The tender antagonist

Mutable air: internal contradictions, tenderness, creative solutions.

Previously, I haver thought about needing to come into a deeper knowledge of parts of myself to write my current book. I was thinking about joy and pleasure and how they have often been missing in my work. But something else occurred to me when I was trying to remove a spider from the bath: how not to write antagonists.

I remember, at thirteen or so, being reprimanded and given a (rightfully) low grade for writing a thinly veiled revenge story about a teacher whom I hated. From this distance, I can say we were both in the wrong. I was embarrassed when I cooled down, and realised how much of my rage had been given away, how I’d been exposed. And worse, that I had written a very bad story that wasn’t really a story at all.

I now realise that an antagonist isn’t a faceless big bad with no redeeming features, however callous or abusive their behaviour might be. This doesn’t mean that there is anything wrong with showing an abuser to be an abuser, but it’s important to show where they have been damaged, and what has been blunted and corroded within them. When you do show a truly irredeemable act it has more impact; it develops from real emotions.

When I wanted to have a bath, and a very large spider was in there, I felt as though they were my antagonist, trying to make my life more difficult. I’m not quite phobic, but this one was big enough for me to see the colour gradations on their body, the alien way they scuttled over the enamel. I could feel my nervous system react but I could also see the little creature freeze. We were in the same boat.

I knew the spider meant me no harm, but my body reacted as though they did. I could have followed that reaction, left the bathroom, and hoped for the best, or let the spider wander away down the plughole to certain death.

I wasn’t brave enough to help them out of the bath with my bare hands, but I left a trail of paper for the spider to climb out on. They stumbled, gripped, then clambered out.

I am doing all I can to become the person who can write this book, and recognising that each of us is flawed, and has unexamined traumas, is the first step to that. By offering care from a distance, I could deal with the spider and the spider could get away from me. I left them in a dark corner to soothe their nerves. My fear melted into a wary tenderness.

The relief of facing something is so much greater than the temporary balm of running away.