Seven Seasons of Buffy: Science Fiction and Fantasy Authors Discuss Their Favorite Television Show (Smart Pop series)

by Gilene Yeffeth

  FIFTH YEAR SCORE:

  Unassisted saveage of the Slayer: 0 (two years in a row! YESSS!)

  Assisted saveage of the Slayer: 2

  Saveage of other “Scoobies”: 4

  Saveage of innocent civilians: Force multiplier for participation in

  saving the world from Glory

  THE SIXTH YEAR

  “Yeah, but then there’d be the flopping and the . . . gasping, and . . . sure, maybe it’d work out, but chances are I’d up and leave you at the helm in your white dress. Then find you spawning with another fish who turns out to be spawning my very good friend night and day behind my back. Then comes the fighting and again with the flopping and the gasping, ‘cause hey, Chicken of the Sea here’s not doing too good with the women these days.”

  And here’s where you show your true genius, Lord Vardath. When the going gets tough . . . when vampires, demons, Angelus, military-issue Frankensteins and even Hellgods don’t do the trick . . . you bring in the really big guns.

  Relationship issues.

  I mean, it was a great plan to distract the Most Powerful Force For Good with the whole constantly-having-sex-with-a-former-vengeance-demon thing, but this year you destroyed the moral fiber of every White Hat in Sunnydale.

  Sure, Xander patrolled while Buffy’s corpse molded quietly in its grave. However, after participating in reviving the Slayer, he saved the redheaded stepwitch22 . . . an ambiguous act, at best, given said witch’s slide to the Evil Side late in the year. And, seeking to pleasure his lover, he summoned a dancing, singing Showstopper of Evil. (I heard a rumor that guy is teaching a Dance to the Death class next semester. If I survive, I’m definitely enrolling.)

  The scars left from the musical numbers will never fade from their memory. Or ours. BWA-HA-HA-HA-HA-HA!23

  And—BIG points for us—he leaves his demon-girlfriend at the altar, forcing her to suit up again in the jersey of Team Evil! Wow! Good one.

  However . . . and I mention this only in passing . . . he did participate in some saving of lives. When Buffy went nuts with that whole “Am I in an institution?” thing (again, sir, inspired, really) who fought off the slicey-dicey demon, even with his hands tied? Once again, he proves himself the true hero of the piece, while Buffy cowers in her corner drooling. Blah. Slayers. Overrated, I say.

  And—of course—there’s the most powerful argument of all for Xander being the Most Important Force For Good in Sunnydale.

  He stopped black-eyed, killing-frenzy Willow.

  No weapons. No fancy backspin kicks. No magic.

  Just simple human love.

  I mean, we hate him, and all. But clearly. He’s, well . . . formidable.

  SIXTH YEAR SCORE:

  Oh, why even bother? 100%.

  No world without him. Game over.

  IN SUMMATION

  So long as Xander Harris resides in Sunnydale, we’re screwed. Evil will never triumph. Slayers come and go, but this Harris character, he looks likely to tough it out. Marry some good woman. Raise a bunch of kids and train them to be good-hearted, power-tool-wielding, salt-of-the-earth heroes.

  I suggest an aggressive, go-for-broke campaign to relocate Xander Harris out of Sunnydale to someplace less damaging to our plans. Hollywood, perhaps. He can do no harm there, and our Evil Minions, especially in the Programming Departments at the major networks, are bound to break his spirit in short order.

  Respectfully yours, your groveling unworthy student,

  Korelva Norn

  DO NOT WRITE BELOW THIS LINE! INSTRUCTOR NOTES ONLY!

  TA: Bugger. The little bastard’s figured it out. Xander is, indeed, the Most Powerful Force For Good in Sunnydale. This is very distressing. Aren’t we required to fail 100% of the class, or risk losing limbs?

  VARDATH: Not to worry. Xander has laid the seeds of his own destruction. After all, he once said, “Well, how about this? We whip out the ouija board, light a few candles, summon some ancient, unstoppable evil. Mayhem, mayhem, mayhem. We show up and kick its ass.” And lo and behold, is that the First Evil I hear rumbling and slouching toward Sunnydale? I call that a draw. He’s no longer the Most Powerful Force for whatever—in fact, I seriously doubt that there IS a Most Powerful Force For Good anywhere in the Sunnydale city limits, a big win for us.

