For those
of you who might have missed it, below is a nice discussion about writing epic
fantasy, between authors Brandon Sanderson & Brian McClellan, hosted by
Orbit Books. Sanderson kind of takes over the discussion (which can be slightly
annoying), but a lot of the things he has to say holds its worth. It’s neat
hearing a seasoned author (Sanderson) and a budding fantasy writer (McClellan) discussing
the genre and their writing. So if you have an hour to spare, sit back and
enjoy.
Author Katherine
Addison (pseudonym for Sarah Monette) wrote an interesting article on the A Dribble of Ink blog about hope in
fantasy. Click here to view
it.
In the same
context, Tor.com posted a small list
of book recommendations for folks who may be looking to take a break from
grimdark. Click here to view
it.
Over the
past year or so, I’ve really tackled some long books (some people call them
door stoppers); and at the end of the day I would say that they were too
long—even the ones that I’ve enjoyed. In my opinion, these types of stories get
bogged down with too much world-building and/or character-building—which can be
good, but they slow the story down. The problem with some of these books are
that they are the first book in a series (by talented, acclaimed authors). Why
are established fantasy writers wasting time building a world and characters
without giving the readers a good, gripping story in the process? Is it that
they think their new idea for a world and its magic system are worth hundreds
of pages instead of an intriguing story?
I just
finished a long book by one of these talented, acclaimed authors, and it’s like
nothing really happened throughout the entire book. It seemed to be a
regurgitation of the same thing over and over, which I guess was supposed to
give the reader the sensation that we are really experiencing certain characters’
growth—but it did not work for me. And it seemed to just be chapter after
chapter of world-building. Introductory books like this quench my desire to
read on to the next big volume in the series.
I won’t
name any of the books that I’ve thought lowly of, as I believe that everyone is
entitled to their own opinion; and everyone has different tastes. Personally,
my take is that an author should really work to put forth a story that lays out
a pace that keeps the story moving. Of course, I’m not talking about the
typical fast-paced book where the characters seem two-dimensional
and the story is not worth remembering. I’m referring to books that are published
to pull readers into a series of large volumes meant to be epic and engrossing,
with epic world-building and strong characters. But if the characters—or what
the characters are experiencing—in the story do nothing worth caring about, then
it’s like watching a boat sitting in the middle of the water just going around
in circles, and around in circles, and around in circles... That’s not good
pacing. That’s boring. The reason that most of us read fantasy fiction is so
that we can experience (through the life of the characters) a lifestyle that is
more than monotonous—more extraordinary than our own.
When
reading Stephen King’s It, I thought
the book was too long, but I could not stop enjoying it. The characters were so
interesting and their extreme experiences throughout the entire book kept you
moving with the engrossing flood of happenings within the story. It was good
characters with good pacing that got me through.
Though I
enjoyed the first two books in the A Song
of Ice and Fire series, the pacing in A
Storm of Swords almost made the book feel shorter than the first two, but
it was actually longer. Martin picked up the pace a little more in that book,
and I found myself enjoying the (dark) journey.
Apart from
the long books, I found the pacing in Philip Pullman’s The Golden Compass (Northern
Lights), one of the best well-paced, intelligent pieces of fantasy fiction
that I have ever read. However, I felt the latter books in the series lost such a
pace.
I’ve really
enjoyed The Kingkiller Chronicle;
however, I’m hoping author Patrick Rothfuss picks up the pace in the third and
final book of the series—yet to be released.
My fear
with a lot of long books is that good pacing would be lacking. It’s a lot of
wasted time (for me) to invest in, if the story’s pacing is dowsed with other
non-essentials. Again, I’m not expecting a Star Wars-like read, but just
something that forces me to follow to the end—like E.T. picking up Reese’s
Pieces along the trail to Elliot’s house (Oh, and what wonders he found in that
house).
Probably
the most gratifying thing about being a reader of fiction is when the
characters take you by the hand and bring you into their world—into their
fears, their struggles, their happiness, and their conflict. Characters that
are likeable can make for a pleasurable read. Characters that are dull or trite
can make for a tedious read. But characters that are epic make a memorable read.
Epic
characters are unforgettable. They’re those fictitious entities that force you
to believe that they actually exist, and that the world they inhabit—in all its
weirdness and impossibilities—is true in every sense.
Characters
can generally appear epic in two different ways. The first is when a character (or
a story of characters) is fresh and groundbreaking in its time. For example,
Tarzan and Conan are not deep, rounded characters, but they were new and
exciting creations in their period. They became beloved and favored throughout
generations—to the point of being adapted multiple times; and we all know who
they are today.
