The Aesthetics of Fantasy - Part Two

This is the follow-up article to The Aesthetics of Fantasy - Part One.

In this article I look at how the fundamental literary and economic values of the fantasy genre translate into a series of balancing acts for any aspiring writer of fat fantasy.

Given the hostile response that the first part of this article received (most notably from the SF book club), I feel it is also necessary to clarify the spirit in which I have written this.  I am not a regular reader of fantasy and generally find myself part of the “philosopher” elitist crowd rather than the populist “philistines” (to borrow Hal Duncan’s terminology complete with the eye-rolling tone with which, I'm sure he intends it).  However, in a spirit of open-mindedness, I decided to try and understand the allure of a certain kind of high fantasy literature so as to not only better understand the nature of the fantasy genre but also the values that govern the tastes of fantasy fans.  In no way are any of these remarks intended to be derisory or condescending.  I truly approached the matter of gathering evidence from fantasy fans with an open mind, so any errors are due to either a sample bias in the fantasy fans I talked to or an honest failure on my part to connect the dots correctly.  I’m not looking to make generalisations... merely to understand so as to function better as a critic.  It was certainly not my intention to insult or defame anyone be they author or fan, if anything, this process has given me a good deal more respect not only for the fantasy genre but the writers who produce it.

It is also worth noting that I also refer, in this article to examples of genre such as Japanese computer RPGs or tabletop RPGs.  Though clearly not examples of “fat fantasy” I would argue that these mediums have close conceptual ties to the fat fantasy sub-genre and, as such, can sensibly be taken as examples to illustrate principles that apply as much to them as to the genre and medium that inspires them.

Let us now consider the dimensions that make up a fantasy novel.


PLOT - Much is made of high fantasy’s reliance upon what are uncharitably called “stock” plots and rather overly charitably called “archetypal” plots.  To the cynic, the frequent re-emergence of similar plots is evidence of, at best, laziness and hackish tendencies among fantasy writers and, at worse, an institutional culture of plagiarism and derivativeness.  However, to the fan, these plots are part of the deeply resonant cultural pattern referred to by Joseph Campbell as the Monomyth, the basic pattern underpinning all heroic folk tales.  The most famous example of this is, of course, Frodo’s quest to destroy the one ring in Tolkien’s Lord of the Rings, but we can also point to the binding/destruction of the Dark One in Robert Jordan’s Wheel of Time.

The reason for the close relationship between fantasy plotting and the pattern of similar narrative structures known as the Monomyth is that the Monomyth is instantly accessible simply because, as cultural anthropologists have it, it is a part of pretty much every story.  For the fantasy fan, the very universality of these narratives are what makes them particularly attractive (particularly as, for many fantasy readers, the plot is little more than a delivery system through which to get at the characters and the setting).  This has lead many fantasy apologists to elevate these patterns both by seeking out either claims of deep cultural resonance (as provided by Campbell and other cultural anthropologists)  or claims of representation of some inbuilt psychological or quasi-mystical basis (as offered by the works of Carl Jung, the author of the theory of the collective unconscious and the archetypes that populate it).  However, it is not sufficient for a fat fantasy plot to be anchored in Jungian psychology as, while fantasy fans are undeniably conservative, they are not immune to the boredom of repetition, nor do they suffer hackery gladly.  Indeed, the small number of monomyth plots and the large large amounts of fantasy consumed by fantasy fans introduces the need for the monomyth to be diluted or modified.

A particularly interesting way of diluting the Monomyth is to use it as a high-level plot arc that perhaps binds an entire series together, while the nuts and bolts of the narrative that keeps readers turning the pages of individual books may be lower order plot or character arcs.  The classic example of this type of structure would be a series of books about destroying some ancient evil, but in order to destroy said evil, the heroes must collect either a series of items or one item broken into several parts that need to be reassembled before the evil can be vanquished, though such dilution can also take the form of the heroes forging alliances, the heroes falling in love or any number of lower order plot lines and narratives.  An excellent example of this creative approach can be found in Japanese computer role-playing games such as the Suikoden and Final Fantasy series which invariably combine linearity, tight scripting and a close adherence to the rules of genre to produce stories that span dozens of hours of active game play but whose plots can generally be summarised in one sentence (or a song).  However, spreading the plot out across a series of smaller plots is not the only way in which fantasy authors can innovate.  Indeed, George R.R. Martin’s A Song of Fire and Ice series (arguably the most respected and popular fat fantasy series of the current day) attempts to reinvigorate the monomyth by modifying the tone of the plots.

One of the most notable characteristics of A Game of Thrones and the rest of Martin’s series is its willingness to inspire itself from the cut-throat politics and moral ambiguity of renaissance Italy and real history in general.  Martin not only has a number of characters who are clearly morally ambiguous such as deformed dwarf Tyrion Lannister, but he is not afraid to have his characters be motivated by money, lust or cowardice; motivations that are traditionally absent from the frequently Manichaean high fantasy genre.  In fact, such deviations from the traditional demands of the genre has prompted some to argue that Martin’s work is actually low rather than high fantasy.  However, as pointed out by Abigail Nussbaum, Martin only ever uses half measures.  Admittedly his characters might engage in incest or treat their daughters as chattel to be used to shore up political alliances, but ultimately the goodies are good and the baddies are bad.

Martin’s work is an excellent example of the fine line that fantasy authors must walk if they want to produce successful works as he includes a large dose of politics (high fantasy invariably deals in morality and never in the relativism of realpolitik) as well as moral ambiguity.  However, he only includes enough plotting to demarcate himself and “do fantasy right” as his relationship with gritty realism  is never close enough to sever him from the genre’s Tolkienian roots and his political scheming is never so complicated or devious that the audience need spend time and energy trying to work out what is going on.  Indeed, for all the talk of Martin’s politicians being devious, none of their plots would pass as credible in a political thriller as the political thriller is a genre far more concerned with being clever than with being accessible.  This is different to the fantasy genre where a successful author is able to balance his audience’s need for accessibility with their desire for originality.



CHARACTER - Much is made of the messianic character of many fantasy protagonists who are frequently called upon to be the last chance of humanity in the face of some great brooding evil.  The most famous example of this is Frodo in the Lord of the Rings who literally carries the evil of the world to its destruction but also the likes of Shea Ohmsford, the last wielder of the magical MacGuffin in Terry Brooks’ Shannara series.  In fact, this model of character has become so common in all forms of fantasy that it has prompted Terry Pratchett to parody it by having the exiled rightful king of Ankh-Morpork turn up but, instead of reclaiming his throne, he’s quite happy to live his life as a lowly guardsman.  This archetype was discussed as an integral part of the Monomyth by Joseph Campbell in his book The Hero with a Thousand Faces, in which Campbell argued for the similarities between such religious figures as Osiris, Jesus and Buddha.  This link is even made explicit in C.S. Lewis’ Chronicles of Narnia as the death and re-birth of the lion Aslan is not only “a clumsy spiritual allegory involving lions” (to quote comedian Stewart Lee) for the resurrection of Christ but also a means for young children to be introduced to the concepts of Christianity before they even start attending Sunday school.

