star trek | Author Suzanne Adair

Flogging: A Common Form of Corporal Punishment in the 18th Century

Posted on October 4, 2014 by suzanneadairMay 5, 2015

Have you been watching the excellent adaptation of Diana Gabaldon’s historical novel, Outlander, on the Starz channel? I have, and I also belong to an Outlander Facebook discussion group. Since my first book was published, readers have told me that my series appeals to fans of Gabaldon’s books because of certain settings and themes. Redcoats, war, 18th century, amoral characters, civilians in peril—hey, what’s not to like? So many interesting issues and points have emerged from the Outlander episodes that I’ve decided to explore some of them here on my blog.

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Early in season one of Outlander, viewers were shown the scarred back of character Jamie Fraser—the result of his being flogged with a cat-o’-nine-tails by a wacko, sadistic British officer. From all the research I’ve done into the American Revolution, I knew about the cat and the kind of damage it could do. Flogging permanently disfigured a person’s back. The makeup job done to actor Sam Heughan’s back to represent the scarring looked like what I expected, accurately depicting the traumatic damage.

But outrage, disbelief, and horror exploded in comments from members of the discussion group. Most had no idea that flogging with a cat could produce such trauma. Even after a flashback of the gruesome event was shown in episode six, the outrage, disbelief, and horror persisted. I wondered why there was such a disconnect about flogging.

Many people of my generation and earlier were spanked or “switched” if they were naughty children. That level of corporal punishment is mild compared to flogging, but if it’s a viewer’s only point of reference, the flogging in Outlander comes as a huge, horrific surprise. Also, in first-world countries, corporal punishment of children and criminals has been downplayed for several generations in favor of other forms of punishment.

Plus, in the last century, especially the first seven decades of the 20th century, I think that Hollywood’s depiction of “good guys” played a crucial role in the development of these mistaken beliefs about flogging. These Hollywood heroes had stiff upper lips when it came to pain and could unrealistically “take a lickin’ and keep on tickin’.” For all their trouble, villains seldom got more than a grunt out of these superhuman hero characters. The following two examples show you what I mean.

Errol Flynn portrayed many swashbuckling heroes on the Silver Screen. Here he is in the movie “Against All Flags.” His character, a Navy officer, is receiving twenty lashes on deck while the crew watches. It’s a ruse that his superiors concocted to convince everyone that he’s in disgrace so his reputation will precede him, and he can credibly infiltrate the villains’ operations. Aside from being a bit sweaty and emitting an occasional grunt of annoyance, Flynn’s character takes those twenty lashes in stride. He then moves on to getting dressed, hunting down the bad guys with sprightly energy, and (because he’s Errol Flynn) seducing a defiant and lovely woman. In reality, twenty lashes was a rather light sentence that might be delivered for minor crimes; often soldiers and sailors received at least fifty lashes. But those twenty would have torn the skin on a man’s back repeatedly. He’d have bled through his shirt, assuming he could have tolerated the pain of fabric rubbing his injured back. For several days afterward, he’d have been far too stiff and sore to gallivant around and seduce women, and he’d have carried scars from the flogging for the rest of his life.

Captain Kirk and Mr. Spock are considered icons and hero figures almost five decades after the debut of classic Star Trek on primetime TV. This image, which provides excellent fodder for those who write slash fanfic, shows Kirk and Spock in a jail cell right after futuristic Nazis have flogged them in the episode “Patterns of Force.” To break the lock on their jail cell, Spock stands on Kirk’s freshly-flogged back so he can reach a light bulb and activate a laser-producing gizmo in his wrist. All Kirk does is grunt a little and kvetch about how the Nazis did a thorough job on his back. The two then escape the cell, beat up some Nazis who try to restrain them, and steal their uniforms. In reality, the “thorough job” any Nazi (c’mon, a Nazi, folks) would have done on Kirk and Spock would have resulted in shredded skin on their backs and incapacitation for both men.

Flogging with a cat-o’-nine-tails was a common, flexible punishment for 18th-century soldiers and sailors convicted of a wide range of infractions. The experience that men received from flogging varied, as the whip could also be made of leather, and the knots could contain sharp objects like metal spikes to inflict an additional level of damage.

Trained soldiers and sailors were a valuable military investment in the 18th-century, thus the desired outcome of flogging wasn’t usually the recipient’s death. That meant that often the flogging was delivered by a boy who didn’t have the upper body strength of a man. (Here’s an update/correction on that statement.) Floggings were usually made public. The recipient’s company mates were required to turn out and watch him be flogged. The experience bonded all of them in a grisly way. After a flogging, the man was far less likely to screw up again because his mates were keeping him in line—and keeping themselves in line. I show this briefly in chapter thirty-five of my book Camp Follower: A Mystery of the American Revolution.

