Literature is full of characters with traumatic pasts. Whether a family member is dead, they grew up in an abusive environment, or they’ve been exiled from their home, every character seems to have some variety of trauma. Avatar: The Last Airbender is no exception. Katara’s mom was murdered in front of her, Zuko’s father maimed and banished him, and Aang endured the genocide of his entire culture.
So why does having a traumatic past matter?
To dive into the importance of tragic backstories, we’re going to be looking at one of the most iconic scenes in the entire series. Namely, The Tale of Iroh from The Tales of Ba Sing Se.
The Tale of Iroh
Uncle Iroh and his nephew, Zuko, are both on the run from their own country. For the last few weeks, they’ve lived in hiding on the streets of Ba Sing Se, disguised as displaced Earth Kingdom refugees and attempting to keep their identities secret from both their Earth Kingdom neighbors and the Fire Nation officials who were once their allies.
But Iroh doesn’t take any of that as an excuse to stop helping people.
If anything, he is able to help more people now that he’s no longer sea-bound on a Fire Navy Ship. From the thief in the marketplace to the shopkeeper he buys a picnic basket from for a “special occasion” he has planned, he is always ready to offer wisdom or assistance. He even sings a song to cheer a crying toddler in the marketplace, whose mother can’t seem to calm. “Leaves on the vine,” he sings. “Falling so slow. Like fragile, tiny shells, drifting in the foam. Little soldier boy, come marching home. Brave soldier boy, comes marching home.”
The little boy gradually quiets, with wonder in his eyes as he listens to Iroh sing. Then the boy tugs on his beard, making both of them laugh, and toddles away giggling.
Iroh smiles, watching him, and then continues his errands for the day.
We don’t understand what the errands are for until the very last seconds of the Tale.
Slowly, as the sun sets on another busy day in Ba Sing Se, Uncle Iroh climbs a hill to a spot under a tree, the picnic basket in hand. He begins laying out items — a picnic blanket, incense, and a portrait of his son, Lu Ten, who was lost in the war against Ba Sing Se years ago.
“If only I could have helped you,” Iroh whispers.
And then, as the smoke from the incense rises and the leaves from the tree shading both of them twirl downward toward the ground, Iroh begins to sing.
“Leaves from the vine,
Falling so slow,
Like fragile tiny shells
Drifting in the foam.
Little soldier boy,
Come marching home.
Brave soldier boy
Comes marching home.”
Why Does Having a Traumatic Past Matter?
For many characters, their traumatic past doesn’t matter. We’ve talked on the blog before about writing backstories of convenience. Too many authors are way too quick to kill the protagonist’s parents off so that they can pursue adventure unhindered.
But it doesn’t have to be this way. Backstories don’t have to be a box that you check so that your character feels well-rounded and experienced, or so that they can say “I know exactly what that feels like” later on when one of your other characters goes through something hard. Their traumatic past shouldn’t be an excuse for wisdom — that because their parents died or their family was cruel or they don’t know who their mom is they are now incredibly experienced and wise.
So what is the alternative?
One that isn’t often mentioned is that you don’t have to have a tragic backstory for your character. While it’s true that some characters fight for light and battle darkness because they know just how evil the darkness is, this isn’t the only option.
Some characters could fight for light because it’s all they’ve ever known. They could have a generally happy upbringing, with a few difficulties that they learned to overcome and live past and yet left them largely unchanged. They could fear the darkness so deeply because it’s unknown, and have to learn how to face it so that they can restore the light that they know and love so well.
But whatever backstory you create for your character, whether tragic or not, has to matter.
Watching through Avatar after understanding the context of Lu Ten and Uncle Iroh’s siege against Ba Sing Se adds a whole new layer to his character. Namely, he sees Zuko as his son. Since he lost his own son to war, Zuko deeply matters to him, and how much good he could do in the world.
Because of this, almost every event or interaction has a deeper meaning. Instead of being the foolish comic relief we thought we’d encountered in the very first episode, he’s actually been trying to add some lightheartedness to the son he sees is hurting. When an attempt is made on Zuko’s life and Iroh is led to believe he is dead, we feel even more deeply his pain because it would mean losing his second son. When Iroh leads the charge to take back Ba Sing Se in the climax, it has a special significance — this is the city he warred against for years, the place where he will redeem his mistakes as a Fire Nation general, and most importantly, the place that his son died.
If your character has a tragic backstory, make sure it matters. Don’t let it be there for the sake of convenience. If your protagonist’s father is missing, have them find him. If your character is weighted by guilt of a past mistake, let them revisit and resolve it. If their family was abusive, allow them to resolve that tension, either through unconditional forgiveness or reconciliation.
And Avatar is a great example of this across their cast of characters. From Zuko to Katara to Toph and Aang, each of the characters have moments when they’re forced to confront their past. It doesn’t remain dormant indefinitely. Eventually, they have to face it head on.
But even if your characters’ histories don’t affect the plot in a big way and there’s no main side quest following an unresolved aspect of your protagonist’s history, make sure their backstory drives them. Whatever event started the catalyst of who they are as a person should still affect them. It sparked what is now their most deeply held desires and fears and gives the very first hint toward the theme of your work.
Iroh is, once more, a great example of this. His desire is to restore the peace and unity to a world torn by a war he personally faced the brunt of with the death of his son. His greatest fear is that he will lose his second son, Zuko. Suddenly, every action, every event, every decision has a greater weight and significance because we know what’s driving him behind all of it. Lu Ten’s death did more than just create a tragic backstory. It forged one of the most memorable characters on the show. And through seemingly insignificant “fillers” like this, we get to see exactly how powerful backstories can be.
The Tale of Iroh is one of my favorites of the Tales of Ba Sing Se. What about you? Let us know which tale is your favorite in the comments section below!
Hi! My name is Mara, and I’m a Christian artist, violinist, and blogger. I remember the day that I decided that I would learn something new about what makes a good story from every book I picked up — whether it was good, bad, or a mixture of both. I use this blog as a way of sharing some of the tips and tricks I’ve learned, and highlight which books, cartoons, and movies have taught me the most about writing an awesome story.