The Lounging and the Bon-bons

Followers of this blog will have noticed that I haven’t posted recently. I can hear you all muttering, “He’s lounging in the November Vermont sun eating bon-bons.” Well, I am. But I’ve also been writing articles about fantasy — they’ve just been ending up in other places. For those of you who are curious, here’s a recap:

The Problem with Prophecy: On the role of prophecy and the troubles it presents. Ruminations on the irritating oracle at Delphi, the book of Revelation, and the Bhagavad-Gita. Also, a raging discussion in the comments section.

Depicting the Divine in Epic Fantasy: Gods are all over the place in fantasy, but it’s tricky to do them well. I take a look at a few different approaches here, with discussion of ass trumpets and brain eaters along the way.

Asymmetrical Ass-Kicking: On real life heroism and what it can teach us about the writing of fantasy. If you don’t know the name Miyamoto Musashi, you don’t know about one of the most bad-ass real-life people ever to wield a sword (or two). Myke Cole was generous enough to post this over on his blog, which is filled with great content. If you head over there, it’s well worth spending some time looking around.

Finally and most exciting, the first seven chapters of The Emperor’s Blades are now up for your reading pleasure. You can check them out on, here. Feel free to let me know what you think, either on this blog, or in the comments below the chapters themselves. If you like what you find, please consider pre-ordering the book here. It’s cheaper than waiting for the publication date, and it helps me out a lot!

As always, thanks so much for reading, chatting, and generally loving fantasy. Now, back to my bon-bons.


Thermopylae Was Not a Romantic Comedy

Romantic sucker that I am, I always get caught up in the moment. Don’t pretend like you don’t know the moment I’m talking about. We’ve come to the final, heart-thumping moments of a romantic movie. In a fit of heartbroken resolve, one character decides to leave the other, but wait! His/her true love races to the airport/bus station/train station to catch him/her just before he/she disappears forever, and all the while I’m clutching my popcorn and screaming at the taxi driver to go fucking faster!

Don’t scoff. I’m not alone here. There’s a whole TV Tropes page dedicated to this.

The thing is, though, when the movie is finally over, I start to feel a tiny worm of doubt. What, I start to wonder, is so damn urgent about this particular flight? Don’t these people have cell phones? Land lines? The whole creaking apparatus of the United States Postal System? Couldn’t the one doing all the rushing just send a text: Hey. Raced to the airport, but missed you! I love you. Please come back. It’s not as though there aren’t hundreds of flights leaving Cleveland every day.

We’re not talking about an early South Pacific Islander, who, heartbroken, sets off across the Pacific in a canoe hoping that he might run into something like Hawaii. That would be a really urgent situation. That’s when you really need to haul some serious ass to the beach. But this airport thing? On Expedia, every departure is reversible for the price of a one-way ticket.

Reversibility and complexity, however, can really confuse a good climax. High stakes, by definition, are fairly permanent. More, the possible outcomes of any climax can’t be too complex. Life-and-death scenarios tend to be more effective than Life-or-injury-or-maybe-death-but-probably-not-but-definitely-a-real-possibility-of-some-sadness-that-could-lead-to-long-term-migraine scenarios. Consider the possibilities:

A)   If Melanie doesn’t get the antidote to the poison by noon, she’ll die!

B)   If Melanie doesn’t get the antidote to the poison by noon, she’ll have to experiment with a more complicated set of options. She can cut kale out of her diet, to see what that does to her blood sugar levels. If that works, then maybe she’s ok as long as she doesn’t get bitten again. Alternatively, if the kale-diet fails, she might need to actually avoid all leafy greens for a year. At that point there are some tests she can have done to determine if she’s at greater risk for a tumor that might develop in five to ten years…

A)   If Sandy doesn’t manage to seduce George tonight, he’ll ignore her forever!

B)   If Sandy doesn’t manage to seduce George tonight, well, there’s a party Saturday. And if that doesn’t work, she’ll probably see him after work next Wednesday. Or she could date Jim until Christmas, and then see how things look with George, who, let’s face it, is kind of a loser and doesn’t have that many options. Hell, Sandy could probably play the field until 2017 and still have a chance of landing George if she hasn’t found something better by then.

The trouble is, most real events aren’t binary in nature. Take the American Civil War. I learned in grade school that the crucial event, the one on which everything hinged, was the Battle of Gettysburg. Well… maybe. Or maybe not. At the very least, it’s an extremely simplistic notion. In fact, if you want to see some of the disagreement that still exists regarding the war’s turning point, check out this page. There are twelve candidates listed, the first in 1861, the last in 1864. And then there’s the fact that the people who fought at Gettysburg certainly didn’t realize it was the turning point. The war dragged on for two years after it ended.

This sort of complexity makes for great history dissertations and dinner table arguments, but it seriously complicates the task of a writer. Let’s say, for instance, that you’re writing epic fantasy, one in which the stakes are appropriately high. Eventually, you need to bring it all to a climax, but what to do? You probably want something – an event – that is both obvious and decisive. We might call it, oh, I don’t know… maybe THE LAST BATTLE. Actually, never mind, the term is already taken. Twice.

Still, the narrative advantages of THE LAST BATTLE are obvious. High stakes! Binary outcome! Good triumphs, or evil does!

The trouble is, true “last battles” are pretty rare. Take one of history’s most famous last stands: the Battle of Thermopylae. Three hundred Spartan warriors (with some help) stand against the assembled might of Xerxes and the Persian Empire. They fight heroically, holding the pass for three days, battling to nearly the last man. It’s a truly do-or-die situation. Except it’s not. The Spartans lose the battle and it’s not until next year (479) that the Persians are conclusively defeated at Plataea.

This is a serious pain in the ass, dramatically speaking.

You can see Tolkien grappling with this problem near the end of the Lord of the Rings. After the victory at Pelennor Fields, Aragorn and company are at loose ends. They know, we know, and Tolkien knows that the only thing that matters is whether or not Frodo destroys the Ring. Everyone else could spend the end of the book playing Grand Theft Auto, but that wouldn’t be all that satisfying, dramatically speaking. Tolkien, of course, comes up with a plausible reason for the rest of his cast to tromp all the way over to the Black Gate: they need to distract Sauron, to buy Frodo some space. Fair enough. The battle becomes relevant. But notice that Tolkien is still reliant on a binary event: ring destroyed/ring not destroyed. Without an event like that, it’s tough to have a satisfying climax.

Literary fiction, of course, has long eschewed any attempt at an epic climax. It is acceptable in literary fiction to end on an ambiguous scene in which a middle-aged man contemplates a dilapidated canoe that once belonged to his father while a loon sounds its mournful cry in the distance. I’d like to see someone try that shit with epic fantasy.