The second
aspect of the epic character is a character that stands out within a grand tale/story.
The characters from The Lord of the Rings,
like Frodo Baggins, Gandalf and Gollum, are probably the most substantial
characters in fantasy literature. In more modern fantasy, Tyrion Lannister from
George R.R. Martin’s A Song of Ice and
Fire saga is one of many characters from the series that stands out as
unforgettable. Kvothe from Patrick Rothfuss’ Kingkiller Chronicle is memorable within a unique fantasy series.
Most of us
would not hesitate to protect our best friend or loved one from harm. We
rejoice when they succeed, and are heavy-hearted when they fail. People in
general do not give much thought when they hear a disturbing story on the news
about someone who has gone missing, or was wounded or killed in some terrible
ordeal. Yes, our hearts may go out to them, but when those people are strangers
to us, there is no great effect on our emotions, our minds or our lives. But when
it’s someone that we know and love, then our whole world is shaken. Taking from
that example—on a far, far lesser scale—we, as readers, respond to the
characters that we encounter within the pages of an engrossing book in like
manner. We may experience various emotions as we begin to love (or sometimes
hate) those characters that set a story ablaze with their very presence.
Just think
of the times when you read fantasy fiction and the characters stole your
attention from the real world and pulled you into theirs; and, afterward, you
are left thinking about them—even years later. It‘s those epic characters that
draw you to want to read their story over and over. It’s those epic characters
that brought life to a world that doesn’t even exist, except within your
imagination (with the skill and aid of the author). It’s those epic characters
that make you smile at the thought of them, knowing that they brought a moment
of joy to your life.
A reader
can find delight in going on an adventure of mystery and magic with Harry
Potter; or wandering the land of Narnia in hopes to encounter the wonderful
presence of Aslan. And such characters will make you want to come back
again—even as years have passed and you look to see the next generation
cherishing the very tales that brought joy to you.
Possibly,
every writer of fantasy creates a character that they feel is epic, but, in
truth, a writer has no way of knowing how their creation will come to life
within the imagination of the reader, for that’s where the process begins. No
writer can dictate that their character is epic. It is the mass of readers,
as a whole, that meets the character and says, “I will follow this character
‘til the end…and I will not forget them.”
The best
thing about Epic Fantasy is being able to journey into a new world. Through the
eyes and minds of the characters, the reader is privileged to trek in a world
of different beings and scenery; laws and principles; and be swept into a story
of epic magnitude. However, this is not always as fun and exciting for the
reader if the worldbuilding falls flat (along with weak characters). In many
cases, it seems the author falls into the snare of being more in love with
their worldbuilding than their characters, so as to have the volume of their
world distracting the story.
With that
said, there are many times where the world is pretty good, but the volume of
the worldbuilding still seems to be louder than the story—or at least equal with
the characters. I kind of equate this with music production. I listen to a lot
of indie music, and there are cases where the music production is good, but not
great. The band sounds really good, but the keyboard may be too loud, where the
drums are not quite loud enough; or the guitar almost drowns out the vocals, or
vice versa. It can be the same way in writing a story—where the worldbuilding
seems to compete with character/story. In quality music production all the
tracks are mixed perfectly together so that all the instruments and vocals come
together as one masterful piece. It should be likewise in fantasy fiction.
Authors of
Epic Fantasy spend a lot of time building their worlds, making every effort to
convey what their imagination is producing. There are instances where an
author’s world has many parts, aspects and creatures, yet they all don’t seem
to tie together. It’s like a world where there is no gravity, and the author
kind of grabs an idea that just floats by and throws it in the story for tension
or because it sounds cool. It often bothers me when I’m reading a story and a
monster just appears and attacks the characters. Such a monster was never
mentioned before, yet we see that the characters know about it, because we’re
in their head, and they’re disclosing the name of such a creature, but they’re
not even equipped to fight it. But when the said character was strolling about,
there was no hint of caution to be on the lookout for such a creature—yet it’s
supposed to be a known threat in their area. When the people in the bush of Africa go about, they are cautious of the
wildlife around them, they know the potential of encountering a lion or some
other wild beast. They don’t just walk about unprepared.
So an
author has to set the gravity in their world, pulling everything (laws, magic,
economics, creatures, lifestyle, etc.) into order, so that it works and makes
sense within the realm. Everything has to be grounded and believable within
that world. Most readers fear the info dump, where the author inundates the
reader with facts about their created realm, instead of just letting the
characters reveal the world as we follow them through it.