  TA: So, about the test . . .

  VARDATH: Fail the little loser. He didn’t grovel nearly enough, anyway.

  From the desk of

  the Dean of Demonology

  Mr. Norn—

  Sorry. Appeal denied. Pack some asbestos underwear. Oh, and thank you for your gracious sacrifice of your sister and sixteen captured virgins, but here at Evil University, we pride ourselves on academic unfairness. Have a nice day. <:)

  DO NOT WRITE BELOW THIS LINE UNDER ABSOLUTE PAIN OF DISMEMBERMENT AND DISEMBOWELMENT!

  FIRST EVILS ONLY!

  Well, this blows. I go away to Sunnydale for a little game of kill-the-slayer-and-rule-the-world, and minions with not enough to do stuff my inbox with crap. People and others, I am THE FIRST EVIL, not the Forty-Third Annoyance from Pacoima. You cannot seriously expect me to read every undergraduate essay that comes along, no matter how amusing . . .

  Oh. I see. It’s very humorous. XANDER HARRIS? The most powerful force for good in . . .

  . . . crap. It occurs to me now that if I’d been a little more on the ball, I’d have worked with Propecia or Prozac or whatever the hell her name is, that fashion-victim she-demon who was giving the red-head an evil makeover last year. I’d have killed that he-brat once and for good, thereby giving Tree (Willow? Whatever.) free rein to . . . destroy . . .

  Well. Obviously, that wouldn’t have worked. If I’d allowed Xander to be given the fatality he so richly deserves, my game would have been over. The world would have been sucked up into a dark evil death-spell thing, which while indisputably evil is not the crazy fun it sounds (been there, so despised that). And while there are lots of brand-name evils out there, do you really want to have Proserpexa at the top of the food chain? Ugh. Can’t pronounce her, can’t spell her, and she dresses like Cher, which with those hips is NOT pretty.

  I digress. Obviously, I must have meant for Xander Harris to thwart the Big Bad and become Hero Boy, so that I could smack him down with ringing authority during my Great Ascension of 2003.

  The next snicker I hear will be punishable by the death of a thousand grandmothers with knitting needles. I swear.

  Hey, it was a good plan, and it almost worked, if not for those darn . . . kids . . . why does that sound so familiar? Must assign a few research victims to the problem, make them watch multiple reruns of that awful movie with the cartoon dog until their eyes bleed and they become Harbingers.

  Anyway. So very not my fault that the Red Witch turned into Glenda from Glitter Gulch and saved the day by outnumbering me with Slayers. And yes, Xander Harris was the putz who saved her to pull that off. And without Stick (Tree? Shrub? Whatever.), no spell would have been cast, therefore no Slayer Overload to harsh my good vibe.

  An argument could be made that the miserable Xander loafed through the rest of his career with the Slayer—but hell, who wouldn’t, after pulling off a coup like that? What’s he got to prove? That he’s EVEN MORE vital than indispensable? Sheesh. Even I don’t have that kind of performance rating system. (But you there, in the blue shirt, don’t get too comfortable.)

  So I’ll concede the Xander-linchpin-of-goodness theory. I meant to Evil Dead him, but I got busy. There was the Slayer to torment, live people to taunt, corpses to impersonate . . . he was on the list, but you can’t expect me to be everywhere and do everybody. And hey, he lost an eye, which is one hell of a lot better than any of the rest of the Big Boasty Evils have come up with. (Buffy’s mother died of NATURAL CAUSES? You don’t think this is going to come up in annual reviews, people? Talk about falling down on the job! I’d like to stress that I was not, in fact, the Big Bad at the time. ‘Cause that was just, well, embarrassing.)

  And lest yo
u think Xander got off lightly, my evil continues to work its magic in subtle yet effective ways. I mean, his love life is screwed. If you really think the chicks will dig the rakish pirate look, you are pathetically mistaken. Petty revenge is so totally mine.

  Enough of that, I’m kicking the Xander problem to the curb. Now, about this student who wrote the essay . . . Narn? Norn. Clearly, he pegged something none of us fully understood at the time. If Xander Harris WAS the most important force for good in Sunnydale, well, our focus groups were way off the mark. We were blinded by the glamour of Red’s magic, the glitter of the Slayer’s so-not-naturally blonde beauty. This kind of screw-up cannot happen again, if I want to maintain my position as First Evil, and believe me, I am NOT having these embossed business cards reprinted.

