Hello, dear readers! Today’s post, which is centred around
the three fictional characters I love most, is dedicated to the authors who
allowed me [and the rest of the world] to experience the marvellous creation
and storyline of these wonderful fictional people through the genius of their
writing. So today, I’ll talk about Himura Kenshin [does this name ring a bell?
He’s the protagonist of Rurouni Kenshin by Nobuhiro Watsuki]; Sydney Carton [A
Tale of Two Cities by Charles Dickens]; and Marguerite Blakeney [The Scarlet
Pimpernel by Baroness Emma Orczy].
Himura Kenshin
Ah, where shall I begin? Kenshin is definitely my ultimate
favourite fictional character of all time, no matter how much I read or how
many characters I love and respect. If you’ve read my previous posts on Rurouni
Kenshin, you already know how much I respect him, and how close he is to my
heart [and I simply love writing about him, because that’s when my creativity
helps me analyse him thoroughly as both a person and a character. I’ve read a
load of manga besides Rurouni Kenshin, but this is the one manga I keep coming
back to]. Watsuki has evidently gone out of his way to come up with this
masterpiece of a character; it’s been 25 years since Kenshin’s “birth”, and
he’s still one of the most well-known and legendary manga and anime
protagonists. Old, but gold.
Why do I call him a “masterpiece”? He’s an incredibly complex
character, with several paradoxes—the personification of duality [and he’s also
a Gemini. I love Geminis]; he can be a cute, soft, unassuming little man, and
the next instant he’s a badass, narrow-eyed, fierce warrior. He has the most
beautiful eyes I’ve seen—they’re violet, a very rare shade [and, frankly, only
seen in anime]. They’re extremely expressive, and one can find out a lot about
him just by reading them—he has the weathered look of someone who’s experienced
the brutality of the world; having seen much, and lost much as well, his eyes
always have a tinge of deep sadness. He was a loner in the beginning, never
staying in one place too long for fear of attracting attention or growing too
close to people; however, after a young lady called Kamiya Kaoru befriends him
and allows him to stay at her swordsmanship school even after finding out about
his past, he begins opening up to people to a great extent, and forms several
lifelong bonds with them.
Perhaps the most striking thing about Kenshin is his
ambiguity. When the story begins, all we know about him is that he was an
infamous assassin known as Hitokiri Battousai; he was allied with the
revolutionaries during the Bakumatsu, and “slashed open the age of Meiji”.
Wishing to redeem himself after having killed so many, he took off after the
Meiji Government was established, and became a vagabond, vowing never to kill
again and protecting all those who need it. Of course, that’s rather
idealistic—throughout the series, he is nearly forced to break this vow several
times, as he faces opponents who are insanely strong. I relate to him a lot,
because he is, for a long time, unable to let go of the ghosts of his past,
just like me. I clung to the past as well. He even bears a physical mark of the
past—a cross-shaped scar on his left cheek. When we do come to know his back
story, it’s in the last story-arc, Jinchuu.
He’s proof of the fact that the world isn’t just black or
white. In today’s world, we need more people like him—people who will fight for
what they believe in and protect the weak from being picked off by the
“strong”. He represents what’s just, right, and ethical, and how important it
is to stand your ground and defend your beliefs, no matter what. That is why
he’s the character I admire and look up to the most!
Sydney Carton
I am a huge fan of Dickens; his books are, most often,
depressing and rather nihilistic, but A Tale of Two Cities is undoubtedly one
of my favourite books. I am not lying when I say that I’ve rarely found a
character that satisfied me to this extent… Carton is a self-effacing, self-
destructive, highly intelligent and quick-witted barrister; he is known as “The
Jackal” in legal circles, a fitting title. He’s full of talent, but is
unambitious, and is simply watching his partner Stryver advance [Stryver isn’t
particularly smart—he’s making use of Carton’s natural gifts to climb to the top].
Carton’s physical resemblance to Charles Evrèmondè [or Darnay] is one of the
most crucial points of the book. Really, their resemblance is uncanny!
This lawyer chooses to let himself waste away by wallowing in
drink and maudlin sentiments, yet I find him appealing—why? Carton is by far
the most relatable character in A Tale of Two Cities. The book’s plot is one of
the best I’ve ever read [being a History nerd], but I don’t particularly find
the other characters very interesting—except, perhaps, Dr. Manette and Madame
Defarge. Lucie Manette is an excellent person, but she is not that strong a
character. Carton, on the other hand, is well-rounded and consistently improved
upon; I perfectly understand how it feels when you have the wits and the drive
to succeed, but can’t, because of whatever reason. There’s this bitter-sweet
feeling whenever I think of Sydney—he didn’t really get his dues, according to
me [Mr. Dickens will most probably disagree, though]. He couldn’t win Lucie’s
love [ as she loves him platonically], but just the thought of her sweet,
angelic, sincere face is enough to bring him off his self-harming tendencies,
at least for a while. When he loves someone, he loves them with his whole heart
and soul—passionately; deeply; unconditionally. He’s much sharper than Charles,
who’s a bit… well… daft [though you can’t help liking him]. Life was very cruel
to Sydney; on the surface, he seems to be the least successful of all the
characters—since he was also guillotined by the blood-thirsty mob who mistook
him for Charles [all of this was manipulated by him, of course. To protect the
happiness of Lucie and her child, and to save the life of an innocent man,
Sydney gave up his own life. See? He resembles Charles so closely that the
crowd didn’t even realise it was an imposter].
