Mary Sue

derspatchel's post earlier pinged my ongoing amusement over the fact that my birth name affords me a place in sci-fi/fantasy/fanfic creative genres as a living, breathing Mary Sue, otherwise known as a wish-fulfillment character created by authors or artists to represent a hopelessly idealized version of themselves. You can read about them via that link; it's an unfortunately common occurrence in the writing/artistic worlds, often created unconsciously by a person not too terribly fond of their real-world personages. A Mary Sue, who can be female or male, gives the author/artist a proxy through which to live, triumph, be loved, get TEH LAID, rule the world, sometimes die heroically with swan-like grace, and generally exist without the warts-and-all limitations faced by the author him or herself.

I am Mary Sue. No, really. That's the first and middle name my parents gave me, and it's what I was called up until I was old enough to dodge the enforcement of the name's use. What can I say -- it was the '60s, my 'rents were catastrophically un-hip and 10 years older than when most of their contemporaries were having their first babies. Even before "Mary Sue" had a literary meaning, it was a archetypal hillbilly name on a par with Elsie Mae. Two college-educated Yankee professionals should have known better. But they didn't. It's a long story of how I finally shucked the name, but I am now known as Mare, or sometimes Mary. But the original name still does exist like a shriveled limb, appearing comically on my passport, and is indeed my legal name.

So, back to the lit'ritchur. As a Mary Sue, I am just as beautiful as I am brilliant and brave, and I live a life that is equal parts bold adventure and epic romance. In the morning when I wake up with my shimmering golden tresses framing my angelic face and my makeup already applied and perfect, I don't know whether I'll spend the day rescuing a kidnapped dignitary, filling in last-minute for the lead actress in a Broadway play, or melting in the fiery arms of my equally perfect lover. I can do it all, and I don't make mistakes. I also might die. But my death will be better than anyone else's. And I'll be back in a new form very soon.

Mary Sues aren't (and never really have been) limited to nerdy genre realms or internet "writing." You can catch them in big ticket novels and films. Recently Evan Parke gamely portrayed a classic Mary Sue in the role of King Kong's studly Mr. Hayes, the devastatingly handsome First Mate who issued forth a fountain of wisdom, leadership, guidance, and sheer fine-ass-ness. I could smell the Mary Sewage quite clearly by his 2nd scene. I didn't have to wonder if, but rather when he would be making the Ultimate Sacrifice with a brave and noble heart (and washboard abs). Another Mary Sue goes down in choreographed splendor, that others may live.

(King Kong was the best terrible movie I've seen in ages, and the presence of a Mary Sue was the formaldehyde cherry on the top.)

It wasn't until six or seven years ago that I got wind of the newer use of my hated given name. I won't use it, but now I don't pointedly hide it like before. I can flash it out like a party trick amidst the right crowd and bring down the house, or at least get good-natured snarks out of it. It's given me the opportunity to take a moniker I once swatted at like a swarm of bees, and turn it into occasional conversation piece jewelry. I'm Mary Sue, so I can do that. I make everything right in the end.

Further reading on the topic.