The late genius Sir Terry Pratchett said in many of his talks and texts that classifying fantasy literature as “mere escapism” was an oversimplification. It depends on what you’re escaping from, and what you’re escaping to, he explained.
People read fantasy for plenty of specific reasons, but I see two broad categories that covers them. First, let’s dispense with the two categories I often see on the Internet. I don’t use these labels; they are unhelpful.
The broad categories I refer to are Noblebright and Grimdark. Nobody has ever determined a coherent definition of Grimdark. Noblebright just sounds silly. If you can’t define a label, or everyone has a different definition of it, it is not a useful label.
So please forget those. If anyone asks me “Do you write Noblebright or Grimdark?” I’m going to respond with “I don’t know what those are.”
Why people read is more important
1. Some people read fantasy to escape their world into a better one.
Maybe it’s a fanciful world where you can wave a wand and make cupcakes appear. Or a cool place where people ride dragons and go on adventures instead of riding a stinky bus to get to a soul-grinding job. It might not be the entire world that’s the desirable thing. Maybe it’s just an escape into the mind of a hero, or multiple heroes struggling to do the right thing. Heroes being characters to look up to, characters who doesn’t exist but would make the world better if they did. Or maybe it’s the person the reader wishes they could be, a person who fights monsters instead of placidly accepting them.
Found family is usually family. Adventure is important. Struggle is valued over winning at any cost. The reader is not the same Hobbit at the end of the story as at the beginning-in a good way.
I call that first broad category aspirational fantasy.
Discworld and Lord of the Rings both fit this category. Discworld‘s episodic nature shows, at times, a hapless yet hopeful wizard, an investigator trying to do the right thing, and an elderly but barbarian fighting age as much as monsters. Tolkien wrote the ultimate epic fantasy with lots of heroic characters, all relatable or likeable for different reasons. Robert E. Howard’s Conan also fits, though, the ultimate Sword and Sorcery character. Conan wasn’t some muscly dipshit. He was a gregarious man with principles and honor, and very different from the Conan of the movies. He was a dude you would want to know, if not want to aspire to be.
2. Other people read fantasy to escape into different world that will reflect or explain their lived experiences.
Hostility is often at the core of this sort of fantasy, but not because people aspire to live in a hostile place. I think this is the case when people find their reality is hostile, and that their experience of that hostility is invalidated by the people or institutions around them. What about terrible things experienced in the past? A fantasy narrative explaining how those things could happen might be the only way to explain reality.
Found family might be strongly bonded. Or discarded if necessary. Balance is important. Adventure is a means to get stuff or to get stuff done. The reader doesn’t so much change by the end as knowingly nod at the story’s ability to express truths about real life.
I call this second broad category reflective fantasy.
Game of Thrones fits, as well as the First Law Series. No sane person would want to know most of these characters or live in these worlds. Regular people are completely screwed at the whims of entitled assholes. Honor and principle count for nothing, or even less than nothing. But if you feel like you’re surrounded by entitled assholes pulling the strings in real life while being constantly told what a meritocracy you live in, maybe you want a fantasy story to reflect that reality and see how other characters might struggle through it.
Why read my books during turbulent times?
I write aspirational fantasy.
That doesn’t mean my characters or world fail to reflect reality. It means that I intend to make the reader feel inspired. I write about heroes acting like heroes. With flaws, with mistakes, with loss, fully human, never fully developed at the outset. But heroes.
Those heroes don’t succeed at everything. It gets gritty. It gets brutal. They endure. They give the brutality right back.
I don’t portray villainy as something heroic, and I don’t like narratives that try to justify it. I’m not saying stories unlike mine are without merit. I am saying this is not my intent when I write. I am also saying this intent can go very wrong very quickly. “What are you escaping from, and what are you escaping to?” If it’s escapism to a place that doesn’t inspire, heal, expand, or explain, what do you get?
“Oh, it’s such a hostile world! You can’t trust anyone. Of course you’d need to stab people in the back.” Reflection sometimes turns into justification, and make no mistake: That justification carries into the real world.
No thanks.
So if you feel like times are tough and you need an escape to a place that affirms fighting the good fight is worthwhile, I’m right with you.
So is, I believe, the spirit of Sir Terry Pratchett.
