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Showing posts with label Worldbuilding in Fantasy. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Worldbuilding in Fantasy. Show all posts

Monday, August 18, 2014

The Secondary World


The secondary world is practically the ruling art of epic fantasy, holding within it not only scenery, names and races that are different from our world, but producing histories, laws and creatures that make it a world in and of itself. It is not only other-worldly creatures that differentiates the fantasy world from our own, but it is the law of magic and how it effects that world and its inhabitants. In epic fantasy, the setting of the secondary world dwells in the likeness of the medieval period, and seldom veers from it. We can probably thank J.R.R. Tolkien, who was a medievalist, for such a permanent brand since it was he who set the mold for (modern) epic fantasy. It makes me wonder if Tolkien had not been a medievalists, and, instead, created his epic story within a more modern setting or a setting that reflected the ancient worlds of 3000 years B.C., would epic fantasy have taken a much different form?

Edward James, former professor of Medieval History at the University College in Dublin, wrote:  “After 1955 fantasy writers no longer had to explain away their worlds by framing them as dreams, or travellers’ tales, or by providing them with any fictional link to our own world at all.” Here James was referring to the publishing of The Lord of the Rings, the original epic fantasy which popularized the secondary world. Even though Tolkien had said that Middle-earth was simply a pre-history of our world, we all know that Middle-earth is a fictional world outside any realm we’ve ever known. Maybe Tolkien was not ready to admit that he was severing his work from the standards of previous fantasy literature which always had some ties to the “real” world. Today, we cannot think of epic/high fantasy being any other way. As Edward James had also written: “This has become so standard in modern fantasy that it is not easy to realize how unusual it was before Tolkien.”

For a writer, building a secondary world can be a pleasure, almost like a hobby—fed by many other interests that correspond into a cohesive system. In other ways it could evolve into an obsession of knitting together histories, magic systems, and order of societies down to the slightest detail. The latter can be good, if skillfully used as the backdrop for good characters within a good story; otherwise, it does no good and is simply just a made-up world. A writer has to avoid being geeky about their world and concentrate on the story. The secondary world, no matter how complex, is still only the setting for the author’s characters and their story—not the story itself.

The secondary world can be that neutral ground between the author and the reader where ideas and issues are explored without making things too personal—as they may be if written in a more contemporary fashion within our world. It can be a means of helping us relate on some things that we experience in the real world. The secondary world can be a way to undo the complexity or confusion of our own world, simplifying things and bringing a kind of focus to the characters and the story that may be lacking contrast within tales that take place in the primary world. Yet, at the end of the day, the secondary worlds that we journey through in fantasy fiction still consist of the same old trials and conflicts that plague us in this world: life and death; war and peace; good and evil; etc.

Tolkien wrote about the secondary world in his 1947 essay, On Fairy Stories. He talks about the art of the “story-maker” to become a “sub-creator” in order to present a world where the reader can step into a state of belief of that world. He says of the story-maker: “He makes a Secondary World which your mind can enter. Inside it, what he relates is “true”: it accords with the laws of that world. You therefore believe it, while you are, as it were, inside. The moment disbelief arises, the spell is broken; the magic, or rather art, has failed. You are then out in the Primary World again, looking at the little abortive Secondary World from outside.”   

In his essay on fairy stories, Tolkien speaks profoundly on the art of creating a secondary world. The skill of the writer must be good enough to make their world credible. Tolkien says, “To make a Secondary World inside which the green sun will be credible, commanding Secondary Belief, will probably require labour and thought, and will certainly demand a special skill, a kind of elvish craft. Few attempt such difficult tasks. But when they are attempted and in any degree accomplished then we have a rare achievement of Art: indeed narrative art, story-making in its primary and most potent mode.” He also mentions the course in which writers draw from reality when creating their world, saying: “Probably every writer making a secondary world, a fantasy, every sub-creator, wishes in some measure to be a real maker, or hopes that he is drawing on reality: hopes that the peculiar quality of this secondary world (if not all the details) are derived from Reality, or are flowing into it. If he indeed achieves a quality that can fairly be described by the dictionary definition: “inner consistency of reality,” it is difficult to conceive how this can be, if the work does not in some way partake of reality.”

So to use a simple illustration, when watching the makings of Peter Jackson’s Lord of the Rings films, we see all the great detail that they went into in order to bring life to Middle-earth on the screen. They took time to grow vegetation and gardens to make the Shire a reality. Great detail was given to everything from the cooking ware to the armory to the selection of the landscape. Now, when watching the films prior to seeing the behind the scenes creation, the viewer has no care as to how much work and meticulous designing it took to create the visuals that sucked them into the film. No, the viewer is simply immersed into a story within an enigmatic world where they are caught up into 3 hours of wonder, suspense, humor and adventure. The camera does not zoom in on all the artistry and skill used to bring life to Middle-earth; its focus is on the characters and the incorporated scenes used to present an epic story.

The secondary world is the bones of epic fantasy; and, as Tolkien said, it takes a skilled writer to make a world real enough to make the reader cast aside all disbelief of that world.

Thursday, June 26, 2014

Discussion Panel on Magic Systems - VIDEO


Below is a video of a panel of fantasy authors at the Phoenix Comicon earlier this month discussing magic systems. The video quality is not that good, but the discussion is perfect. The authors are: Jaye Wells, Myke Cole, Jim Butcher, Sam Sykes, Stephen Blackmoore and Patrick Rothfuss.

Saturday, March 15, 2014

Epic Worldbuilding



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.