Lie to Me - Part 1

Coming events cast their shadows before – “Lochiel's Warning”, by Thomas Campbell

As a mother of two, I’m no stranger to the little white lie. I was a teenager myself once. I can hardly claim immunity from this ancient rite of passage. Revisionist history is a milestone for moral code formation. Can’t cultivate a sense of right until you walk on the wrong side. I always found it especially character-building to get caught in the act. Adds that extra layer of dread that’s so compelling and unforgettable.

At birth, you’re a clean slate primed for imprinting. Eat. Drink. Sleep. Cuddle. Crawl. Half instinct, half ability. All mandatory. Fibbing, though, is one of those optional talents. A coping mechanism typeset in early adolescence that’s filed away under survival skills. Every now and then it trots out when friends want to stay out passed curfew or that one last text message begs to be sent, even though you maxed out your quota one thousand messages ago.

Parents are sympathetic creatures, but when the devil has its due, the gloves come off. They confiscate pitchforks, blunt horns, clip tails. Suspend phone privileges. Kids learn each specific misstep earns a certain consequence. Think twice. The angel on your shoulder is not a complete snore. Wake up and smell the comprehension.

Thankfully, lying is more of a phase than a way of life. At least in my reality. Not so in fiction. People are forever hiding something to comfort, protect, or deceive. Fabrication – and its partner in crime, omission - are fabulous instigators of conflict, superb soothsayers of foreshadowing, and world-class generators of growth.

Conflict is the bread and butter of story. The basic framework demands character face obstacles on their way to self-realization. If nothing stands in the way, there is no story.

Readers and audiences alike love to put themselves in the protagonist’s place. They suffer when the hero suffers. Rejoice when the hero rejoices. Learn what the hero learns.

If conflict is the bread and butter, foreshadowing is the jam that sweetens the meal. Fans love to anticipate b/c they feel like an active participant in the unfolding drama. When a tale takes a sudden turn or a character reveals himself to be more than he is, you can’t help yourself. I knew it! I knew there was something going on with that guy! Like you’ve been accepted into the gifted & talented program and found you’re the star pupil.

It’s exhilarating to be immersed in this make-believe world on a personal level. You’re validated by the experience b/c the writer adroitly engages your inner detective, shifting from amateur sleuth to veteran bloodhound in the course of the story. And let’s face it, there’s little appeal if the magician pulls the rabbit out of the hat only to clock you over the head with it.

If you knew Darth Vader was Luke’s father before Luke did in Star Wars, wouldn’t you have felt cheated? Evidence early on indicates Luke’s father is not who Luke believes him to be. Dead, for one thing. Uncle Owen’s reaction to Luke’s desire to leave triggers an annoyance that’s later revealed as protective anxiety. Luke’s no farmer. Owen accepts that, but he also fears Luke has too much of his father in him. That worries him.

And now, it worries you. You’re invested. You learn just enough to rock the boat but not enough to tip it over. It takes brainpower to decipher deftly deposited hints and cleverly crafted clues. An innocuous action here, a sarcastic observation there. The writer wants you to work a little b/c it pays dividends. Satisfied fans are repeat customers.

In an episode of Lost entitled, “House of the Rising Sun”, the backstory of a Korean couple is unveiled. Sun, the obedient wife, watches her oppressive husband, Jin, wrestle with a fish bare-handed in the surf. Triumphant, he approaches and bashes the fish’s head against a nearby piece of wreckage. His crude aggression is jarring, but it also foreshadows Jin’s character.

For no apparent reason, Jin tackles and beats Michael, another survivor. Jin’s brutality seems excessive given his businessman’s persona. He’s subdued by other islanders and handcuffed to a section of fuselage. They refuse to release him until they understand what provoked Jin. B/c neither Jin nor Sun speak English, this exacerbates the conflict.

In flashbacks we learn Jin is a lowly waiter in love with a rich man’s daughter. To earn Sun’s hand in marriage honorably, he agrees to work for her father. Sun is troubled by this, but overjoyed to marry. Jin earns enough money to support her in the manner he envisions. As their marriage matures, however, the burden of this decision wears on him. One night he comes home covered in someone else’s blood. Sun is horrified. What does he do for her father? Jin does whatever her father tells him. “I do it for us.” Honor has changed him into a man of dangerous extremes.

Sun confesses to Michael she speaks English but she dare not tell her husband. The lie is sure to backfire on her, but not this episode. Jin attacked Michael b/c he was wearing her father’s watch. Michael lost his in the plane crash and found a replacement in the wreckage – unwittingly, her father’s. When Jin saw it, he considered Michael a thief and attacked him as a matter of honor.

Whether dressed for deception or cloaked in comedy, your conscious mind doesn’t always catch the significance of foreshadowing the first time. But your subconscious mind does. That’s what adds layers to storytelling. That’s what turns a good story into a great story. That’s why certain books are destined to be read over and over again.

The next Buffy the Vampire Slayer analysis is the aptly titled, “Lie to Me.” It has many excellent examples of foreshadowing using dishonesty as the backdrop. An old friend of Buffy’s relocates to Sunnydale and tests the bounds of friendship under false pretenses. As it turns out, he’s not the only one lying to her. Tune in tomorrow.