One more point about flogging. While it was considered punishment, the flogging that Jamie Fraser received in Outlander also demonstrated the psychological effectiveness of torture—and I don’t just mean torture of Jamie. We’re used to thinking of most forms of torture as a way to get someone to divulge information, right? But torture is actually not too effective at that. Studies have shown that when people are tortured, they say anything to make the agony stop. Most of the time, the information they spill is useless.

So if the torture wasn’t just for Jamie (who actually withstood it and didn’t give the loco villain what he wanted), who was it for? It was for the townsfolk who were witnessing the flogging. If you watch the episode, notice their reactions. The villain turned the flogging into a weapon of terror and made it public to keep the civilians in line. And he delivered the flogging himself to give it a personal touch.

Flogging, corporal punishment in the #18thCentury, and #Outlander http://bit.ly/1rV2zSR #history #AmRev

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The Making of a Fictional Villain, Part 3

Posted on November 18, 2013 by suzanneadairNovember 18, 2013

This post concludes a three-part essay about the origins of Dunstan Fairfax, the sociopathic villain in my series set during the American Revolution. Read Part 1 and Part 2.

The finest fictional villains are three-dimensional. Their creators didn’t assemble them from a single source of inspiration. These villains earn our respect, even our love, because they run the show and make things happen. Worthy villains bring out the best in heroes. Without them, heroes would be boring.

Years ago, I recognized that I was drawn to the David vs. Goliath theme in my fiction. Goliath didn’t have to be a sociopath, like Fairfax. In fact, in some of my writings, Goliath was clinically depressed, schizophrenic, paranoid, narcissistic, or just down on his luck. But those stories didn’t have the punch of stories I’d written with sociopathic bad guys.

And as it turned out, America embraced the sociopath villain as an icon.

The rise of the sexy sociopath
In theater, cinema, and fiction, a shift occurred to reflect the way the public regarded sociopathic killers. Fictional sociopaths became charismatic, clever, and charming. Dark and sexy anti-heroes. Goliaths to the traditional good-guy protagonist. Perhaps Anthony Hopkins’s creepy, sublime rendition of Hannibal Lector in 1991 capitalized on this growing trend. I didn’t read The Silence of the Lambs or see the movie until nearly two decades later.

However I did see Andrew Lloyd Webber’s treatment of this trend in the early 1990s when it played at the Fox Theater in Atlanta. If you’d read Gaston Leroux’s original novel The Phantom of the Opera before seeing the theater performance, as I had done, you’d be surprised at how Sir Andrew cleaned up the character of the Phantom, made him resonate with audiences who’d indicated that they couldn’t get enough of sexy sociopathic killers. And if you saw the 2004 movie, released just before the craze for Jeff Lindsey’s sexy, sociopathic protagonist Dexter began, the trend would be even more apparent.

A villain from the future
Sexy sociopathic killers showed up everywhere and everywhen in the entertainment industry. In 1993, the Star Trek franchise launched “Deep Space Nine,” darkest of all Trek incarnations. Action in “Deep Space Nine” occurred on a frontier, where greed and control over others were common themes. In other words, happy hunting ground for sociopaths. Without consistent contact with Central Command, the personal integrity of the man or woman in command at outposts like Deep Space Nine was constantly tested. Often the hallowed values embraced by the Federation didn’t prevail.

Disturbing. I loved it.

“Deep Space Nine” produced several of the most complex anti-heroes/villains in the Star Trek universe. Gul Dukat, portrayed by Marc Alaimo; Elim Garek, portrayed by Andrew Robinson, and Kai Wynn, portrayed by Louise Fletcher. These characters crossed back and forth over the line of sociopathy numerous times. And they contributed an important quality to the list of qualities shared by worthy villains. They were vulnerable in ways that fascinated me while making me a little nauseated.

In addition, the character of Gul Dukat went through multiple character arcs during the seven years that the show was aired. Thus he became even more of an evolving series villain. A villain who wasn’t static or periodic. Hmm. While Dukat’s character evolved, so did the character of Deep Space Nine’s primary hero, Benjamin Sisko. Watching the episodes that involved interaction between Dukat and Sisko was like watching a chess match, played out between hero and villain. Or David and Goliath.

A villain for the past and present

“Deep Space Nine” granted my imagination the green light to draw off decades of groundwork and evolve a series villain for my own frontier. May 1999, I toured the ruins of Fort Frederica, established on pre-Revolutionary War St. Simon’s Island, Georgia. There I found the frontier for a new David v. Goliath story.

