Dear Max Gladstone: Make sure
your novels are, well, novel
By Ayan Agarwal
I’m not
a difficult man to please. All I ask is that you dare to be different! I swear,
I’ll be leaps happier that you took a swing at a wild concept than if you stick
with the classic tropes and give me another Hobbit.
Every fantasy fanatic has read tons of those. We still remember our
favorites - because they were different.
I’ll
acknowledge that I’m not your average fantasy consumer. You won’t find many
Ayan’s out there who appreciate the value of an interesting twist on fantasy or
the blending of seemingly strange themes. Economically speaking, it makes sense
to stick with what works. I get it. Publishing derivative texts seems to be
more successful than taking a risk on something fresh. There’s also a distinct
familiarity in the standard tropes of fantasy that are guaranteed to leave the
reader content. But I don’t think fantasy is designed to leave a reader feeling
content. I read fantasy to dive into an incredible concept. I want my rear to
go numb on the toilet seat because I’m so captured by the pages flipping
through my hands.
My
‘narrative kink’ is simple: make it novel. When I was in 3rd grade,
I essentially stopped reading fiction because I felt I had read it all. I had read
all the classics and seen all the sights. Every new book I picked up seemed
like something I’d read earlier – just under different circumstances with
slight modifications. The Hero’s Journey made fantasy almost formulaic: An
unexpected / unprepared hero finds a mentor, kills a beast, saves/defends
humanity, and falls in love somewhere on the way. Woo hoo.
I can point out dozens of incredibly memorable
story moments that could be defined as ‘narrative kinks’. But I’ve realized my
true kink doesn’t come from a plot element. Rather, reading a concept that
completely turns my head around makes a book memorable for me. It’s the scenes
where you stop and appreciate the author’s creativity and the story’s
incredible framework that are memorable. I think many of the familiarities we
see throughout science fiction can be chalked up to common human hopes. For
example, space travel is seen from Star Wars to Star Trek to Ender’s Game. Yet,
each story takes this theme and processes it in a unique way. In Star Wars, one
man/woman faces powers of galactically proportion. Star Trek prompts the reader
to determine the balance between exploring the universe and finding peace. Ender’s
Game moves into an analysis of xenophobia and human psychology, looking at the loneliness
that exists in the universe. Though all based loosely on the same framework of
space, each of these stories is memorable for me. Thus, I don’t ask that the
fundamentals of the story be wild for the sake of being unique. I mean, we all
know where that leads (Mrs. Townsend mentioned this
man’s wonderful work in class one day. Though, to be fair, she told us not to google
him. Curiosity killed the cat.)
Take
Peter Beagle’s The Last Unicorn, for
example. The story’s framework is incredibly
trope-y. It’s similar to every stereotypical fantasy book ever written, but
still one of the best I’ve read. This book stood out to me for it’s consciousness
of it’s own tropeyness. In the very first pages, the story presents two hunters
in a lilac wood debating the existence of unicorns. These characters have a
conversation and eventually agree that fairy tales are not real (while simultaneously
existing in one). Moments like this throughout the book made it incredibly
humorous and unique. Beyond the comedy, The
Last Unicorn also changed the classic themes of fantasy novels. Beagle
presented the theme of belief as the blurring of two different worlds: the
familiar and the fantastic. In all other fantasy novels I’ve read, belief is
based entirely around a world created by the author. For the first time, I felt
as if the world built within the book could only exist with pieces of my world.
It was inspiring, memorable, and narratively-kinky.
So there
you have it. I don’t expect for fantasy authors to start completely redefining
the genre. Classical tropes are classical for a reason. It works. It’s good. It’s
just not great. Break the mold, try something incredible, and - most importantly
- be novel.
Dear Ayan,
ReplyDeleteThere's that whole It's a Wonderful Life line about every time a bell rings, an angel gets its wings. Perhaps if we're lucky, every time a publisher stumbles across a post like this, some author with a risky manuscript and exciting ideas will get their chance to appear on a bookstore or library shelf. It's that slow tide of people more like Ayan, and less like "everybody else" (whatever that truly means), that can turn the tide and create a new sense of what's exciting, or even what's normative.
I wish you many more truly novel reading experiences in the future!
best,
TT