White

White is, in a sense, the consummation of the colour structure that we are using. Like the notion of “quintessence” in the ancient theory of elements, White represents wholeness, integration, and the highest reality. It can be called Beauty, in the sense that beauty is a fusion of form and content; Self, because the self is the inegration of all of the elements of personality; Justice, in the sense that justice is the culmination of the world; or Order, the proper alignment of everything according to its essence.

In narrative, the White square is fundamentally concerned with the restoration of justice under the aegis of truth, with the possibility of order arising out of apparent choas or randomness, and with the notion that reality inevitably reveals itself and nothing can be swept under the rug.

Several classic White square stories include: mysteries, which account for the majority of modern work on this square; folk stories about a Fool who goes out to seek his fortune; and comedies in which a Mule and a Fool mutually destroy each other.

Comedy, in fact, is a major element of most works on the White square – perhaps because there is a certain sort of detachment, and a certainty of the underlying order of the work that allows the reader to see the humour in things. Alfred Hitchcock's works, which are almost exclusively White square stories, are typical in this sense – comedic elements often emerge naturally, seemlessly, and appropriately in stories about murder and suspense.

The right hand characters are less likely than those on the left to find themselves in a conspicuously comic role. Poirot, Columbo and Ms. Marple – two classic Judges and a Crone – certainly have comic elements, but ultimately they have be taken seriously, and they are very dangerous to those who presume otherwise. It is worth noting that in their stories, it is not the consequences that are important, but finding the truth. In a Green square Avenger plot, for example, it is extremely important to the reader to see that justice is done – the Avenger must not only confront the evil one, he must also exact the price of the villain's sins. On the White square this is almost irrelevant. No one reading a mystery is really particularly concerned that the villain be brought to justice; it is somehow assumed that once their villainy has been brought into the light, justice will follow as a natural consequence.

Left hand heroes on the White square are very often comic. The Fool and the Simpleton sound like they would be stupid, but they often are not – one classic device often found in Grimm's fairy tales is the appearance of a “clever” girl whose intelligence is world-reknowned, but whose lack of basic common sense turns her cleverness into a curse. Basically, it's a matter of authorial intent: a Fool or Simpleton who is too smart for their own good has wonderful comic appeal, while the same characters, when made “simple” in the traditional sense, gain a vulnerability that is extremely sympathetic and appealing. Forrest Gump is an excellent example. The essence of their stories lies in the idea that, by going willy-nilly from one thing to another, without planning or knowing what will happen next, the hero may succeed. These characters are “feathers on the breath of God,” endowed with an infallible ability to make plans go awry, and an equally infallible luck that turns failure on its head and brings about victory in spite of the hero's incompetence.

Character studies of the right-hand villains are difficult, because, like the Judge and Crone, they generally try to keep a low profile, and to remain unassuming, but unlike the right-hand heroes, the story is rarely from their perspective. They are, essentially, concealing something, but there is generally a sense that they are running out of places to hide as the narrative progresses. The Witch often has a supply of beauty – traditionally symbolized by teeth – which, when it runs out, will show the world what she really is. Agatha Christie in “A Murder is Announced,” uses this to great effect: when the villainess is finally revealed, a choker of pearls is pulled off to reveal a disfiguring scar that proves her guilt. The Accuser has a supply of excuses and misdirections – often clues that specifically point to, or accuse, another character of his crimes. Almost every episode of Columbo is essentially the story of a Judge following around an Accuser, listening to his accusations, and waiting until his excuses run out and he is trapped in a web of his own lies.

The left-hand villains are an odd pair: the Mule is almost never seen in anything but a comic manifestation, and Cripple is usually sinister. Part of this has to do with mystery plotting – Cripples are archetypally inclined to commit elaborate murders, so they make good villains in murder mysteries. They also provide excellent material for character studies of the warped and insane; Dostoyevski's “Underground Man,” and the narrator of Poe's “A Cask of Amontillado” are both Cripples of this type. It should be noted that the Cripple need not necessarily be crippled in a physical sense: his deformity or disability may be mental, social, professional, or moral, though a game leg or a touch of epilepsy helps to give it away to the reader. The Mule, on the other hand, is a meddler, a sticker-of-fingers into other people's business, a woman who is so busy imposing her idea of order on the lives of others that her own life falls into disorder. They are also useful in mysteries – usually as the victim. They also make excellent comic wives for Fools and Judges: in the former case, their marriage will be a litany of choas, like that of Cybil and Basil Fawlty in Fawlty Towers, in the latter the Mule will be a source of comic inconvenience to the hero, as Hilda is to Rumpole.

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