Jaime Lannister and Sympathetic Monsters: A look at a Master
By Dave King | June 21, 2016 |
“Come for the incest, stay for the dragons.”
– Seth Meyers on Game of Thrones
photo courtesy HBO
The second time we see Jaime Lannister in Game of Thrones, he shoves ten-year-old Bran Stark out a window because Bran has just seen Jaime making love to his twin sister Cersei. (Bran does survive, but that wasn’t what Jaime intended.) In most works of fiction, there’s no coming back from something like that – incest and attempted child murder gets you branded as a monster for the rest of the story. But as Game of Thrones progresses, readers learn to like and, in some ways, even admire Jaime. How does George R. R. Martin do it?
It’s because he is a master of the technique we talked about last month – creating sympathetic characters in a culture that is decidedly unsympathetic. Martin has managed to create a plausible medieval-like society. But he goes far beyond the usual physical details of a swords-and-sorcery world and into the deep roots of the culture. The different rules he has built into Westeros shape the lives of his characters and make Jaime Lannister possible.
Incidentally, if you haven’t read the books – or seen the HBO series, which follows the books closely – you might want to stop reading. I intend to throw around spoilers with wild abandon.
The first difference is that life is cheap in Westeros. From the time Eddard Stark, one of the most sympathetic characters in the first book, lost his head, Martin became infamous for killing off likable characters, often in wholesale lots. But this isn’t just a bad habit on his part. It’s a realistic portrayal of the world he’s created.
Martin’s Westeros, like medieval Europe, is a place where solders in the winning army feel justified in raping and pillaging their way across the countryside because, hey, who’s going to stop them? So unless you lived in a walled city or were rich enough to hire a sellsword to protect yourself and your family, roving bandits or bands of soldiers – including the ones who were theoretically on your side – could simply show up and slaughter you and yours. Starvation was commonplace as well, both during sieges and during the years-long winter. And I’d guess that disease was also rampant, given the description of waste disposal in Fleabottom, the poor section of the capital city, King’s Landing.
Against this backdrop of short and brutal lives, the attempted murder of Bran, just one of Eddard Stark’s three sons (four, counting his bastard Jon Snow), is not that much of a tragedy. As the oft-repeated High Valyrian saying runs, valar morghulis. All men must die.
Another fundamental difference is that Martin’s society is held together more by personal relationships than a stable social contract. Family is central, mostly because your family members are the only ones you can trust to not stab you in the back – at least, most of the time. Even if they don’t like each other much, family members tend to choose the well-being of the clan above everything else.
Readers eventually learn that, when Jaime tries to kill Bran, he is not simply protecting a personal secret. If it became known that he and his sister were lovers, it might also become obvious that Cersei’s three blond-haired children are the offspring of their relationship (both Jaimie and Cersei are blond) and not the heirs of black-haired King Robert, Cersei’s husband. And given that their oldest, Joffrey, is in line to inherit Robert’s throne, the Lannister family’s political power – something Jaimie’s father, Tywin, has fought for his entire life – is also at stake. Finally, given the tendency of other great houses to pounce on any that seem weak, the Lannisters may be wiped out if they lose the support of the throne.
Jaime and Cersei’s incest also has a family connection – readers learn that the Lannister family, like the ancient Egyptians, has a tradition of marrying siblings to keep family control over the property. Given the importance of family and the way Jaime’s is at risk, both his incest and his murder attempt almost make sense.
Especially since the peace of the kingdom is also threatened. In fact, when word of Joffrey’s illegitimacy eventually gets out, it triggers a four-way civil war as various other claimants to the throne come forward. Given that the civil war kills thousands – soldiers, peasants, and a fair number of beloved characters – the attempted killing of one ten-year-old starts to seem like a necessary sacrifice.
Martin does more than simply justify Jaime’s act in terms of his society. He makes it clear that, despite what he’s done, Jaime has a core that is honorable and even compassionate. Jaime is a good man forced by circumstances to do something horrible.