The master
of epic fantasy worldbuilding would have to be J.R.R. Tolkien. The man spent
years creating a myth and the world (Middle-earth) to contain that myth. With
all the races and elements he created to inhabit Middle-earth, Tolkien doesn’t
hit the reader with explanations of the otherworldly things of his world, but
starts with something familiar—like unexpected guests for dinner in The Hobbit. As the story unfolds, we go
deeper and deeper into a world rich with ancient histories and workings beyond
our own world. Tolkien does the same with The
Fellowship of the Ring, starting the story off with a birthday party. It’s
good to start the reader with something familiar before slamming them with the
otherworldly—almost like warming them up to the new world before turning up the
fire (yet without slowing the pace).
Without
worldbuilding there is no background and setting for the characters. The
characters know the world they're in, and it is through them that the reader
experiences that world. The use of multiple viewpoint characters is essential in
epic works like the Wheel of Time and
A Song of Ice and Fire. The worlds in
these two series are massive in scale (more so with the Wheel of Time). Robert Jordan’s work of histories, magic systems,
order of societies and mix of races drives the reader deep into a world
perfectly illustrated and realized through his characters. George R.R. Martin’s
use of multiple character point of views fleshes out just about every aspect of
his world—with more to come. As the reader persists into the worlds of Jordan
and Martin, they enter farther into a world that they’ve grown to love,
continuing to discover things they never knew or realized. And the greatest
aspect of this is when one re-reads the work and discovers something within the
world that they failed to notice before.
In The Kingkiller Chronicle, Patrick Rothfuss’
masterful ability to use the first-person point of view and bring the reader
into a world concept not usually seen in the fantasy genre is a refreshing
experience. Rothfuss’ use of an interesting character like Kvothe sheds light
into a world where people seem to really exist—buying and selling; marrying;
working; going to school; hanging out—and the reader is privileged to
experience everyday life, as well as the extraordinary life, in the story.
The power
to immerse readers into an epic story is through the vehicle of strong
worldbuilding. The tracks of plot are laid down for the vehicle to move on, and
the characters drive that vehicle—with the reader in the back seat—experiencing
a journey that will be endured and perceived differently by each person who
rides along. The skilled restraint of the author not to reveal his world all at
once, with forced, gradual detail, is tough to harness. When the author allows
the reader to experience his/her world by freeing the reader to use their own
imagination, yet grounding the world to plausibility in all aspects, the event
of reading such a story is unforgettable.
Fantasy
author Saladin Ahmed discussed Muslim American Fantasy at the Grand Rapids Community
College library last November. It’s an
interesting discussion that I’m sure most fantasy fans of the western world do
not think about. Saladin reads a couple of stories that may or may not interest
some of you, but it helps illustrate what he’s trying to convey. You can fast forward
through his readings if you only care to hear him talk about the topic. See the
video below…
Author Kameron
Hurley wrote an interesting guest post on author Suzanne Mcleod’s blog about economy
and society issues in fantasy. Most of the problematic points listed in the
post are pretty spot-on and are worth addressing.
In my past
three posts about Messages in Fantasy (Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3), I discussed
the works of three specific modern authors still living today. Now I feel it’s
very relevant to mention the work of an author whose work is more classic. C.S.
Lewis has made a profound impact in children’s fiction as well as the fantasy
genre. Just like The Hobbit and The Lord of the Rings, The Chronicles of Narnia is a work of
fantasy fiction that delighted many of today’s fantasy readers in their younger
years.
Those who know
C.S. Lewis’s background as a Christian apologist should not be surprised to
hear of or notice the Christian theme throughout The Chronicles of Narnia series. Many children who read the books
would probably not notice any Christian themes; and probably some adults as well,
as, though there are very clear comparisons to the character of Aslan and
Christ, the message is subtle in many ways—but may be noticeable to a
Christian or someone with a knowledge of Christianity. Lewis does not plant any
kind of evangelizing message in his series (at least nothing obvious), but he
builds each book around a story which will include a hint of Christian elements. However, books like The Lion,
the Witch and the Wardrobe and TheLast Battle have the most apparent Christian message; with The Lion, the
Witch and the Wardrobe presenting the symbolism of Christ’s crucifixion and
resurrection, and The Last Battle
showing an idea of the Judgment Day and heaven.