The prominence of such archetypal characters is, as with the use of archetypal plots, a question of accessibility.  Indeed, even Michael Moorcock (creator of Elric and Hawkmoon, famed for his critique of Tolkien) fell into a pattern of re-using characters and plot-lines during his most prolific years, using talk of an Eternal Champion to justify repetition by framing it as artificial myth.  It is also worth noting that if you are going to keep using the same plots over and over again then you will be forced into using the same characters as regardless of any cosmetic differences the characters might have, they all serve the same role in the story.

This has become a source of some animosity between critics and defenders of fantasy as the need for characters to be easily understood as well as empathised and identified with (as I suggested in Part One’s discussion of the value of Immersion), frequently results in a seemingly simplistic approach to characterisation.  Indeed, in works of literary SF such as Peter Watts’ Blindsight or Jon Courtenay Grimwood’s End of the World Blues, the characters frequently embody the ideas that the author is wanting to explore, meaning that character studies are frequently coded studies of interesting ideas about the human experience.  This symbollic approach to characterisation is, of course, taken from mainstream literature but, by virtue of the fact that it exists as an intellectual riddle for the reader to solve (in order to “get” the piece), it is a barrier to access and therefore not popular in high fantasy.

Instead, as with the dilution of the Monomyth in matters of plot, fantasy writers frequently dilute their characters’ plot arcs by making various detours allowing their protagonists to struggle to overcome some psychological flaw, have a love affair or indulge in any of the other elements of the Monomyth albeit at a lower order of abstraction (the messianic arc always taking precedent).  Authors also get around this problem by splitting their protagonist up into several different characters allowing him to explore different aspects of the Monomyth at the same time (this explains the popularity of heroic twins), or by outsourcing either lesser elements of the Monomyth or more interesting original character arcs to the character’s sidekicks, a good example of this might be the movement from dark to light experienced by George Lucas’ loveable rogue Han Solo whose initial selfishness allowed Luke Skywalker to remain morally pure until tempted by the Dark Side in Return of the Jedi (Star Wars is not only fat fantasy in drag, it was also written by someone with a keen awareness of the works of Campbell).  This is a tool used intelligently by George Martin who has his numerous protagonists, some textbook Monomyth followers and others clearly separate such as Stark’s daughters who, in radically different ways, learn the difference between their childhood conceptions of self and the reality of adopting such identities.  As with his treatment of plot, Martin excels at balancing the need to stick closely to universal themes and the need to give his readers something new, hence his willingness to flirt with moral ambiguity up to the point where the readers would be forced to start thinking about the morality of Martin’s world and how that compares to their personal ethics.  As ever, conceptual heavy lifting is bad for business and forcing your readers into moral introspection is undeniably asking them to put their backs into it.

Authors can also vary the details of the characters’ plot arcs in order to make them appear different.  Tad Williams’ Shadowmarch series, for example, sees one of the characters slump into self-pity and madness rather than death before realising his powers and returning to save the world.  As we shall see, in fantasy characters as in fantasy worlds, what is important are the cosmetic differences, not differences in the underlying structure of the world.  By being mindful of this, an author can balance the competing needs for a new and original hero with one who is easily understood, sympathetic and identifiable with.

The question of identification is invariably a sticky topic in fantasy circles.  To speak of is invariably to speak of escapism and to speak of escapism immediately conjures up images of a basement-dwelling inadequate who would rather escape from his problems than confront them.  I think that such thoughts are entirely unwarranted, not least because it is a gross misunderstanding of the idea.   Activities such as Cosplay and Fantasy Roleplaying (both activities with close ties to high fantasy literature) suggest that some fantasy readers do identify with the characters they read about, though this identification is not of the order of “I wish I was Frodo” but rather emotional engagement with the novel as simple as recognising in a character’s struggles similar tensions to those occurring in the life of the reader, or engaging with the stories of princesses and knights in an aspirational manner similar to the way in which people read gossip magazines.  Indeed, the BBC’s recent SF series Torchwood with its high adventure and sexy characters was seen as aspirational TV and if genre TV can be aspirational, it is not unthinkable that genre writing can be seen in a similar light.  Even in extreme cases of identification such as the Otherkin who believe themselves to be the spiritual doppelganger of characters from the fantasy corpus or members of well known fantasy races, to speak of these people as people actively denying reality would be grossly unfair, though they do illustrate the idea that, for some readers, identification with the characters of fantasy novels is a vital part of the reading experience.

SETTING - Perhaps the most important characteristic that defines the fat fantasy sub-genre as it constitutes the primary focus for the desire for immersion.  While critics such as Adam Roberts have sought to categorise the difference between fantasy and SF as one analogical to the difference between the Protestant and Catholic faiths (with Fantasy as the cavaliers and SF as the roundheads), I see the difference as being that fantasy worlds are worlds of things whereas SF worlds are worlds of laws.

SF’s fixation with laws stems partly for its characteristic desire for scientific verisimilitude, but also from its desire to be speculative.  It is is this context that the old platitude about SF takes on meaning; the best SF is not about the future but about about the present.  This is because speculative SF takes existing cultural and physical phenomena and assumes that the laws governing them will continue to stay the same, allowing authors to project that phenomenon into the future so as to show not only how a certain trend or technology will evolve but what the important trends and discoveries of the current day might be.  For example, consider the opening section of Charles Stross’ Accelerando.  Stross’ protagonist Manfred Macx sustains himself through a kind of high-level system of quid-pro-quo gift economics clearly inspired by existing Web 2.0 projects such as Wikipedia or YouTube.

Compare this approach with that common in the high fantasy genre where it is more common to find authors picking and choosing ideas from history and mythology in order to create worlds with a certain aesthetic feel.  This prompts many critics of fantasy to point to fantasy authors’ frequently scant regard for the economics or sociology of the societies they depict.  A good example of this are Tolkien’s horsey Rohirrim.  This race of men look like Viking raiders but live on the plains and are famous horsemen, much like the Mongols.  However, they also live in assorted palaces, castles and keeps similar to those popular in medieval Europe and seemingly perfect for receiving sieges, therefore casting aspersions on the logic of having a military entirely composed of cavalry.  In fact, the riders of Rohan don’t even seem to have any proper agriculture or industry making it unclear how they could support such a huge military caste, let alone produce enough food to weather sieges.

