Heroika Skirmishers

Quite a few years ago now I fell in love with the "Thieves World" anthology series. These were one of the very first "shared world" anthologies, in which different writers wrote tales in the same setting and had the characters interact with each other. A writer that really caught my attention from that series was Janet Morris, and I went on to read many books by her. She's one of my favorite fantasy authors.

A couple of years back, I got an opportunity to write a story for an anthology called Heroika Skirmishers, which was conceived by Janet Morris. This is the second in the Heroika series. The first was Dragon Eaters, and I've read and reviewed that one on Goodreads and Amazon. It was an excellent collection.

I was incredibly thrilled to be able to write a story for Ms. Morris and I'm happy with the tale that came out. It's called, "In the Season of Rust." The editor of the anthology, A. L. Butcher, is doing a series of short interviews with the authors in the book, and with their characters. I had fun with that, particularly for my character, who is named "Sheaugu." That interview has gone up now and you can find it here if you're interested. I hope you are.

If you'd like to see more about the book, you can find it on Amazon:

There's Rules, and There's Rules

My post today was triggered by something I read over at Writtenwyrd’s blog. Particularly, she posted Lawrence Watt-Evan's “Laws of Fantasy.” Thanks, Writtenwyrd.

Although I agree in principle with most of these rules, I do have a pedantic bone to pick here and there. Here’s my response to the rules:

1. Watt-Evans' First Law of Fantasy: Stories are about people.

-- I’m afraid this isn’t always true. Nor should it be. Personally, I generally prefer stories about people. But fantasy can also be a literature of ideas, in which the people are secondary. I think this happens more in SF than fantasy, but I can see it in fantasy. And, what of those writers who truly try to imagine an “alien” people. Certainly, most races in Fantasy are thinly veiled humans with pointed ears etc., but does that have to be? Mr. Watt-Evans may, of course, be defining people broadly, and that would dispense with most of my objection.

2. Watt-Evans' Second Law of Fantasy: People are never wholly good or wholly evil, and therefore characters should never be wholly good or wholly evil.

-- Here we have a problem with logic. Mr. Watt-Evans is absolutely correct in saying that real life people aren’t wholly good or wholly evil. The second part of his law doesn’t necessarily follow, however. The problem is that, by his own statement, these laws deal with “fantasy.” That means we’re already outside the realm of “real life.” Magic doesn’t work in the real world. So, if we are not allowing “unreal” characters then how can we allow unreal magic? One of the great powers of fantasy, of fiction in general, is that it allows us to contemplate and experience that which isn’t real. There is not only room in fantasy for unreal characters such as those who are wholly evil or wholly good, but one could argue that there is a demand at times for exactly that kind of character.

3. Watt-Evans' Third Law of Fantasy: The basic human motivations are universal.

-- I agree completely with this one. It does not necessarily follow, however, that all human characters in fantasy should have only real life human motivations. See my commentary under #2.

4. Watt-Evans' Fourth Law of Fantasy: Everything other than the basic human motivations will vary, depending on the cultural setting.

-- I agree. Culture is very powerful and most fantasy writers (including myself) struggle in developing realistic seeming cultures and properly predicting what the humans in those cultures will do.

5. Watt-Evans' Fifth Law of Fantasy: Magic, like everything else, has rules.

-- Again, I generally agree. Personally, I much prefer stories in which magic has clearly defined rules (although they don’t have to agree with the normal physical laws of our universe), and has a cost attached to using it. I’ve actually seen a literary writer deliberately break this rule for effect, however, and though I didn’t like it, I could accept it as an experiment. This is pretty much an exception, though, and doesn’t disprove for me the validity of this fifth law.

6. Watt-Evans' Sixth Law of Fantasy: If a story can be written without a fantasy element, then don't bother with the fantasy element.

-- I agree that fantasy elements should not just be thrown in. They should be integral to the story. However, doesn’t most “magical realism” violate the sixth principle? Many of the magical realism stories I’ve read could have been told without the fantasy elements. But they would have lost something, something I couldn’t necessarily define.
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Fantasy Heroes: Sword and Sorcery

I thought I might run a short series of posts on the nature of fantasy heroes. My comments will necessarily be rather broad and there may be plenty of exceptions to these rules, but this is my general reading on the subject. Feel free to throw in your two cents, or a buck 0 five if you're a mind to. I begin with Sword and Sorcery.

Conan is the archetypal Sword and Sorcery hero, though in many ways the character Kane from Karl Edward Wagner's books is the most original and powerful of these heroes. The traits of the Sword and Sorcery hero are:

1. They are bigger than life. Almost all physical features are described to the extreme. They are faster, stronger, and more dangerous than real life people. This doesn't mean, though, that they are supernatural or have special powers of any kind. They are like a human who has been honed and honed and honed as a weapon.

2. They have an indomitable will to survive. They can stand immense amounts of pain. They will not give up, even though they may on occasion feel fear or dread. Most of them particularly dislike sorcery. Karl Wagner's Kane is an exception to this; he is a sorcerer.

3. They are quick to resort to violence. They are very good at it and have no qualms about using it.

4. They are quick witted but generally not given to philosophical debate and considerations. Karl Wagner's Kane is, again, an exception. Robert E. Howard's Conan is an exception more often than most casual readers think.

5. They like action and can get bored easily, though they are also capable of predator-like patience when the situation demands it. They usually delight in pleasures of the flesh, such as drink and sex.

6. They are usually loners.

7. They are usually wanderers.

8. They are often at least on the edge of being amoral. They may often be, or have been, criminals, but they do have their own ethics and their own sense of loyalty. Almost all of them are immensely loyal to their friends.