The essence of
the entire series is Aslan the lion. Aslan is the messianic deity throughout The Chronicles of Narnia; who is the son
of the Emperor-Over-the-Sea and creator of Narnia. In the Bible, Christ is
referred to as “the Lion of the tribe of Judah”
(Revelations 5:5), which is one of the reasons why Lewis used the lion, Aslan
(which means “lion” in Turkish), in his stories. The Bible also calls Christ
the Lamb of God (John 1:29, Revelation chapters 5 & 6),
and toward the conclusion of The Voyage
of the Dawn Treader, Aslan briefly appears in the form of a lamb.
The most
obvious parallel between Aslan and Christ is in The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe when Aslan surrenders his life
to the White Witch in place of Edmund (due to the boy’s treachery)—this is symbolic of Christ laying down his life for the sins of mankind. Then the
scene (known as the Stone Table scene or Stone Table sacrifice) occurs, which
is depicted similarly to the scripture of Isaiah 53:7,8 which reads:
7He was oppressed and afflicted, yet he did not open his mouth; he was led like a lamb to the slaughter, and as a sheep before its shearers is silent, so he did not open his mouth. 8By
oppression and judgment he was taken away. Yet who of his generation protested? For he was cut off from the land of the living; for the transgression of my people he was punished.
In chapter
14 of The Lion, the Witch and the
Wardrobe the scene of Aslan’s “crucifixion” is written with the lion being
scoffed at, bound and sheared, and placed onto the Stone Table to
be killed; and while all that happened he did not open his mouth or speak a
word.
At the end
of The Voyage of the Dawn Treader,
Aslan tells Edmund and Lucy that they will not return to Narnia, because they
are too old, and they should come close to their own world. Lucy responds with:"It isn't Narnia, you know.
It's you. We shan't meet you there. And how can we live, never
meeting you?"
Aslan
replies with: “Butyou shall meet me, dear one.”
Edmundasks: “Are
— are you there too, Sir?”
And Aslan
answers: “I am. But there I have another name. You must learn to know me by
that name. This was the very reason why
you were brought to Narnia, that by knowing me here for a little, you may know
me better there."
By the time
the reader comes to the scene mentioned above (considering that they’re reading
the series in order) they can conclude that Aslan is known as Jesus Christ in
Edmund and Lucy’s world (which is our world).
In chapter
14 of The Last Battle (the final book in the series), the story reads much like
parts of the book of Revelation in the Bible. There’s a scene where Aslan
silently “judges” a great multitude of beings, very similar to Matthew 25:32
and Revelation 20:11-13. There is a new Narnia created, almost like what you
would find in Revelation chapter 21 (the new Heaven and the new Earth). As you read
the last two chapters of the book, there’s an evident depiction of heaven, where characters in the series who were long dead reappear, and other characters enter the new Narnia after being made worthy by Aslan. Now,
even though there are similarities to the Bible, it all works within the story
that C.S. Lewis is telling, and not at all preachy.
There are
many subtle scenes throughout the series where Aslan has that Christ-like
influence and relationship with the characters. He is loving and kind, yet also
instructive and powerful; and it works within the nature of the character.
Lewis has
clearly dismissed any responses suggesting that The
Chronicles of Narnia are works of allegory. In a letter that he wrote in
1958 to a Mrs. Hook at MagdalenCollege in Oxford, discussing allegory in his
writing, he said:
“By an allegory I mean a composition
(whether pictorial or literary) in which immaterial realities are represented by
feigned physical objects e.g. a pictured Cupid allegorically represents erotic
love (which in reality is an experience, not an object occupying a given area
of space) or, in Bunyan, a giant represents Despair.
“If Aslan represented the immaterial
Deity in the same way on which Giant Despair represents Despair, he would be an
allegorical figure. In reality however he is an invention giving an imaginary
answer to the question, ‘What might Christ become like if there really were a
world like Narnia and He chose to be incarnate and die and rise again in that
world as He actually has done in ours?' This is not allegory at all.”
In Of Other Worlds: Essays and Stories, Lewis writes:
“Some people seem to think that I
began by asking myself how I could say something about Christianity to
children; then fixed on the fairy tale as an instrument; then collected
information about child-psychology, and decided what age group I’d write for;
then drew up a list of basic Christian truths and hammered out ‘allegories’ to
embody them. This is all pure moonshine. I couldn’t write that way
at all. Everything began with images; a faun carrying an umbrella, a
queen on a sledge, a magnificent lion. At first there wasn’t even
anything Christian about them; that element pushed itself in of its own accord…
“The Lion began with a picture of a Faun carrying an umbrella and
parcels in a snowy wood. This picture had been in my mind since I was
about sixteen. Then one day, when I was about forty, I said to myself:
‘Let’s try to make a story about it.’ At first I had very little idea how
the story would go. But then suddenly Aslan came bounding into it.