The reason for this difference in focus is the nature of the intellectual experience the writers are hoping to illicit from readers engaging with these different kinds of story.  A speculative, law-based fictional environment exists to draw the reader’s attention to the laws that govern our world and the world of the book.  In thinking about the rules that govern the world of the novel, we are forced to think about the rules that govern our world because they are frequently supposed to be the same as our own.  Fantasy novels differ from this approach by being focussed on aiding immersion into the world by drawing out attention not to the abstract laws that govern the world but the concrete particulars that fill it.  Fantasy worlds are full of named and described things from places to people, from food to religion, from songs to animals  and from gods to plant-life because when we passively and directly experience the world we do so through facts... not laws.  Indeed, from the time of David Hume up till the present time with Bas van Fraassen, certain philosophers have remained sceptical about the existence of laws of nature.  In fact, the much famed problem of induction can be seen as a result of our failure to perceive laws of nature and having to infer their existence from observable facts.  All we ever see is the Sun rising and setting, we do not directly experience the celestial dynamics that keep the planet orbiting the Sun, we instead infer their existence and use them to justify our belief that because the Sun came up this morning, chances are it’ll come up tomorrow.

By creating worlds so full of things that they require glossaries and maps in order for the player to make sense of them, fantasy writers encourage immersion in the subjective rather than abstraction to the objective as encouraged in more speculative genres.  The only notable exception from this rule would be writers who decide to spend some time discussing the mechanics of magic in their setting.  By and large I would class such lapses into speculation as trope-stretching on a par with Martin’s cut-throat renaissance politics (indeed, one of the things that differentiated China Mieville’s Bas-Lag novels from standard fantasy was the “scientistic” way in which magic was discussed as something involving study and experimentation and drawing to it a class of brainy types with questionable social skills reminiscent of our own nerds), but an interesting fact about magic is that it is very much based around objects and names rather than processes and laws.  Indeed, it is telling that fat fantasy will frequently have its protagonists quest for a magical sword or some long-lost power and rarely, but rarely hit the books and try to work out how to make an object or spell capable of defeating the great evil.  This is a pattern that is also present in fat fantasy’s treatment of morality, though I shall return to that issue later.

The character of fantasy worlds are not only structurally geared towards encouraging immersion, but concretely too as the trappings of fantasy worlds are predominantly European and frequently influenced by the genre’s big players thereby making making the worlds both generally accessible to any westerner with a basic grasp of what went on in the middle ages, and particularly accessible to those who have read fantasy before, because while fat fantasy does try to be as broadly inclusive as possible (indeed, John Clute once memorably accused Tad Williams’ Otherworld books of lapsing into phatic discourse), it is particularly skilled at being accessible to habitues of the fantasy genre, a useful skill given the economic conservatism of the audience.

As with other aspects of fat fantasy, the desire for a text to be accessible, immersive, and conservative is attenuated by the desire to be innovative so as not to bore readers or rob the writers of the chance to stretch their artistic wings.  This balancing act results in authors innovating in a number of ways.  For example, while Europeanised tropes are clearly the most accessible to a western fantasy audience, there are a number of series such as Garry Kilworth’s Navigator Kings trilogy (Polynesian culture) or Glen Cook’s later Black Company stories (Indian culture) that attempt to sever themselves from the genre’s Tolkienian European roots.  However, here the Otherness of the new cultures can prove to be barriers to accessibility and Immersion, prompting authors to rely upon the use of traditional genre tropes to allow the reader to get their bearings.  For example, if a hero is battling an evil god does is there really much difference between him wielding a magical sword whilst riding a white stallion and him carrying a shark-tooth dagger whilst riding in a canoe as in the Navigator King books?  However, relying upon traditional plots and characters to carry the reader along can be risky, indeed the Navigator King books are arguably on the experimental edge of the fat-fantasy sub-genre.  Many authors choose instead to work around the Otherness of their new cultures.

Since the days of Tolkien and Lewis, it has been common for fantasy to feature non-European cultures inspired by human cultures both contemporary and historical.  Unfortunately, these cultures have frequently been cast as evil with the unfamiliarity of their ways and the Otherness of their values being used to demonise them.  Even in cases where this does not occur, it is not uncommon for one or several western-inspired characters to serve as gatekeepers through which to explore the alien culture, thereby imposing on that culture a Euro-centric conceptual framework that facilitates the readers’ exploration and immersion into that culture.  In essence, this is a way of having the author do the conceptual heavy-lifting so that the audience does not have to.  This is a technique used by George R.R. Martin’s A Song of Fire and Ice series and Glen Cook’s later Black Company novels where the European Croaker and Lady find themselves first in a setting similar to Africa and then one similar to pre-British India.

Authors can also use this bracketed approach to Otherness to explore non-Human cultures which, though fictitious, will frequently not be entirely alien thanks to their similarities to other fantasy non-human cultures (hence the popularity not only of Tolkienian Elves and Dwarves but of Tolkienian Elves and Dwarves with minor cosmetic differences such as the Fairies and Founderlings of Tad Williams’ Shadowmarch books) and their tendency to be rooted in human cultures and characteristics such as Tolkien coming from a nation with a huge class divide writing about clearly working-class industrialist Dwarves and effete intellectual old money upper-class Elves.

Another interesting aspect of fat fantasy settings is the way in which they deal with morality.  As with magic, it is quite common for fantasy to objectivise or personalise morality.  By this I mean that fantasy frequently includes a strong moral element, but that it rarely actually discusses the content of the morality in question.  Instead, people fight to destroy things such as the forces of evil or ancient dead gods or corrupting artefacts or they wage war on people such as demented wizards and witch queens.  In essence, morality in fantasy is not so much a question of commandments or rights, it is about wanting rid of a certain object or being on the same side as some particular person.  for example, we do not know in what way Sauron is evil, nor do we know what he is actually planning on doing to Middle Earth once he gets his hands on it.  We simply know that he lives in an ugly land and is opposed to everyone that is good.  There is no discussion of Sauron’s economic policies or his views on stem cell research.  We’re simply told that he is evil (and, in the case of the film, this is driven home by having him be represented by a flaming toothed vagina).  This is partly because of fantasy’s focus on concrete particulars rather than abstract laws, but also because the more explicit you make your morality, the more readers will compare it to their own therefore not only possibly losing people who disagree with you but also pushing them out of the immersive zone.  Indeed, the best example of this would be C.S. Lewis’ Chronicles of Narnia where his old-fashioned views on race and the role of women have lead to the books being widely seen as bastions of reactionary religious preaching.  However, my favourite example of this is at the beginning of George Martin’s A Game of Thrones where Stark makes a point of executing prisoners himself using his own sword.  Clearly this was intended to demonstrate how Stark takes the death penalty and the running of his realm seriously, but to a liberal non-American reader this felt ghoulish and slightly sinister.  Would people have voted for George W. Bush if, as governor, he had personally decapitated all the people sentenced to death during his time in office?  perhaps Martin would have voted for him but I would take it as a sign that Bush was a dangerous and sadistic madman who would be better off in an insane asylum than running a country.  Even a politician who attends every execution would appear ghoulish and slightly odd.