He definitely doesn’t need my pity, as he died happy [truly
happy for the first time in years], but I outright wept when I saw how
selflessly he laid down his life. He really is a very well-constructed
character, drawing the audience’s sympathy at several points in the story as
well as making us gape in awe and then turn away with a handkerchief pressed to
our eyes.
… He’s obviously not a good role model, and he has many, many
faults; he’s a defeated, fatigued, cynical young man—I don’t agree with his way
of life at all. Sydney is far from perfect, but it’s his imperfection that I
actually like so much, and he is that one person who transcended the vibes of
hate and violence prevalent in the French Revolution.
Marguerite Blakeney
[née St. Just]
Aaaah, Marguerite! That crafty, beautiful, playful,
childlike, strong-willed young lady -- the cleverest woman in all of Europe! She’s an incredibly
well-constructed character, and I loved her since she was introduced, even if
her faults [and she has several of them]
were obvious since the beginning. She treated her husband, Sir Percy Blakeney
[who is, incidentally, a fop and England’s richest—as well as biggest—fool],
with great contempt. Besides, she is a little too aware of her charm,
especially her physical beauty [she has red hair and candid blue eyes], and is
rigidly haughty and proud. However, she is an extremely charismatic woman, and
has a capacity for strong attachments; she doesn’t get her dues sometimes, and
at such times she can come off as rather emotionally needy. She does not judge
a person by their wealth or social standing, preferring to hold intellectual
conversations with them instead; wealth and status may be hereditary, brains
are not. As Marguerite is an intuitive woman, the readers see the events of The
Scarlet Pimpernel through her eyes. To some readers, she is not a likeable
character; she has a tendency to mess up—big-time. In the early days of the
French Revolution, she sent a Marquis and his family to the guillotine without
meaning or trying to; she was trying to protect her brother, Armand, from the
Marquis, who’d had him beaten by ruffians for looking at his daughter. By the
time she realised what she’d done, it was too late; her name and reputation
were forever besmirched, and she was too proud to attempt to explain her
actions, though she deeply regretted them. She even ends up endangering her
husband’s life by revealing crucial information about the infamous Scarlet
Pimpernel to a diabolical Republican, Chauvelin, who knew her during her ‘days
of glory’. [That’s right, dear reader, Sir Percy is the eponymous Scarlet
Pimpernel; the daring Englishman who snatches French aristocrats from the jaws
of certain death—quite literally]. Even now, she’s trying to protect her
brother, whose life is in Chauvelin’s bony, slimy hands. I’m not excusing her
actions, of course, as she took hasty decisions due to her feelings of
helplessness and anger, but… just put yourself in her shoes for a bit. She
didn’t know that her husband was the Scarlet Pimpernel, and while she was
reluctant to hand him over to the French authorities, she would choose to save her brother’s life. She knows how intelligent
the Scarlet Pimpernel is; she trusted him to be able to defeat Chauvelin on his
own.
There is a very brief, but rather touching, if not very
realistic, reconciliation scene between her and Percy; he’d distanced himself
from her after finding out about her role in the Marquis’ beheading. In a
passionate, aggrieved outburst, she gives him a true account of what transpired
at the time, and the misconception that she had the Marquis killed on purpose
is cleared up, to a great extent. According to me, this also secures the
audience’s sympathy toward her [let’s face it, the readers were pretty mad at
her just before this scene]. Shortly after, she realises that Percy is the
Scarlet Pimpernel, and is extremely horrified at the thought that she has sold
him to the devil; no one really expected her to try to remedy the damage she’s
caused, but she does, dear readers, she does.
She definitely doesn’t lack for wits or courage, but she is rather impulsive in
attempting to save her husband and brother from Chauvelin’s clutches; she
doesn’t have a proper plan—she just trusts in her intuition [trusting one’s
instincts is effective, but I do
wish she’d thought a little more before trying to be a knight in shining armour].
Her love and bravery ensure her survival: determined to reach Percy before
Chauvelin does [all members of the League of the Scarlet Pimpernel are at
Calais], she is resolute that she must either warn him of the imminent danger
or share his fate. After overcoming a few—ahem— obstacles [a major
under-statement], she manages to reach Percy and shriek out a warning to him;
not that her warning achieves very much, because Percy already knows Chauvelin
is on his way… but this does prove that Marguerite is willing to go to any
extent to save those whom she loves, even if it means endangering herself [like
I said, she’s not going about this very wisely…]. She eventually secures both
her husband and her brother’s lives. Yaaay!
I think it’s wonderful that, in spite of her faults, a naïve,
inexperienced socialite risked her life to protect those dear to her. I’d just
like to say… hats off to Marguerite!
I need to write a lot more about those fictional characters
dear to me… this thread will be continued, so please look forward to it! Thank
you!
I hope you enjoyed reading this post!! See you next week!
Toodles!
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