For one thing, Martin introduces us to genuinely horrible people. Joffrey, for instance, thinks that being king gives him the right to torment whomever he wants. Both Lords Roose Bolton and Balon Greyjoy are cold enough to abandon their own sons when they are no longer useful. Lord Walder Frey enjoys sitting back and watching his men slaughter the guests at his daughter’s wedding – one of the wholesale killings of sympathetic characters that upset Martin’s fans. And Ramsey Snow, Lord Bolton’s bastard son, has made both an art and a science out of actual, physical torture, a Bolton family tradition – their banner shows a flayed enemy.
Even Jaime’s father, Tywin, cares for his family mostly in the abstract. He’s willing to manipulate his children with no consideration of their feelings in order to gain political advantage for the family as a whole. He’s also willing to torture his son Tyrion psychologically, if not physically. Against this backdrop, Jaime has a genuinely loving relationship with his younger brother Tyrion and risks his life at various times to save both Tyrion and Brienne, a female knight with whom he falls in love. His father’s coldness, coupled with a mother who died when he was young, could easily have driven him into his sister’s arms. Once you meet his family, it’s easier to see him as a good man forced by circumstances to do horrible things.
Then there’s Jaimie’s history as the “Kingslayer.” Years before the story of Game of Thrones begins, Jaimie was a knight of the King’s Guard of the former king, Aerys Targaryen. The office involved swearing a solemn oath to protect the king in a society where oaths are second only to family in holding things together – often the only thing that keeps knights from rape and pillage is their oath of chivalry. But as Jaime confesses to Brienne one night, the old, mad king demanded that Jaime kill his own father and burn down King’s Landing. Given the choice between breaking his vow and committing patricide and mass murder, he chose to stab the king in the back, an act of compassion for which he was despised for the rest of his life.
Despite what Seth Meyers says, I don’t think people are fascinated by Game of Thrones because of either the incest or the dragons – although, yes, the dragons are pretty cool. I think the story takes root in the imagination because of the spectacle of watching good people try to preserve their compassion and integrity in terrible circumstances. It’s easy to be heroic when the choices are clear and don’t cost much. The real human heroes are the ones who have to fight for their heroism. Like Jon Snow, who kills an ally, breaks his vows, and betrays the woman he loves to fulfill his duties to the Night’s Watch. Or Brienne, who is honorable enough to risk death to fulfill her oaths, yet who once killed a renegade soldier slowly so he’d suffer as much as his victims. Or Tyrion, one of the few genuinely compassionate and loving characters, who strangles his ex-lover and kills his father in the privy.
And Jaime Lannister, who shoves a ten-year-old out a window in order to protect the woman he loves and save a kingdom.
[coffee]
Dave King has been editing for nearly 40 years now. He is co-author of Self-Editing for Fiction Writers, a former contributing editor to Writer’s Digest, and has contributed more than 100 articles over the last 12 years to Writer Unboxed. He lives on 25 acres in rural Massachusetts with his business partner and wife, Ruth Julian, who also edits his work. His other day job, at least on Sundays, is as the organist at a Lutheran church in Greenfield, Mass.
The Lannisters are not famous for marrying brother to sister–that’s the Targaryens, the last of whom was served as Hand by Tywin Lannister. However, Tywin did marry his cousin Joanna, the mother of Jaime, Cersei and Tyrion.
You’re right. I stand corrected.
This is what I would call a brave attempt, Dave, to see something truly good in GoT which I’d say just isn’t there. No question GRRM is a master of our craft (I’m an epic/heroic fantasy guy too), and he along with Tad Williams and SR Donaldson have brought us so much in the skill of building a world through multiple PoV, and so much more.
But you don’t need these contortions to try and make someone like Jaime seem good. He IS undergoing a character-arc, true, but in my view he’s just getting a little tired of being so bad all the time! Not a conversion, just a kind of evil-malaise. In the same way, GRRM’s characters don’t become better, they “rise” like underwater mountains when the sea level falls!
