Vengeance (Pt. 4)

Vengeance (Pt. 4)

Vengeance smiled as she took hold of the stone. Distantly, Renee could feel the gem, oddly warm to the touch. The longer Vengeance held the stone, the hotter it became, until the water was boiling around it, reddening the flesh of her hand. Renee felt the prickle of distant pain, which throbbed in her mind.

Vengeance’s voice filled her mind.

Do you feel that, Renee?

The pain was beginning to fill Renee’s mind, “Yes.”

That is everything that matters.

“Pain?”

No, the cause of your pain. That is fury, taken material form.

“Whose?”

Vengeance chuckled. You are wiser than I thought. This is the fury of a seraph.

Renee was puzzled, “A seraph?”

Ah, you do not know of them…

A flash of light filled Renee’s world and suddenly she stood inside a large stone chamber. She could still sense the water, still feel it pressing down on her, yet her mind was here, in the chamber. A figure approached from the far side of the chamber. He towered above her, standing almost twice her height. He was as wide in the shoulders as her reach, fingertip to fingertip. His skin was so tanned that it was almost golden, and he wore a shining silver breastplate. Flowing white and red robes hung from his shoulders, and a short white kilt left most of his well-muscled legs visible. Tall white boots rose almost to his knees, and were doubled over at the top to reveal a velvet lining. Glowing white eyes glared down at Renee from behind long blonde hair. He spoke, his voice rumbled deep and shook the chamber, “Why are you here?”

Renee stumbled back, unable to speak.

Massive white wings exploded from the man’s robes, reaching across the chamber, the wingtips touching the great grey columns that supported the domed roof. The glowed softly, as though filled with some inner power. He raised his hand and a flaming sword appeared in it.

Rene screamed in terror. She felt a tug at the back of her mind and the chamber and the man faded away, and her vision was once again filled with rotting wood and dark water.

Renee was still filled with panic, “What was that?’

A seraph. One of the most powerful beings to ever exist. Servants of the Fallen Empire of Erelisia.

“How did they die?”

One of their brothers, more powerful than them, cast them down when the empire fell. He hunted them mercilessly, and destroyed them all. The one you saw was Primaris, the first to rise and the last to fall.

“Is this his fury?”

Vengeance chuckled again, No, unfortunately not. This is the fury of Octavius, the first one hunted down. He fell in Kormouth, but his remains were put on this great ship to be taken south. Alas, she laughed, the ship was destroyed in a horrific storm.

Renee sensed a hint of smugness in Vengeance’s tone. She decided not to question it, instead asking, “What will you use it for?”

Be patient, child, and you shall see.

“I am not a child,” snarled Renee, “You have taken everything from me, you can at least tell me this.”

Vengeance seemed to pause for thought, and then said, I think not. You still owe me much for the life of your love.

Renee could think of nothing to say, so remained silent as Vengeance pocketed the gem and then stepped out of the cabin. To Renee she seemed filled with new vigour. Vengeance looked up and kicked off from the wreck of the ship, speeding towards the surface. The water rushed by, and the silvery scales of fish flashed by. 

Renee couldn’t help but wonder what Doran was doing.

An Introduction to Doranath: Free Weekend

To celebrate 6 months since launch, An Introduction to Doranath will be free this weekend (25/26 of July). If you haven't got it yet, now might be a good time!

To those who have bought it, thanks. 

I would also like to take this occasion to thank everyone who has supported me either by buying my book, or reading The Narrative Within.

The First Book of Cullus

This week sees the arrival of the second instalment of the Creation Myth of Doranath. In it we see the first fall of the Elves, and the Creation of Cullus - First amongst the Gods. I hope you enjoy.

The First Book of Cullus

The Three having ventured through the Universe that was their realm, did return to the World, which they had left in the care of the Elven kind. The World, to both their pride and dismay, had changed. A natural order had been established with their Custodians, the Elves, at the pinnacle of it.

The Elven longevity, and deep understanding of the magics of their Creators, placed them well above the beasts and plants of the World, which they called Ealdcýðð. They took it upon themselves to shape the World to suit their ends, and to carve the mountains into homes for themselves.

Whilst the initiative shown by the Elves did greatly please the Three, they wished to experience their World in a truer sense. To this end, they took on material forms, and each wandered the World alone, experiencing for the first time the pleasures of the physical, and the limitations that were bound to it. Sanas was drawn to the oceans, and spoke with the fish and corals, learning more of the world. Henas travelled the forests and jungles and did take great pleasure in the abundance of life. Goras, so driven by destruction, lifted a new mountain from the soils of the North, causing the World to spew forth its molten blood, and formed with this blood the greatest of mounts: Drael.

No matter where they went, however, the Three did learn the same things. The Elves had become aloof, and shirked their duties as Custodians, instead isolating themselves and caring only for their own. The beasts brought grievances against the Custodians, and begged for some new protectors that would better serve the World.

