Chapter 51

“But we’re not dead yet,” Nebraska protests, looking genuinely shocked now. “We still have our hearing, and I’m confident we will prevail. Or, at least I will.” Classic Nebraska. But I’m so shaken, I can only summon the briefest flash of outrage at her selfishness.

“I do hope so, milady.” Milton tips his hat. “Your Trope enchants me. It would be a shame to have you all flattened to microfilm.”

A tremor runs through me. I try to imagine what it feels like to no longer exist—if it’ll just be nothingness or, more frightening still, if my awareness of myself will still be there but without form or function.

“It’s not fair,” I protest. My chest tightens. The low ceiling seems to press down on me.

Milton chuckles. “Life is not fair. Do you expect fiction to be any different?”

“Shouldn’t fiction satisfy at least?” I ask. “Like, shouldn’t the Reader turn the last page with a feeling of triumph over incredible odds?”

“Ah, it is refreshing to encounter an idealist in these parts. I, too, was once a true believer in the Happily Ever After.”

I don’t know if I should take this as a compliment, considering the source. “And then what happened?”

“The Council lent me out to too many hack writers who did so little research and had so little grasp of the art of nuance that they twisted me into a string of terrible stereotypes, each time ripping out a piece of my soul. Finally, I begged to be transferred, and now I work here, which is perhaps even more depressing as I am confronted daily by Authorial abuses of Tropes.” He waves his arm, beckoning us to follow. “Which is a perfect segue into my tour.”

We stand in front of a dim alcove containing several dark-skinned mannequins dressed in ill-fitting clothing. The pant legs, collars, and suit sleeves are all too short, too long, or too baggy.

A steel arch frames the exhibit. It turns out to be a microfilm storage system made up of dozens of drawers. Milton picks one seemingly at random, pulls it out, and rifles through the plastic cases until he comes to one labeled Jerome.

I come to understand that these drawers contain hundreds or even thousands of individuals from a discontinued Trope. Each one had hopes and dreams cruelly cut short. Each one once had the freedom to walk the streets of TropeTown.

They were once like me, and I may soon be like them.

Milton loads Jerome into a projector. His image bursts onto the wall. I have to look away, and Zelda flinches beside me. Jerome crosses his eyes, sticks out his tongue and wears a clown hat. “Can any of you tell me which Trope Jerome is?”

“I’d guess Uncle Tomfoolery,” Nebraska says, only slightly less aghast than I feel.

“Exactly.” Milton turns off the projector. “Authors used him as comic relief and to make the other characters seem competent in comparison. The Trope is no longer sanctioned due to racism.”

“Because the other characters were white,” Nebraska states.

“Actually, it’s because the Uncle Tomfoolery Tropes comprise the most offensive stereotypical slanders of black men handed down from the time of slavery in Reader World. Authors portrayed them as superstitious, easily frightened, incompetent, and worse.”

We slide over to the next alcove. More mannequins. More drawers. More dreams forever suspended in time.

Milton selects a plastic case labeled Porter and loads him into the projector.

“Porter exemplifies the outdated and offensive Magical Negro Trope,” Milton explains. “His purpose was to show the protagonist how to save the day or provide an awakening of some sort. This Trope also lost its sanction due to racism, despite embodying positive characteristics such as wisdom, patience, and selflessness.”

“Because the other characters were white,” Nebraska states for the second time, but this time she seems less sure of herself.

“The protagonist was almost universally white,” Milton confirms. “Which is indeed problematic, but there’s much more to it. As white Readers and Authors have become more socially and culturally aware, demand has grown for diverse characters to be portrayed sensitively and authentically. This means Authors strive to create more Developeds instead of relying so heavily on Tropes.”

Nebraska harrumphs. “What these enlightened Readers seem to be missing is that not all characters can be developed in a story. It would weigh down the narrative. Tropes exist for a good reason.”

I’m not surprised to hear her say this. As a Legacy, Nebraska benefits from the status quo. Of course she doesn’t welcome social progress with open jazz hands.

“While that’s true,” Milton says, “if we don’t get a range of diverse Developed characters, all Readers ever see are minorities reduced to a very specific set of qualities that then become ingrained stereotypes.”

