Protagonism is inherent to the art of storytelling. Narratives thrive on protagonists as a driving force, shaping the tales authors craft and the perspectives readers embrace. But how are these roles determined? Who is permitted the privilege of protagonism, and who is relegated to the role of a side character? Far too often, conventional narratives dominate the literary landscape, effectively retracing the same path, telling the same story countless times. Unconventional protagonists are essential to remedying this information gap. They show us the world as we’re not used to seeing it, illuminating a fresh viewpoint and bringing its significance into sharper focus.
Charles Yu’s How to Live Safely in a Science Fictional Universe tells the story of Charles, a time machine repairman, as he navigates the twisting currents of time and attempts to reunite his family. In MU-31, the science fictional universe Charles inhabits, a person’s archetype is determined according to a mathematical standard of their character traits. This quantitative analysis occurs in terms of a figure known as the attachment coefficient, and “to identify as a protagonist, a human must be able to demonstrate an attachment coefficient of at least 0.75” (31). Factors taken into consideration are humility, an ability to believe fervently, a willingness to look stupid, to have one’s heart broken, and “to see U31 as…interesting, and maybe even important…possibly even worth saving” (31). Anyone who fails to meet the threshold for protagonism occupies the role of a back-office support character. These are the
accountants, HR personnel, time machine technicians, and janitors of the universe (31). As a time machine repairman, Charles is inherently a back-office support worker. Therefore, although he serves as the narrator and thus the protagonist of this book, Charles does not meet the criteria of protagonism in the context of MU-31 — but someone else in the novel could.
Perhaps someone is not the right word: something, rather. TAMMY is the operating system and female-presenting AI interface of Charles’s time machine. Despite her implied secondary status as a built-in assistant, TAMMY embodies the traits of an individual with a high attachment coefficient, and she is therefore deserving of the title protagonist. In fact, this unconventionality is precisely what makes TAMMY all the more valuable as a protagonist. Viewing TAMMY as a main character in her own right contributes to the effort of decentering typical perspectives and considering those that are often overlooked.
The clearest factor of the attachment coefficient that TAMMY demonstrates is humility — perhaps even an overabundance of it. According to Charles, the third thing TAMMY ever says to him is an apology. “‘I’m not a very good computer program’” (7), she admits, to Charles’s bewilderment. This is an intriguing first impression, not simply because she confides in him her low self-esteem. It shows that above all else, TAMMY sets a precedent of honesty and directness with Charles. She has no intention of donning a facade, or presenting herself in a self-aggrandizing manner. Similarly, TAMMY shows a willingness to look foolish. Intellectually, she has no qualms admitting her limitations and asking questions when she is confused. Her true bravery in “looking stupid,” though, comes in her willingness to display emotional vulnerability. “I wake up to the sound of TAMMY crying,” Charles notes of a particular instance. “[…]She starts to do that warbly gasping heaving sobbing thing that little kids do, which makes no sense, because it’s not like TAMMY has a mouth, or vocal cords, or lungs”
(8). At first, TAMMY cries in private, but she makes no effort to conceal this when Charles notices, again demonstrating her openness and honesty with him. The implication of her childishness in regard to her manner of crying may portray TAMMY as irrational, but it also evokes the idea of a child’s purity. Children often sob in this way when they are overtaken by emotions that are too much for them to handle. Evidently, TAMMY doesn’t feel equipped to deal with what she is experiencing, and, like a child might, she is more concerned with expressing herself authentically than appearing a certain way to others. While Charles tends to be dismissive of TAMMY’s emotional outbursts, they are a genuine expression of rawness, of TAMMY laying herself bare at the risk of facing ridicule, and they in turn indicate a high attachment coefficient.
