When it comes to episodic storytelling in the so-called Second Golden Age of Television, we love to talk about arcs. Story arcs, character arcs, you name the type. But no matter which manner of arc you land on, it’s all about dramatic events over the course of a show’s narrative—or, in some cases, one of its many narratives. Much ado has been made about arcs in all those serious adult dramas that are usually listed in a row, typically beginning with Twin Peaks or The Wire or The Sopranos and ending with Breaking Bad or Mad Men or Game of Thrones. Some particularly narrative-heavy episodic adult comedies, like your Arrested Developments and your Parks and Recreations, also get the nod.
But it’s time for Jaime Lannister to sit his theoretically-closer-to-redeemed keister down. Avatar: The Last Airbender has the best redemption arc in the history of television—and the character of its subject, Prince Zuko of the Fire Nation, only gets more complex once you dive into the show’s companion comics.
Avatar: The Last Airbender, a name unfortunately besmirched by the race-swapping travesty of the M. Night Shyamalan “movie” of almost the same name, is easily one of the best television shows in the past 20 years, and Kirk Hamilton’s excellent argument at Kotaku for its status as one of the best of all time is hard to ignore. It prized episodic storytelling filled with attentive character development and tackled complex philosophical issues for an all-ages audience that wrapped up two years before Adventure Time launched—and its creators handled the show’s heavy East Asian and Inuit cultural and historical influences respectfully and (relatively) accurately to boot. It’s hard not to see its imprint on a new era of cartoons, including Steven Universe, that also borrow from the rich narrative and stylistic tradition of anime, which has been killing it episodically since before Omar Little was even a twinkle in David Simon’s eye.
And Zuko, despite the titular reverence paid toward Avatar Aang, is the show’s emotional and narrative core. In an entry on anti-villains—think anti-hero, but more villainous!—on TV Tropes, the hubbub around Zuko gets a neat little summary. (Oh, and if you’re a dingus like me and somehow didn’t finish this show until this year, if at all, know that all the spoilers follow.)
Prince Zuko from Avatar: The Last Airbender had so many heroic traits and plot lines (not to mention horrific backstory) that fans were at a loss as to what to call him before this index was created. If not for the fact that he was constantly trying to capture the protagonist, he would be the most sympathetic character on the show. (And to many viewers, he is anyway.)
This raises an interesting question: How can the crown prince of a genocidal nation—gifted with power over an element painted as inherently destructive, whose anger is barely controllable and whose motivations toward the protagonists are nefarious at best and world-ending at worst—possibly become both a fan favorite and the most sympathetic character on the show?
Take it away, TV Tropes!
“Zuko, Aang’s enemy for much of the show, was consistently denied approval by his father, had his mother leave him at a young age, which she did because she had just killed his grandfather to save his life, and, at the age of thirteen, was exiled and burned by his father for protesting against a plan that would use an huge number of troops for a We Have Reserves tactic that would likely get them all killed, and sent on a Snipe Hunt to regain his honor.”
And that doesn’t even touch upon the way Zuko’s nature is colored by his two dueling ancestries, nor his relationship with his even more damaged sister, Azula. Slowly revealed across the course of three seasons, the intricate nature of Zuko’s ancestry, familial ties, and troubled relationship with his own nation make up a character far more complicated than the fire-tempered snarler we’re introduced to in episode one.
Paramount in Zuko’s character development is his relationship with his uncle, Iroh, a disgraced former Fire Nation general and elder brother to Fire Lord Ozai, Zuko’s father. Iroh, voiced by the incomparable Mako in the first season and most of the second and later by pinch-hitting voice actor Greg Baldwin—opposite, I kid you not, Dante Basco, who played Rufio in Hook—is an extraordinary character with an achingly moving backstory in his own right, and his philosophy serves as both the show’s moral compass and its thematic backbone. And his relationship with Zuko is, as Hamilton argues, the most compelling relationship in the entire show, “villain” status be damned.
In fact, their ups and downs provide the emotional arc for the entire series. The climactic showdown at the end of the first season is defined by Iroh explicitly telling Zuko he thinks of him as a son. The season two premiere ends with Iroh and Zuko symbolically cutting their hair and, with it, their allegiance to the Fire Nation. The duo barely features in “Avatar Day,” but the most memorable scene in the episode comes at the end, when Zuko tells his uncle he wants to carry on without him. [And] the enjoyable, western-inspired episode “Zuko Alone” is as much about Iroh’s absence as it is about Zuko’s journey.
