Four. That’s the number of times we hear Thorfinn’s inner thoughts in the entirety of Vinland Saga‘s first season. Considering that, for all intents and purposes, he is our central protagonist, that’s a surprisingly low number. What motivates him? What does he think about those around him? Why are we left in the dark about the sullen, morose Thorfinn? After realizing that we only hear Thorfinn’s thoughts four times, I wanted to see if those thoughts offered any clues.

Three of Thorfinn’s thoughts pop out of his head in the heat of battle. Analyzing his opponent, Thorfinn lets us know where he might find an opening for an attack. It’s nothing too illuminating; all this tells us is that Thorfinn has decent fighting skills, but he displays that, so we don’t really gain much by hearing him think it. The only other thought Thorfinn reveals to us is in the aftermath of a battle, noting that his shoulder seems to be separated. Given that Thorfinn’s only other thoughts were during his duels with Thorkell and Askeladd, this line about the shoulder almost feels like a mistake. Why did we even get to hear it? Of all the things we would like to know about the young lad, why do we only get this throwaway line about an injury? I wonder if this is some kind of narrative trick.

Two kinds of characters exist in narratives, according to E.M. Forster in his 1927 book Aspects of the Novel: Flat and Round. A flat character is a supporting character, so one-note in the way they are written that they exist for one sole purpose or have one quality that makes them identifiable in a story. Because of this singular focus that makes up their personality, a flat character is “easily recognizable by the reader’s emotional eye.” A round character is any character that has layers to them. A character with desires & motivations, or one that faces a conflict or moral quandary, is a rounded character. Where does Thorfinn fit? Is he flat or round?

One thing that stuck with me on my rewatch of Vinland Saga‘s first season, and now into its second season, is that Thorfinn seems to fall victim to not being the main character of a story that he, by all appearances, seems to anchor. How can this be that a protagonist seems to play second fiddle to almost everyone around him? His ‘side character energy’ is too high. But I also realized… that Thorfinn is… me.

Vinland Saga is a series that, surprisingly, doesn’t have a great deal of internal dialogue. It’s not often that characters are cooking up schemes in their heads or letting us in on what they think of other characters. Most of the plotting and worldview-espousing happens through conversations between characters. And despite being our hero, Thorfinn is rarely involved in any of it. He listens to other men firmly parked at the center of their narrative, and as we watch, we begin to see that Thorfinn is a secondary character bearing witness to more compelling stories from the sidelines. It is fascinating.

As a child, Thorfinn hears Leif’s tales of Vinland and the golden fields that await on the new continent, far across the ocean. He listens to the heroic events of another man’s life and covets them. He wishes that those adventures, those memories, could be his own. He hears tales about his father, Thors, being a great warrior and dreams of being as strong as him one day. When he says he wants to be like Leif, like his father, Thorfinn is told he will certainly grow up to be as respected as these men.

I was told growing up that I was smart. The adults in my life would often remark how clever I was for a kid my age. As a child, that kind of love and support from your parents is invaluable, and while having the adults in your life say, “You can really make something of yourself,” doesn’t necessarily turn you into a full-blown egomaniac, it does fill your head with all kinds of ideas about how great your life will be. You feel like you’ll be in control of your destiny. Whether your goal in life is to sail across the ocean to Vinland, be a brave warrior like your father, or I dunno, become a famous writer or whatever, when you keep hearing that you can make that happen, you start to believe you really are the main character in your story.

When Thors is slain, Thorfinn’s dreams for the future are shattered. He regresses into a flat character driven by one thing and one thing only: Revenge. For much of the first season, Thorfinn seethes with rage toward Askeladd, time and again telling the aloof, calculating leader that he intends to kill him. E.M. Forster says of a character like Thorfinn in this state, “A serious or tragic flat character is apt to be a bore. Each time he enters crying ‘Revenge!’ or ‘My heart bleeds for humanity!’ or whatever his formula is, our hearts sink.” I would argue that Thorfinn is not a bore but that his thirst for blood, for Askeladd’s blood, is most certainly pitiful. He screams at Askeladd, he screams when no one is around, and he is frustrated at his inability to act. Our hearts sink, not because this character is letting us down, but because we feel for him. His one-note act is easy to read, but importantly, it connects because it feels relatable.

