(desire in truth)

I think it's generally close enough to the truth to say that we all are most drawn to read stories about what we want or what we fear; whether or not we would ever encounter either blessing or monster in reality, we are most fascinated by the stuff inside us, either internalized or projected onto others. So.

( ...I'm a hypocrite. )

Anyway, my actual point was that I think Mary Sues and fanonized-into-super-greatness characters as well as any character we're over-invested in have that same thing in common-- identification coupled with idealization (even if the ideal is projected onto the Other giving the Self-object what they want)-- the natural byproduct of wanting to read about what we -want- to be true. That is to say, most people don't want the steak if they saw how the cow was killed. We wouldn't want the 'real thing' because, in the end, the very nature of the thing would change with that awareness, I think. It wouldn't be 'steak' anymore-- it would be cow (worse yet, it could be 'Betty'). Name a thing truly and it gains a degree of power over you even as you may gain understanding (a sort of power) over it.
    Idealization could thus be seen as necessary and inevitable, a simple defense mechanism. Naturally, this doesn't have anything to do with the quality of art... but who really cares about that outside obsessive artists and enthusiasts?

So what about me, then? What am I looking to find in all this, if not my ideal self, if not my own desires--?

I read about Spock when I was a teenager, honestly feeling like he was my ideal person. It wasn't that I idealized him in the sense that I wouldn't believe he was ugly or could do something wrong-- perhaps that sort of thing just doesn't matter to me. It wasn't that I thought I -could- be like him, even though a part of me wanted to. I just wanted to -know- him, I think. I could identify with him even though I was the anti-Spock, basically, because he represented my Shadow self in Jungian terms. I am, in many ways, always looking for my Shadow in fiction; my anti-self.
    It's no surprise I've always been most obsessed with characters very unlike myself: male, powerful somehow, very animus-like (Spock, Spike, Draco, it goes on and on) -and- with the ways they're different; no surprise I've always been obsessed with the difference and jealous of guarding it against any encroachment of... assimilation. There's no insult to my intelligence like nice!Draco or out-of-control!Spock because their very value is their difference.

I'm not sure where I'm going with this-- just thinking out loud. I always end up seeing the personal and subjective hopelessly tied up in any objective ideal I might have. Keeps me humble, at least.