GRRM killed off his good characters wholesale, true- heck, even some of his bad boys die because they’re not sufficiently bad. Hardly any good people live, because he’s on a hamster wheel now and couldn’t justify it. Why only this one, why only now?
As for history, I think you’ve dispensed with the one thing that he did in Westeros, in a single word, God. Knights in the Middle Ages didn’t restrain themselves just because they were outnumbered or couldn’t crack their enemies’ walls. Many were pious, believed in chivalry (whether God existed or not, that was their motivation). That was a glue that went far beyond both family and nation. Westeros has only evil deities: belief in the good is for saps. So how can GRRM keep the virtuous alive and stay consistent?
I read four books and I’m out of gas on “Godfather in Chainmail”. I can’t sustain interest, much less summon any pity, for how bad people live.
I think it’s a little more complicated than that. For one thing, God was behind the oaths, both in Westeros and in Christian Europe. And the oaths didn’t stop knights from pillaging their way across the continent during the 100 years war. Also, it is belief in God that motivates the Brotherhood Without Banners.
Also, I never thought Jaime was undergoing a conversion. The beauty of what Martin has done is that Jaime is who he’s always been. It was his compassion that led him to kill the Mad King, years before the events of the books. Readers (and viewers) are simply getting to know him better.
And I’m not sure Martin is only keeping bad characters alive. My wife and I cheered when Joffrey bought it.
But, clearly, Martin’s books are not for everyone.
Martin even makes Cersei sympathetic at times. I think the biggest flaws in this type of fiction is an unsympathetic villain.
I know. For those of you not familiar, Cersei despises both her husband Robert and her brother Tyrion and may well have had tried to kill both. But she was forced to marry Robert when still very young, and he was in love with someone else — the woman he was supposed to have married was killed. She spent her life forced into a loveless marriage with a man who openly despised her. That situation explains where she comes from.
“I think the story takes root in the imagination because of the spectacle of watching good people try to preserve their compassion and integrity in terrible circumstances. It’s easy to be heroic when the choices are clear and don’t cost much. The real human heroes are the ones who have to fight for their heroism.”
I’ll preface my comment by saying that I would never venture to compare myself to GRRM. However, I do write epic historical fantasy, and I do pride myself on having a world with a fairly complex social and cultural foundation. I recently received a critique from a reader whose wisdom pertaining to the elements of story I trust implicitly. At the heart of this reader’s critique was the issue of access to story for what she termed “us minor geeks.” In other words, accessible for more than just the ardent fans of the genre.
I’ve been studying the issues my wise reader presented for a few weeks. It all resonates for me. But I realized something: she’s not talking about removing any of the complexity, or drawing back from the deep cultural elements and dogma of the backstory. She’s talking about emphasis. Particularly at the opening, but throughout. She’s talking about putting the spotlight on the humanistic elements of the story, and finding the proper timing and framing for the necessary/relevant insertion of world-building minutia.
It’s a lesson I have to learn again and again: why should anyone care about the *people*? You sum the lesson up nicely here, Dave. Thanks for the reminder.
Absolutely, Vaughn. Part of the joy of swords and sorcery is the detail work you put into the background — a complex, functioning metaphysics and a society that feels both authentic and alien. You can’t do it well unless you’re obsessed with this sort of thing. But it’s too easy to get lost in the obsession at the cost of the human element.
I was thinking about writing a post for WU sometime soon about obsession, Dave. It is critical. Hard thing to teach, though, isn’t it?
Great post. Thank you!
It is. I think another term for it is “passion.” And it applies to more than fantasy or science fiction writers. I think the best mystery or thriller writers are passionate about the hallmarks of a genre — they love a delicately-developed plot twist or the exploration of the darkness of a killer’s mind. And I’m convinced that all successful writers in and out of genre are passionate about the human condition. They love people, they love creating them, they love watching what happens to them..