Upon leaving the World once more, the Three did hatch a new plan. First, they selected the greatest spirits that had formed throughout the world – those which were purest in their essence - and uplifted them, creating the first Gods. These beings had no identities, being simply forces of nature. With such greatly heightened strengths, and consciousness, they did battle furiously amongst themselves and did lay waste to many parts of the World. Appalled, the Three did quell these disputes, and decided upon an even greater endeavour. To guide these new Gods, the Three did sacrifice a small amount of their essences, fusing them into a new being – unique amongst all their creations.

This Being they gave all the knowledge of their creations, and power over all things living. However, having observed the savageness the Lesser Gods, the Three agreed to give more of Henas’ essence – the Essence of Preservation – to this new Being, in the hope that it would seek to preserve the World and all within it. This Being then wandered the World unbidden, learning of its charges, and watching the first Custodians. Then, the Being returned to the Three and accepted its charge, and gave itself identity. It named itself Cullus – using the tongue of the Elves to choose the name -  and did declare that it would be as a Father to the Gods, and to all the creations of the Three.

For a time, the Three observed Cullus and his actions around the World. First, he spoke with all the beasts of the World, listening to their grievances and resolving disputes. Then, he spoke with trees and plants, and found them calm. Moving on, he consulted even the stones, coming to understand their nature. At last he gathered together the Gods and did give them order. He formed them into Three Orders, and did give them each their duties within the World, bringing order from the chaos.

His first duties done, he did rest awhile, observing the goings on of his new Order, and consulting often with both his charges and the Three. Still, he felt an imbalance in the World, a lack of respect for his Order, and an irreverence towards the Three that made him ill at ease. He sought out the heart of this imbalance, and appeared before it. The Elves, offended by Cullus’ creation, and arrogant beyond compare, had raised a great temple to their leader - praying to him rather than to Cullus, the Gods, or the Three.

In a fury that revealed the nature of Cullus - The Storm – he did tear the temple asunder, shattering every stone and grinding it to dust. The Elves he did strip of many of their gifts, so as to punish them for their irreverence. He banished them from their cities, to return only once they had proven willing to serve their original duties as Custodians. He allowed them to retain their longevity, but did curb their powers, bringing them into closer harmony with the World.

In terror and despair the Elven arrogance fled, and they did kneel before Cullus. They begged him for reprieve, forgiveness, and guidance. Merciful but stern, he did give them all three. As Reprieve, he did grant them their own Gods, who answered only to him. As Forgiveness, he did grant them pardon for their past crimes, allowing them a new beginning. For Guidance, he granted them the gift to speak with the beasts and trees as he did, so the World might better communicate its needs to the Custodians. Grateful, the Elves departed their cities, and took up new homes across the World.

Pleased, Cullus rested, planning his next move as Father to the World. Relieved by the success of their Scion, the Three returned once more to Aether and Void, to explore and experiment further. It would take a cataclysm beyond the imagining of even Cullus to bring them once more to the World.

That is all for this week. I hope you enjoyed the First Book of Cullus.
Until next week,
N N B Clarke.

Gender in Fiction: A Q&A with Dr Ana Stevenson

This week's edition of The Narrative Within is 48 hours early, for a variety of reasons. The first and foremost, is due to just how important the post is this week. The title, "Gender in Fiction: A Q&A with Dr Ana Stevenson", should be a giveaway as to why it is important. I invite all my readers to feel free to comment upon, and share this interview, as it covers a very important topic within the world of literature.

The issue of gender, and how it is depicted and discussed in popular culture, is one of the more heated points of debate at present. Television programs, films, books, and video games all present their audiences with competing stances on the matter. For some time now, I have wanted to discuss this in some way. I felt, however, that I would benefit from inviting someone better versed in the subject area to do so.
So I scoured the globe, hunting for someone who could shed light on this topic. Eventually, after extensive searching, I found one such champion in the Northern Hemisphere.
Dr Ana Stevenson, a PhD Graduate of the University of Queensland (Australia), is an historian and academic who recently completed her thesis entitled "The Woman-Slave Analogy: Rhetorical Foundations in American Culture, 1830-1900". As well as being a talented historian and former college-mate of mine, she has a keen interest in gender related matters.
As such, I thought she would be an excellent candidate for my discussion on gender in fiction. Today, I am pleased to present my first interview for The Narrative Within, the topic being Gender in Fiction, with my special guest: Dr Ana Stevenson.

Gender in Fiction: A Q&A with Dr Ana Stevenson

NC: When it comes to fictional literature, and in particular Fantasy, do you feel that such works have an important part to play in the wider discussion of gender, and feminism? If so, why?

AS: Yes, I think all literature, including fantasy, has an important part to play in the wider discussion of gender and feminism.  As an element of popular culture with an ever-growing fan base, fantasy literature has the opportunity to present different possibilities for the representation of gender, because it can validate, challenge, and transcend the lived experience of gender identity.

Some fantasy writers, like George R.R. Martin, have already acknowledged the important influence feminism has had on their work and worldview.  Nor is he alone.  Across science fiction, speculative fiction, dystopian fiction, and historical fiction, Margaret Atwood, Octavia Butler, and Geraldine Brooks, to name just a few, have likewise infused their writing with a feminist perspective.  David Weber’s science fiction also explores female heroes who are strong, damaged, independent – in short, complete people.