  What I need is a marketing campaign, something to convince people that whole Sunnydale debacle was a strategic retreat and that I’m just biding my time before emerging more powerful than ever. I’m thinking web site, with a nice Quicktime video. Fluffy, with lots of golden tones and cute puppies dying horribly. Possibly to a Barry Manilow soundtrack.

  Get Mr. Norn back, decapitate him, and park him in a conference room with a bottled water and fruit plate. He’s my new head of PR.

  Get it? Head? . . . oh, never mind. Sulking now.

  — T.F.E.

  Roxanne Longstreet Conrad is the author of seven published novels: Stormriders, The Undead, Red Angel, Cold Kiss, and Slow Burn (as Roxanne Longstreet), as well as Copper Moon and Bridge of Shadows (as Roxanne Conrad). Her hardcover mystery Exile will be available in late 2003, and a new fantasy series is currently in the works for 2003 and 2004.

  ______________________

  *Points deducted for nearly destroying Sunnydale with that whole love spell thing. Which so nearly worked for us. I would’ve paid good kittens to have seen him torn limb from limb by scorned, panting women.

  1 I crawl before you, o enormous godlike manifestation of evil. May you reign forever and crush the forces of good like tiny little crushable things. Etc.

  2 Cursed be her name, in every dimension! Hail Vardath!

  3 Good being a somewhat fluid term, even in the Realm of Sunnydale. See, for instance, our fallen brother Angelus, the once-formidable Spike, or the occasionally (and deliciously) evil Willow Rosenberg.

  4 Ibid (2).

  5 Ibid (2).

  6 Ibid (2). Oh, whatever! Just assume an Ibid, already.

  7 In his own words: “Ah, no. You’re not the only one with powers, you know. You may be a hoppedup uber-witch, but . . . this carpenter can dry-wall you into the next century.” (“Grave,” 6-22)

  8 Through which we will erupt and consume all life on Earth. Real soon.

  9 As we all know, even in a hell dimension, plaids with stripes is Not Done.

  10 I speak for us all when I say that as Harvests went, that one was a crashing disappointment. There was almost no munching of innocents at all.

  11 Frankly, I was disappointed in the Master. I expected him to show a little more initiative when faced with a bunch of teenagers who couldn’t even be troubled to show up for class more than twice a day. I think I speak for us all when I say I was glad his bones were ground to dust. Yay.

  12 We believe this refers to a top-secret holy society, but so far, we have only been able to determine that it apparently involves worship of a large canine. Possibly this could refer to the werewolf. He is very laconic.

  13 Aka Angelus. He is a lot more amusing when he is Angelus. Blood, maiming, torture. Leather pants. I live in hope that he will once again experience eternal bliss. In fact, I respectfully recommend that the most evil and glorious Vardath commission a project to study how best to provide Angelus with this escape. It could prove most useful in upcoming years. My sister is particularly eager to participate.

  14 “You take the princess and secure the kitchen. Catwoman, you’re with me.” Give him credit . . . for a White Hat, he knows how to bark orders like a Mal-toth.

  15 Personally, I think he was kind of a cheesy blue putz, and cried no acidic evil tears over his demise. But still.

  16 Not that I am in any way implying, great Vardath, that YOU PERSONALLY muffed it. Ever. Have I mentioned I was thinking of endowing a new pentagram in your honor on the Walk of Evil outside of Hell Hall?

  17 That babe had real evil potential. She’s the kind of Slayer we need more of—willing to kick ass, have sex, get drunk, and ally herself with the Forces of Evil. Granted, she’s got some annoyingly good qualities, but I’m willing to work with her.

  18 Cursed be her name, et al

  19 “No studying? Damn! Next thing they’ll tell me is I’ll have to eat jelly doughnuts or sleep with a supermodel to get things done around here. I ask you, how much can one man give?” (“The Initiative,” 4-7)

  20 Which I would anyway. Of course. Gladly.

  21 Now, THERE was a Force for Evil I’d follow anywhere. Quippy, lithe, stronger than most Hellgods, and with a fashion sense second only to Anna Nicole Smith. I’m thinking of applying to her staff after graduation. Her last Evil Minions were hardly management material.

