Every now and then, my wasting time on the internet will yield something useful beyond a slight increase of my already astonishing and sometimes frightening grasp of Taiwanese sensual arts. And almost always it comes from observing other people complain about things. It was while perusing Something Awful (which I am slowly becoming more convinced that most of my fellow authors are avid readers of) that I came across the inspiration for this blog post.
I’d been following a thread about fantasy book recommendations for awhile, noting who was recommended, nodding along. A lot of the same names kept cropping up: Joe Abercrombie, Scott Lynch, and the like. All good choices, all books I’ve adored, all authors I’m pleased to call friends. But as they kept popping up, I became aware of another recurring theme: the general idea of sifting diamonds from shit. The idea being that these names were the ideal diamonds was something I could agree with readily, but it was the idea that fantasy books, by and large, had a default status of “shit.”
It’s not an idea I hadn’t heard before. Occasionally, while at a party, conference or festival where one or more breeds of authors meet, I’ll hear it: the creaking of aged leather as a smile turns to a frown, the throaty rumble of a hesitant groan and those words.
“Oh…you write…fantasy?”
Always its own sentence in the statement, spoken with the same kind of severity and sympathy one usually saves for condolences over dire illnesses. Certainly, they like some fantasy: George R.R. Martin, Neil Gaiman, any other name that happens to be big enough for them to have caught and used as a buzzword. But generally, and they’re only rarely hesitant to tell me thus, the common viewpoint is that fantasy, by and large, is a churning cauldron of feces that occasionally produces a rare diamond that people happen to like enough to command attention.
This opinion (coming from them) does not bother me. If they don’t like fantasy, that’s fine. If they don’t get fantasy, that’s fine. If they don’t respect fantasy as writing, that’s fine. One writes for no one but oneself if one hopes to write anything true, after all.
But I’d be lying if I said the opinion didn’t bother me at all. Because there are certain circumstances in which it proves discouraging and it was that circumstance that was made evident when I was reading the thread.
When fantasy fans feel that fantasy’s default status is shit, that bothers me.
It’s not something I’ve bothered denying. It’s not something I’ve never thought myself. But the fact that it’s there troubled me enough to turn the question to readers. Specifically, my readers (since I didn’t have ready access to anyone else’s). I sent out on twitter: “People who are jaded toward fantasy: what is it about it that irritates you?” Admittedly, the question wasn’t phrased the best, since if they’re my readers, they likely aren’t jaded toward fantasy to the extent that troubles me.
But useful answers came back, which I really wish I had saved. There were a variety of answers with most at least dipping a toe into the same issue: fantasy feels too reminiscent of itself. Authors tended to echo each other in theme and language and style. Publishers tended to publish the same thing with different covers over and over. With the vast, limitless possibility of the human imagination and a genre whose name is carte blanche to use it, too many authors restricted themselves to the familiar.
#*!*#
See that series of nonsensical punctuation marks right there? I just made that up. I’m calling it a gronktrois. It is used to indicate when the speaker is aware he is about to say something that might irritate a lot of people.
But it has to be said: a lot of fantasy is inherently terrified.
Terrified of change, terrified of coming out and doing their own thing, terrified of going beyond the rules as laid down by tradition, terrified of alienating the readers, whatever. Point being, a lot of fantasy tends to be unwilling to explore, invent, frighten or do something that might fail. This overall terror, I think, manifests itself on three different levels: author, publisher and reader. And we’ll discuss them all.
#*!*#
Dang it.
Readers of my blog will probably not be surprised or amused to see me take an anti-establishment bent again and say we, as authors, tend to be crippled by tradition. There’s this supremely weird idea that you don’t just write fantasy for yourself, but for a long line of the authors that came before you (perhaps echoing herd behavior of tightening against perceived danger, such as the opinion of other authors) ultimately ending in Tolkien. Or maybe Howard, if you’re nasty. I get the idea of wanting to acknowledge authors who have influenced you, I even get the appeal of putting that in your book, but sometimes it feels as though it’s an unspoken rule that you must pay homage to Tolkien in lyricism, prose poetry, feast scenes, a fetish for short dudes, whatever.