All around Thorfinn, there is growth. The complex world of Vinland Saga comes into focus for the viewer through the eyes of Askeladd and Canute. In no time after they are introduced, they outshine Thorfinn with the gravitas they bring to the narrative. Askeladd, the ruthless Viking mercenary in all his cruelty and callousness, begins to become almost sympathetic. We learn of his past—growing up poor, he cares for his unwell mother, looked down upon as the bastard son of a respected Norse warrior. He strategizes through conversations with Bjorn; he waxes poetic about his place in this world, he tells us who he is and what he aspires to. We may not be able to forgive him, but we understand him. Similarly, Prince Canute quickly asserts himself as a character to pay attention to. Unable to speak for himself, he joins Askeladd’s caravan, cowering in fear amidst the sea of brutish Vikings. Thorfinn mocks the prince at first, assuming this weakling is beneath him, a side character in his story, but in only a short while, Canute experiences something akin to a divine epiphany, gaining clarity and a newly filled purpose in his life. His moment of growth transforms him, while Thorfinn remains utterly stagnant. Askeladd and Canute both fight for something in this brutal world, while Thorfinn continues to lose his way. Does he even remember the story of Vinland correctly?

I had just started a Masters degree at a pretty decent school, and this was one of the first times when my belief in myself started to waver. That’s not to say my life had gone swimmingly before returning to school. There was already course correction being done to reach my lofty goals. Being canned from a retail management gig was my version of Thorfinn losing that first duel against Askeladd. I couldn’t understand how I’d ended up on my ass. Maybe just “being smart” wasn’t enough; the praise I received in my younger days was now only a memory to become trapped in. I had to work harder; I had to get smarter. Like Thorfinn improving his knife skills, this was my way of finally getting recognition. Applying to grad school and getting accepted (which still shocks me to this day) felt like righting the ship and continuing to sail toward Vinland. The dream was getting closer. I had been knocked down, but I wasn’t out. I would make connections, someone would see my writing, and the rest would be history.

What you don’t realize when you think you’re the main character of your own story is that EVERYONE ELSE around you is now racing you to Vinland. The idea that you’re at the center is in direct competition with your cohort, who write themselves in as the main character. You’re just a side character in their story. As you progress through life, you meet some amazing people with magnetic personalities and incredible intellect. You think to yourself, “These people are the real deal. They’re going to make it.” The Askeladds and Canutes in your story begin to take over your narrative.

Despite running into many people like this in grad school, I graduated and received a worthless piece of paper that tells people where I’ve been. Maybe I’d done enough to finally earn the acknowledgment I sought, to finally reach the dreams I dreamt of as a child when my world was still full of hope and promise.

My grandparents on my mother’s side passed away while I was in grad school. They both had wanted me to take on this adventure, still sure in the belief that I could become something if I followed my dreams. I’ll never forget my final conversation with my Nana, who accidentally called my cell phone one afternoon as I walked down 14th Street in Manhattan. She thought she was calling my mother, so you can imagine her shock when I answered. We laughed about it, and she asked how I was doing; I asked how she was doing – a pleasant little chat, and she hung up so she could call my mom and ask her about something mundane. Only a few months later, she was gone. Here I was in New York, pursuing this dream that seemed to be an increasingly distant possibility, and I was losing people in my life who I loved very much. If I had been home instead of following this silly dream, I might have spent more time with my grandparents in their final years. Was any of this worth it? Why was nothing going right in my life?