Interestingly, the genre’s propensity to conservatism and its tendency to stick quite close to the ideals of the founding fathers of the genre has lead some to believe that fat fantasy is an inherently reactionary form of writing.  It is rare for fantasy stories to be about changing the world for the better, instead they tend to revolve around protecting the status quo against an evil threatening it (Lord of the Rings) or undertaking a quest that wrenches the protagonists away from an idyllic childhood (A Song of Fire and Ice).  It also explains  the popularity of setting fantasy novels in what are essentially post-apocalyptic dark-ages where some earlier age of enlightenment or advancement has passed leaving only ruins, relics and legends.  This results in stories that are about recapturing a by-gone age either figuratively by seeking a powerful object from that age or literally by changing the current world so that it resembles the old one more (both aspects feature in the Dragonlance novels where the protagonists not only want the old protective gods and good dragons to return to the world but also to find the dragonlances capable of killing evil dragons).  The tendency of fantasy novels to look backwards rather than forwards combines with unpleasantly racist and reactionary genre staples such as a confrontational attitude towards the Otherness of non-European cultures to give an impression of unpleasantly right-wing politics.  This is most unfortunate as this is not necessarily reflective of fantasy writers being particularly prone to reactionary views but rather a result of sticking too closely to tropes drawn up at a time when unthinking racism and hostility to Otherness was very much the norm.  Fantasy’s refusal to engage with real world politics and tendency to talk about evil in purely aesthetic terms serve to form a moral vacuum into which it is easy to project the unthinking attitudes of the genre’s early days.  While not as common as many critics of fantasy would have you believe (especially when you consider the astonishing levels of racism frequently on display in the original pulps, Robert E. Howard and H.P. Lovecraft would shame the national front), fantasy’s troubles in distancing itself from the political grammar (if not vocabulary) of the colonial age is indicative of the value placed by genre writers on being as accessible as possible and as conservative as artistically and economically practical.


These three aspects of a fantasy novel are obviously not exhaustive as I have not touched upon writing style or gone into the details of the various balancing acts in any great detail.  However, my aim was never to completely exhaust the genre or to provide a complete critical examination of the books that one can consider to be fat fantasy.  Instead, I intended this piece as an informal look at some of the values and rules that affect the fat fantasy sub genre in a hope of helping both myself and others to understand how fantasy works.  Seeing as this piece is now nearing the length of the average M.A. dissertation I think I will leave it at that.

Please keep a look out for my upcoming review of Tad Williams’ Shadowplay.

Comments

[Alexey Romanov]

"but he is not afraid to have his characters be motivated by money, lust or cowardice; motivations that are traditionally absent from the frequently Manichaean high fantasy genre."

You might remember someone called Grima; or Smeagol. These motivations tend to be absent on the good side only, but are perfectly all right for the evil (or at least misguided) characters.

"In fact, this model of character has become so common in all forms of fantasy that it has prompted Terry Pratchett to parody it by having the exiled rightful king of Ankh-Morpork turn up but, instead of reclaiming his throne, he’s quite happy to live his life as a lowly guardsman."

That's parody of quite a different trope. Aragorn is not the world's last hope, nor even Gondor's; though he is the best.

"Even Michael Moorcock"

Moorcock didn't critique Tolkien for reusing the characters, but for many other things.

"to speak of these people as people actively denying reality would be grossly unfair"

Why?

"A good example of this are Tolkien’s horsey Rohirrim. This race of men look like Viking raiders but live on the plains and are famous horsemen, much like the Mongols. However, they also live in assorted palaces, castles and keeps similar to those popular in medieval Europe and seemingly perfect for receiving sieges, therefore casting aspersions on the logic of having a military entirely composed of cavalry. In fact, the riders of Rohan don’t even seem to have any proper agriculture or industry making it unclear how they could support such a huge military caste, let alone produce enough food to weather sieges."

While the Rohirrim indeed do not make much sense, they don't fight each other, so they don't need to lay siege to their own castles. Their armies do include infantry.

"reminiscent of our own nerds"

What do you mean, reminiscent? They _are_ nerds. And other sorts of scientists exist there as well.

"working-class industrialist Dwarves and effete intellectual old money upper-class Elves"

Dwarves are craftsmen, they don't do mass production. And so are many Elves as well. The workers in Middle-Earth are the slaves of Sauron and some Hobbits during Sharkey's reign.

"for example, we do not know in what way Sauron is evil, nor do we know what he is actually planning on doing to Middle Earth once he gets his hands on it. We simply know that he lives in an ugly land and is opposed to everyone that is good."

We also know he uses slaves and how he treats his subjects.

"However, my favourite example of this is at the beginning of George Martin’s A Game of Thrones where Stark makes a point of executing prisoners himself using his own sword. Clearly this was intended to demonstrate how Stark takes the death penalty and the running of his realm seriously, but to a liberal non-American reader this felt ghoulish and slightly sinister. Would people have voted for George W. Bush if, as governor, he had personally decapitated all the people sentenced to death during his time in office? perhaps Martin would have voted for him but I would take it as a sign that Bush was a dangerous and sadistic madman who would be better off in an insane asylum than running a country. Even a politician who attends every execution would appear ghoulish and slightly odd."

Now this I don't understand. I don't think that the only difference between Bush and Stark is that one executes prisoners personally and the other doesn't and I don't imagine you think so.

[Jonathan McCalmont]

Hi Alexey -- I'll address a few of these.

Firstly, I merely meant that I was quite alienated by reading about a ruler who is so moral that he cuts off the heads of criminals. This is one of the reasons why fantasy authors tend to skim over the substance of their worlds' morality... because judgements like Martin's are easily questioned.

Dwarves are craftsmen but they're also quite clearly meant to be working class. They fight with tools and live in giant underground factories. They're practically morlocks!

I also think you're being overly charitable about LotR and not charitable enough regarding people who want escapism. But I don't want to get sucked into a debate on the minutiae of Tolkien's book. Particularly when the issue is whether Aragorn is the last hope for humanity or merely the best... I think that's a distinction without a difference when it comes to messianic political figures :-)

[A.R.Yngve]

If the SF genre had been as heavily dominated by one single writer as Fat Fantasy -- say, H.G.Wells -- then discussions about SF would be just as anal:

X: "The influence of Morlocks as SF Lit's working-class bogeymen extends to movies such as METROPOLIS...

Y: "Not so! The subterranean workers in METROPOLIS are clean-shaven, the Morlocks in Wells' immortal masterpiece are hairy..."

Nerds.

Actually, the way these discussions about fantasy get bogged down in minutiae reflects perfectly how fantasy gets bogged down in things and actions, and avoids reflection on the abstract level.

[Jonathan McCalmont]

Absolutely A.R., the focus is on things because that's what the books are made up of.

The rules of politics don't enter into it, so nobody points out that actually, seeing as he spent most of his life pissing about in the wilderness as a ranger (sure sign of some kind of nervous breakdown during his youth), Aragorn probably doesn't have the first idea as to how to run a country. In truth, he's a figure reminiscent of the King of Afghanistan who was touted around as a possible leader before they found Karzai. No experience of ruling, no powerbase, figurehead for a foreign coalition.

[Wes]

Actually, Martin has been quite outspoken about his opposition to Bush.