If I may, Therese, my novel Pride’s Children is subtitled ‘a novel of obsession, betrayal, and love’ for a good reason.
The main character’s obsession, and how she handles it, what she does with it, is the underpinning of all three books of the trilogy.
“…a good man forced by circumstances to do horrible things.”
You’re right, Dave, that George has created a world with rules more akin to Medieval times than ours. The social contract is different. Survival requires brutality. Oaths and fealty to ones other than family is only just taking hold. It’s a world we once ourselves lived in (sans dragons) but now abhor.
Once–? George’s Westeros is in another way exactly like our America, never more so. George’s history is based loosely on the Wars of the Roses, a brutal and decades long civil war over…well, what exactly? Hardly anyone remembers the issues between the houses of Lancaster and York, but we can say this: The wars had one timeless aim.
Power.
George’s point, I believe, is that when its all a game and the prize is power, then there are no winners. We all lose. How is that any different than the United States of America this year?
George in one way justifies his villains, yes, but at the same time condemns ours. We do not live in Westeros. We do not have that excuse. The game of thrones does not serve us. It only drags us backward to an uglier time.
Villains justified? Maybe then. Not now. George is writing about us.
Oh, we’re treading on dangerous ground here, Don. Those who know my personal Facebook feed know I have some . . . decided opinions on politics.
I think you’re absolutely right. But I also think I’m going to forbear from further comment.
LOL, probably wise.
Thank you! :-)
What a unique dive into Game of Thrones, Dave. You’ve offered so much to consider.
I’m a fan of the show, but even I struggle with the depth of brutality. It is, though, a time and place created by a talented mind, and well worth further investigation.
Thanks for your post!
Dee Willson
Author of A Keeper’s Truth
Yeah, the books are far easier to deal with, since spurting blood is easier to read about than watch. This is actually a problem with other, similar shows. I’ve never watched either Breaking Bad or The Sopranos because of the violence, although I understand they also involve characters struggling to be decent within very indecent cultures — the drug trade and the mob, respectively. And I do watch Vikings — the dark ages were as rough as Westeros — despite the frequently-spurting blood. Fast forwarded through the Blood Eagle scene, though.
I’m not sure this tendency to show and even glory in explicit violence says anything good about our culture. I just try to work around it. And, as I say, there are the books.
I so agree with Don about power, and the quest for power, as the underlying premise of Game of Thrones. The title of the first book, which the producers chose to be the title of the show says it all. There are references by several charector along the way too, about how uncomfortable the actual physical iron throne is to sit on, being made of melted swords. The irony of the Iron Throne of Westeros. People die for the right to sit on the most uncomfortable chair in the realm.
Also, there is that fire-felt sentiment by Danerys where she talks about the perpetual power play for the throne being a wheel that goes around and around with one family in power then another, and how she intends to break that wheel for the good of all. Current election cycle sentiments come to mind anyone?
And this, the title of the book saga is A Song of Ice and Fire. In talking to many fellow geeks I’ve found I’m not the only one that the Robert Frost poem Fire and Ice comes to mind for. You know that one, everybody does because it’s that famous, the one about about how some people believe the world will die by fire, but from what Frost knows of ice, ice would suffice.
10 -1 that poem and perhaps a few others by Frost may have influenced GRRM. Poems that are an observation of the human condition. Poems that are ingrained into our modern cultural fabric. Poems that once you’ve read ’em never let you go.
As a fellow New Englander, I certainly agree with Frost about the power of ice.
But seriously, the poem does capture the extremes of passion and hatred that infuse the characters of Game of Thrones. I believe the title has a second meaning, tied to the coincidental reappearance of both the White Walkers and the dragons after centuries of absence.
And one of the nice touches is that everyone assumes the only way to run Westeros is through a king or queen. Two of the best characters are Lord Varys, who is trying to get a compassionate ruler on the throne, and Daenerys, who is trying to become a compassionate ruler capable of handling the throne. Its a nice subtlety.
As I say, I will forbear comment on the relationship to modern politics.