This doesn’t mean these authors only present women in their best light, though.  Instead, they use their fiction to problematise and complicate the role of women, both in their fantasy world, and in ours. Their novels have therefore sparked debate and even controversy about the representation of women, gender, sex, power, violence, rape, and bodily autonomy.  I hope that this is a trend that will continue in the future, as new novelists become inspired by – and surpass – their forbears.

NC: Would it be reasonable to argue that works of fiction (and thus, by extension their authors) have become more aware of sensitive issues surrounding gender and feminism?

AS: Some literature has reached a tolerable awareness of gender issues; other literature – even that of prizewinning authors – hasn’t.  This is not to mention issues pertaining to race, sexuality, class, religion, nationality, and a host of other issues – authors need to think about all of these intersecting issues sensitively and reflectively.  Literature should never simply be content with reproducing the status quo.  In the past, concern about the politics of gender in literature and popular culture have often accompanied social movements toward women’s rights.  This happened during the late nineteenth century and the late twentieth century, and is equally true in the present.

Unfortunately, this doesn’t mean that all works of fiction have come to a more progressive view of gender.  Novels can still be misogynistic, not least because of how they depict graphic and gratuitous sexual violence.  For literary scholar Margaret Bruder, the ‘aestheticisation of violence’ that accompanies the visual medium of film represents a disconnection between violence and its consequences.

Other forms of violence can also shape supposedly nuanced approaches to gender in popular culture, under the guise of supposedly liberatory representations of gender.  Fifty Shades of Grey (2014), for example, has been criticised for covertly depicting a form of domestic violence in terms of romance.  This is not a prudish response to BDSM, but rather a concern over the way the female protagonist becomes emotionally and physically isolated over the course of the story.

When there is such a disconcerting overlap between depictions of romance and violence both within and beyond the fantasy genre, as the recent Gamergate controversy has proven, it seems dangerous to become complacent.  

NC: More than once in discussions on gender in Fantasy, a particular argument has arisen. Namely, the argument that the author should model their gender roles on those of the historical period that inspires their own setting. Would you say that this is a fair assessment, or do you feel that it is a defence used by authors who might fear they have depicted one gender unfairly?

AS: This is a very important question.  Since fantasy is imaginative, it’s a bit of a poor excuse for authors to be content with the gender demarcations of our own history and present.  Just think of the different uses of gender across multiple adaptations of Robin Hood.

It’s also important to remember that all popular culture reflects its own era more clearly than the era it seeks to represent.  This is true even when novelists are striving toward historical authenticity.  Fantasy, unlike historical fiction, may seek to engage with an historical era, but it usually depicts more of an imagined history.

Striving toward historical “accuracy” can also have its downfalls.  Take Game of Thrones, for example, which admittedly depicts widely varied representations of gender.  But some commentators find this to be tame when compared to the fluidity of gender during the medieval era.  Others argue that it is not based on medieval history, but actually the early modern period – a discrepancy that is significant for any author who is seeks historical authenticity.  Still others question the use of violence as party of the everyday in Game of Thrones.  It has been pointed out that while the medieval and early modern period were very violent, but this was largely limited to particular spheres, in primary example being the violence of war.  The television series in particular has a degree of frequent and visceral violence is too overwhelming to be authentic.  When there are so many questions about which vision of history inspired a particular text, the fluidity between history and literature is really noticeable.

But what is historical accuracy when it comes to depicting gender?  Women have nearly always been restricted by social conventions – as have men, though arguably to a lesser degree – but they have never been wholly passive to such constraints.  There’s also an important difference between historical fact and the opinions of individual women toward these facts.  Australian women did not have federal suffrage rights until Federation, but what did individuals think about their disenfranchisement?  Some women believed that it was their right to vote; others believed that the public realm of politics would contravene their femininity.[1]  In short, to imagine historical uniformity stifles creativity, but to think about the gaps surrounding gender and gender identity presents wonderful opportunities for the novelist.

NC: Recently, we both read Debra Ferreday’s article ‘GAME OF THRONES, RAPE CULTURE AND FEMINIST FANDOM.’ Rape is an extremely sensitive topic within society, and definitely within writing circles. What are your thoughts on the depiction of rape in fiction?

AS: Debra Ferreday’s article is a great introduction to journalistic, scholarly, and fan responses to rape in popular culture.  There are many competing perspectives on this topic, shaped by a few key questions: how to depict rape; how frequently it should feature in narratives; and whether it should be depicted at all.  I think controversial topics like rape need to be addressed because fiction and popular culture can condemn, but also communicate, the horror and dehumanisation of such acts.  That being said, many if not most representations of rape unfortunately do not achieve this goal.

Since Game of Thrones is so popular – and has so many rape scenes – it’s a really useful example for thinking about this question. Ferreday’s analysis of the way feminist fans reacted to the Jaime-Cersei Lannister rape scene outlines just how different ‘feminist’ responses to rape can be.[2]  One thing that needs to be said is that the process of adaptation – in this case, between the novels and television.   Fans of the books and the television series are deeply attuned to the important differences between the source material.  By ‘botching’ the process of adaptation, from a morally wrong but basically consensual scene in the book to a disturbing rape scene in S04E03, it has been suggested, audiences are compelled to forget that it ever happened.