Credit where it’s due, it’s not always about paying homage to Tolkien. Sometimes it’s about paying anti-homage (egomah?) or setting up the “traditions” specifically to be subverted and thus acknowledging tribute in that way. And sometimes it’s about paying homage to other authors.
Let me be frank and say that I love Scott Lynch. To death (investigation pending). I knew his literature long before I knew him and I’ll say now as I said then that The Lies of Locke Lamora is probably my favorite fantasy book of all. And in that time, there have been a lot of books about thieves, assassins, ne’er do wells who…all seem to do the exact same thing that Lies did. It’s not fair of me to say that people specifically set out to ape Lynch, as it would be totally unfair of me to say that Scott set expectations. An author’s work is always their own, regardless of what it may remind us of and an author owes no obligation, explanation or condensation to anyone but themselves. And yet, the expectations are there.
And they can be reinforced by publishers–
#*!*#
NO! No, this is not what you’re thinking. This is not a rant against publishers. This is not about railing against the man who has taken power from the authors. I love the man. The woman, too (since a few of my editors are). This nebulous, literary being has paid me money that I use to further my knowledge of Taiwanese sensual arts. I understand this creature, as it understands me, and we both understand that the publishing world has changed enough that a sure thing is a very, very appealing asset.
Now, granted, there’s no way to actually publish a sure thing. But you can do everything you can to try and make a sure thing. And that’s where we get things like “reminiscent of Lynch,” “avant Abercrombie,” and “the second head of Brent Weeks, begun as a tumor and given terrible sentience through dark ritual and sanguine powers” (that’s the blurb for my Whey of Shadows book, coming out this fall). With the publishing world forever changing, the idea of having something that taps into an idea or theme that’s already proven to have appeal can be rather sirenesque (that’s a word now!) in its ability to get publishers into it.
And yet, publishers are readers, just as writers are readers, and they all share the same lament: with the endless amount of tools at our disposal, we still tell the same story over and over.
#*!*#
#*!*#
This is not to say that we should feel all that guilty about enjoying certain things, as readers. This is not to say that enjoying one story about lovable, foul-mouthed thieves means we can no longer enjoy any other story about lovable, foul-mouthed thieves. But at the same time, we sort of have fallen into a position of comfort, haven’t we? We praise that which we already know we like, then wonder why publishers don’t publish different stuff and why writers aren’t writing new and exciting things.
It’s about here where it should be easy to launch into a frothy condemnation of how we’re not being challenged, terrified or otherwise having our jimmies rustled by literature. Not by coincidence, this is also where I start to contradict myself because, in a lot of ways, I don’t want that. I certainly want the challenge, I certainly want to be made to feel something by what I read, but I don’t want the author to set out to do that as a response to condemnation. I want the author to write for themselves and to be taken along with their vision. I want to share in their story because it resonates with me, not because it was designed specifically to incite an emotion (be it nostalgia or fear). I want to be a part of that story by choice, not by design.
And this is why I say I don’t want to think that my genre is shit by default, with each diamond being restructured, redesigned and losing a little more luster each time it’s reproduced. This is why I hope we someday reach the point where a story is taken on its own merits, rather than by what memories it evokes in us.
Or maybe that’s just me being pretentious.
What do you think?
What a great post! I completely agree with you Sam, I guess the way publishers thing is that 5* reviews for a book like Lies of Locke Lamora mean that people are looking for things ‘like Locke Lamora’ and so when they get a manuscript in that ‘looks like Locke Lamora’ they are going to be quicker to publish it. As you pointed out, this gritty/assassin/thieve type trend has been around for ages and ages now – doesn’t look like it will go away any time soon.
The thing I would worry about here is people picking up purely these kinds of books and missing out on the more innovative fantasy novels. There are some really, really great fresh takes on Fantasy coming out right now and if you are stuck chasing that next Abercrombie / Lynch style book they are going to pass under your radar.
