Where Have All the Cow-Men Gone
From a long bout of abstinence from fantasy novels, I have returned. Today, I am reading The Dragon’s Path by Daniel Abraham. His other series, The Long Price Quartet, didn’t really work with me, since me am dumb fantasy reader.
It’s quite good. His sense of focus doesn’t really jive with mine (which is something I’ll talk about later), but there’s a lot to praise here. I haven’t seen quite as much as I’d like to for purposes of making a solid judgment, but there is one thing I’d like to talk about while it’s still fresh in my mind.
The Dragon’s Path takes place in a world of war and political intrigue, of fighting and carnage and, what I really liked, a world full of all kinds of different races living together. Not always in harmony, mind, but they’re there and they’re raw. It was about the time I saw the first unusual race that it struck me as to just how unusual this was. Races other than human, defined by more than culture. Honest to God alien, weird, scaly, furry, angry, jeweled weirdos walking alongside humanity.
It was then that another question struck me: exactly why did we give up unusual races in fantasy? I guess there’s a few reasons, really.
Some authors are sparse with magic and with creatures in an effort to make them more impactful when they finally do show up. If you think back to the old Conan stories, most of the wizards and sorcerers didn’t do a tremendous lot beyond making people poop themselves or lifting heavy objects as frail old men. And yet, it was pretty intense when that happened, because no one else could do it and no one was really sure what it could do. And, likewise, a hulking lizardman is a lot more scary if there’s only one of him, because you have no idea what he is, exactly, if he doesn’t have a tribe or culture.
But there’s a bigger reason.
The people who accuse fantasy of not being realistic are not exactly wrong and not exactly for the reasons you’re thinking of. “Escapism,” as the word is so often used, usually carries with it the connotation of disingenuousness. It’s not realistic, it’s not accurate and it’s not human. Perhaps in an effort to shed that stereotype, we also shed the magic, the monsters and the races in favor of politics, intrigue and more things that all of us can relate to…like being thrown out a window for discovering a royal incestuous coup.
Who hasn’t that happened to?
I kid, of course.
These practices have worked well for the authors that use them, but I think we might have lost something in our abandonment of fantastic races.
As I said, the people who throw around escapism as equating to disingenuousness are not exactly wrong, but they’re not exactly right, either. When you use fantasy races as cut-and-paste bad guys or nondescript ethereal beings of great wisdom, then yeah, you’re not really creating much beyond cannon fodder and/or plot devices. But when you make a race more than just a name and a war cry, when you apply a culture, an attitude, a struggle and a history, you’re making a commentary on humanity, whether you intended to or not.
I’m not saying that anyone who writes a story in which orcs aren’t all that bad is qualified to give a seminar on race relations, but that story has put an idea out there. It’s made a point that we can accept, refute or apply to our own lives. And when that point is made, when it clicks for the reader, then the conflict from which that point came from is more easy to invest into, making a stronger story.
A strong culture behind an alien race = stronger identity = stronger point = deeper conflict = deeper reader involvement = stronger story.
If you do it right.
And while I make it pretty well known that I don’t really care about worldbuilding, I make an exception when it comes to alien races. The reason being that I loathe when worldbuilding stands segregate from character development. Creating the race and the culture integrates the two. We are closer to the world because we are closer to the race because we are closer to the character of that race. It’s an excellent way of investing the reader in the world without beating him over the head with an epic poem.
And finally…
You remember Star Wars, don’t you? Remember the Tattooine Cantina? Remember seeing all these weird, alien creatures hanging out together? Remember what that felt like?
Wonder.
Awe.
“What the–”
That’s what fantasy is all about.
To me, anyway. It might be something different to you. But then, what do you think? Do you prefer your books bundled with lizardmen or do you prefer a straight-up, no-nonsense human-filled romp?
Tell me.
Tell me everything.
Go read The Dragon’s Path.
Peace.
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