There should be no need for viewers to silently absolve a character because of faulty adaptation, faulty depiction, or rape as a lazy plot device.  Since rape is a topic of controversy and cultural currency, there is an urgent need to engage with this topic intelligently and sensitively in popular culture.

NC: Does literature, in your opinion, have a duty to discuss social issues such as rape, domestic violence, and the gender gap? What role should it play in the discussion on these topics?

AS: From my perspective, literature can and should play an engaged and even activist role in discussing contemporary social issues.  Amanda Claybaugh’s analysis of nineteenth-century social reform literature describes such works in terms of ‘the novel of purpose’.[3]  If any novel has a purpose, surely it is to bring an empowering and transformative message – particularly regarding social justice – to reading audiences.

Historically, many social reform novels have become popular culture blockbusters, so to speak.  Take Harriet Beecher Stowe’s antislavery novel, Uncle Tom’s Cabin; or, Life Among the Lowly (1852), which became a mass-market sensation during the 1850s in the United States and beyond.  Feminist fiction such as played an instrumental role in consciousness-raising, as have later novels such as Anita Diamant’s The Red Tent (1997).[4]  Similarly, climate change fiction – which has its own genre name, cli-fi – such as Kim Stanley Robinson’s Three Californias Series (1984-1990) plays the activist role, as do disaster blockbuster films such as The Day After Tomorrow (2004), 2012 (2009), and San Andreas (2015).

At the same time, novelists must be acutely aware of a multiplicity of social justice issues so as to be as inclusive as possible.  The novels and films just mentioned each perpetuated racist, sexist, and classist stereotypes, while the cli-fi genre centres mostly on the experience of those living in the West.  On account of their popularity, these assumptions are shared with vast audiences, a process which continues as they are recovered, republished, and become canonical.  Social reform novels remain encumbered by the prejudices of their era, but they also present a radical reimagining of society.

NC: The sensationalisation of sex and rape is in many ways not a new thing in the literary world (cf. Donaldson’s The Chronicles of Thomas Covenant), but Martin’s Game of Thrones saga has certainly upped the ante, in no small way due to its great proliferation, which was only enhanced by the HBO television series. Would you say this is a positive or negative trend, and why?

AS: This is a very important question.  Many have reservations about the sensationalisation of sex and rape in Game of Thrones.  Its feminist potential has been questioned, as well as endorsed, and these alternate perspectives often hinge on the power (both political and physical) seized by female characters, or the prevalence of nudity, sex, and gender violence.  The varying responses to the different rapes also reveal worrying degrees of acceptance.  The rape of virginal Sansa Stark is deplored, whereas perhaps the power-hungry Cersei Lannister deserved it?  And the constant rape of the peasant women of Craster’s Keep is now all but forgotten.  The sensationalisation of rape might, sadly, have the potential to boost ratings and create free advertising in the form of social media outrage, but it also has the potential to lose viewers.

I think there needs to be an important distinction between the nuanced depiction of sex and rape and the sensationalisation of these topics.  The representation of rape in popular culture can bring to light the inequity and perversity of victim blaming and slut shaming.  In this sense, it has the potential to be transformative.  If, however, the representation of rape perpetuates harmful stereotypes about consent, bodily autonomy, and sexuality, then it has the potential to be downright dangerous.

NC: At times, authors and writers might feel obliged to write in a more ‘politically correct’ way, including more dominant female characters, and bringing matters of social justice to the fore in their work, often requiring them to deviate from their original intentions. Do you think that this is modern society guiding and shaping modern literature, or fear of conflict stifling the creativity of modern authors and writers?

AS: I don’t necessarily agree with the foundations of this question because the simple inclusion of ‘a strong woman’ is both tokenistic and misses the point.  It’s not just serving political correctness to include a variety of people across the gender spectrum, from different social and ethnic backgrounds and nationalities, and of different sexual orientations.  Striving toward a more authentic representation of the world should make female characters – as well as non-white, LGBTIQA, and other minority characters – central to many more narratives than is currently the case.  Not every story needs to include all these elements, but greater narrative diversity would disrupt the repetition of stories about young white men, for young white men.

A simple way to even begin thinking about whether or not literature and popular culture is reflective of modern society is to implement The Bedchel Test.  This test, while useful, presents a ridiculously low base-line for the depiction of women in popular culture.  Developed by Alison Bedchel in 1985, The Bedchel Test seeks to “call attention to gender inequality in film” through three simple questions:(1) does the film have at least two named female characters; (2) who talk to each other; and (3) about something other than a man, or children?

A staggering number of films which have a strong or powerful female character do not pass this very simple test.  These include Mulan (1998), Avatar (2009), and The Avengers (2012).  Surprising films – such as How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days (2003) and Fifty Shades of Grey (2014) – do, in fact, pass. This is such a simple litmus test that it has obvious limitations: it does not account for how intrinsic the female characters are to the narrative, nor does it account for sexist content more broadly.  Still, passing The Bedchel Test can lead to commercial success by appealing to wider audiences.  Vastly successful films such as Thor (2012), Frozen (2013), and Cinderella (2015) pass with flying colours.  Frozen passes primarily on account of its depiction of sisterhood, even though other aspects of the narrative could be seen as problematic, while Cinderella has also received competing responses.