I agree completely. I think one of the problems is how we define fantasy. Say the word to anyone on the street, and you know you’ll conjure up ideas of dragons, orphans, castles, magic swords- whatever. That’s a problem, and it comes from the reader. Fantasy that doesn’t have those tired foundations of the genre is often labelled as trying too hard to be different. People don’t want to read it because they preemptively describe it as too complex, too out of their depth. Which is a huge problem, because there’s a great deal of stuff that’s not getting the recognition of itself because it doesn’t involve elves and the like, but doesn’t constrain itself to the laws of reality.
I think the problem is the tension between genre fiction as “comfort reading” (epitomised by category romance, which is highly formulaic) and SFF as “fiction of ideas”. Fantasy is perhaps unique in that it embraces both categories, but since formulaic fiction is far more commercially successful than the experimental stuff, it’s inevitably going to colour people’s perceptions of the whole genre.
All we can really do, as readers, writers and publishers, is bring the less formulaic work to the attention of readers who might like it if they knew it existed. And now we can do that through book blogs and social media: word-of-mouth on a global scale. You’re never going to change things overnight, but if you introduce younger readers to the slightly less stereotypical but still commercial stuff, eventually you may get some kind of “genetic drift” as those readers become writers in their turn. Unfortunately I don’t think we’ll see an equivalent of the 60s New Wave SF in the current economic climate, but we can keep the home fires burning in the meantime.
Fantasy is so diverse that you cannot see over the metaphorical landscape from one end to the other. I love that. It means there’s space for things I love as well as things that ‘aren’t my cup of tea’ so-to-speak.
The problem is that Fantasy does not just challenge it can also comfort and reassure (that good will triumph over evil and all those good themes). And depending on my mood I want to be challenged / reassured at different levels. A book that is tropey nonsense one day can be a nice comfort read the next.
The problem therefore lies with the reader and picking a book that matches their mood. Now, if only that was easy to solve…
I dont think you are being overly prententious. I do however think you are showing a naivity concerning your market which if I was your editor or your bank manager would give me pause for concern.
Genre fiction be that fantasy or sci-fi,horror,crime,romance can serve at least two different distinct human needs. On the one hand it can act as a conduit for escaping from the stress filled world of the now into a make believe land of hero’s and villans and good vs evil where 9/10 good does beat evil and the plucky underdog does get the girl. I know I for one lead a bloody intense life full of intellectual challenges a plenty and am not ashamed to admit that I dont always want an edgy book to curl up with at the end of a long day or enroute back from the upteenth meeting of the week.
The other role is of course intellectual stimulation and again genre fiction rises to the challenge admirably on occasion. Who hasnt read a really good sci-fi novel feeling enthused by possibilities or a really good crime whodunnit blown away by a really inventive last minute twist that threw the story on its head.
I guess I am left with a few different questions. Can a story be both comforting and edgy, possibly although there is certainly creative tension there. Can a book be both edgy and $!£?, certainly the bargain bins in supermarkets are full of pap that tried and failed. I guess what really distinguishes the good £$!# from the merely £$1# are the common threads of all good stories, good characterisation, compelling world creation, an appropriate tempo of plot etc none of which is unique to fantasy.
When another author pulls the hoity-toity thing on you, remind them that THEY write fantasy too, since ALL fiction is a fantasy. Genre is mostly a social construct.
Good post.
The Erudite Ogre is a smart man. I agree with him for the most part. He should do a column on this subject.
Oh wait, he does 🙂
There is also a “Sturgeon’s Law” to books, too, Sam, fantasy and every other kind. I will rephrase it in a positive way:
Really good stuff is rare, and should be celebrated. A lot of creative endeavors aren’t as unique as the creators think they are. Also, lots of writers want to be published, and they think the best way to do that is to copy, even subconsciously, something or someone who has done well.
I’m still musing over my thoughts and reactions to this overall, and will try to post something more thoughtful later (when I am not, say, wrangling kids). However, I do want to add one more bit to the equation: generations.