I think I had been having a good many dreams of lions about that time.
Apart from that, I don’t know where the Lion came from or why He came.
But once He was there He pulled the whole story together, and soon He pulled
the six other Narnian stories in after Him.”
Even though
C.S. Lewis resisted any inclination that the Narnia stories were works of
allegory, or that he made an effort to write a Christian story, he does not
deny the Christian meanings therein. He felt that the books were more of an analogy than an allegory. Whether analogy or
allegory, Lewis’s friend, J.R.R. Tolkien, thought that the Christian meanings
in the Narnia books were too obvious (which was only one of Tolkien’s dislikes
about the Narnia books).
In a letter
that Lewis wrote to a ten-year-old girl in 1961 (read about it hereand here), he summed up the meaning of his series saying:
“The whole Narnian story is about
Christ. That is to say, I asked myself ‘Supposing that there really was a world
like Narnia and supposing it had (like our world) gone wrong and supposing
Christ wanted to go into that world and save it (as He did ours), what might
have happened?’ The stories are my answers. Since Narnia is a world of Talking
Beasts, I thought He would become a Talking Beast there, as He became a man
here. I pictured Him becoming a lion there because (a) the lion is supposed to
be the king of beasts; (b) Christ is called ‘The Lion of Judah’ in the Bible; (c)
I’d been having strange dreams about lions when I began writing the work. The
whole series works out like this.
The
Magician’s Nephew---tells the Creation and
how evil entered Narnia. The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe--- the Crucifixion and Resurrection. Prince Caspian--- restoration of the true religion
after corruption. The Horse and His Boy---the calling and conversion of a
heathen. The Voyage of the Dawn Treader--- the
spiritual life (especially in Reepicheep). The Silver Chair---the
continuing war with the powers of darkness. The Last Battle---the coming of the Antichrist (the Ape), the
end of the world and the Last Judgment.”
Again, one
would have to either be a Christian or someone who has knowledge of
Christianity to catch most of the meanings described above. The Narnia books do
not preach, but tell delightful children’s stories for all to enjoy—as what has
been proven through the decades.
In
conclusion of this 4-part series on Messages in Fantasy, it is certain that
books with a message can be good, but when the message is louder than the story
it can ruin a work of art. The origin of fiction started with the means to
convey a message and to entertain. Today, the means to entertain now
overshadows the focus to teach or uplift the reader. There has to be a perfect
balance between message and entertainment. A story filled with too much
entertainment (action, violence, sex, twists) is like eating junk food—it eventually
makes you sick. A story filled with too much message (philosophy, religion,
politics) is like eating too much health food—you eventually get sick of it. The
best books (in my opinion) are the ones where you can read and get your dose of
entertainment with a seasoning of messaging—much like sitting and eating a
balanced meal.
About a
year ago or so, author Patrick Rothfuss used to host a monthly online video
forum through Geek & Sundry called The Story Board. He and other authors would
discuss different content in fantasy fiction. I used to watch these as Rothfuss
announced their release each month, and I really enjoyed them. Unfortunately,
it only lasted up to 8 episodes; but I suggest, when you have some time,
watching all the episodes on YouTube (if you’ve never watched them before). It’s
quite interesting seeing some of the big names in fantasy fiction discussing
the genre in an open, candid conversation.
Below are
two episodes that I really enjoyed—one is about Characters and the other is
about Form & Function. Each episode is well over an hour long, so you’ll
need to make time to watch them. If you haven’t seen them before—enjoy!
In my last
two posts, I talked about messages found in modern fantasy fiction (Part 1 |
Part 2). It’s no surprise that, just like some mythology and fairy tales,
writers use the fantasy genre to play with—or convey—morals, ideas, beliefs
and objections that they hold.The next fantasy series that we're going to look at places a strong voice for this author's worldview.
