So, I’m reading Conqueror’s Shadow by Ari Marmell (recently picked-up Pyr author, too!) and I’ve got to say, I enjoy the heck out of it. The concept is nice (ex-scourge of civilization warlord is forced to do right after his treacherous lieutenants take over his previously wicked ways) and the execution is way better (Marmell’s got that oft-underappreciated and too-rare talent of having some actual vigor in his writing). In general, it’s a really cool take on a classic trope that I think a lot of people should read.
But I’m not here to sing the praises of Marmell’s work. In fact, I’m not going to discuss the book at all beyond an occurrence early in its pages that rankled me and inspired this blog post (sorry, Ari!)
Potential Spoiler Begins.
At one point, Corvis Rebaine, the protagonist, is attempting to interrogate some people who made an attempt against him. He handily dispatches them with a shovel in a really bad-ass scene, but when it comes time to extract information from him, he casts a spell that momentarily makes him look like the skull-plated, spiky warlord he was back in the day to intimidate the fellow.
Potential Spoiler Ends.
And that’s about the time I was jarred from the story. Personally, I didn’t think it was really necessary to do such a thing other than just to have something magical happen because, hey, it’s a fantasy story and it needs magic, doesn’t it? Well, not necessarily. I didn’t see much of a reason why a guy would use that kind of spell when he has just shattered a man’s pelvis with a shovel.
Now, I’ve not finished the book yet and it hasn’t diminished my opinion, so maybe everything gets a little better. But that’s not the point.
My beef was with the choice, not the magic itself. Which leads me to the actual subject of magic in fantasy: is it a handicap or a boon?
It was briefly discussed on Speculative Horizons awhile back, with the general theory being posed by George R.R. Martin’s quote that magic often dilutes a story, diminishing impact and characterization. This is a complaint that has been echoed by a lot of people when it comes to “high magic” settings (we fly on talking storks who take us to forests where grenades grow on trees and armadillos spew fire) versus “low magic” settings (we solve 90% of our problems with swords and the other 10% with swearing and sex).
They’re not entirely wrong, but I think the issue is a little deeper than can be accurately blamed on a trope.
Magic, ideally, is something of a big deal. The ability to affect reality in more tangible ways than we’re used to is a cornerstone of fantasy. As a result, you’ll still see books where a subject of praise is the magic system (Spellwright, The Way of Kings, The Black Prism). What we’re really praising when we praise it, though, is the ability to turn magic into a part of the world, as opposed to something we just throw out because “it’s fantasy, lol.”
And if magic is indeed a big deal, it should ideally provide more impact, more depth, more character. Sadly, there’s no shortage of fantasy that does the exact opposite.
It’s fairly easy for magic to dilute the story, since magic can be fairly easy in general. The Great Darkness can be averted with a magical relic designed specifically to destroy it. The great warrior can be a muscle-bound jerk and a world-class magician, thus making it very hard to feel sympathy for him (because if he can swing a giant sword, hurl fire and get the girl, does he really need us?) It can be really hard to establish mood and tone if there are no certainties owing to the ability to do anything.
And certainty is what it all comes down to: what does magic do and for what reason? It’s a character, a part of the world, and like any other character, it needs to be defined.
What are the limitations? Where does it come from? Why is it channeled by magic words? What does the eye of newt do, specifically, in the potion? Why does a wizard have a spellbook? Why doesn’t he just keep some condensed notes around?
That’s not to say that magic needs to be outlined, regulated and have its own attorney, though. It can be a mystical, nebulous thing that doesn’t abide by any rules, logic or any such thing. But that, too, needs to be certain. If we are certain that magic is an ancient force beyond our reckoning, then it will jar us if Abercrombie the Swineherd can command the plants to speak. If we’re certain that magic is prevalent enough that Abercrombie the Swineherd can command the plants to speak, then it will jar us if people don’t solve most of their problems by magic.