[A.R.Yngve]

It is an unthinking, accepted trope of Generic Fantasy that previous job experience is unnecessary.

(Try to get a job that way: "What merits do you have in web design?" - "I grew up a dirt-poor, illiterate farmboy and wandered through the wilderness for five years...")

Since fantasy is so profitable, I've been planning to write one... but with my SF-writing background, I can't stop asking all those little questions:

1) How does magic work?
What are the laws? Where does it come from? What source of energy does it use? (Solar power? Body heat? Thermal energy? Nuclear decay? Virtual particles?) Is magic "organic" (tied to life) or "inorganic" (objects)?

(And speaking of magic objects... there are evil rings, swords, stones etc. in magic, but have you ever seen an evil table? Lots of little kids have: "Mo-om! That evil table hit my knee again!")

2) How does one learn to harness and use magic?
No, a few words and incantations do not add up to an "understanding", any more than you can learn to swim by shouting "Swim!"

3) Does the supernatural exist in the fictional world?
Does this imply you can "cheat" the natural laws? If so, to what extent? What are the restrictions?

4) And, most importantly, I must decide what exactly my intentions are.
Is the fictional fantasy world meant to be "allegorical" or "physical"? (i.e. is everything that happens a metaphor for something else, like in a fairytale or myth -- or should the story be read literally?)

[A.R.Yngve]

OK, I admit it: point 4) is a trick question...

Of course Fat Fantasy is allegorical. Of course it oozes subtext: about the author as a person, about his "demons", about the culture and political climate he grew up in... all those things seep into the text, even if the author is unaware of it (or denies it).

[Jonathan McCalmont]

Wes -- Fine, I wasn't implying he was right-wing, merely that he had some rather weird ideas about capital punishment which resulted in him going "Stark's a good man... see... he cuts off people's heads" rather than "Stark's a good man, he got rid of capital punishment on his lands" or even "Stark's an absolute psycho, he takes a ghoulish pleasure in executing criminals personally... not even Bond villains are THAT fucked up".

A.R. -- I think the fact that ultimately what interests me is the answer to those questions means that I'll never actually enjoy fantasy. But writing all of this has really helped me to better understand the challenges involved in writing fantasy.

[Jamie]

"Wes -- Fine, I wasn't implying he was right-wing, merely that he had some rather weird ideas about capital punishment which resulted in him going "Stark's a good man... see... he cuts off people's heads" rather than "Stark's a good man, he got rid of capital punishment on his lands" or even "Stark's an absolute psycho, he takes a ghoulish pleasure in executing criminals personally... not even Bond villains are THAT fucked up"."

Hang on though; aren't you contradicting yourself here? You said earlier that, despite Martin's attempts to depict moral ambiguity, he only half achieves this, and that, amongst his characters, 'ultimately the goodies are good and the baddies are bad'.

And yet, when, in the opening pages of the first chapter, an ostensibly 'good' character by your reckoning commits a morally questionable act, you suggest that the author's motives are to paint this as a 'good' act by a 'good' character? Does this conclusion not seem a little absurd to you?

I also think any attempt to see contemporary politics reflected in the acts of what is essentially the equivalent of a late-medieval feudal system is rather illogical and unfair.

[Jonathan McCalmont]

Hi there Jamie --

I'm actually making two distinct points about Martin. Firstly, I'm saying that while Martin flirts with moral ambiguity, his world is ultimately quite Manichaean. Which it is. Secondly, one of the reasons why fantasy morality is largely hand-waved is because if you do put substance into your conception of moral correctness then you risk alienating your readers and/or undermining your Manichaeanism by having opinions that people might not agree with.

The fact that Stark cares enough about justice and the running of his kingdom to personally execute prisoners is portrayed as a GOOD thing, a sign of what a wise and benevolent ruler he is. There's no indication that actually Stark's a bit of a nutter. This is a case of Martin trying to give substance to his world's morality by establishing a character as a good man and arguably getting it quite wrong because a head of state who personally executes criminals is just... creepy. So I don't think I'm contradicting myself there.

Ah well... the issue of morality in looking at history is most notably inappropriate because it's not useful. What's more interesting, the motivations for Edward I expelling the jews (after having borrowed from them) or a historian's views on how moral a kind Edward Longshanks was? In looking at history you're right... it's not a good idea to look at morality, but when looking at a book written by a living author containing a passage intended to establish a key character as a moral man, I'd say that discussing morality is absolutely vital. Especially when I'm talking about said passage as an example of whether or not political views can alienate people.

[Alexey Romanov]

"Stark's an absolute psycho, he takes a ghoulish pleasure in executing criminals personally... not even Bond villains are THAT fucked up".

There doesn't seem to be any reason to believe Stark gets pleasure in it. So I am not at all sure where this is coming from.

He thinks this is a right thing to do, so he does it. More generally, he _always_ does what he thinks is the right thing.

Unlike you, I am not sure that Martin agrees that actually is the right thing to do.

"It is an unthinking, accepted trope of Generic Fantasy that previous job experience is unnecessary."

Generally yes, but Aragorn actually has some experience (see below).

"The rules of politics don't enter into it, so nobody points out that actually, seeing as he spent most of his life pissing about in the wilderness as a ranger (sure sign of some kind of nervous breakdown during his youth), Aragorn probably doesn't have the first idea as to how to run a country."

Actually, he was an advisor to Denethor's and Theoden's fathers and reached quite a high position. He is also pretty well educated. (Probably better than anyone in Gondor).

Besides, he is the heir of the Kings, so Blood Will Tell.

"Dwarves are craftsmen but they're also quite clearly meant to be working class. They fight with tools and live in giant underground factories. They're practically morlocks!"

Again, the two Dwarves' settlements we see are Moria and Erebor, and I would describe neither as a "giant underground factory".

"I also think you're being overly charitable about LotR and not charitable enough regarding people who want escapism."

But I don't want to get sucked into a debate on the minutiae of Tolkien's book. Particularly when the issue is whether Aragorn is the last hope for humanity or merely the best... I think that's a distinction without a difference when it comes to messianic political figures :-)"

I am merely saying that the Lost Heir and the Last Hope are two different tropes, not that this trope doesn't exist.

[Jamie]

If you are using Manichean to mean 'black and white', I would have to disagree with you there; some characters are irredeemably nasty, granted, but I don't think there's a single character in the so-called 'good' pantheon that could be considered pure or 'untainted'. Well, perhaps Bran, but he is a 7 year old child. And, at a pinch, Brienne, although I believe she exists in the series more as an undermining of the 'warrior maiden' archetype that runs through much typical fantasy, and she doesn't exactly benefit from her purity.

But that's all besides the main point: on the one hand you are saying that the series is, on the whole, black and white in its conception of traditional morality, probably because readers would get uncomfortable were it otherwise. You then cite an instance, occurring in the FIRST CHAPTER of the book, where a morality different to your own caused you to be uncomfortable. Surely, if you've read the rest of the book/series, this cannot be the only instance? Yet you don't see the contradiction of labelling ASoI&F as Manichean?

