What Are Examples Of Mary Sues In Utopia Books?

Utopian fiction’s worst Mary Sues are the ones who fix everything by being 'enlightened.' In 'Erewhon,' the narrator escapes a dystopian society by... being cleverer than everyone else. The satire’s sharp, but the protagonist’s superiority complex grates. He’s less a character and more a vehicle for mocking Victorian hypocrisy. It’s a reminder that even critiques of society can fall into the trap of creating smug avatars for the author’s ideology.

Mary Sues in utopias aren’t just about perfection—they’re about convenience. In B.F. Skinner’s 'Walden Two,' Frazier designs a behaviorist paradise and never faces meaningful pushback. His debates with critics are stacked in his favor; the skeptics come off as strawmen. What’s wild is that Skinner knew this was a weakness—he later admitted Frazier was a 'villain'—but the character still dominates the narrative like a smug demigod. Utopian authors often can’t resist making their stand-ins win every argument.

Some utopian Mary Sues are stealthy. Take the protagonist of 'News from Nowhere' by William Morris. He’s an everyman who wakes up in a pastoral communist future, but his reactions are weirdly passive. Instead of grappling with culture shock, he instantly appreciates everything, from the handmade chairs to the lack of prisons. His enthusiasm feels less like a human response and more like Morris projecting his arts-and-crafts fantasies onto a blank slate. The book’s gorgeous descriptions can’t mask how thin the protagonist is—he’s a tourist gushing over a brochure-perfect getaway.

Utopian literature often sneaks in Mary Sues under the guise of 'perfect reformers'—characters so flawless they make the society’s transformation feel unearned. Take Edward Bellamy’s 'Looking Backward,' where Julian West wakes up in a socialist utopia and instantly becomes its biggest cheerleader. He’s handsome, universally admired, and never struggles with the moral complexities of dismantling capitalism. The book treats him like a conduit for ideology rather than a person. Even his romance with Edith feels like a checkbox for narrative completion. Utopias love these self-inserts because they erase friction, but that’s also why they ring hollow.

Another classic is More’s 'Utopia' itself—Raphael Hythloday, the traveler who narrates the perfect society, is suspiciously free of bias or personal stakes. He’s a walking infodump, untroubled by nostalgia for his old life or doubts about the system he describes. Modern readers might roll their eyes at how he’s never tempted by wealth or power, traits that make him less a character and more a mouthpiece for More’s ideals. These 'guides' dominate utopian fiction, prioritizing didacticism over depth.

Ever noticed how utopian protagonists often lack hobbies? They’re too busy being paragons of virtue to have quirky interests or bad days. In Charlotte Perkins Gilman’s 'Herland,' the three male explorers are meant to be foils to the utopian women, but Van—the 'good' one—might as well wear a halo. His conversion to feminist ideals happens overnight, with zero lingering sexist habits. Meanwhile, the women of Herland are collectively flawless, their individuality sacrificed to represent 'ideal femininity.' It’s a double Mary Sue: the society and its admirers. Gilman’s point about gender gets undermined by characters who feel like mannequins in a museum exhibit.