9. They usually have some type of goal to accomplish in a story, but oftentimes that goal is very personal. They want wealth, or revenge, or maybe just some excitement. Power for power's sake seldom interests them, though. Once more, Karl Wagner's Kane is an exception.

Note: In addition to Conan and Kane, other Sword and Sorcery heroes include Druss the Slayer by David Gemmell, Thongor by Lin Carter, and Gath of Baal by James Silke. A particularly notable sword and sorcery hero is Imaro, created by Charles Saunders, which is, as far as I know, the only black hero in this genre. Most of these heroes are male, but a notable exception is Raven, who appeared in a fantasy series by Richard Kirk (whose real name is Robert Holdstock).

Poul Anderson Recalled

One of my favorite authors is much forgotten these days, so I thought I might take a few posts to refresh people’s memories. This is Poul Anderson (1926-2001). Anderson wrote both fantasy and SF with ease, although I personally prefer his fantasy. One of his fantasy series has been on my mind of late. This is his Last Viking trilogy, consisting of The Golden Horn, The Road of the Seahorse, and The Sign of the Raven, all published in 1980 by Zebra books.

These books tell the story of Harald Sigurdharson, better known as Harald Hardrede, who is sometimes called "the real-life Conan." The books are based on as true a history as Anderson could put together from many sources, and though he admitted taking some liberties, he believed that the books were very close to a true picture of Hardrede and his times. The books often do read more as history than fiction.

Hardrede certainly makes a good historical model for Conan. He was born from the blood of Kings, which is different than Conan. And he was never a thief, as Conan was. But he was definitely a reaver and a man of great mirths and melancholies. He was a lover of drink, and of many women--he took two to wife--and he was, quite probably, the greatest warrior of his age. It is said that he was seven feet tall and that he fought with an axe. And even in his fifties he was powerful in battle and always in the forefront. None could top him.

In his youth, Hardrede was much traveled and was quick with languages. Near the age of 15, but already as tall as most men, Harald fought in a battle in which his King and the King's army was cut to pieces. He was one of the few that lived (sounds like Conan), and afterward he traveled to Russia where he lead men in battle for the first time. From there he went to Constantinople where he served the empire and became chief of the Varangian Guard, which was made up of fair-haired northern warriors. He made a name for himself and earned much wealth, which he put to good use in later years when he returned to the north and made himself King of Norway.

Hardrede wanted to be King and yet he chafed at the restraints this placed on him. He was ambitious. He dreamed of a northern empire that no one could break, and he wanted a place for his sons to rule after him. And yet, he also dreamed simply of exploring, of seeing Vinland, or of finding out what lay north of his lands, over the curve of the world. He even took ships into the arctic, though ice turned him back in the only major defeat he ever suffered. Save for his last.

Harald Hardrede died trying to conquer England. He fell at the battle of Stamford Bridge, warring against overwhelming odds, and this was chronicled in the trilogy’s third volume. Anderson did a great job “showing” this battle, making you feel the sweat and the exhaustion, making you smell the blood and hear the shock of shields on shields and axes against flesh.

I remember when I finished the battle scene, I put the book down and just sat quietly for a long time. Hardrede's standard was a raven banner called Landwaster, and it seemed that I could hear the snap of it in the wind behind my head. Though there was no wind in the modern office where I sat.

I tell myself, as an enlightened 21st century man, that war is a nasty and evil thing. That there is no good way to die. I know how desperately I would pray that my son be spared such pain. My rational mind knows that glory is a fleeting thing and not worth its price in pillaged lands and fatherless children, or in trampled fields and dead kine. But sometimes there is a thing in my soul that doesn't quite believe it. I don't like that in myself. But I can't deny it.

I close my eyes and think of frost glittering on spears, of streaming light flashing from helmets and mail and the broad hilts of swords. I think of warhorses, of steam bleeding from their nostrils and their eyes wild. I think of the tramping boots of warriors, and the shock of battle lines coming together beneath black and red banners. I can see the axes, their edges turned copper with gore, and the sleeting drench of arrows. I can hear the whisper of steel, like tearing silk, and the white din of weapons and armor and hate.

And God help me, I think of Harald Hardrede and say: "There was a man."

Exotic Writing, Part 1

One of the attractions of Science Fiction and Fantasy is the taste of the exotic that these genres provide. I’ve never seen in real life the rising of two great moons over the scarlet ruins of a vampire city. I’ve never seen a galleon with sails of white careening through the sky before a dark storm’s winds. I’ve never watched a star eaten by a black hole. But I’ve imagined them.

I remember as a kid how much I hated most “approved” reading because the books locked me into a world with which I was already familiar. The Grapes of Wrath was about farmers, for example. I lived on a farm. Other approved books I read were about people who worked in factories, people who lived in small, rural southern towns, people who struggled to deal with crop failures, people facing religious persecution, people dealing with the tragic deaths of loved ones. I’d think, OK, that was kind of like last Tuesday. Couldn’t I read something that I hadn’t lived through? It was such a relief to toss these “relevant” books aside and join John Carter on a desperate ride across the dead sea bottoms of Barsoom with swords gleaming beneath twin moons.

As I got older I came to appreciate realistic fiction and I enjoy it to this day. I appreciate the effort that goes into telling such tales and I find much of worth in stories of “universal” suffering and joy. But I always still crave that touch of the exotic, that little bit of something that shocks my imagination. I want to see the world as I’ve never quite seen it before, as I don’t see it when I look out my window.

Tomorrow I want to post on ways to work the exotic into one’s fiction. How do you create a meld of the exotic and the real that becomes seamless for the reader. It’ll be a work in progress, because right now I don’t know exactly what I think about this topic. I think it’ll be fun to find out.