From “Dufus” to Hero: Why Barry Webber’s Greatest Battle Is With Himself

There is one character who accompanies Barry Webber almost everywhere.

It isn’t Hugo.

It isn’t Adeer.

It isn’t Harkon.

It isn’t even a Phantom.

It’s the voice inside Barry’s head.

And that voice has a favorite name for him:

Dufus.

When Barry loses something, makes a mistake, hesitates, or simply exists in a particularly Barry-like fashion, his internal commentator is ready.

Way to go, Dufus.

Think, Dufus.

Do something, Dufus.

It’s funny—and often genuinely funny—but underneath the running joke is one of the most relatable parts of Barry’s character.

Barry has spent years learning not to expect very much from himself.

At thirty-three, he’s still working the same factory job he took after high school. His personal life is almost nonexistent. He has few close relationships. He describes himself as ordinary, and the world around him hasn’t given him much evidence to argue otherwise.

Then Luscious Confections fires him.

His inner critic practically gets a victory parade.

See?

Another failure.

Except the story doesn’t end there.

Instead, Barry enters Azoonite, and something very inconvenient happens to his carefully constructed identity.

He starts succeeding.

Not gracefully, of course.

This is still Barry.

But when a Phantom attacks, he drives it away.

When another appears, he protects his companions.

When Adeer becomes trapped in the mire, Barry comes up with the solution that helps save him.

Other creatures begin noticing.

Adeer thanks him for his quick thinking.

Even Harkon—who is not exactly distributing compliments like free candy—admits that Barry has impressed him.

Barry doesn’t quite know what to do with praise.

Why would he?

He has spent far more time rehearsing his failures.

That is what makes his development interesting. Barry’s external adventure across Azoonite is accompanied by a quieter internal journey.

His circumstances change immediately.

His self-image doesn’t.

He can become a fox in seconds, but becoming confident takes considerably longer.

That feels true.

A person can receive a new opportunity and still carry old insecurity into it.

They can leave a bad situation while continuing to hear its judgments.

They can accomplish something extraordinary and immediately explain why it probably doesn’t count.

Barry’s internal voice keeps trying to interpret the new world according to the old Barry.

But Azoonite keeps producing contradictory evidence.

Barry makes friends.

Barry demonstrates courage.

Barry discovers an unexpected heritage.

Barry becomes capable of using an artifact others cannot.

Barry begins confronting threats that have terrified Azoonite for generations.

Eventually, the contrast becomes impossible to ignore.

The man who once seemed powerless is standing against genuine power.

And importantly, his growth doesn’t require Barry to become humorless, perfect, or invulnerable.

He still gets confused.

He still says “Uh…” at unfortunate moments.

He still makes mistakes.

His conscience still has plenty of material.

Heroism doesn’t erase Barry’s awkwardness.

It gives that awkwardness somewhere meaningful to go.

That’s part of what makes him endearing.

The fantasy hero is often imagined as someone destined to look heroic from page one: confident posture, impressive weapon, mysterious past, perhaps a dramatic cape blowing in an inexplicable breeze.

Barry begins with moldy bread and a tie-dye umbrella.

His heroic identity has to be discovered one decision at a time.

By the later stages of his adventure, Barry can stand before threats and assert himself in ways that the factory-worker version of Barry would hardly recognize.

Yet the most satisfying victory isn’t simply defeating an enemy.

It’s Barry beginning to understand that the cruelest version of himself—the one constantly whispering that he’s stupid, clumsy, insignificant, or doomed to fail—was never an objective narrator.

It was just a voice.

And voices can be challenged.

Perhaps that is why Barry’s adventure works so well beneath the fantasy.

Not everyone will discover a magical Amulet.

Few of us are likely to wake up as foxes.

And hopefully none of us will encounter a Phantom lurking in the kitchen.

But almost everyone understands what it’s like to carry an internal critic.

Barry’s journey offers a wonderfully strange answer to that familiar problem:

You don’t have to wait until you feel heroic to do something brave.

Sometimes you act first.

Sometimes you tremble while doing it.

Sometimes your own mind calls you a Dufus the entire way.

And sometimes, after enough courageous choices, you look back and realize the person you kept underestimating has become the hero of the story.

Early in the manuscript, Barry is presented as isolated and painfully ordinary, while his sarcastic conscience repeatedly criticizes him; in Azoonite, however, he begins acting despite fear and learns that the Amulet can protect others from the Phantoms.