Great post, Dave. Jamie’s arc is one of the more fascinating ones in the series, which is saying a lot, since there are a bunch of great arcs. I agree that the reason this series works so well with such a vast number of people is the way GRRM creates his world and then the people are born out of that world. I can’t think of a single moment when I thought, “That person would never do that.” And considering how many characters are in play, and how many storylines, that is astonishing.
This is one of my favorite stories of all time. ALL time.
I didn’t really get into the size of the cast, but you are right. There are so many characters following at least six or seven different plot threads at any given time. Yet they are all distinct and memorable.
Excellent, excellent post. The definition of conflict.
Hey, Dave:
What is this Game of Thrones of which you speak?
Joking.
I think I’ve got a different approach to this. I’m going to single out the same phrase Don did:
“…a good man forced by circumstances to do horrible things.”
To my mind, this still tries to spare Jaime the consequences of his character by saying his bad acts were necessary and somehow “forced upon him.” They weren’t. He chose them. And I think it’s THAT complexity that makes him truly fascinating.
You identify what I think is the real origin of his complexity in identifying to specific relationships that show something other than the swaggering bully and narcissistic cad: His protectiveness toward Tyrion and his love — I’d even say admiration — for Brienne.
I agree his murder of the king is an act of compassion or nobility, but it feels a bit abstract to redeem him.
But the fact that he would protect his dwarf brother shows he has a sense of kinship with what it means to be hated, to be alone, to be the target of mockery and fatherly disdain. That bond reveals Jaime, too, is unsure of where he stands with his father or with other men, and it also shows he’s willing to stand up for someone who’s weak and defenseless but also smart and funny and kind. He may envy those traits, wish he had more of them. But one thing is for sure: he deems them important enough to protect them when embodied in his brother.
Characters are known not just by their actions, but by their allegiances. This is the mysterious power of “a kid or a dog,” where you can redeem an otherwise repugnant character by showing him genuinely care for another living creature.
I also think Will in his remarks above is onto something when he notes that Jaime’s arc includes a kind of “evil malaise” where he is simply weary of needing to be the cunning sadist. His admiration of Brienne speaks to this. He would not be able to feel for her the way he does if he did not possess a sense of honor and nobility himself, and it’s clear, through his devotion to her, he is trying to drag that sense of nobility back to full consciousness — better yet, to act on it. To do that he needs to earn her respect.
In other words, I think his complexity emerges from natural contradictions in his character inspired by contradictory allegiances developed through his life. Circumstances elicit one aspect of character or another, but he’s not “forced” to be this or that. He’s always free to act as he chooses (to the extent any of us are). How and why he chooses to act in any given circumstances reveals his strengths and weaknesses, and the power of which allegiance, in that moment, he prefers to honor.
This reveals the power of relationships in a story. Jaime can’t just turn around and be good. He has to earn that nobility he’s so utterly shunned for so long. How to show that? Give him another character whose sense of honor is uncompromising, whose courage is unquestioned, and make him earn her respect.
I agree that GoH succeeds largely through its network of meaningful, challenging relationships among fascinating characters, and that Martin’s story world wisely emphasizes that. By creating a world where one’s word and one’s family revealed the depth of one’s loyalty, Martin created a world where relationships and not abstract rules would dictate behavior.
One last point: another way to elicit empathy for an otherwise unsympathetic character: make him vulnerable. The loss of power he and Cersei suffer, but more importantly the loss of his arm — these make him human, understandable, and capable of failure. This automatically engages us. Unless, of course, we’re just too invested in hating the guy. But that says as much about us as him.
P.S. Thanks for steering me to your personal FB page. I just offered a comment to your most recent post. Here here, as they say.
I actually have a slightly different take on Jaime. The choice that made him the Kingslayer wasn’t abstract. And it didn’t redeem him, it damned him. It lies behind the loss of honor and nobility that he is fighting to regain. After all, he swore to protect the king then literally stabbed him in the back. Even though it was an act of compassion, he sees it as treachery, as does his whole world. This is one reason I suspect he’s attracted to Brienne — she has lost two of the people she had sworn to protect, even though she wasn’t responsible for either death.