In a nutshell, a single interaction between female characters is not representative of women’s lives.  And creativity can be found in greater attention to women’s lives and social justice.  There are artistic and commercial benefits to innovative storytelling, so this should not be too onerous a task for novelists to prioritise.

NC: If a work was written in such a way that it reflected earlier works of literature, works that did not include any significant female characters, would you argue that this work is anti-feminist, or that it was merely an homage in the style of the work it reflected?

AS: Just as contemporary literature reflects its own era, earlier works of literature equally reflected the society in which it was produced.  Historically, the majority of women have not been seen as active contributors to the public sphere, their work in the private sphere has been either undervalued or idealised, and they have not been seen as self-determining individuals.

Of course, there’s a place for male-centric and female-centric literature, as there is film.  When such narratives characterise men and women as full and complicated human beings, novelists are striving toward the validation of women as well as men.  As previously mentioned, however, the majority of films cater for audiences of young white western men, and this bias is similarly true of the literary canon.  (For an amusingly demonstration of how this operates in other contexts, visit the excellent tumblr, ‘Congrats, you have an all male panel!’)  There is an opportunity for new novelists to upturn a literary canon that continues to privilege men’s writing, and to transcend the many limitations of this approach.

On a side note, I’m not particularly fond of the term ‘anti-feminist’ because it does not capture the multiplicity of negative and hostile responses to feminism.  The term ‘post-feminism’ has more contemporary utility, but it still implies that ‘feminism’ has a clearly defined meaning, when its meaning is always shifting, always being contested.[5]

NC: My final question. As you well know, in my writing (possibly due to me also being a student of history) I do extensive research on various elements of my works, whether I am simply plaguing friends with bizarre questions, or reading articles on medieval underwear and makeup. How important is it, when depicting genders, to craft their image and mannerisms using research? Or would you argue that an author should be as original as possible in their depiction, drawing mainly from his or her own mind?   

AS: Popular culture may always reflects the present more so than the past, but this isn’t a reason to abandon the quest for historical authenticity.  Many fiction readers, Hsu-Ming Teo writes, assume that the novels about history are largely factual – something which is often not true.[6]  It’s important for any writer of historical (or historically-inspired) fiction to aim for as much accuracy as possible.

Research can be most effective when novelists identify and understand their own personal biases.  To infuse the ‘facts’ with imagination, novelists should try and understand where research can help challenge their preconceptions about gender identity and gender representation.  If research can help the novelist come to new conclusions about gender, then through imaginative storytelling, so too can the reader be introduced to that which they had not previously considered.

Dr. Ana Stevenson is a Visiting Scholar in the Gender, Sexuality, and Women’s Studies Program at the University of Pittsburgh.  Her research interests include feminism, popular culture, and the relationship between history and literature.  She tweets from @singin_banana.

Thanks to Sheilagh Ilona O’Brien, a Ph.D. candidate in early modern history at The University of Queensland, for her editorial comments.  She tweets from @SheilaghIlona.

---

[1] Audrey Oldfield, Australian Women and the Vote (Melbourne: Cambridge University Press, 1994).

[2] Debra Ferreday, "Game of Thrones, Rape Culture and Feminist Fandom," Australian Feminist Studies 30, no. 83 (2015): 21-36.

[3] Amanda Claybaugh, The Novel of Purpose: Literature and Social Reform in the Anglo-American World (Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 2007).

[4] Lisa Maria Hogeland, Feminism and Its Fictions: The Consciousness-Raising Novel and the Women's Liberation Movement (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 1998).

[5] Angela McRobbie, "Post‐Feminism and Popular Culture," Feminist Media Studies 4, no. 3 (2004): 255-264.

[6] Hsu-Ming Teo, Desert Passions: Orientalism and Romance Novels (Austin: University of Texas Press, 2012).

Good, Evil, and the multitudinous shades of Grey: The motivations of characters

One of the most important elements that can be used to define a character is their motivation. Without motivations, characters seem blank placeholders for the people they should be. Why do characters do what they do? What makes them tick? These are just some of the things we will discuss today.

Motivations

Of late, we have seen a number of films with sinister villains who have used 'evil' means to achieve an end that may not actually be that disagreeable to the audience. This approach allows the writer to demonize an end through the means used. I would suggest the message there is that the ends should never serve to justify the means, I won't delve into the debate on whether the loss of independent freedoms for greater peace/world order is acceptable here. All I will say is that I write here to give voice to my opinions in a forum of others passionate about literature. I imagine that should make my position on the matter quite plain.

Instead, we shall dive into the various motivations of characters within the narrative.

[I want to add here, and wish it to be remembered throughout this article, that not all motivations are constant. People change, and their motivations can be transitive]

The Good

Good guys (here 'guys' will serve as a gender neutral term) should be easy to write, right?