I say this as an addendum to the whole “this looks like that” concept, wherein people inevitably compare this year’s fare to last year’s hit, but fail to realize that the “hit” has recognizable antecedents of 10 or 20 or even 30 years–antecedents that, had the “hit” been published in their time, we would find the hit being considered “market driven” or possibly derivative. Tolkien aside (which is the easy go-to classic everyone knows), many current readers aren’t aware of a lot of the works from previous generations, or if so, only rarely. As such, what is held up as unique or the best at present may, within the context of the history of the genre, isn’t as ground-breaking as the reader may first think.
In other words, within a different generational context, today’s genre trend-setters could just as easily be seen as derivative had then been published 10 or 20 years ago. Timing, as they say, can be everything.
This doesn’t mean that what is ground-braking for someone now isn’t good, or shouldn’t be lauded (or isn’t even, you now, truly ground breaking); each generation of readers arguably have their “Moment Book”–a book that changes everything for them. But one generation’s Moment Book may be an older generation’s, “Hey, that’s a great/new/unique take on X.”
I guess what I’m trying to say is that the cycle can be both large and small in terms of one work following another; wheels within wheels. This doesn’t change the central premise–that fantasy tends to follow its own tail, at least to a certain degree–but I think it’s important to note that that tail can often be longer than current readers may realize, and that what some see as new or unique may not be quite as much so as they think. Context can be a bitch.
I must confess, I am guilty of turning my nose
Up at fantasy—-until—recently.
I had forgotten–lets’ call it temporary
amnesia–my earlier love of edgar rice Burroughs
Books.
I had set them aside for other types of tomes, which
I still love and read–however, recently I have
Revisited fantasy books, albeit, with a jaded,
here goes nothing, attitude.
I was rewarded for my efforts with good, entertaining
reads.
A good story, is a good story, no matter
What label it carries.
The author has the burden to pull you in to their
World, whether it’s present day Oklahoma or
An alternate reality with alien creatures.
“if” the author can pull you into their world
And make you feel the gamut of emotions
Desired they are a success & we (the reader)
Reap the rewards.
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That’s part of the challenge isn’t it?
The genre can seem stale sometimes and it seems harder and harder to find that new fresh book. It seems stores just want to stock the same old same old. A good book will always be a good book though and someone will always be pushing the envelope. Often with swears. So the challenge as a reader becomes the quest for the new and as a writer it becomes finding the line and leaping past it.
Maybe twenty years from now people will say “Gah everything is so Sykesian now, I need something new.”
This is so true – not only of fantasy but other catagories of fiction as well. I no longer read authors I used to adore because they became so formulistic. They wrote the same book over and over with just different character names, or started writing in the “new” hot fad (vampires, occult, time travel, etc.). I still wanted their “old” style which was what had attracted me to them in the first place. I love fantasy because it can be so original yet still contain all the human(like) emotions, but like all fiction, I find some of it great and some of it not so great. A good writer is a good writer, no matter the genre.
Excellent post, yet again.
Success, like birth, brings a death of sorts with it when it comes into being.
What I mean is this: the successful book or body of work becomes something ‘already done’ or passé once sufficiently popular. One can again capture that idea or similar story and make it sing, but can it be made truly original or just tarted up for a new customer?
I think that truly original work can be challenging, but a tarted up piece can make for enjoyable times, too. The difference being that the tart will be forgotten on picking up the next hot piece, while the originals, they linger in the mind and tastes, like a first love. One tries to get that love back by going to the tart, but it ain’t quite the same.
Ah well. Silly metaphors…
I want you to know that you have inspired me to write again. I am so glad that I stumbled across your blog a few months back. Not only do I enjoy reading your books, but I am always intrigued by what you have to say in your blog. I had abandoned writing for quite a while and had forgotten how much I enjoyed it. The fantasy genre has always been my favorite and I am not nearly as well read as I could be but after reading this post that might not be a bad thing. Attempting to write a novel may be more than I can handle, but I have so many ideas (all of which I think are brilliant) and I feel the need to put them on paper again. Thanks to you mostly.
As someone who’s current reading materials fall into the catagories of anthropology or food porn (sometimes both simulataniously) in my biased opinion the literary arts follow a similar course as biological evolution, slow and fairly steady with punctiated bursts of rapid change. There are always those rare authors that are sports and seem to come up with something new and unthought of, but for the most part there are many variations on a theme in the litirary world. Humans stubbornly stick to what they know works, often times it takes that one fearless (or reckless) person to show that something new is possible, and then it takes that much more time for others to recognize the validity of change.