Best
selling author, Philip Pullman, best known for his fantasy trilogy, His Dark Materials, lays out a clear
Atheist perspective in his books. The first book, Northern Lights (known as The
Golden Compass in America) starts the trilogy off as a nicely
paced, intriguing kind of “children’s fiction”—showing no clear Atheistic
message. However, toward the end of the book, the reader begins to discover
that “the Church” in the story is not a good institution. Also, when the
character, Lord Asriel, discusses the story of Adam and Eve from the Bible with
his daughter, Lyra, his reading of the 3rd chapter of Genesis (with
added terminology to the biblical verses that support the story that Pullman is writing) leads to dialog such
as:
“But...” Lyra struggled to find the
words she wanted: “but it en't true, is it? Not true like chemistry or
engineering, not that kind of true? There wasn't really an Adam and Eve? The
Cassington Scholar told me it was just a kind of fairy tale.”
Lord Asriel
answers Lyra with:
“The Cassington Scholarship is
traditionally given to a freethinker; it's his function to challenge the faith
of the Scholars. Naturally he'd say that. But think of Adam and Eve like an
imaginary number, like the square root of minus one: you can never see any
concrete proof that it exists, but if you include it in your equations, you can
calculate all manner of things that couldn't be imagined without it.”
Lord
Asriel’s analogy using the square root of minus one is what Philip Pullman stated
in an interview in regards to his use of angels, ghosts and daemons in his
trilogy:
“I was asked at one point, why do I,
as a rationalist—a person who believes in reason, and all those things—why do I
write about things like ghosts and daemons…
“One way of explaining that, seems
to me, to compare it to what mathematicians do with entities that can’t exist;
like the square root of minus one. Now, there’s no such thing as the square
root of minus one; it doesn’t make any sense—there can’t possibly be such a
thing. And, yet, if you include it in your calculations, you can come across
all sorts of extraordinary things; like the Mandelbrot Set—extraordinary…infinitely
deep and beautiful picture of wondrous complexity, that was there lurking in
the darkness before we came across it. And we didn’t come across it, until we included
the square root of minus one in our calculations…
“What I do when I’m talking about
ghosts and angels and daemons, and that sort of thing, is much the same sort of
thing. I don’t believe in them. No. Of course not. They can’t exist. And yet,
when I put them in my stories I can do things with them.”
By book two
of the trilogy, The Subtle Knife, the
reader discovers that there is a revolt against the “Authority” (God), much
like what John Milton writes in his epic poem, Paradise Lost. Actually, one could say that Pullman is kind of rewriting Paradise Lost, showing fallen angels and
those that follow in the uprising against the Authority as the good guys. The
Church is seen as an institution of the Authority that suppresses free thought and pushes propaganda to keep the Authority in control. In the
words of one brief character in The
Subtle Knife: “There is a war coming,
boy. The greatest war there ever was. Something like it happened before, and
this time the right side must win. We've had nothing but lies and propaganda
and cruelty and deceit for all the thousands of years of human history. It's
time we started again, but properly this time...”
In The Amber Spyglass, the final book in
the series, the reader finds more of a slower paced and longer book than the
first two, and the Atheist view is much more prevalent than before. There are a
lot more messages in the dialog of the characters, and different secular ideas
mixed into the fiber of the story. The words in this book get a lot more
specific, and a lot less subtle.
In The Amber Spyglass, the rebel angel,
Balthamos, talks about the Authority, saying: “The Authority, God, the Creator, the Lord, Yahweh, El, Adonai, the
King, the Father, the Almighty—those were all names he gave himself. He was
never the creator. He was an angel like ourselves—the first angel, true, the
most powerful, but he was formed of Dust as we are, and Dust is only a name for
what happens when matter begins to understand itself. Matter loves matter. It
seeks to know more about itself, and Dust is formed. The first angels condensed
out of Dust, and the Authority was the first of all. He told those who came
after him that he had created them, but it was a lie.” The book depicts God
as a fraud, and “Dust,” which is a main focus throughout the trilogy, as true knowledge
and understanding.
Another Atheist view is that there
is no life after death; that when one dies, it’s over. Pullman makes this clear in his third book.
In The Amber Spyglass, the two main
characters, Lyra and Will, journey to the “world of the dead” to find Lyra’s
departed friend. When Will asks another character in the story about what
happens in the world of the dead, the character, Baruch, says, “It's impossible to say. Everything about it
is secret. Even the churches don't know; they tell their believers that they'll
live in Heaven, but that's a lie. If people really knew…” While in the
world of the dead, Lyra and Will are trying to free the ghosts from the world
of the dead, and they come across the ghost of a young woman who had died as a
martyr centuries ago. This ghost woman tells the other ghosts around them: “When we were alive, they told us that when
we died we'd go to Heaven. And they said that Heaven was a place of joy and
glory and we would spend eternity in the company of saints and angels praising
the Almighty, in a state of bliss. That's what they said. And that's what led
some of us to give our lives, and others to spend years in solitary prayer,
while all the joy of life was going to waste around us and we never knew.