To deal more specifically with Stark: there's no indication that Stark is a bit of a nutter in that chapter perhaps; but then it is a chapter written from the point of view of his seven year old son who worships him. Any bias can be probably be attributable to that. I think there is plenty of evidence to the perceptive reader later in the book - regardless of what you think of his guiding morality as displayed in the first chapter - to suggest that he is not entirely on the level (from the perspective of characters such as Tyrion and Littlefinger).

Anyway, I don't believe Martin is trying to establish Stark as a 'good' man in this chapter, but a 'moral' one. Regardless of what you think of the morality Stark displays here and elsewhere, it cannot be denied that he appears to live his life by a strong, and internally consistent, moral code. Clearly you don't agree with it; fine, neither do I; but I'm not a medieval, unelected liege lord, so there's not much of a chance that I would ever be in a position to need such a code of morality.

Indeed, the very fact that his strong sense of morality leads many poor decisions, and, eventually, his downfall (one of the major ironies depicted in AGoT) seems to be an open invitation to the reader to consider that perhaps a more flexible moral code is a better, and more healthy way, to conduct one's life.

And, as Mr Romanov has pointed out above, there is no indication that Stark's attitude coincides with Martin's own point of view.

[Hal Duncan]

Hey Jonathan. Interesting posts. I started to put a response together but it kinda grew to a few thousand words, so I ended up posting it on me own blog here.

Oh, yeah, and some answers for A.R.:

1) Same way as jaunting works in Bester's The Stars My Destination. Or FTL in most SF.

2) Same way as one learns to jaunt, I guess. Close one's eyes and wish very hard? Maybe think about some sort of hand-waving bollocks like "human evolution" to put a pseudo-rationalist gloss over the mumbo-jumbo and persuade yourself it's plausible.

3) In most Philip K. Dick novels, yes, though it's as much the outright divine as it is the supernatural.

4) That's up to you.

Sorry, couldn't resist.

[Scott Bakker]

Given that the standard way of referring to what you call 'fat fantasy' (a loaded term if there ever was one!) is 'EPIC fantasy' it seems strange that there's no consideration of the 'epic' whatsoever.

(What lies at the heart of the genre is a certain commitment to SPECTACLE. This is also one of the reasons it's the very antithesis of modernism, and so a signature outcast in academia's long list of bigotries).

I also found it strange the way you largely sidestepped the issue of escapism, and all the connotations of infantilism that come with it. I'm not sure there's any way to avoid it given the goals you've set for yourself.

[Alexander New]

More on Martin: Game of Thrones is undeniably the weakest part of aSoIaF when looked at as a whole. This is mostly due to the fact that I think Martin really didn't know what his masterpiece would turn into. He knew what was going to happen, but I don't think he realized how much everything would matter. This is evidenced by the very sparse world-building that slowly becomes more and more detailed.
However, I think the main reason Got is the weakest is that YES; much of it is Manichean. It took several books and thousands of pages to transform from a somewhat typical albeit very well written fat fantasy into the massively complex and grey story it has become.
On the matter of Brienne, she seems to be Martin's counterpoint to the stereotypical big-breasted, leather thong wearing whore. His woman warrior is ugly, shy, and about as uncharismatic as they come.
Also, I think Scott's books should be introduced into this discussion. They are in many ways Martin's anti-"escapism" taken to the next level. During your trilogy, I think most readers could emphasize with only one character: Achamion. The rest of the "heroes" almost all fall into that "fascinating to read about what would hate to have to live with them" category.
And considering Scott's world-building. He went incredibly into depth with it, but the Three Seas are not the average Northern-European/Germanic collection of cities. Almost everything has some sort Arabian or Eastern European flavor.

[Jonathan McCalmont]

Scott --

Well Epic fantasy is a subgenre is it not? Fantasy can be high without being epic. Also, I take epic to mean either "long" or "full of battles" and neither quality strikes me as particularly vital, especially seeing as I address the issue of length as a manifestation of the conservatism (or as Hal more aptly puts it, conventionalism).

Epic qua war is, as you say, a question of spectacle (the film version of the Lion the Witch and the Wardrobe is an excellent example of this principle) but I haven't read Gu Debord since I was 17 and I don't intend to plunge back into it again except to say that the whole thing about the fetishism of the commodity is very much a similar idea to that I was reaching for in my talk of how fantasy is driven by stuff rather than the laws governing stuff.

I don't think I've sidestepped escapism and I do touch on the charge of infantilism... I even place fantasy fans in the same dimension as Furries and Otherkin. What would you have liked to see me talk about in particular?

[Scott Bakker]

So 'fat fantasy' is a broader category than 'epic fantasy'? I'd like to see where substituting the terms would cause any difference in your account, given the examples you use.

Epic qua war? No. It's epic qua STAKES - and I think this feeds directly into the issue of escapism. The very degree to which the literary establishment regards the subject matter of epic fantasy 'silly and infantile' is the degree to which it is profound. It's no accident that Pascal Boyer's "Religion Explained" reads like "Fantasy Explained."

A reading of which would show quite quickly, I think, that fantasy worlds are definitely not paratactic - filled with things rather than laws. Compositional laws are every bit as operative, the difference is that they're associative and psychological. You actually have it upside down: OUR world is filled with things, which find themselves taken up by natural laws. Fantasy worlds are filled with AGENCIES, which like people defy subsumption under natural laws. The apparent lawlessness is an artifact of this, as is the corresponding emphasis on MORAL LAW (in the absence of the descriptive we have only the prescriptive). There's nothing entirely dead in fantasy worlds. No simple things.

Which, not so coincidently, is how humans construed the world for the bulk of our history. Every fantasy written is perched on the faultline of human experience and human knowledge, on the fact that the world we're evolutionarily designed to see (a world of intentionality, an anthropomorphic world) is the very world we're trained to surrender (in the name of a purely functional world).

Epic fantasies are about the objectification of the sublime (another reason why it's the antithesis of modernism). Post-Nietzschean Bible stories. The truly great fantasies are the ones that evoke a sense of wonder from readers - a wonder which is at once a return and an escape. Epic fantasy is pretty much the only subgenre dedicated to tickling the awe-bone.

I could go on and on, especially about the absence of any consideration of the social or historical conditions underwriting the subgenre's appeal, but I think what's really got me riled, though, is the odour of condescension, of the 'philosopher' slumming to understand simpler philistine tastes. I realize that this isn't what you intend, but I can't shake the sense that you're trying to understand the kids in order to be a better father.

[Jonathan McCalmont]

Scott --

You really don't want to get into second guessing my motivations for writing this. I'm sure you wouldn't like it if I started doing it to you.

For me, profundity is about depth of knowledge and insight. Something is profound if it acknowledges the complexity of the world and nonetheless manages to say something true about it.