Like the vast majority of fictional heroes, the David for this series, Michael Stoddard, initially dodges his Call to Adventure. But Goliath has claimed his turf. Sooner or later, David must step up to the plate.

Let’s face it. Villains win in real life. That’s why the bad guy so often gets his comeuppance in fiction. Interestingly, when an author develops a three-dimensional villain, readers don’t want to see him (or her) destroyed immediately. “Why can’t the bad guy win?” they ask.

The bad guy in a series can win for most of the series. A series villain probably should win for most of the series. A worthy villain does readers a huge favor. He or she forces the hero to grow, to inspire.

Dunstan Fairfax’s character has evolved in my imagination over a lifetime. He’s evolving even as my series progresses. Fairfax, sliding so well into the scarlet skin of primordial America’s bogey monster, is busy hammering a hero out of his counterpart, Michael Stoddard. So I’m letting the bad guy win awhile longer. But rest assured that he’ll eventually get his comeuppance.

Which villain would you like to see get some comeuppance?

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“The Doomsday Machine,” Suspense, and Dodging the Sagging Middle

Posted on November 3, 2013 by suzanneadairNovember 4, 2013

Have you ever been watching a movie or reading a novel, and somewhere in the middle (aka Act 2), it bogs down? If Act 2 is sluggish enough, you’ve even lost interest in the outcome, Act 3.

Here’s what probably happened. The writer was up against a deadline and threw all manner of challenges at the characters in that midsection to perk up the action and avoid what’s known as “the sagging middle.” But ironically, the wrong kind of action can drag at the momentum.

The challenges faced by characters in the middle of a movie or novel must be more than a random series of obstacles for those characters to overcome. They must mean something to the characters’ goals. And the challenges must also relate intimately to the pending crisis.

Setup for successful Act 2 suspense
“The Doomsday Machine,” my favorite episode of classic “Star Trek,” is full of driving suspense. Some of the most memorable tension in the episode is found in the very middle, making this middle anything but saggy. Let’s see how the writer did it.

In Act 1 of “The Doomsday Machine,” the starship “Enterprise” encounters a sister ship, the “Constellation,” that’s adrift and all-but-demolished after battling a giant robot—a Doomsday Machine—that eats planets. Out of a crew of more than 400, only the commander of the “Constellation,” Matt Decker, has survived. The robot, impervious to phaser weapons from the “Constellation,” has continued on a course that will allow it to eat its way through the heart of the Milky Way galaxy. So “Enterprise” Captain Jim Kirk, temporarily aboard the “Constellation,” decides that his ship will take the broken vessel in tow and proceed to the nearest star base so they can warn Command about the threat. He sends Decker back to the “Enterprise” for medical treatment, and he and a repair team remain aboard the “Constellation” to restore minimal mobility to the starship and prepare it for tow.

That brings us to the middle of the episode. Act 2. At this point, the Doomsday Machine robot circles back into the vicinity and attacks the “Enterprise.” Decker, grieving the loss of his crew and making decisions while in the grip of post-traumatic stress disorder, assumes command of the “Enterprise.” Kirk, stranded aboard the “Constellation,” watches his ship get beat up by the robot.

The look and feel of a successful Act 2
The core of this episode’s Act 2 action plays out in the following five-minute YouTube clip. (Caveat: 1960s-style special effects ahead.) Watch how the suspense leaps back and forth between Decker on the “Enterprise” and Kirk on the “Constellation.”

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-SMyk-unHIk

And this isn’t even the climax of the episode.

Key points of Act 2
Decker’s decisions at 0:07, 0:30, 1:47, and 1:56 are wrong. His credibility as a starship commander is gone. On some level, he realizes that phaser weapons from the “Enterprise,” like those from the “Constellation,” won’t stop the robot, but he’s unable to think logically. He uses the ineffective strategy of phaser barrage as a surrogate for beating on the robot with his fists. The result? The robot damages the “Enterprise” and threatens the lives of Kirk’s crew. Even though we can see this coming, it’s still suspenseful.

Aboard the crippled “Constellation,” the usually-cool and often-correct Captain Kirk engages in a short-sighted act of desperation (at 1:00, 4:06, and 4:23) to draw the robot off the “Enterprise.” His act pays off for the “Enterprise.” But Kirk has made a whopper of a mistake. Fixated on saving the “Enterprise,” he imperils himself and his crew members aboard the “Constellation.” Kirk’s “Oh-sh*t!” expression at 4:40 says it all.

What else do you see that gives this sequence tension?