Magic is a complicated thing, plot-wise, and above all, it requires a firm choice. I can see why a lot of people choose to abandon it in their books, it can easily lead to something overly-complex and confusing. If magic can do A and B, but not C, what happens when we need C? Ideally, that conflict is what draws the reader in. But too often, in their search for C, the author will decide that magic suddenly can do C, but just this once and no, they won’t tell you why.
And then we’re not writing a story anymore, we’re just shoehorning things in for the sake of moving things along. And at that point, the reader, too, is merely moving along, going through the motions instead of actually getting involved in the story. The tension is gone and the impact is gone.
When we praise good magic systems, we’re praising the fact that they are part of the plot, not shoehorned in. When we praise stories that are low magic, we’re praising the characters and plot that work without it. As ever, it comes down to my favorite thing ever said by Scott Lynch that was not “do you want ten dollars, Sam”: “There is no such thing as a bad cliche, only a bad way to use them.”
I think that’s a good point and explains why both George RR Martin’s and Robert Jordan’s uses of magic work, despite being totally different. Along the same lines, I’m reminded of Erikson’s response to Martin’s quote, where he says that what matters is how magic’s integrated with the characters, not how much there is: http://asoiaf.westeros.org/index.php/topic/45140-malazan/page__view__findpost__p__2242601. (the link’s to Westeors, because I don’t feel like going through the comments on the initial blog post).
Still, I think it’s true that the more magic you have the harder it is to balance it. Something like Martin’s system, where magic is awe inspiring and strange, is hard to really undermine your whole world with (though I’m not saying it’s easy). When you have sorcerers running around everywhere, though, the amount of potential logic problems goes through the roof (why are people still making candles if these guys can make fire?), though it, too, can obviously be done very, very well.
You’re right, of course, and it basically boils down to making a commitment. You have to decide where magic stands and work off of that. If magic is everywhere, it’s unlikely that wizards are feared/revered. If magic is nowhere, but there is some, there needs to be a reason why.
The best way to do magic, weirdly enough, is to make it slightly less magical. Use rules, use logic, use consistency.
But, as I’ve said, the only rule to writing is “whatever works.”
It’s interesting reading the various takes on how magic should be used in fantasy.
That said, I disagree with most of them, including (in part) Sam’s own. In part, because Mr. Sykes seems to want to have it both ways, though I’m being a bit mendacious here as I understand what he’s trying to articulate. Magic as mystery or magic as a system. Which seems to be boiling it down to be a binary choice.
Making magic a system, doesn’t appeal to me. If the mystical makes sense, follows rules, and produces regular, predictable outcomes, then it’s just science with a funny hat.
I’m against then, choosing to “make it slightly less magical. Use rules, use logic, use consistency.”
Magic being “a mystical, nebulous thing that doesn’t abide by any rules, logic or any such thing.” on the other hand but which needs to be “certain” likewise strikes me as a bit of an oxymoron. If it’s certain, then it’s back to the first example only with less description of how the rules are applied.
“There are three cardinal rules, Mr. Nick: One, “There is no black magic, only cheap tricks.” And… I forget the others.” – The Imaginarium of Doctor Parnassus
In my own stories, I tend to if I must, classify magic into three types. Magic that is not necessarily magic at all, magic that is of the low, cheap trick variety, and finally magic of an entirely different order. Perhaps even the real sort. Magic, which when it enters the story, offers up no explanation, blowing in like a summer storm and departing in much the same manner; and leaves in its wake confusion over whether or not it has acted in the favour of those affected, or brought them inscrutable harm.
I do agree that the writer must at least understand the distinctions – and where they apply. In this case, you can have magic without rules and at the same time a sense of governing logic, even if the latter is for the most part hidden (as it should be) from the reader’s eyes behind the cheap authorial curtain.
Right, I’ll go break my staff now.
Enjoy.