By objectivising morality into battles against evil gods but never actually engaging with the moral structure of our world, fantasy is the very opposite of profound... it is shallow. It creates a world where moral struggles are easily resolved, frequently on purely aesthetic grounds (which god has a city in the ugly part of the continent?) meanwhile the real meat of morality is left largely untouched. It's lots of sizzle and no steak.

The reason for this is, as you say, because Fantasy is poised on the boundary between experience and knowledge. This positoning is not because it offers a better perspective on things but because of the romantic roots of the fantasy genre. Romanticism emerged as a reaction against the de-humanising and abstracting scientific worldview at a time when the nature of human learning was changing.

For my fantasy is about chasing that sense of immersion and wonder through technique. By appealing to "human experience" and shifting all that fits into the realm of human knowledge back into the realm of experience again.

It is about a set of worlds that are governed purely by teleological causes. Of course nobody's really dead in fantasy... if the logic of the monomyth demands it they'll reappear ten times as powerful as before and save the day.

It's telling that fantasy is so teleological because of all the different forms of explanation offered up by Aristotle, the teleological's the one that makes the least sense from the point of view of the modern way of looking at the world.

It's interesting that you should mention the awe bone AND "Religion Explained" because I'm reminded of Dawkins' Unweaving the Rainbow" where he confronts the idea that pre-scientific romanticised conceptions of the world have a lock on the concept of awe. I'd certainly disagree that fantasy has a lock on awe.

Having considered your views, I actually wonder whether my problem with fantasy isn't as you so crudely and unfairly put it, a matter of condescension but of simple disagreement. I don't see the world the way the fantasy genre depicts it and as a result reading fantasy is a bit like reading a tract written by someone you profoundly disagree with.

If that's true then I certainly don't think fantasy is stupid... I think it's false.

[Brian Malone]

Started to work up a detailed reply, then shit-canned it when I read Scott's comments.

I will say that I found this essay interesting and thought-provoking, and amusing in places, but starkly lacking in credibility when you make statements such as this:

Compare this approach with that common in the high fantasy genre where it is more common to find authors picking and choosing ideas from history and mythology in order to create worlds with a certain aesthetic feel. This prompts many critics of fantasy to point to fantasy authors’ frequently scant regard for the economics or sociology of the societies they depict. A good example of this are Tolkien’s horsey Rohirrim. This race of men look like Viking raiders but live on the plains and are famous horsemen, much like the Mongols. However, they also live in assorted palaces, castles and keeps similar to those popular in medieval Europe and seemingly perfect for receiving sieges, therefore casting aspersions on the logic of having a military entirely composed of cavalry. In fact, the riders of Rohan don’t even seem to have any proper agriculture or industry making it unclear how they could support such a huge military caste, let alone produce enough food to weather sieges.

Have you actually read LOTR, or are you that committed to bending what it actually is into something very different to suit your needs? Palaces? Nope. Castles? Nope. Keeps? Nope. So far this is batting .000, maybe the next batter will at least whiff the ball. No proper agriculture or industry? Well, one might ask what you mean by proper, but let that slide, because umm, nope. The Rohirrim were depicted as an agrarian-craft based society, martial yes, but without a “military caste.” The riders of Rohan were the men of Rohan, the farmers and craftsmen mustered when the people came under threat, the levies augmenting the relatively small number of armed retainers. The agriculture of the nation centered in the Westfold, largely undepicted in LOTR except parenthetically. And you might consider Tolkien’s juxtaposition of Rohan with industrialized, militarized and facist Orthanc, and what that might imply.

You offered the foregoing quote to illustrate the point that the best speculative SF operates according to rule and laws, whereas fat fantasy is just a mess of irrational immersive mush. (I imagine that you find yourself comfortable with the Mundane SF and Deep Genre folks.) Scott has already addressed you concept of things vs. laws, I cannot say anything better than he has, but I will only point out that, to me, all that you seem to have illustrated is your own prejudice against the very literature that you profess to want to understand.

But, of course, we all do this. I’m no fan of Moorcock, and so I refuse to see the merit that his followers evidently find in his tales of the albino. I’m no fan of Martin’s either, for that matter, being less than enchanted with what I see as egregious bloodlust. Except, I know this about myself, and I hope that when I critique, I do so at least honestly to myself.

This essay, however, reads like a justification for disliking a certain category of literature--a thing that needs no justification--and a means of constructing a critical framework to both establish that fat fantasy has no literary merit and explain why that is. There is a long tradition of such efforts. This one, I’m afraid, needs work. The assertion, for example, that “literary” SF imbues its characters with symbolic meaning:

Indeed, in works of literary SF such as Peter Watts’ Blindsight or Jon Courtenay Grimwood’s End of the World Blues, the characters frequently embody the ideas that the author is wanting to explore, meaning that character studies are frequently coded studies of interesting ideas about the human experience. This symbollic approach to characterisation is, of course, taken from mainstream literature but, by virtue of the fact that it exists as an intellectual riddle for the reader to solve (in order to “get” the piece), it is a barrier to access and therefore not popular in high fantasy.

appears hard to reconcile with the complaint that:

Much is made of the messianic character of many fantasy protagonists who are frequently called upon to be the last chance of humanity in the face of some great brooding evil. The most famous example of this is Frodo in the Lord of the Rings who literally carries the evil of the world to its destruction.

Which is it? Is Frodo a symbolic characterization, or is he simply a hobbit in a fat fantasy that you dislike?

The section on setting as the “primary focus for the desire for immersion [of the fat fantasy reader]” likewise raises eyebrows. Is there a difference between those who speak Quenya and those who speak Klingon, or between those who cosplay as elves or Jedi? Your attempt to deflect this inconvenient fact, that science fiction provides opportunity for immersion just as deeply and weirdly as does fat fantasy, by asserting that Star Wars is actually fantasy just doesn’t ring true. Star Trek? Babylon 5? Battlestar Galactica? Iron Man? Spiderman? I can provide you the links to the photos of cosplay in those universes if you really want to see them, but then anyone can Google. I suppose that you might define ‘good’ or ‘literary’ SF as excluding anything that you dislike, and apparently you dislike anything that you see as providing means for ‘escapism’, but that would seem awkward when so many science fiction settings are equally guilty of immersive qualities.

[Jonathan McCalmont]

Brian --

Firstly, I'm a gamer. I do immersion every monday night. So the idea that I'm anti-immersion is without foundation. It's also interesting as Scott (I think it was Scott) accused me of skirting immersion but you're seeing what I wrote as a rant against it.

Honestly, I don't see where you're reading any negativity into what I wrote. I don't look down my nose at fantasy in the least. If anything, this whole project was motivated by my trying to find something to grab onto in fantasy. After Scott's last post it might just be that I don't read fantasy because I don't like or agree with the philosophical underpinnings of it but I don't think that fantasy fans are idiots and I don't look down my nose at the genre or have a problem with immersion.

As for the Frodo bit, I'm comparing the symbolic approach to characterisation favoured by mainstream lit to the approach of characterisation on display in LotR. If there's a tension between the two accounts it's because I'm saying they're different.