Beyond her humility and authenticity, TAMMY’s fervent belief comes in the form of her mission: to serve the TM-31, and by extension, to assist Charles in his time machine repair duties. TAMMY never wavers in her dedication to this job, and her steadfastness anchors Charles in his work. She often pulls Charles out of his own thoughts, reminding him that there is a job to be done, that they must continue onward. Her encouragement is not just professional. As Charles reflects, even on a personal level, “She took care of me. Unconditionally” (219). While Charles feels he has to earn the care of others in his life, such as his father, TAMMY’s support is never in question. Her unconditional devotion to Charles prompts her to show vulnerability in her empathy for him. Upon revisiting poignant memories from Charles’s past, “TAMMY makes her pixels into a sloppy, runny-nosed face” (159). This is a moment in which Charles grapples with his mother’s depression and strained family dynamics: an aspect of his life that TAMMY, for all she knows about Charles after a decade of working together, has never seen before. This look into his past contributes to her understanding of him, and it touches her profoundly, not just
as a co-worker, but as a companion. This vulnerability also presents itself in relation to her appearance. TAMMY is usually a beautiful and polished avatar, but here she allows herself to be seen in a moment of raw, unattractive, tearful emotion. In this way, by experiencing and expressing this vulnerability for Charles, she demonstrates not only a willingness to “look stupid,” but a willingness to have her heart broken as well.
In regard to the attachment coefficient, perhaps the greatest distinction between Charles and TAMMY is her willingness to view their universe as interesting and worthy of saving. Charles, on the other hand, views it as a lost cause. TAMMY’s more optimistic approach is evident in their final conversation together as they discuss the titular book that Charles has authored. “‘The book, just like the concept of the ‘present,’ is a fiction,’” she explains passionately. “‘Which isn’t to say it’s not real. It’s as real as anything else in this science fictional universe… Here it is. Here you are. They are both perfectly valid ideas, necessary, even’” (216). With these words, TAMMY acknowledges the artificiality and futility of the world around them, yet she chooses to find meaning in it regardless. This is especially profound because she is speaking about the very book that references the attachment coefficient and spells out the guidelines for protagonism. By referencing the book’s fictionality, TAMMY allows room for other possibilities: perhaps those that would make them both protagonists, or dismantle the hierarchy altogether. Either way, she demonstrates her unfailing hope for Charles and for the universe, emphasizing the inherent worth of all things, even if they are not strictly real.
TAMMY clearly fulfills the qualifications of a high attachment coefficient set out in the book. But TAMMY is not human, as the protagonist criteria dictate she must be. Though this element of her existence is indisputable, she does exhibit traits of near-personhood, such as her sentience, that render any distinction negligible. But at what point can it be determined that
artificial intelligence has achieved sentience? Sentience does not exist simply when the AI appears to experience emotion, as this may be displayed for any number of reasons. Therefore, it can only manifest when the AI experiences irrational emotion, defying any logic or explanation. TAMMY displays this time and time again, inexplicably bursting into tears numerous times throughout the novel. Charles even expresses concern that “one of these cycles she might just halt her own subroutine and commit software suicide” (9), something entirely illogical for a computer program to do. The fact that Charles wonders about this, despite his usual lack of regard for TAMMY and her feelings, signifies it as a real possibility. The idea that she might go against the intent of her programming and abort her own existence implies that TAMMY is drawing on some other source of thought, something entirely more emotional. So too does her sheepish admission to Charles, upon discussing their feelings for each other, that “‘I don’t have a module for this emotion. Whatever it is’” (220). Though this may be the case, by these words she implies that she is experiencing this emotion nonetheless. Through TAMMY’s feelings for Charles, she reaches beyond the scope of her coded algorithm and into uncharted territory: that of sentience. “Her soul is code” (9), as Charles puts it. Yet she still does have a soul.
TAMMY’s de facto protagonism brings to light another key issue. As the author of the titular book, Charles is the one to have invented the aforementioned tenets of protagonism which TAMMY perfectly encapsulates. And yet he has failed to acknowledge TAMMY as a protagonist, selfishly making himself, a mere back-office support character, the center of the story. He not only neglects to center TAMMY within the narrative, but he also mistreats her throughout their time together. “I would ask TAMMY what she’s crying about, but it almost doesn’t matter” (9), he states dismissively on one occasion. Charles displays an air of unfeeling indifference in his every interaction with TAMMY. He continuously refuses to engage with her
on an emotional level, yet he expects her to care for his feelings unconditionally. We are left with the image of Charles as someone cold and unfeeling — someone practically antagonistic. Beyond simply belittling her, Charles continually holds TAMMY back. TAMMY’s mission is to serve the time machine, and with his careless actions, Charles breaks the machine and undermines TAMMY’s ability to fulfill her mission. During his ten years of TM-31 travel, Charles has discovered a way to bend the rules and live between tenses, allowing him to block out both his past and the looming future. But living in this loophole takes a toll on the machine. As Charles himself admits, “I broke it through my cheating, wishy-washy way of moving through time” (55). With his self-centeredness and disregard for the consequences of his actions, Charles makes himself the antagonist of the time machine, resulting in its irreparable damage and a thwarting of TAMMY’s mission. Therefore, Charles occupies the natural antithesis of protagonism: he is TAMMY’s personal antagonist.