“Because the land of the dead isn't
a place of reward or a place of punishment. It's a place of nothing. The good
come here as well as the wicked, and all of us languish in this gloom forever,
with no hope of freedom, or joy, or sleep, or rest, or peace.
“But now this child has come
offering us a way out and I'm going to follow her. Even if it means oblivion,
friends, I'll welcome it, because it won't be nothing. We'll be alive again in
a thousand blades of grass, and a million leaves; we'll be falling in the
raindrops and blowing in the fresh breeze; we'll be glittering in the dew under
the stars and the moon out there in the physical world, which is our true home
and always was.”
There are other direct hits on the
Christian religion throughout the story. In another part of The Amber Spyglass, another character,
who was once a nun and a scientist, tells the children (Lyra and Will): “I used to be a nun, you see. I thought
physics could be done to the glory of God, till I saw there wasn't any God at
all and that physics was more interesting anyway. The Christian religion is a
very powerful and convincing mistake, that's all.” Later on, a witch tells
the ex-nun of her encounter with a female (rebel) angel: “Her name was Xaphania. She told me many things...She said that all the
history of human life has been a struggle between wisdom and stupidity. She and
the rebel angels, the followers of wisdom, have always tried to open minds; the
Authority and his churches have always tried to keep them closed. She gave me
many examples from my world.”
The His Dark Materials trilogy brings readers into a grand journey in
the beginning of the series, but by the third book, the message of the author
becomes way too obvious, and way too heavy; weighing the story with more of the
author’s worldview than true storytelling. In the short video below, Philip
Pullman speaks of his intentions with the series.
In my next post, I will conclude
this series on Messages in Fantasy (at least for now), looking at the other
side of the spectrum, with messages in the works of C.S. Lewis’ Chronicles of
Narnia.
This is
part two of my post about Messages in Fantasy. If you have not read the
previous post, you can read it here.
Fiction, in
general, can be, and has been, a medium used by writers to express their
thoughts, passions and beliefs. Classic literature has been scrutinized in
classrooms and in non-fiction books for decades, spelling out the authors
meanings and intents. Fantasy fiction is no exception. It is a genre which is
more pliable for infusing meanings; however, one could spend years reading in
the genre and not really grasp what the author is wishing to convey—whether
it’s subtle or obvious. As I pointed out in my last post, the story is
everything, and a message should not overpower the story.
Now, this
is not to say that all of fantasy fiction has a “message” to put forth. Most of
the stories are just entertainment, as they should be, but, in the most part,
there is usually always some kind of theme. The sort of themes that you find in
most fantasy stories are things like: overcoming adversity and fears;
comradeship between individuals; fighting injustice; banding together for a
cause; discovery of one's potential; and what-ifs. This is only naming a few,
but these themes tend to be universal and less complex—or less intrusive, for
lack of a better word.
When an
author interjects their worldview into their stories the reader should be able
to come out of that story with their own conclusions, not with a forced view by
the writer. The reader may come away with misconceptions, but as long as they
enjoyed the book the author should be content. In answering a question in
regards to someone reading their own meaning into the story (fairytale),
instead of his meaning, George MacDonald said, “Why should you be so assured? It may be better that you should read
your meaning into it. That may be a higher operation of your intellect than the
mere reading of mine out of it: your meaning may be superior to mine.” In a
forum on his own website, author Stephen R. Donaldson wrote: “Reading is an interactive
process. Readers have always supplied their own interpretations of what they
read. In my case, the issue is simple: I've never had a ‘message’ I wanted to
communicate (impose on the reader), so rejecting my message should be effortless.
(I'm a storyteller, not a polemicist. As such, my only mission is to help my
readers understand my characters and appreciate what those poor sods are going
through.) In general, however, one might say that the task of any writer is to
communicate his/her intentions so clearly that the reader will—as it were
spontaneously—arrive at the appropriate interpretation. And if that task has
been accomplished, what would be the point of rejecting the author's message?”
Stephen R.
Donaldson’s The Chronicles of Thomas
Covenant the Unbeliever series has been described as “existential fantasy”.
