; the point of the story is to enjoy the fun-packed journey to victory.
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On Jaina Solo’s Hands – Examining Privilege in the Galaxy Far, Far Away

A few weeks back, a critical discussion of the Legacy of the Force series at the TFN Literature forum turned to a topic that doesn’t normally come up too often: privilege.

The specific impetus was the penultimate novel, Revelation, wherein Jaina Solo spends time training on Mandalore in preparation for a confrontation with her Sithy twin brother. Boba Fett’s fellow Mandalorians, thoroughly established by this point as hardscrabble farmers for whom mercenary work is only an intermittent source of income, are quick to laugh off the ex-Chief of State’s daughter with the (possible) Coruscanti accent, and what they see as her pretensions of warriordom, but over time she proves herself up to their challenges and, eventually, earns a grudging respect.

But this is Karen Traviss, an author with, well, a singular perspective on the Jedi Order’s place in the larger galaxy—so it’s perhaps unavoidable that the prose squeezes a little more sympathy for the Mandos (even from Jaina’s POV) than we’re used to seeing, dwelling here and there on, say, the softness of Jaina’s hands, her education, her growing up well-fed, and so on.
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Second Look – Programmable Souls: On Droids and Narrative

Beyond analyzing the Expanded Universe from a storytelling standpoint, another function I want this site to perform is to scrutinize what Star Wars is about, thematically, from an informed, adult perspective. It’s important to keep in mind that the films function, very deliberately, as children’s entertainment, but one of the great pleasures of SW for me is poking at the edges of that superficial narrative to see what deeper messages and implications can be extracted. When one of the first guest-article pitches I saw, from the inimitable Becca Hughes, was on the role of droids in the films’ explicit man-vs-machine paradigm, I knew I had a winner:

“Droids are magical helpers. Droids are familiars. If this were pure fantasy, Artoo-Detoo might well be Puck. Mechanizing the role is, once again, an easy way to adhere to the decor of the Star Wars universe, but slapping “droid” on both the comedy sidekicks and the faceless minions implies a commonality I don’t actually think is there. The similarities are cosmetic. Thinking of Threepio and Artoo as soulless is, well, soulless, but the movies clearly invite us not to think about battle droids as anything other than automata.”

This might be a purely intellectual exercise, Becca goes on to say, if not for the importance of Darth Vader—and by extension, narrative “warning signs” like Luke’s mechanical hand and the entirety of General Grievous—to the overall message of the story. If Vader’s irredeemability is evidenced by his being “more machine than man”, what does that say for the characters who are all machine? Click here to read what Becca had to say about it.

Second Look – The Rise and Fall of the Supporting Cast Post-Return of the Jedi

One of our bigger early successes, traffic-wise, was a piece from Lucas Jackson on “the rise and fall of the supporting cast” in the Expanded Universe. Having interacted with Lucas on the TFN Literature forum for a number of years, I knew exactly where he’d be going with it, and while on the whole I try to keep an optimistic tone here, that topic, like his Case of the Disappearing Generals a few weeks ago, is something that he and I see as such a fundamental dilemma for the post-movie EU that I made a rare tonal exception and let him “go negative”, as it were:

“Ben Skywalker lacks companions his own age. Rogue Squadron is no longer filled with dear old friends. The senators are all strangers to the reader. There are no currently active links to the seedy world of the fringe who can draw the action in that direction. Fresh new characters like Lon Shevu, Dyon Stadd, and Thann Mithric are killed rather than developed. The grand, unified cast’s stock is diminishing without being replenished, and the Star Wars galaxy looks smaller, hollower, and colder as a result.”

The primary goal of this site, above and beyond positivity, is to function nominally within a post-EU franchise, meaning that while we embrace the EU—even ensconce ourselves in it at times—we recognize that Star Wars is bigger than that, and one doesn’t need to treat every written word as gospel to value the many lessons the EU teaches us about how SW works. Even if the sequels completely reboot the story, the post-Return of the Jedi narrative that currently exists is nothing less than a master class in What Works and What Doesn’t Work, and should be treated as such—and Lucas’ Supporting Cast piece (and its immediate follow-up, Jedi, Sith, and Force Tunnel Vision) is lesson number one.

Second Look – Vergere: An Ultra-Traditionalist Jedi, A Radical Daoist

When we were first getting this site up and running, I took a couple old pieces of mine from my defunct blog at StarWars.com and reposted them here—partly to teach myself the ins and outs of WordPress formatting, and partly just to help populate the site in advance of staff writing ramping up. Since our official launch on July 8th, every single piece has been brand-new—with one exception.

A late addition to the site, staffer Tyler Williams came to me in August and asked whether I’d be interested in a piece he’d written for his Religions of China and Japan class a couple years back, in which he extolled the philosophy of the character Vergere and its roots in real-world Daoism:

“In the words of the Jedi Vergere, “Everything I tell you is a lie. Every question I ask is a trick. You will find no truth in me.” In Daoism, there IS no truth that a teacher can simply impart to a student. ANYTHING that a teacher simply “teaches” to a student is a lie. The truth of the Dao is beyond any words that society has created to describe it.”

Vergere’s perspective, Tyler posited, actually cut closer to the root of what the Force—which George Lucas based largely on Daoism—was intended to be than did the modern, proactive Jedi of the post-RotJ era. A newly-written postscript drove this point home further by comparing Vergere to what we’ve since learned about the earliest Jedi philosophy from the Dawn of the Jedi series.

Tyler’s article was also one of the first ones I saw fit to run in multiple pieces; click here for part one and click here for part two.