As Thorfinn falls further into a near catatonic state of disbelief at his circumstances, he calls to mind Dostoyevsky’s Underground Man from the 1864 novella Notes From Underground, “I did not know how to become anything; neither spiteful nor kind, neither a rascal nor an honest man, neither a hero nor an insect.” The Underground Man imagines himself to be at the center of his story, but he finds that the people he attempts to associate with see him as nothing. They pay him no mind. He is rude, spiteful, and attempts to rile people up with his biting words. They don’t flinch. This nothing of a person doesn’t phase them.

Thorfinn, for all his inaction and lack of growth, wants to be acknowledged by Askeladd. He is looking for a shred of empathy, much like the Underground Man. Thorfinn wants to avenge his father by winning the duel against Askeladd; he wants to be in control of his story, but he is unable. The tragic flatness of Thorfinn’s character makes him easy to read, not only for us but for Askeladd as well. Thorfinn is never able to land a solid blow against Askeladd because Thorfinn’s thirst for revenge renders him so one-note that Askeladd can easily fend him off. “You still don’t understand why it turns out like this? …You never learn, kid. …You’re an idiot who loses because he’s an idiot.”

Yale professor Marta Figlerowicz, in her book Flat Protagonists, observes that characters like Thorfinn end up the way they do not because of a lack of ambition or a particular failure but because they realistically represent how most of our lives unfold. As we grow up, we begin to realize how small we truly are in the grand scheme, and if we have the ambition to be remembered by everyone, only if we’re lucky do we have a chance of being relevant for a few fleeting moments, before we are once again forgotten. Flat protagonists critique the self-importance of characters and the self-importance of the reader who wants to read a story that validates their own deluded sense that they are the lead character in society’s play.

I graduated from grad school. It feels like yesterday, but it has been almost nine years. In anime seasons, that was 34 cours ago. Season one of Haikyuu!! was airing. Remember when Hinata walked into Karasuno’s gym for the first time? That long ago. I continued trying to find a home for my writing, toiling away on my own. A pitch here, a couple of video game news articles there. To support myself, I got by on freelance scraps in other areas; all the while, the Askeladds and Canutes I was close to in school were much more successful. Their story arc was much more interesting; it made sense that people would pay attention to them. I couldn’t get a pitch on an editor’s desk; I was just Thorfinn, getting by in the world on Ketil’s farm. Why did I even go to grad school in the first place? Did I think it would get me to Vinland? What was my Vinland anyways? Me, me me. My, my, my.

“Don’t act so spoiled!” screams Einar in the aptly titled episode from season two, “Awakening.” While Figlerowicz doesn’t necessarily think that a story with a flat protagonist is supposed to cause the reader to reflect on their own life, hearing Einar roar about Thorfinn’s arrogance, that his ‘woe is me’ routine is pathetic, and that even if everything in the world is garbage, they still get to “chit-chat, eat, shit, and sleep in this hell… because someone kept us alive” hits hard. This moment rattles Thorfinn out of his zombified existence and shakes the viewer with just as much force. I know it did for me.

This is why Thorfinn, for all his flatness, is a great character. He is all of us. Very few of us will change the world, yet growing up, many of us think we will. What Vinland Saga does so well is breaking down its main character, and in essence, us as viewers, before building Thorfinn, and us, back up. Yes, the world is unfair, cruel, unjust. We are bombarded with idyllic imagery of an illusory world that one day we can reach if only we work hard to achieve it. For Thorfinn, it is Vinland; for us, it might be the American Dream or something analogous. These aren’t real. They’re pure fantasy. Instead, we should look around us at the beauty and love already in our lives. We all might struggle at times, and it’s reasonable to get upset at the world, but we all need an Einar to give our heads a smack, to remind us that many of us are already very lucky.

I think my Vinland might still be out there, I might not be ready to give up on it just yet. But I can’t mope about not being there yet. I mean, I’m here writing something for ANN, and I have people in my life who I love deeply. I played the game of life and had a ball.

Thorfinn is me, I am him.