The books hold a firm view of Existentialism, which gives the stories a pretty
grim, melancholy setting, as the main character, Thomas Covenant, is a leper
whose life collapses around him and he becomes a man of despair—suicidal—which
makes him into the kind of character you really don’t enjoy following. Existentialism
is a philosophical movement that sprung from Europe in the 19TH century, but rose to
prominence after World War II, which focuses on the human condition. In his
book, From Hegel to Existentialism, American professor of philosophy, the late Robert
C. Solomon, wrote: “Existentialism is not
simply a philosophy or a philosophical revolt. Existentialist philosophy is the
explicit conceptual manifestation of an existential attitude—a spirit of the
‘present age’. It is a philosophical realization of a self-consciousness living
in a ‘broken world’ (Marcel), an ‘ambiguous world’ (de Beauvoir), a ‘dislocated
world’ (Merleau-Ponty), a world into which we are ‘thrown’ and ‘condemned’ yet ‘abandoned’
and ‘free’ (Heidegger and Sartre), a world which appears to be indifferent or
even ‘absurd’ (Camus). It is an attitude that recognizes the unresolvable
confusion of the human world, yet resists the all-too-human temptation to
resolve the confusion by grasping toward whatever appears or can be made to
appear firm or familiar—reason, God, nation, authority, history, work,
tradition, or the ‘other-worldly’, whether of Plato, Christianity, or utopian
fantasy. The existential attitude begins with a disoriented individual facing a
confused world that he cannot accept.”
Solomon’s
summed-up description of Existentialism just about lays out the theme in The Chronicles of Thomas Covenant. Author
Stephen R. Donaldson created a character that is a man in the real world, a
successful, bestselling novelist, with a wife and a son, and financially
secure, but he is diagnosed with leprosy, and all comes crumbling down. Thomas’
wife and son leave him, he loses his confidence and ability to write, and
people around him reject him as one accursed. One day he finds himself in
another world, known as The Land, where he is embraced as a foretold hero who
has returned to save them from Lord Foul. The people try to raise him up as
someone of great significance, but Thomas is determined not to believe such
things, and resists the inclination that this other world that he has found
himself in is real—so much so that he goes to the extreme of raping the
young woman that was simply trying to sympathize with him. The story follows
Thomas’ conflict of seeing himself as a man of any worth, holding on to his own
assured death in the real world, and resisting the realty of the “fantasy”
world (the Land). Thomas feels that the Land only offers a false hope,
something that gives him escape from his condition. However, as the story
progresses, Thomas begins to see that he is of worth and begins to resist the
thought of suicide. He begins to believe in the Land and the people around him,
and he sees himself as someone who can be effective.
Stephen R.
Donaldson’s choice to take a character and inflict him with one of the worst
diseases know to man, and bring him into loss and despair, illustrates a
character that takes an existential view of life. This character is aware of
his human condition as a leper and his assured death, but he later finds
purpose for his life; therefore, shunning the thought of suicide. His discovery
of purpose is not obtained from a higher power, but by taking his own action,
and being responsible for himself.
There are
essays and books that go into great detail in pointing out the Existential
themes in The Chronicles of Thomas
Covenant. One essay is called Suicide
and the Absurd by Benjamin Laskar, available online here. Books like Variations on the Fantasy Tradition by
W.A. Senior and Stephen R. Donaldson and the Modern Epic Vision by Christine
Barkley also discuss, in part, about the Existential message in Donaldson’s
work.
Donaldson
wrote in his essay, Epic Fantasy in the
Modern World: “Now that the door has
been opened, what I want to do is to bring the epic back into contact with the
real world. Putting it another way, I want to reclaim the epic vision as part
of our sense of who we are, as part of what it means to be human. For that
reason, I chose to focus my epic on one ‘real’ human being. . . He is an ‘Unbeliever’
precisely because I wanted to bridge the gap between reality and fantasy: I
wanted to take a fantasy-rejecting modern human being and force him to confront
all the implications of an epic vision. Epic vision is powerfully seductive—because
it is powerfully human—and I wanted to consider the question of what might
happen to a modern man who was seduced by such beauty. . . Also because I
wanted to bring the epic back into contact with the real world, I chose the
technical device of reversing Tennyson's method. He took one epic character,
Arthur, and surrounded him with ‘real,’ ‘modern’ human beings. I took one real,
modern human being, Thomas Covenant, and surrounded him with epic characters. .
.”
The Chronicles of Thomas Covenant
the Unbeliever is a
series that one either loves or hates. Not everyone can endure such a flawed
and depressing character long enough to see him overcome his despair; and the
Existential overtones flowing through Thomas Covenant may make an interesting
story for some, while causing others to discontinue their journey in the series.