I would say yes, but only if you want a cardboard cutout, stereotype of a character. Real 'good' characters don't merely pop into existence when the narrative requires. They have lives, experiences, beliefs, and opinions; all of which have a bearing on their character. A number of questions that I always ask myself are...

Who are they?

Where are they from?

What do they do for a living? (When not gallivanting about, saving the world.)

Who relies upon them?

Why are they here?

What is their cultural background?

What do they believe in?

All of these questions have a bearing on who the character is, and thus also on their motivations.

There are many possible reasons for why a good guy does what they do. They could be driven by a deep-rooted sense of justice. Another may be seeking to rescue someone. Perhaps (despite being 'good') they seek revenge. 

You should also go into some depth about the motivations that the characters have. While the young, blonde hero with the chiselled jaw might have a strong sense of justice that governs his life, but will he really go across the continent in its pursuit, and if so, why? The wife of the local smith may want revenge for her husband's murder, but if the culprit is a prince from a neighbouring kingdom, will she pursue it to the point of risking starting a war? Once again, if so, why?

Also, five people might have similar motivations, but each will pursue them, live by them, and be guided by them to different degrees.

The Bad

The same guidelines apply to the narrative's villains. The Dark Lord didn't just show up one morning and declare war on the world for no reason.

Some baddies are driven by greed, or bloodlust, or a desire for revenge. Others could be driven by the same motivations as their 'good' counterparts.

To go into more depth, let us look at megalomaniacal baddies. Bad Guy X wants to rule the world. More than one narrative has left it at that, and used that motivation to justify the actions of the protagonist. That doesn't really cut the mustard for me as a reader, or writer. Two questions immediately spring to mind: Why do they want to rule the world? How do they intend to go about it?

Perhaps they want to overthrow mega-corporations, and replace the dysfunctional nations with a unified government for all mankind. Not all of us would be opposed to such a goal. How they go about achieving said goal might be what makes them a hero, or a lunatic. Think about some famous historical figures: Caesar, Charlemagne, Genghis Khan, or Churchill. No one is saying that they were nice guys, indeed they did some horrific things. What did they have in common? They were victos, and we all know who history is written in favour of...

I would also hypothesise that we view victors such as these in a certain light as we like to pretend that evil never wins.

A baddie should have motivations that are just as varied and convincing as those of the good guys. Don't forget, bad people are people too.

All the Grey Areas

I am most certainly not the first to say this, but few 'bad guys' do what they do thinking that they are evil, or are committing evil acts. Nearly all antagonists believe that they are doing the right thing. While it may be 'evil' from the point of view of the protagonist, it might still benefit many. World empires weren't founded on malice.

In this grey area I would also allocate those antagonists who are simply acting in accordance with their nature. Non-human characters in particular often fall into this category (especially computers and robots). Even if the actions of such a character are vile or objectionable, they are not evil or malicious per se.

The following is an excerpt from my upcoming novel Erelisia, and features a character who falls perfectly into this category.

Ashtasth looked absently at its fingernails as it replied, “Why not? I wish to feel the glory of victory once more. I desire the blood of a weaker race, and to watch my armies grind your people into dust. I desire power, and domination over all life.”

The prince spat, and snarled, “You are evil.”

Ashtasth paused, and wheeled upon his captive. Its bronze skin began to darken, growing small spines across its surface, its beautiful features becoming savage. Its teeth, previously perfect and white, yellowed and lengthened into fangs. Leathery wings sprang from its back, shredding its robes. The silver fingernails became talons and its mahogany eyes turned blood red. The beguiling voice became harsh and filled with rage as Ashtasth said, “No. I am no more evil than you are good. Good and evil are childish concepts, created by minds too feeble to face reality!

“All beings behave as their nature dictates. A snake bites, a lion hunts the sheep, men wage war, and the strong dominate the weak. I act in my best interests, seeking to achieve my ambitions, just as you do.” As it spoke, Ashtasth began to return to its bronze form, beauty taking hold once more.

The being moved back to its throne, saying, “The Elder Gods gave me life, those who your kind call the Dark Gods. They gave me the instinct to hunt, and to become stronger. I cannot deny my nature, no more than night can refuse to follow the day.”

Ashtasth has a higher level of awareness of its nature, but is nonetheless bound by it. 

Ultimately, these are simply my own guidelines which I adhere to as a writer. As a reader I always prefer to read characters who have convincing and relatable motivations. 

I hope, as always, that you have enjoyed this week's discussion

Until next time, 

N N B Clarke

A Week of Illness

I find myself struck down by some dastardly variant of the common cold this week, and as such am a little more scatter-brained than usual. As such, I thought it best to hold off on any heavy topics until next week (thus also giving myself more time to work on my studies, and on my upcoming books). So instead of my usual postulation on some matter of writing or another, I though I would grace your screens with three synopses. The first is for my already released work, the second is for the first book in a series of novellas, and the last is for my largest upcoming work, Erelisia.
I hope you all enjoy this.

An Introduction to Doranath

Serving as a reader's introductory guidebook to the fantasy world of Doranath, An Introduction to Doranath, is the first published work by N N B Clarke. In this brief volume, the reader will be introduced to eight significant historical figures of Doranath, from Estalethon the Ancient to Gorren Dasker and the Prisoner. The reader has the opportunity to experience a crucial moment in each figure's life, whether it be a decision that determines the salvation or ruination of their people, or the death of a father. Take a step into the unknown, and begin to uncover the secrets waiting in Doranath.