Eric
“Life is like music, it must be composed by ear, feeling and instinct, not by rule. Nevertheless one had better know the rules, for they sometimes guide in doubtful cases, though not often.” – Paracelsus
It’s not so much that I’d like it both ways as I’d like it if people chose one way and went with it. Magic doesn’t necessarily have to have rules all the time and it can be a mystical, nebulous thing, but if that’s the case, it needs to be consistently nebulous and magical as it pertains to characters.
For example, if magic is indeed more on the mystic side than scientific side (and I think I agree with you that “systems” tend more to toward science), then the characters who channel it should also be mystical and exotic. You occasionally see fantasy stories trying to have it both ways: a mystical profession that is studied methodically, a scientific thing that is frequently explained by rolling the shoulders. I’m against that and only that.
I think you’ve summed it up well with the issue of tension. However an author chooses to handle magic, once it’s in there, that book now has some form of expectations (I’ll avoid ‘rules’ for the sake of unweighted words). It’s the same as character development. If you say your character has a cowardly streak, he can’t do something brave for sheer plot’s sake. If overcoming that cowardice is a focus of the character’s growth, there should be signs in the story of that change. No sudden switch, nothing buried so deep we’d never expect it. Things like that break the promise of good story telling.
Same with magic, as I see it. As you say, it’s a character, and it can’t one day overcome its carefully studied nature to do something mysterious and nebulous for plot’s sake. If something in its established nature does change, it needs progress or hints or the like, the same as you watch a character grow rather than seeing a total about face one day.
Both break the expectations of the story, undercutting what we’ve invested time in, and then at any time more Gandalf ex Machina can pop up and change things again, and really we’ve no reason to care after that. We can’t get trapped in a situation wondering how the character/magic will succeed, because we know some other change will just come along and make it work. All the tension dies, and then why bother reading further?
Not to say any slip in magic destroys a book utterly, of course.
We should remember though, that magic has a long history of being treated scientifically. And science, mystically.
Paracelsus thought alchemy and magic to merely be operating by rules not yet discovered; and so he was right, in a way, as chemistry was to later prove. But to divest him of the deeper spirituality and mysticism that was an underlying part of his erratic philosophy is to incorrectly rationalize him.
Likewise most of the great historical “magicians” and alchemists often saw their art as a science or at the least, an attempt to apply heavenly laws to the mundane realm. The mysteries might be linked to supernatural forces, but these forces however mysterious, were not seen as being beyond man’s ability to discover and even bend to their will with the right knowledge.
And how frequent is it even now, for people who have little understanding of science to treat its workings and its results, with a near mystical shrug?
I think it’s perfectly acceptable for characters in a fantasy novel to expect magic to work by certain rules, or at the least, to act as if it does. Or to treat forces and processes whether mystical or not, as magic where they do not understand them. Whether it should, and whether or not those rules themselves can be shown to be anything but wishful thinking, should devolve more into the subtle black arts of the author.
Again, I lean towards magic which is never certain at least to the reader about its underlying nature. Rules that might not really work, and characters who are rarely as in control of the forces they dabble with, than they’d like to believe.
Some good examples that come to mind are M. D. Lachlan’s “Wolfsangel,” Jesse Bullington’s The Sad Tale of The Brothers Grossbart,” and Sussana Clarke’s “Jonathan Strange & Mr. Norrell.” In all these books, magic works by means that are not always certain, far from adequately explained, and yet burst forth with both life and menace in ways that the practitioners are not always expecting.
There is also a great scene I’d recommend in Lev Grossman’s flawed novel “The Magicians.” In it, a classroom of young magicians at a Hogwarts styled school of magic are tragically disturbed by the appearance of an otherworldly “Beast.” In this short passage the thin veneer of the students’ and even the masters’ understanding and control over magic is shattered, and we get a glimpse of the dangerous abyss which lies open beneath it. Unfortunately, this is not quite maintained through the rest of the book, but it’s a great stand-alone moment for hitting what I think is exactly the right tone when it comes to handling “magic” systems.
Magic for me, will always be an unreliable narrator.
Eric