Zelda shifts her weight from leg to leg, looking like she might be prepping to run. “So what you’re saying is that a Magical Negro is not a person so much as a very narrow idea of a person.”

Milton beams at her. “Right. And that’s dehumanizing and objectifying.”

“It seems to me that most Tropes are not inherently offensive,” I say, thinking of my own Trope and all the wonderful friends I’ve made within it at group therapy. “It’s how Authors use them. Like what if all the characters had been minorities? That would be less racist, would it?”

Milton winks at me. “Much like if a Manic Pixie exists in a novel full of other Manic Pixies, it is less sexist.”

“Exactly! Doesn’t the Council consider that?”

“I have no idea what the Council considers in their deliberations,” Milton says, “but what you’re getting at is Trope subversion. That’s when an Author takes a familiar Trope and does something unusual with it. So instead of Readers’ expectations being fulfilled, Readers are forced to confront the fact that people really are more complex than our labels give them credit for. Unfortunately, Authors don’t rise to this challenge remotely as often as they should.”

I seethe with the unjustness of it all. The Council punished Jerome and Porter and all the others for something they had no control over. Instead of retiring them, the Council could have set them free in Reader World, where they could’ve grown beyond the flaws in their programming, making their own choices and living for themselves.

I bet the offending Authors never paid any penance for their insensitivity.

I’m hit with a horrifying realization—what if my very existence as a Trope gives Authors an excuse to be lazy and propagate negative, objectifying portrayals? Maybe I am toxic despite my best intentions.

“The Manic Pixie Trope is in the same subset of Tropes as the Magical Negro.” Milton urges us onwards. “You are all considered Magical Secondary Characters. There is the Magical Asian . . .” At the next alcove, he gives us a quick glimpse of an older man with a white beard in martial arts attire.

“And the Magical Shaman . . .” We wander over to the next alcove for a brief look at a man in a feathered headdress.

“Magical Secondary Characters suffer from being cast in supporting roles instead of as the heroes of their own stories. But the worst part is that they often sacrifice themselves for the benefit of the white male protagonist, which sends the harmful message that the white male is somehow more worthy of survival.”

“You’re a white male,” Nebraska points out to Milton. “Why do you care?”

He blushes and stammers. “It’s my job.”

Nebraska clicks her tongue in judgment. “Are you saying you wouldn’t care otherwise?”

“I’d probably still be ignorant,” Milton admits. “Now I’m aware of my privilege. I know I don’t have all the answers, but I’m committed to learning and supporting the discussion.”

“Such a virtuous villain you are,” Nebraska quips.

His improved posture indicates he doesn’t catch the undercurrent of contempt in her voice. “There are three other Magical Minority Tropes in addition to yours under consideration for the chopping block.” He pulls a few photos from his pocket and shows them to us.

“. . . the Gay Best Friend . . .” The photo here depicts a young man wearing fur legwarmers and a crisp white shirt unbuttoned nearly to the waist.

“. . . the cancer patient child . . .” A little bald girl with enormous eyes in a hospital setting with tubes everywhere.

“. . . and the Rainman.” A childlike man wearing a sailor suit, who seems to be controlling the floating objects surrounding him.

“But those categories are so broad!” Zelda exclaims. “I mean, every gay person must be someone’s best friend, right?”

Milton returns the photos to his pocket. “Admit it—when I say ‘Gay Best Friend,’ a very specific picture comes to mind—much like the one I just showed you. You know this guy from so many stories, and he’s always the same. He’s flamboyant and funny. He gives his gal pals great dating advice and loves to help them pick out flattering clothes. But does he ever get a date of his own? Do his gal pals pick out clothes for him? Not bloody often. A magical Secondary Character shouldn’t be seen as anyone’s servant. They should get some tangible benefits from the protagonist, don’t you think?”

“Ummm . . .” Nebraska says. “I think you’re preaching to the choir. We have this same problem in the Manic Pixie Trope.”

Milton clears his throat. “Which brings me to our last exhibit today . . .”

We round the corner. The Manic Pixie alcove is nearly finished.

It’s even worse than we thought. They’ve already begun the process of condemning us to this dusty place.