Amazing use of backstory and symbolism (or why Juliet Burke might not be dead)

This week was the penultimate season finale for Lost, one of the most intricately written shows I've ever watch. You can complain about the pace of the first three seasons or the confusion of the time travel this season, but the show has been a clinic on character development and the use of symbolism and foreshadowing.

Which brings me to Juliet Burke. The last time we saw Juliet, she had set off a hydrogen bomb, presumably killing herself and perhaps many of the other characters. Given her proximity--a couple feet from the bomb--and the fact that Elizabeth Mitchell, the actress who plays her, will be in another series next year, Juliet is definitely dead.

Then there's her name, Juliet. She died at the end of Romeo and Juliet. But the writers have left a series of innocuous clues that make her fate cloudy.

In season two of the show, Juliet was sentenced to death, but Ben, another major character, commuted the sentence, but ordered her to be marked on the back. The mark (displayed above) was perceived as a punishment--and it must have hurt. From that point forward, Juliet was effectively displaced from her group, shunned as if she wore the mark of Cain. In Biblical lore, Cain was given this mark after killing his brother Abel. He was cast out of the garden of Eden for his sin, but also given a mark so that any who harmed him would know the wrath of God.

The mark, which has been conveniently forgotten, has some interesting meanings, too. According to Lostpedia, the mark:

• Resembles the alchemic mark for spirit.


• Includes an eight-pointed star. The number eight often symbolizes rebirth or resurrection.


• Mirrors the Mark of Cain, which is a commandment from God that the marked person not be killed.

The point of this post isn't whether Juliet is dead. It's about building a layered story, and taking symbolism from other sources to enrich your story. Lost is filled with such symbolism. Some of the symbols are red herrings and some are real forecasters of story.

And that goes to the craft of effective story-telling. Layering your plot and your characters with telling details deepens the story for everyone involved. It doesn't have to be a tie of the character's name to a Shakespearean character. It could be a character's foible--perhaps a fear or nervous habit--described in a manner that makes it seem like a throw-away, until a future revelation gives it more meaning in the story.

How do you do that? How do you get people to argue about your characters?

We'll talk about it in future, periodic episodes.

Plot? Character? Why choose?

Recently, on the Florida Writers Conference blog, I asked which was more important, plot or character. (One of the sessions covers that question, among other things.) Obviously, plot and character are as important as your right and left leg. You can't really choose which one is more important because both of them are required to allow you to stand.

But everyone has a dominant leg, and mine, in this metaphor, is character.

The first three seasons of Lost moved at a glacial pace. There were flashbacks galore, as we gained insight into the characters that make up the Magical Island. We found out what made everyone tick, even characters who are long since dead. Sometimes the plot points only seemed important in relationship to the character development.

Then, Jack flashed forward instead of back, the pace went from leisurely to breakneck. Since then, rescuers have found the island, turned out not to be rescuers, six of the survivors got off, the island disappeared and started hoping through time, Juliet and Sawyer wound up in love in 1978, Hurley went nuts, Jack became an addict, and Kate became a mommy. Then they all came back and half of them wound up in 1978 and the other half wound up in 2008. And finally, John was murdered by Ben, then came back to life and led everyone on the island--the 2008 version.

I still like the show, because I care about the characters. And because I care what happens to them, the show's writers get a lot of lattitude from me when it comes to plot contrivances. In most universes, going to a frozen cave and turning a wheel isn't going to cause people to careen around through time like little silver balls in a galactic pinball machine.

I'll put up with a lot if I like the people who are going through it. Magnum, PI is one of my favorite shows largely because of the character development. The central characters, Magnum and Higgins, aren't even close to the same people they were at the beginning of the series. Magnum was kind of shallow and immature and Higgins was a boorish pain in the butt.

By the time the series ended, they were interesting enough that you could get trapped in an elevator with them and not be bored. (In fact, that exact thing happened in a seventh-season episode--and it was a good time.)

Obviously, plot is required. Having Magnum and Higgins sit on the porch and watch the grass grow wouldn't be much fun. But strong characters can cover an average plot--and the details they bring can turn a pedestrian plot into a page-turner.

Plotholes are blessings

I've referenced Magnum in an elevator recently, so I'd like to go back to it to prove a point about plot. In the second-to-last season, Magnum and Higgins were stuck in an elevator after an extended period of petty brawling, when Magnum accused Higgins of being Robin Masters.

The accusation was a late-in-the-game invention by the show's creators without much basis in earlier character development. The show had already indicated very clearly that Archer Hayes held Higgins' position before Higgins did and regularly communicated with Robin Masters. Also, Higgins was fired--at least in theory--to be part of an intelligence operation that had him leading a band of extremists.

It was clear that Higgins couldn't actually be Robin Masters. The plot holes were just too large. Of course, if those plot holes could be filled believably, then what started as a contrived plot point because a well-conceived twist.

Let's say for a second that Higgins isn't really Robin Masters after all. Let's say Robin Masters doesn't exist, at least as a person. But to have a boozy, incredibly wealthy playboy who jets around the world and is considered a flaky philantropist, a rich clown with a big heart--that might be worthwhile to the British government.

So maybe Higgins isn't Robin Masters, but maybe he's running the operation for the Brits. And because Thomas Magnum, an intelligence officer with a few screws potentially loose from being a POW and watching his wife theoretically get killed, could use someone to keep an eye on him, why not enlist him ass part of this operation without really letting him know?

This approach doesn't handle all the plot issues, but it addresses a lot of them, and even makes for future character development. If Magnum were used in a British government operation without his knowledge--by a man who claims to be his friend--he's probably going to feel betrayed by Higgins, a father figure, and by his country.

Now the plot hole isn't just eliminated, but the new information takes the characters in new and interesting direction.