As to whether he’s forced or chooses, it is true he’s a free agent. But the circumstances of his culture and life often leave him with no good options to choose between. I think he would have preferred to keep his oath to the king, but the cost was too great. He didn’t enjoy pushing Bran out the window (the way Ramsey Snow or Joffrey would have, for instance). The alternative was simply worse. That’s what I mean when I say circumstances force him to do horrible things.
I see your point about the treachery and the sense of dishonor it would elicit. However, I also seem to recall a rather self-satisfied smile on his face when he pushed Bran out the window.
I think we’re both recognizing the fundamental, contradictory complexity at the heart of this character.
I just don’t see him as fundamentally good and only forced by circumstance to do bad things. I see him as divided, with the better half of him rising over the course of the story due to conscience, terrible setbacks — including the dishonor being “Kingslayer” and the loss of his arm — and companionship of others who remind him of his better nature, specifically Tyrion and Brienne.
Really enjoying this discussion even though I’ve not read the books or watched the series. I’m not particularly compelled to pick up something with a lot of violence. I prefer domestic tales :)
David C, I agree that nobody has to do anything. The choices we make that tells us who we are, what we value.
I think it is also partly a matter of time passing. One early act of violence can get lost amongst the many that follow. Also, along with suspension of disbelief is the propensity to believe that most people have some redeeming features somewhere in them,even if it doesn’t excuse their early behaviour. I like the complexity of the GOT characters – it still works for me. (And the dragons are cool, too!). The same sort of early set up happens,too, in House of Cards (SPOILER) where unforgivable acts are committed early in the series before we have really got to know the nuances of the character who committed them.
David Corbett, I totally agree with you. And totally disagree with Dave that “Jaime is a good man forced by circumstances to do something horrible.” Circumstances never force anyone to do anything, least of all to make an immoral choice.
And Dave King, I disagree with this other statement of yours as well: “He didn’t enjoy pushing Bran out the window … The alternative was simply worse.” Really? Potentially losing one’s self-serving power over a kingdom is “simply worse” than killing a little ten-year-old boy?
I like Jaime because of his basic decency and in spite of his serious flaws, which sometimes rise to cloud and compromise that decency. Martin’s brilliant writing makes us understand this complex character, but that’s not the same as justifying his sins. I’m rather taken aback that you seem to do that, however.
Several of you have brought up the question of choice and sin with regards to Jaime. I’ve been hesitant to comment because, if getting into questions of politics is dangerous, getting into religion is even worse. But the more I think about it, the more I realize this question is central to the point of the article.
So . . . down the rabbit hole we go. Sorry, Therese.
There really is a sense in which I am justifying what Jaime did. Not that I think it’s a good idea to push children out of windows. But in the context of his culture, it is understandable. This was a culture when children were seen in utilitarian terms, as the means to a stable succession. Even Jaime’s father sees him in these terms and is willing to essentially threaten to kill his brother Tyrion in order to force him to accept his place as the heir to the family estate.
As I said, this was also a culture in which death was far more commonplace, when chances were good that most children wouldn’t live until adulthood. The loss of children was an accepted part of life.
I believe Jaime saw the attempted murder of Bran as a sin. But if he had not done it, he would have betrayed his family, which is also, in his culture, a serious sin. And he would have also plunged the country into a long and bloody civil war, which was a much greater sin.
Incidentally, the sly smile Jaime had when he pushed Bran out the window was something Nikolaj Coster-Waldau, who plays Jaime, brought to the role In the books, the passage reads, “The man looked over at the woman. ‘The things I do for love,’ he said with loathing. He gave Bran a shove.”