Karelmar: Hearthkin

Life is never easy, no matter what anyone says. Dana learnt this early. With no parents, no home, and only the clothes upon her back, Dana Hearthkin has almost know the world to be a harsh mistress. Even though luck seems to always be on the side of the orphan thief, she knows that it can all come tumbling down in a moment. When a heist with her only friend goes horribly wrong, the only person that the young thief knows she can turn to is an officer of the law. Will she be given a second chance, or do we all only get one?

Erelisia

Book One of the Elmuthian Saga, Erelisia is a tale of dark gods, treachery, and the indefatigable human spirit. For more that one thousand years, the Erelisian Empire has reigned over Sarentis. However, with the peace and complacency that comes with such longevity, corruption has begun to spread through the echelons of the Empire. Cestius, heir to the Imperial Throne, has been sent to the western borders of the Empire to investigate these matters of corruption within the administration. He soon finds himself embroiled in events that look to shake the foundations of the Empire itself. As a dark god rises, and he faces monstrous foes, Cestius finds himself doubting not only his faith in his gods, but also his faith in those closest to him. At the same time, the youngest legate in the history of the Imperial Legions must find a way to aid his prince, whilst coming to terms with his own destiny.

While corruption and political intrigue threaten the stability of the Capital, a dark god's army is approaching from the west. If Cestius and the legate are to succeed in saving their homeland, they must discover the truth behind the Empire's corruption, and persuade their elders to either accept the changes necessary, or replace them for the good of their people.

There we have it, folks. I apologise for the brevity of this weeks instalment, and I hope to be back in good health by next week. 

If you are interested in getting An Introduction to Doranath, you can get it here.

You can also follow this blog, or my Facebook, to keep up to date on my upcoming work.

All the best,

N N B Clarke

Language in Literature (Part 1 of 2)

This week's belated discussion is a bit of a change of pace for The Narrative Within. Language is, for obvious reasons, an integral part of any form of literature, or writing. Language, and the writing of it, impacts greatly upon the calibre and readability of any given work, whether intended as entertainment or scholarship (these two forms are not mutually exclusive).
Due to the scope of this topic, my discussion on Language in Literature will be split up over two weeks. The first week will look at the use of multiple languages within a text, while the second will look at how we adapt language for effect (and affect) within the narrative.
NB - I will preface this discussion in saying that in addition to English, I have studied (or am studying) Latin, Ancient Greek, and German. As you would rightly deduce from that, I bring certain biases and assumptions to the table for this discussion.

The Authenticity of Language

Leaving academic writing aside for a moment, let us address the issue of authenticity. The question I ask is this:

 'Should a language used away from its natural context be true to its bona fide self, with no adaptations or alterations?'

As always, I would argue that it depends. On what? Context, style, purpose, to name a few reasons. If one is writing an historical fiction novel, let's use the example of one set in Ancient Rome (c. 70 BC), I would make the case that the Latin used in this situation should be meticulous in its accuracy. It should be as precise as a chunk of Cicero's In Verrem, and read like true Latin that one might find written from that period. There is plenty of comparative source material for such writing, and as such a poor attempt will stick out like a sore thumb.

On the other hand, if you are writing a High Fantasy novel that features a Latin/Roman inspired culture, you as the writer have more freedom in the language. While you might draw heavily from Latin (and I don't blame you if you do!), you might also want to lend your own particular feel to it. Maybe you alter the vowels, giving it a more archaic tone, or start playing with the subjunctive in a brutal fashion. Ultimately, as in this situation you are writing in your own universe, you have plenty of freedom. I would still perhaps advise that some care is taken, as whatever language you are playing with still needs to feel like an authentic language at the end of the day.

As you may have deduced, the liberties taken with a given secondary language really are at the discretion of the writer. However, there are some guidelines I like to adhere to. For one, I always keep my intended audience in mind. Different readers will read and react differently to different uses of language. Some might find the use of a secondary language stimulating, others would like the flavour it adds to the narrative, whilst some might be alienated by it. My suggestion in this regard is to use the secondary language sparingly, employing it only where it has a meaningful impact upon the narrative:

            "When the last man passed, Lucian raised a ceremonial spear and launched it high into the air, the pennant of his legion streaming from its haft. As it fell to earth, embedding itself in the Field of Tellius, he cried out loudly enough for the citizens who lined the edge of the field to hear, “Nec deficiemus nec revertemus antequam victoria!”"

Not only is the 'old tongue' phrase brief, it also clearly carries a symbolic and traditional meaning. Further, I do more to empower the use of the secondary language here. In the following scene two characters (Lucian and Fulvius) discuss the 'old tongue' phrase, explaining it, and translating it for the benefit of the reader.

"As they road along the Western Way, Fulvius said, “An ancient and famous saying.”

Lucian glanced over, snapped out of his reverie, and asked, “What was that?”