What this writer did well
Many have commented that the unique musical score written for “The Doomsday Machine” contributes to the atmosphere. Yes, it does, but even without music, this sequence would be suspenseful. Writer Norman Spinrad exploited the fears of Decker and Kirk, developing tension organically from personality weaknesses in both characters. Then he milked the resulting suspense in a crisis that gives viewers a taste of death.

Act 2, written well, is supposed to guide you into Act 3. Everything that happens in Act 2 of “The Doomsday Machine” sets the stage for even greater challenges in Act 3, the climax of the episode, and makes you eager to find out how the dilemma gets resolved.

Sagging midsections in movies and novels may contain random, meaningless obstacles like a car chase, explosions, a seduction, or a gunfight. Hidden behind those are opportunities the writer missed to craft suspenseful challenges that arose due to character weaknesses.

Can you name a movie or novel with a midsection that didn’t hold your attention?

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The Making of a Fictional Villain, Part 1

Posted on April 13, 2011 by AdminOctober 7, 2017

My series features a bad-ass sociopathic villain. His name is Dunstan Fairfax. Readers occasionally ask me where his complex characterization came from. Ex-boyfriend, maybe? Former boss? Nope. Fairfax comes from a number of sources, and he’s evolved in my imagination over a lifetime.

Fodder for a Kid’s Imagination: the 1960s
September 1964. I was a second-grader in South Florida. Less than a year earlier, the president of the United States had been assassinated, and the space program had gone into full, frantic swing with his legacy: putting a man on the moon ahead of the Russians. President Lyndon Johnson was eyeing Vietnam. The Cold War was personified in movie theaters by James Bond and the denizens of SPECTRE. Such stuff primed the imaginations of a whole generation of kids.

On a more personal level, I’d just experienced the wrath of Hurricane Cleo. Still fresh in my memory were the terrible roar of tornadoes imbedded in the storm, and the remarkable calm of the hurricane’s eye, drenching my world with the smell of the ocean. Then I was exiled from class to get over a case of the mumps. How unfair! I didn’t feel bad. Okay, I looked a little weird, but man, was I bored. September wasn’t shaping up to be a good month for me.

Like most kids my age, I watched TV (ours was black-and-white) with my family after dinner at night. William Hanna and Joseph Barbera, who’d given us The Flintstones for primetime evening entertainment, offered a new primetime cartoon show in 1964. But this one wasn’t comedy. It was science saving the world, science threatening the world, spies, death, space-age gadgets, heart-pounding adventure, and the whole, exotic world. It jump-started my writing career, stuck at home as I was with the mumps, with nothing to do except write stories because I ran out of things to read.

My First Three Villains on TV
Dr. Zin, The Adventures of Jonny Quest.
Drawn by Doug Wildey and voiced by Vic Perrin, Dr. Zin possessed the heroic qualities of intelligence, sophistication, resourcefulness, focus, and good salesmanship. Unlike other villains in the original series, he was never completely defeated. Dr. Zin was also the nemesis of Jonny Quest’s father. In other words, a TV kid with whom I identified had an uber-baddie pitted against his dad. Peril, yes, and at the time, the only type of peril that seemed comparable was what I’d experienced during Hurricane Cleo.

Khan Noonien Singh, Star Trek.
Portrayed by Ricardo Montalban, Khan was all the things that Dr. Zin was, plus he possessed charm, physical and sexual prowess (more important when I grew up), and the skill to maintain leadership over a big group of baddies. Khan was by far the most interesting guy aboard the starship Enterprise during the episode “Space Seed.”

Angelique, Dark Shadows.
Kids of the 1960s were fascinated with Dark Shadows, due partially to the tragic, tormented character of Barnabas the vampire. What intrigued me far more than Barnabas himself was how he wound up being a vampire, and who was responsible for it. That who was a her, my first exposure to a worthy female villain — one who wasn’t merely the minion of a male villain. Angelique, portrayed by Lara Parker, had her own agenda.

A Villainous Pattern
In these first fictional villains, my subconscious recognized a pattern, something they had in common. The label hadn’t made it into the watercooler conversations of most Americans just yet, but the condition has dogged humanity from prehistory. Dr. Zin, Khan, and Angelique didn’t give a damn about people except to control them. Gaining control and manipulating others was what floated their boats. Dr. Zin, Khan, and Angelique were fictional examples of sociopaths. They were evil, evil, evil.

Ah, the sixties. What a great time to be a kid with an active imagination. Back then, I was blissfully unaware that sociopaths weren’t confined to fiction — but those are tales for Part 2 of this post. For now, tell me: who were your favorite TV villains from childhood?

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