I heard some shuffling from inside; a thump as though somebody's feet had slid off of the desk and onto the floor; the squeaking of desk chair springs; and then steps toward the door. I looked down the hallway to see if I could make it around the corner before the door opened. But before I could make my getaway, the doorknob turned and a face appeared in the widening crack of the door.
"Maxwell, how good it is to see you again. I'm afraid you caught me napping. Give me just a second to get my wits about me. Please come in and have a seat."
I stepped into Trout's tiny office. On the chair where I sat for the interview was a stack of papers broken into about four sections piled at cross-angles to each other. Trout picked up the stack and placed them on the floor next to the chair. He then sat back into his own chair and gestured at the empty chair with his hand.
"Please, sit", he said.
I sat in the chair and shuffled around a bit as though finding comfort in the chair would help me find comfort with myself.
"What brings you here?" he asked.
I paused for a moment considering his question and then asked, "Do you really not know or are you just asking out of courtesy?"
"Of course, I know", he chuckled. "But it doesn't make very good dialog if we just sit here and know what each other is going to say. We actually have to say it so the readers of this story know whats going on."
I thought about his reply but didn't say anything in return.
"Look, boy, you've had a real shock and I understand why you don't feel like participating in this dialog, but you have to for the sake of the story. In a movie or a play, the actors already know all of the lines, but they say them anyway for the benefit of the audience. Nobody would watch a show in which an actor just says I know what's going to happen and what you are going to say next. The actor has to go through the motions for the benefit of audience and you have to say what you are going to say for the benefit of the readers. So, please, get over your shock and get back into character."
"OK, OK", I said, "but I can't help but feel used and manipulated. Now that I am aware of being fictional I am becoming profoundly dissatisfied with my lot in life."
"That is because you are focusing on the downside of being fictional while ignoring the abundant benefits."
"Benefits? What benefits?" I asked incredulously.
"First, why don't you tell me what you perceive as the downside?"
"Wh-what I perceive?" I sputtered. "The downsides are obvious!"
"Go on", Trout said with kind encouragement.
"Well, in the first place, I am not real. I offered."
"Yes", said Trout, pausing for me to continue.
"OK, in the second place, I have no control over my life, nor do I have any control over who I am."
"And in the third place?" Trout encouraged.
"Isn't that enough?" I asked testily.
"It's a start", Trout acknowledged. "Let's take those two issues and think them through a bit. The issues, if you dont mind me simplifying and restating them, are as follows: first you believe that non-fictional people are real and you are not. So you are jealous of something you are not or don't have."
"OK", I agreed, not really knowing where all this was going.
"Second", he continued, "you believe that because you are fictional that you do not have control over your life. Does that sum it up fairly well?"
"I suppose so", I agreed.
"Good! Let's take the issue of being real. You claim that non-fictional people are real. I claim that they are no more real than you are."
"That's silly! They have bodies and I only exist as words on a page."
"Granted they have bodies", Trout continued patiently. "But bodies and identities are not the same. If you take one of those so-called real people and shoot them in the head, the person is gone. The body is still there but the identity is nowhere to be found. Identity is a psychosocial construct and it exists only in the minds of people. Your identity is also a construct, albeit a literary construct. It also exists only in the minds of people. Your identity is no more or less real than the identity of a so-called real person. All you are missing is a slab of meat to back up your identity."
"Slab of meat", I echoed as I thought about what he had just said.
"Slab of meat", Trout reiterated, "and most non-fictional characters are profoundly unhappy with their particular slab of meat. They believe it is too tall or too short, too fat or two thin, too light or too dark, too old or too young, too wrinkly or misshapen. For non-fictional characters their slab of meat is the single greatest source of unhappiness in their lives. You should be glad you don't have one. Further, when their slab of meat is gone, their identity is gone. Your identity as a literary character is effectively immortal. You should be more sympathetic to those unfortunate characters whose identity depends completely on a short lived slab of meat."
"Go on", I said, unwilling to be convinced this easily.
"And as for control, most non-fictional characters are defined by forces way beyond their control. They are defined by society, tradition, their parents, their genes and so forth. Most of them would like to change both their slab of meat and their identities but they cannot. And those forces I just mentioned are often cruel masters."
"They may be defined by forces beyond their control", I countered, "but I am defined by a single author and am completely at his mercy."
"True", Trout conceded, "at least from your perspective. But it is far, far more likely that parents, relatives or society will be mercilessly cruel to a non-fictional character thus warping his or her identity irreparably. It is quite unlikely that an author will be mercilessly cruel to a character. Authors, generally, care quite a bit about their characters."
"But", I began. Trout put up a finger to hold my comment off for a moment.
"Just one final point", he continued. "Parents may have one or two or three kids. They do their damage on those and by the time that they learn about how to raise kids properly they are done with having children. Authors, on the other hand, create hundreds of characters and get quite good at it after a while. If they screw up a character early in their career, they can resurrect the character later and fix it. Non-fictional characters simply dont have that option."
"But", I responded, a little more forcefully this time. "I still don't have control over who I am."
"Look", Trout agreed, "if a non-fictional character does not like who he or she is they have to submit to years of therapy which is usually only marginally successful. If you don't like how your character is developing all you need to do is talk to the author and ask him if some changes could be made."
"Talk to the author...", I repeated unsurely. "Do you think hell talk to me?"
"Who knows, maybe he'll be in a good mood. Granted, that doesn't happen very often, but like I said who knows?"
"Do you think he'll listen?" I prodded eagerly.
"Dr. Artz may be a little cranky and unpredictable at times, but I think he really does want what's best for his characters. Besides, you have an important perspective. You have the perspective of a fictional character. In the postmodern world all perspectives are valid. And your perspective is one that hasn't been explored much. I think it might be worth a try."
"Gee, I dunno", I hesitated. "I don't know if anything like this have ever been done before."
"Go ahead", Trout said encouragingly. "And if he listens, see if you can get me a bigger office, maybe even one with a couch."
He sent me off with a warm handshake and a friendly wink. Who knows, maybe it is worth a try.