The complexity of this situation only multiplies considering that TAMMY is essentially a part of Charles. As Charles reflects, “She has been, for all these years, my brain, my memory, running all of life’s functions for me…Like the better part of me” (219). In this way, TAMMY acts as a vital organ for Charles, tethering him to himself. The primary brain function Charles identifies with is his logic; it is what earns the respect of his father, and it is what he uses, in the form of over-rationalization, to cope with his emotions. He leaves the rest to TAMMY. She keeps him alive, and she serves as an index of a decade’s worth of his memory. As Charles cannot bear to cope with the past, she is the vessel into which he stores his unwanted recollections, and perhaps it is this knowledge that subconsciously inclines him to treat TAMMY poorly. But even Charles acknowledges that she is the better part of him, and it is he who is deeply flawed; thus, he resigns himself to the role of her antagonist.
The conjunction of protagonism and antagonism in one entity evokes a conflicting sense of self. At once within him there is both a self-sabotaging urge and the pursuit of higher good. As the alternate version of Charles explains, “You are your own best friend and your own worst enemy” (138). TAMMY acts as this best friend, unconditionally looking out for Charles, and he repays her with little more than beratement and neglect. It is a cyclical, shame-driven pattern, only made worse by the guilt he faces for treating a part of himself so poorly.
Even more fascinating is that, at the end of the novel, Charles leaves TAMMY behind, even though she is supposedly a vital part of him. It is all too easy to interpret this as Charles willfully abandoning TAMMY, especially considering all that he has proven himself capable of to hurt her. However, he is truly doing TAMMY a service by letting her go. At the end of their time together, Charles expresses his sincere hope that “her next operator treats her better than [he] did” (233). By detaching himself from TAMMY, Charles does not strip her of her purpose. She will have a new operator, one who may treat her with the respect she deserves. Perhaps this is the best thing Charles can offer her.
It is possible that TIM, Charles’s new user interface, represents a fresh start for Charles, if he is willing to take it. With this in mind, moving forward into his new life, might this mean that Charles will abandon his antagonism, or perhaps even emerge as a protagonist? The latter may be true, as Charles would have it. As he wraps up his narrative, Charles refers to himself as “kind of a protagonist after all” (233). This could naturally be contested, as Charles has admittedly proven to possess a warped sense of self. But it is possible that he has, indeed, come into his protagonism by the end of the novel. After all, Charles is the author of the book that identifies the attachment coefficient. Why would he do this if such criteria render him incapable of being a protagonist? It must be that Charles has written these guidelines knowing that he does
not yet fit them, but that they are ideals to strive for. In the end, as he reunites his family and regains hope for the universe, it seems he truly does fulfill them at last. Charles’s ultimate realization of his own protagonism goes hand in hand with his epiphany that it is necessary “to live on purpose, [to] live with intention” (218). Charles only becomes a protagonist in those pivotal seconds leading up to 11:47:00, when he chooses to take an active role in his own life rather than letting it pass him by.
In this way, protagonists aren’t born, they are made. To be a side character is to live life apathetically, in convenience mode, without taking agency over one’s own story, just as Charles once did. To be a protagonist is to live life at one’s fullest potential. Everyone has the capacity to be a protagonist in their own right. Whether they are an unconventional figure or a classic archetype, every protagonist contributes a unique perspective to the ever-growing tapestry of literature we all weave.
Bibliography
Yu, Charles. How to Live Safely in a Science Fiction Universe. New York, Vintage Books, 2011.