“Zuko Alone” lets Zuko effectively play out Yojimbo while forcing him to confront both his inability to escape his heritage and legacy and his need to accept the pain the Fire Nation has caused throughout the world. Heady stuff for a “kids’ show.” But the most powerful moment in the second season—and, behind Zuko’s third season facedown with his father, voiced by a deliciously understated Mark Hamill, perhaps the most powerful in the show—comes when Zuko is presented with the opportunity to kidnap Appa, Avatar Aang’s beloved sky bison.
Letting Appa go free doesn’t free Zuko, though. Trapped by his loyalty to the Fire Nation, his fear of Azula and Ozai, and his desire to feel his father’s approval, Zuko about-faces on his about-face, helping Azula to conquer the city of Ba Sing Se—the last major Earth Kingdom stronghold against a world entirely within the Fire Nation’s grip.
The third season finally brings Aang and his friends to the Fire Nation, where they are finally able to see its people as something other than hot-blooded conquerors. Zuko, too, returns home, and finds something different: He doesn’t feel at home anymore. Serving as Ozai’s crown prince means serving a nation dedicated to assimilating all around it, to forsaking balance in the name of power. After all Iroh had told Zuko of balance, it was impossible for him to continue as the son of a conqueror and feel whole.
Suddenly, Zuko discovers himself. After learning that he is the grandson not only of Fire Lord Sozin, who began the Fire Nation’s reign of terror and slaughtered the entire race of airbenders, but also Avatar Roku, who opposed him, Zuko confronts his father. Ozai cruelly taunts him about the disappearance of his mother before attempting to kill him by bending lightning at him—which Zuko, thanks to a technique Iroh taught him to defend himself against Azula, deflects right back at him. He leaves the Fire Nation to join up with the Avatar, and works against all their assumptions of his character to first become ally, then friend. Zuko and Aang travel together to a long-lost kingdom of firebenders, where they learn the truth about fire—its power may be destructive, but fire is also the warmth of the sun and of the body. Fire is life itself.
By this point, it’s already pretty impossible not to be more attached to Zuko than to any of the rest of the major cast, no matter how compelling their arcs are. But then Zuko reunites with Iroh. And then, in the most climactic battle of the entire series, he duels Azula. And then, finally, he takes his throne.
One of the most powerful things about Zuko’s arc is just how adult it actually is. At first, he’s painted as a headstrong, arrogant, angry teenager, petulant and averse to advice. But it’s Zuko’s fear in the face of his own helplessness that guides his rash action. Fear that he’s lost his mother for good, and that he’ll never get to properly say goodbye. Fear that he’ll never capture the Avatar, thereby both proving an abusive father wrong and receiving his approval. Fear that he’ll never be strong enough to face the many hardships of his life each day without denial and pain.
The longer Avatar runs, the darker it gets—and the darker it gets, the brighter the lights within that darkness are forced to shine to keep the night at bay. (Let’s just say Game of Thrones took its cues from more than just George R.R. Martin’s books. Seriously, try comparing the opening credits.) Long before the series began, when Iroh faced his lowest moment, it changed him into the man of wisdom, patience, and balance that could help Zuko become the same. But even with that wisdom, Zuko had to learn the hard way—by failing, by hurting the ones he loved, and by betraying his true self until, finally, he could find it.
The thing is, it doesn’t end there. After three seasons and a near-perfect finale, the story picks up right where creators Bryan Konietzko and Michael Dante DiMartino left off, in a series of original graphic novels penned by Gene Luen Yang. Yang’s work in similar thematic territory—Boxers and Saints, The Shadow Hero—made him the perfect fit here. To date, Yang and the artistic team Gurihiru have completed five full arcs. Three star Zuko—and he’s no less complex.
The Zuko of the comics actually has to rule, and the complications of that weigh heavily. First, in The Promise, he makes Aang promise to “end” him should he ever go the way of his father—and when, paranoid for his own life and concerned for the livelihood of his people, he is forced to make hard decisions that the Avatar couldn’t help but see the wrong way, Aang comes dangerously close to fulfilling that promise. Later, in Smoke and Shadow, he’s put in a similar bind, stuck between wanting to do right by his people and an imminent rebellion by Ozai loyalists who see Zuko’s attempt to right the wrongs his ancestors did as a betrayal of his own nation—all while trying not to break the heart of his former girlfriend, Mai, one more time.
And, of course, there’s The Search—when Zuko, Aang, and the gang form an uneasy union with the now-mad Azula and go hunting for the biggest missing piece in Zuko’s story: his mother.
But we can’t satisfy every arc here. If you’re burning for answers on that one, you’ll just have to read the book.
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