Cliche vs. Archetype

The rookie cop, the experienced and jaded cop, the crooked cop, the gung-ho cop, the idealistic cop, the buddy cops, the stupid cop, the brilliant detective, the angry sergeant, the cop striving for redemption. What are these? Certain professors of literature, and many a movie or book reviewer would say they are clichés or stereotypes. And we all know that cliches and stereotypes are bad, so as authors we should avoid them like the plague (hey, that turn of phrase qualifies as a cliche), right?

Not so quick, I say. If all these variations on the cop character are cliches—and they have been used many times and many ways—what does an author have left work with? Maybe an author should abandon the idea of writing a cop story at all, maybe tell a story about a struggling farmer. Wait, that's a cliché, too. How about a wealthy farmer, perhaps a plantation owner? Hmm, that's been done, as well.

What's an author to do if he wants to avoid the cries of cliché and stereotype that critics and literature professors will shout out to the world as soon as they flip through your book and find a character that's fits a prototype long since established by other authors who came before you? Probably, the only thing an author can do to avoid these criticisms is to not write anything at all. Because, as I've demonstrated above, there are very few character types that haven't been explored, to some extent, already.

Anytime that a critic or a professor of literature wants to justify their paycheck and prove their intellectual superiority, they can fall back on the criticism of cliché. It's a lazy criticism which will apply to almost any work of fiction, so whenever I see a critic use the term 'cliché' I take their opinion with an extra grain or two salt—because it's too easy of a critique to make, and because a cliché' does not necessarily bad fiction make. Criticizing other people's creative efforts is a situation where the critic often has no skin in the game. In other words, if they're not creating and putting their own work in front of other people, they don't run the risk of subjecting their own creative efforts to the same criticisms and judgments they so liberally dispense. It's easy to sit on the sidelines and yell at the players, but things get more personal when you're in the thick of the game. Only a handful of critics are brave enough to join the game.

Another, less derogatory term, for the mold of a tried and true character is an archetype, and this is the designation that I prefer. A good writer won't shy away from drawing on these archetypes for the characters in their stories. They provide a quickly identifiable character for the reader, which won't slow the pace of the story. Then, gradually, the author may clothe that archetype with flesh and blood, wonts and desires, and the true character will reveal itself. Often the true character will be in-line with the standard archetype, but other times you will find the character revealing secrets about themselves, which may send your story reeling in startling directions. Instead of being afraid of these sudden turns, embrace them, hold on tight and see where the ride takes you.

Villains will suddenly become sympathetic as they reveal that they want to change their stripes. You'll see noble heroes become selfish and fall, you'll see tragedy turn to triumph, and triumph turn to tragedy, and you will be able to tell wonderful stories. And all these stories will contain clichés, because you aren't the first or even the ten thousandth writer to put pen to paper. Clichés are unavoidable, but you can spin these archetypes into golden tales that will thrill, entertain and amaze—even if your local literature professor turns her nose up at your plebeian efforts.