With all of that being said, Griffin is entirely right about tarts. Sometimes a tart, be it apple or literary, is just what is needed at the end of the day, something that won’t keep you up all night thinking, but with enough substance to comfort you into sleep.
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Sam,
Great post. Not sure how you found out about my penchant for short dudes, but that’s a different discussion.
It’s funny what you say about the general masses considering the fantasy genre to be shit. My honesty comes from loving fantasy but not having read many of the genre’s books. I would say that when you get down to it, considering the quantity of fantasy books published and thrown on the Barnes & Noble shelves every year, (comparing that to what most would consider true good-quality fantasy) there’s a lot of fluff out there. But doesn’t that go for any given genre of speculative fiction? I mean, think about horror, sci-fi, or even romance (I know, I know – I shouldn’t have done that. I shouldn’t have amalgamated that word with the central theme of the discussion – but seriously, how many “good” romance novels would the public say are out there?).
Yeah, maybe partly it comes down to keeping things in the same-old fantasy environment that we’re used to – as non-creative as that is. I agree, it’s fantasy – we should be snapping the boundaries of our imagination and taking the genre to any multitude of various worlds our mind can come up with. Yet, we most often tend to come back to a medieval, Renaissance-style, natural world. Hmm..
Lynch’s The Lies of Locke Lamora is undoubtedly superb. One of the factors of this, I believe, is that he made us love the characters. I mean, c’mon, the world wasn’t any different than what we already have ingrained in us as a traditional fantasy backdrop. It’s the way his story wove its way through the characters of the world, I would say, that drew us in.
Interesting notion, fantasy authors harboring some secret intention to, at some degree, pay homage to the genre’s progenitors, the greats – the Tolkiens, Lewises, the (eww) Howards. I don’t know. I think those of us who write fantasy have a desire to write more tales from those worlds that we love. I know you know that; it’s not a novel idea, but that’s where the terror of going outside that comes from. I mean, it’s the Truman Show but in specific style. Maybe the style’s designed (not on purpose) to keep us there; it doesn’t expect us to change direction, to seek another world outside the one we’ve already fallen in love with.
It becomes our duty as fantasy writers to keep looking for holes in that traditional backdrop. It is only through active searching that we’ll find a section of wall porous enough to crack and open up a new section of fantasy.
Thanks for the great post, Sam. I just started Tome of the Undergates, by the way. I’m intrigued.
Sam,
Enjoyed the insightful observations about how fantasy is perceived.
First of all… Hi, my name is Doug and I write fantasy. Took the AA introduction approach because sometimes that what it feels like to admit you write in the genre.
I am an archaeologist, amongst other things, by trade.
http://xenophon.page.tl/Bio.htm
When I told my learned academic colleagues that I intended to try my hand at writing an epic fantasy manuscript, I was met with eye rolls, derisive head shaking, and sniggers behind my back.
This did not dissuade me, but did made me take my efforts underground quietly writing in a vacuum, telling no one of my efforts. After many rejection letters, my first couple of short stories were published under a nom de plume. This encouraged me to continue with my much more ambitious manuscript and finally “come out of the closet” so to speak. Though it is still a work in progress I write as much as I am able in my limited downtime.
I feel that writing a work that is lasting over profitable is a noble goal, and getting something that doesn’t follow the current trends in the genre will be an uphill battle to reach publication.(Sorry, I will not be including vampires or zombies just to be trendy.) I completely agree with you that aping popular authors is not the way to go, though it happens constantly, and each work should be judged on its own merit. As soon as something becomes popular, send in the clones and cheap imitations riding on the coattails of a bestseller’s wake.
They say “Imitation is the sincerest form of flattery” but I do subscribe to this point of view. I think this where the gem in a crock of crap concept comes from. By not being original, the perception of fantasy is tarnished for all.
If you are going to create something, make it your own, yes it may make getting published allot harder and longer process, but the end result is definitely worth it.