  22 “You made the decision to stop for a reason. You promised us. And can I just ask, what’s with the make-over of the damned? I mean, the hair . . .!” (Villains, 6-20)

  23 I would inscribe lyrics here, but I feel that even Evil University shouldn’t require that much sacrifice for a lousy Prerequisite to Possession class. Suffice to say, they are evil.

  Nancy Kilpatrick

  SEX AND THE

  SINGLE SLAYER

  The Watcher’s Council, in their wisdom, saw fit to send Giles to Sunnydale in order to guide Buffy in all matters of slayage. And it’s fair to say that Giles makes an important contribution in helping Buffy be all that she can be—slayer-wise. But Buffy gets no help at all in an area in which, frankly, she needs a lot more assistance, namely her love life. Nancy Kilpatrick, award-winning author and Goth Queen, has volunteered to fill this desperately needed role . . . and not a moment too soon.

  THE MATING GAME

  BUFFY BUFFY BUFFY! Honestly, girlfriend, for a while there, those of us in cableland thought you’d never get laid! Oh, admit it: it took you forever to hit the sheets! Of course, with you being a kind of virgin huntress a la that ancient Roman deity Diana, seasons were bound to come and go before a good-enough guy flew into your sights.

  Now, season one everybody felt hopeful. I mean, here’s a snapshot: you and Angel lip-locked. Kissing is normal for a teenager, and obviously being normal is the driving force in a girl hardwired to slay. But as the entire world is no doubt aware, Angel is, alas, a vampire. The undead. The unclean. You knew it, we knew it, and while vampires surely don’t fall into the truly “normal” realm—I mean, fantasies aside, did you ever really believe you two would end up in the ’burbs with 2.5 of anything?—still, there’s something about those preternatural guys who live out their dark side that make them simply irresistible. And all things said, a kiss is still a kiss, right? Who knew where this kiss could go? Well, we all did! And hope springs eternal, the perfect time frame for vamping the vamp. A nosferatu returning to a mortal state isn’t unheard of, which means anything was possible. Mutual attraction built and I think we all experienced a sense of relief that at least something erotic was happening for our modern-day Artemis, she of strong limbs, she who cuts up, queen of transformation, and all that.

  In retrospect, the relationship with Angel seemed to be going well. What a perfect boyfriend! Sexy, honest, true blue. Just that little glitchy thing, him being a bloodsucking killer and all. Of course, somewhere in there you had fleeting thoughts about that Billy “Ford” Fordham—yes, your continuous-loop longing to be normal. But he had his own nasty agenda, and certainly became a good example of what-you-see-is-not-necessarily-what-you-get. And, of course, Xander has always (more or less) been waiting in the wings, the proverbial nice guy who finishes last. Solid. Dependable. In his case, a little klutzy. In short, boring. Not in the running.
Face it, a girl in your line of work needs a guy who can keep up with her, and Xander, endearing as he is, could never compete with Angel, either in the realm of the flesh, or by engaging the imagination. Sad but true, a Slayer wants a little fire in the belly of her demon lovers.

  So, it had to happen. All of us sat out here week by week, eating low-fat potato chips, peering intently at the great two-dimensional window of imagination, wondering along with you just what it would be like to have sex with a prince of darkness. Angel so handsome! Not to mention charming. Mysterious . . . You more than get my drift. That night at his apartment, well, it was inevitable, and when the lights faded to black, we voyeurs let our fantasies run rampant. We died (so to speak) and went to heaven!

  WHEN GOOD BOYFRIENDS GO BAD

  Now, as almost every female knows only too well, a night of bliss doesn’t always lead to happily-ever-after. And girl, sad to say, I have to tell you that what happened to you next isn’t all that uncommon, metaphorically speaking. Many of us have had a loving partner by night who, by the next night, has turned into something “other.” It’s bloody scary! Not every XY can tolerate humanization! History is full of stories about guys who abstained in order to retain lofty philosophical or spiritual ideals that precluded earthly desires to the point of violence, and others who refused to consummate with the ladies so that they had testosterone in abundance for warlike or sportslike destruction of their fellow man. It’s a fact, girlfriend—males have a hard time with intimacy. Like I’m telling you anything you haven’t thought about! It puts them in touch with themselves, and that might not be a person whose hand they want to be shaking. That they so often negate the good things that happened and reduce what was a powerful emotional experience to “It didn’t mean anything at all,” well, there’s the rub! All of us out here were shocked on your behalf, but not surprised.