Which brings us to the question of choice. It is true that we all are free agents and have the power to choose. But it’s equally true that the culture and circumstances we were raised in often limits our options. We may be free to choose but have no good choices. In Jaime’s case, it was a choice between trying to kill Bran and betraying his family and country. Neither choice was good, but arguably he made the best of his two bad choices.
If you’d like an example of how this plays out in a familiar, real-life context, consider the Apostle Paul’s handling of slavery. It’s clear from various texts (“In Christ there is neither slave nor free,” the entire book of Philemon) that Paul thought slavery was a bad idea. But at the time, slavery was integrated into the Roman economy, and Christians were too busy trying not to get burnt alive in Nero’s garden to transform society from the bottom up. So Paul makes the best of a bad situation, telling slaves to obey their masters willingly and telling masters to treat their slaves with kindness. He is trying to turn a power relationship into one of mutual respect.
And to bring all of this out of theology and ethics and back into writing, having your characters forced to make the best of two bad choices is a wonderful source of tension. It would be nice if the choices we faced were always clear, with a pure right and pure wrong. But life is often more complicated than that, and a large part of the human struggle is to find your way through such choices. Exploring that human struggle is one of the things writing is for.
David Corbett, I’m not a writer but i am a fan. My perspective for what its worth is i agree but you’ve missed a few details. Jamie pushing a Stark out a window to protect his sister and his secrets would have been, for lack of a better word, kosher. The Lanisters and starks hate each other, that is made clear throughout the story. Both sides view each other as enemies. Jamie is also a warrior, he’s been in countless battles and is known for his fighting skills. That alone would make him pretty hardened. Rapeing, pillaging and killing was the way back then, Jamie would have been a pro and would have done anything to protect his kin.
As far as ethics or morals these were the norm back then, brutal and raw. At least that’s how i see it.
David King, thanks for responding clearly to the moral issue. You explain your position well and make some good points. Certainly, in the context of the times, what Jaime did was a lot more understandable than it would be today. That’s one of the things I love about Game of Thrones, and one of the things we all love about TV shows (starting with The Sopranos) that address moral issues from the perspective of a different moral milieu. It’s fascinating to see how members of the mob view right and wrong, feeling profoundly guilty over ratting on another mob member to the feds but casually eating an ice cream cone while shooting a hole through the head of a grunt who made a mistake on a drug delivery. Such stories get us inside the minds of people vastly different from ourselves, yet we find there the common humanity, and that’s what amazes us and glues us to the screen (or to the pages in the case of a book, although I’m aware of more shows like this than novels).
I agree that focusing on moral ambiguity and difficult choices is one of the most exciting things we can do in our fiction writing. Tension isn’t just a matter of chase scenes and action. Psychological tension is even more interesting.
But here’s where I think you miss something: it’s one thing to expand our understanding and empathy to include the moral milieu of others different from ourselves. This makes us better, less judgmental, more compassionate people, and great literature excels in helping us get there. But it’s quite another thing to decide that the moral milieu of people with less developed conscience than we have today in our mainstream culture are justified in their amoral choices that hurt other people – and I see that as what you’re doing here.
You’re saying that Jaime’s choice to push a child out a window was a better choice than “betraying his family and country.” To me, you’ve gone beyond expanding your empathy to agreeing with the distorted values of the character you’ve empathized with. You not only perceive the sense the flawed character’s rationalized choices make within his own mind, but you agree with his twisted choices and values. That, to me, is disturbing. It crosses the line between understanding a character and becoming like him.
In the Jaime example, it’s a failure to recognize that “loyalty to family and country” is really a polite misnomer for selfish power lust at the expense of everyone except oneself and one’s relatives. “We’re going to rule, and the rest of you be damned or dead if you won’t accept that.” Today, let us hope, most people are more enlightened than to make a choice for power over the life of another human being. But when you cross over from understanding a wrong choice to approving it, you take on the flawed consciousness of the person or character you’re excusing. That’s what you seem to be doing, in my opinion. And that is the opposite of what great literature does, which is to expand our humanity. Instead, you constrict it back to a lower level of consciousness.