As for the stuff on Rohan I disagree with you but really am not interested in discussing it, sorry.

[Brian Malone]

Fair enough. It's your gig after all. Just take what I said for whatever you think it's worth.

[Jonathan McCalmont]

That's cool :-) I really don't bear any ill will or contempt for fantasy fans.

I don't think I am one but I think fantasy's as complex a genre as any other and I have a great more deal respect for fantasy writers than I did when I started this project.

I'll write up my Shadowplay review and then leave the fantasy alone for a while, I think.

[Scott Bakker]

I'm not trying to second-guess your motives, Jonathan - it just read as condescending to me, is all. I certainly don't think you were trying to be, and given the notoriety of the 'tone problem' in web exchanges, I'm entirely willing to say it's more a product of my reading than your writing. Me saying as much, though, is neither 'crude nor unfair' - especially given the way I qualify the statement. And for your part, you gotta that not intending to sound condescending has very little to do with whether your piece actually strikes people that way. Only people can tell you that. That's the kind of feedback I was assuming that you wanted.

But...

You have to admit, using a pejorative like 'fat fantasy' isn't a very convincing way to begin! It's almost like saying, 'I don't get bimbos, but a lot of people seem to like them, so I'm going to look into things in the hopes of giving the broads a fairer shake.'

Just a couple of quick qualifications: I said 'epic fantasy is pretty much the only genre dedicated to tickling the awe-bone,' which is a far cry from saying epic fantasy has a lock on awe. If there's another genre dedicated to exploring the objective sublime, I would love to check it out.

I'm not sure what you mean by "Of course nobody's really dead in fantasy..." It seems to me that you're misreading my criticism of your original claim that fantasy worlds are worlds of things, not laws. I wasn't talking about people, but the way in which the world is like extended family in epic fantasies, things to be understood via social categories, as so not truly 'things' at all.

Otherwise, you have to explain to how any genre can be true or false - let alone one that identifies itself as 'fantasy'! Isn't the falsity the very point? I have no idea what you mean here.

So, to take stock: I'm saying that your account gives epic fantasy short shrift, that your point-of-departure is problematic (self-identifying yourself as a philosopher among philistines, characterizing the very thing you claim to be fairly evaluating in pejorative terms), and that there's many crucial dimensions to the genre that you simply fail to consider, such as the role of spectacle and awe, the parallels to myth and scripture, not to mention the socio-historical conditions of its appeal. These are pretty stiff criticisms, I admit, but if it really is your intention to give the genre a fair shake, you should confront them head on, and be entirely open to revising your views.

The alternative is insisting that you've covered all that's worth covering, and that you somehow managed to more or less nail the matter your first time out. But really, what are the odds of that? I've been writing, reading, and thinking about the genre for well nigh 20 years, and I don't think I have anything taped, let alone nailed!

[Jonathan McCalmont]

Scott --

Firstly, you're misunderstanding me.

When I compared myself to philosophers among philistines I was specifically referring to Hal Duncan's characterisation of the extremes of the debate and made it clear that I was using the terms with the same degree of eye-rolling as Hal was. If I had to pick the side then I'm on "the philosophers" simply because I wasn't championing immersion as the be-all of literature.

I made this use of language clear as I did with the term "fat fantasy". When I say that I don't mean the term pejoratively but rather as a jargon-free short-hand for a certain kind of book, it is not a matter of tone to read me as intending the term pejoratively but willful misinterpretation.

Frankly, to chew me out over the use of the term "fat fantasy" and then choose an analogous situation in which I'm painted as a sexist suggests a remarkable lack of irony on your part. If "fat fantasy" is pejorative then you're comparing me to a sexist. The choice of language is doubly absurd due to its emotive character.

Secondly, regarding genres being false, I simply mean to express intellectual discomfort regarding the romanticism that you claim suffuses fantasy. This discomfort is on a par with that experienced by a socialist when he reads Atlas Shrugged. I know that it isn't real, but it does rub me the wrong way as a person with views that are essentially reductive physical materialism. However, as Hal rightly points out... fantasy is no more wedded to romanticism than modernism or even post-modernism.

I agree that there are aspects of the genre that I have failed to completely engage with (I've touched on mythology but not on any of the other aspects you mention), but I don't think I ever needed these things.

Your philosophical training is doing you an injustice here as, given what you have said in that second to last paragraph, there are perhaps no more than a dozen people in the world who can actually appreciate fantasy. Weirdly enough, when I talked to various fantasy fans before coming up with my initial model, NONE of them mentioned that they read the genre for its relationship with scripture. By your logic then, none of these fantasy fans actually appreciates fantasy. It's you, John Clute and a few other guys.

When most fantasy fans sit down to a piece of fantasy, they don't have a full critical understanding of the genre... they have things they like and things that they don't like. What I was attempting with these articles was to try and work out what belief-system or set of values enabled people to sit down in front of 800 pages of fantasy and rub their hands together.

Even by this more modest benchmark, I am fully aware that I have fallen someway short of the mark. But I would argue that it's enough to be getting on with.

In truth, I'm not even sure what you're looking for in a theory of fantasy as clearly the romanticised religious stuff that you're talking about doesn't encompass all of the fantasy genre. In fact, as I said earlier, I think it's impossible to define a genre so any attempt to say "this is what SF is all about" or "this is what fantasy" is all about is instantly doomed to the failure that will inevitably come with someone writing a book that is fantasy or SF but doesn't fit those demarcation criteria.

So instead, the way to look at it, as a critic, is to pick up what's useful when dealing with the book that's in front of you and if patterns emerge then great.

I tried to come to a genre that I didn't like and put together a conceptual toolbox that would allow me to look at a novel of this loose sub-genre with a fresh set of eyes. Was it useful to me? hell yes. Might it be useful to someone else that turns his nose up at fantasy? absolutely. Will it provide a full theory of the nature of fantasy? no... but then nothing will.

So I can quite happily live with your criticisms and my own failings as a critic and continue on my merry way attempting to improve my conceptual toolbox and critical skills.

But one thing's for sure, I won't be touching the fat fantasy genre again for ages. Frankly, I can live without the hate mail (real honest to buddha hate emails) that I've received over this.

I'll be sure to be familiar with scripture before I deign to try and understand a fantasy novel again.

You're taking what I said WAAAAAAY too seriously. I was just trying to explain why it struck me as condescending on my initial read. It's just a question of tactics, that's all.

Otherwise, you're stuffing alot of straw into my points. Do you really think I'm suggesting only 12 people 'get' fantasy? Of course not. I'm just saying, don't give into the defensive reflex: there's a lot to debate here.

And do you really think I'm accusing you of sexism? Of course not.

I think I understand what you mean by 'false,' now, though this is the first time I've encountered someone who's METAPHYSICAL commitments made a given genre difficult to read!

What I don't understand now is what you mean by my 'romanticising' the genre.

As for the hate mail, it just means you succeeded in pushing buttons. It's time for a full-scale offensive, not withdrawal!