Don’t rain on my parade

There’s an article I’ve been wanting to write for a very long time. The title was supposed to go along the lines of “In defence of Fantasy Literature”. Luckily, I googled it before I wrote it. It already exists – in several better or less well written versions. This one is my absolute favorite, because it ticks off just about everything I added to my mental synopsis. It was written by Natania Barron, a fantasy writer herself. Though I won’t pretend I’ve heard of Natania, I will certainly give her a high score for both her own blog as well as the article in question.

…but the fact that she so nicely explained what was on MY mind does in fact provide an opening for me aswell;  because I’d like to explain why I read fantasy literature – even if I on occasion dabble in the more creative end of things. As Natania points out so well in her article:

“(…) there’s still an underlying current of distaste, embarrassment, and outright disrespect when it comes to the genre of fantasy.”

Just try reading it on any public transport or other open area where people are likely to see the dust covers. Onlookers get a seriously judgemental look on their face that’s somewhere between patronising and dumbfounded. Granted, some of the colorful cover art does have a rather fairytale tinge to it but that is somehow the modus operandi of that particular genre, period. The old maxim of not judging a book by its cover never rang so true. Some of the best fantasy gems I’ve read had really, really pathetic cover art. There’s plenty of room for improvement there, granted.

I’ve read most of the classics, I’ve read (mostly) french philosophy, I’m think myself reasonably well versed in history, science, the state of our world – politically and economically. I swallow books relating to my profession  like a messed up NFL-stars might swallow codeine. Yet opening a promising, lingering book set in a fantasy, sci-fi or steampunk setting is much like coming home. Provided that I score a book that is well-written, has a reasonable amount of depth and has a gallery of colorful and believeable pro- and antagonists. Harder to find than you might think. In fact, its the sole reason for the existance of this site. To document the very best of what I find (ok, and on occasion jot down a sidenote or two). Regardless of tasteless cover art.

So, exactly, what is coming home? To me it is a sort of scaling back of the human psyche to its fundamental pieces. A good fantasy read will extrapolate whatever is going on in your life and then put the core issues of life, love, ethics, morality – back into perspective. Be it with a flaming sword in hand. Coming home is letting the story lull me into a soft cloud of untouchability, letting me reframe the imagine of whatever has been skewed. I suppose I’m talking about a meditative state. Also, it lets me test ideas, however mad or freakish – in a setting where moral, ethics and world order is not squarely conforming to the one I live in day to day. You would be amazed at the things that can be observed through the eyes of Jon Snow or what can be learned from Paul Atreides.

And as to the element of distaste, doesn’t anyone reflect over the popularity of Police drama’s or murder mystery literature? Not only set in a stark reality but more often than not bloodthirsty, grisly and truly careless as to the nature of human interaction. I turn my TV off whenever I hear a sentence starting with: “Tonights film… yadda exciting…yadda… serial killer” -click-.

How come no one frowns upon a commuter reading a detective novel? I suppose I shouldn’t knock the preferences of others while establishing my own, and I hope it doesn’t come across that way either. My point is that a fantasy novel will often circle around very lofty concepts and in some way elevate the human spirit while a murder mystery tends to debase the aforementioned. Not always, I suppose, but I don’t think I’m wrong in assuming this as a general rule.

There are of course things that I lament in the fantasy department. For one, it would be the erotica. Or sex, even. If the concept of love and morality is the lead motife for a huge heap of fantasy books out there, the erotica is either non-existant, threadbare, ridiculous or just generally laughably badly written. Either that, or its so overabundant and stereotypically Harlequinesque that it just can’t be taken seriously (no names here, I make it a point on this blog never to knock stuff down in favor of just writing about things that in fact are good). I’ve read but a handful of books that would approach the subject without shying away from the grit. One such would be The Song of Fire and Ice by George R.R. Martin. A wonderful read and series, but it has the added benefit of portraying believable, living and human erotica without making it such a childishly overcolored affair. I’d love to add Lynn Flewellings “Nightrunner” to this list – featuring about the only homosexual rogue couple I’ve ever read about in fantasy-land. However I feel that even if the love between Alec and Seregil is wonderfully portrayed, it just lacks that last depth you’d expect between life-long partners. Having said that, the Nightrunner series is a hugely enjoyable read and I recommend it dearly.

And that about covers it. I could easily turn this into a review. And its not. I’m done. There. Form your own opinion. Or re-form it.