Fulvius chuckled and said, “Until victory, we shall not cease, nor return.”

Lucian nodded, saying, “Aye, as old as the legions themselves. What of it?”

“It has been a long time since the Legate has cried that at the Field of Tellius and truly wondered whether he would return. It has become more theatre than reality. When the first legion marched out to that cry, every man there knew that death and defeat was a real possibility.”"

Throughout my novel, from which both of these passages originate, I have deliberately used less common Latin vocabulary where possible. This is to give the 'old tongue' its own distinct characteristics and flavour. Even though I have spent an appreciable amount of time working on the 'old tongue' it is still readily identifiable as Latin and (mostly) obeys the rules of that language. I use it sparingly, and only where the narrative's context benefits from its presence.

Creating Your Own Language

I take my hat off to anyone who is willing to attempt this, and would give a bottle of wine to them if they pull it off. When I say 'Creating your own Language", I don't mean a small number of phrases said by one or two characters. I am talking about a fully fledged language. I do have a comment on invented terms and phrases that I will give later, but for now let us talk full languages. Full alphabets (even when derivative), with pronunciation rules, grammar, and in depth linguistic rules are no easy thing to create, hence why it is so rarely done. The name that will come up time and time again when talking about authors who have created their own language is, of course, J.R.R. Tolkien. As many of you would know, he devised the language of the Elves in his fictional universe of Middle Earth, the languages named Quenya and Sindarin. Quenya in particular drew on a number of 'real' languages, including Latin, Welsh, Greek, and Finnish. One must also note that Tolkien was a Professor of Anglo-Saxon, and thus no stranger to the complexities of Language. Most of his lifetime, it seems, was devoted to the creation of Languages.

The daunting level of dedication is clearly one of the deterrents to those considering writing their own language. Alongside this is the knowledge that if you do devise your own language, it will most likely be compared to the high standard set by Tolkien's languages. This said, if you think you can do it, I whole-heartedly encourage you to do so. The literary world can only be enhanced by such endeavours.

Pseudolingua

Something of a pet peeve of mine is when writers (of any discipline) use madey uppey language in their work. My most recent example is in a book that has a form of magic which the author has given a special name. Unfortunately, as a student of Latin, I recognised the word (I am not sure if the author is a Latinist or not), which translates into English as 'man', or more frequently, 'husband'. Now, think back to my remark about the 'intended audience'. Naturally, most author's don't expect their work to be interrogated by a vast number of pedantic classicists, and thus won't necessarily pander to such nitpicking. Most writers (inc. your's truly), will use a word that they would swear they made up, only to find that it is the name of some obscure British village, or what a Roman woman called her beloved. These things happen, I just recommend a bit of research if you intend to make a habit of using a particularly word or phrase with any frequency.

Academia

The use of secondary languages within academia is a little different, but I do want to briefly touch on it. As many would be aware, Ancient Greek and Latin words are frequently used within the sciences (especially biology), though in such a way that is not overly complex. Historians however, are a different kettle of fish. In all honesty, I think it may be that we like to show off our big brains, and rub them in people's collective intellectual faces. As a Classicist, I frequently work with works by historians who have lived in the last few hundred years and who, despite writing primarily in English, are happy to include large chunks of Greek, Latin, German, French, Italian, or Spanish. Partially (particularly when Latin was still widely taught in schools and tertiary institutions), this is due to these historians writing for their peers, rather than the ambiguous 'layman', and thus assuming that the reader can easily translate these slaps of other languages. Other reasons include, of course, showing off the author's proficiency with a given language (especially if they have written something of their own in said language, rather than just quoting an ancient author), or including something that might be considered 'inappropriate' for the masses to read. I hope to discuss the clever ways in which other languages are used in English Academia in greater depth at a later date, as it is a truly fascinating topic.

Once again, thank you for indulging me by reading my ramblings. I hope you have taken something positive away from today's post, and hope you are looking forward to the second instalment on Languages in Literature.

Until then, 

Salue!

NNB CLARKE

Religion in the Narrative

Religion in the modern era is a touchy subject at best. It does, in one way or another, pervade our lives. Everyone seems to have their own viewpoint, their own agenda. Today's discussion will be on religion in fiction, and how we write it. Leave your prejudices at the door.

The Problem

As any good historian knows, no matter how careful you are, you cannot completely separate your biases from your writing. No, I'm serious about this, you really cannot. This applies to your views on religion as well. It applies whether you are writing an historical essay, or the most brilliant piece of high fantasy that will ever exist. Your beliefs, you viewpoint, and your biases will inevitably impact upon how you depict religion in your work, how your characters interact with religion, and how important religion is to your narrative.

This, then, is the problem the writer faces. They must attempt to conceal their own prejudices and depict a 'real' view of religion. Or should they?  More on this soon.

What does NNB CLARKE mean by 'Religion'?

That is a big question.When speaking or writing about religion, I am not speaking just about gods. I am referring to any spiritual belief system. Whether it is an organised group that meets once a week to talk to the invisible beard in the sky, or a band of nudists who occasionally do a dance for the very real succubus in the nearby forest doesn't matter, either way it is religion.

Therefore, when I talk about religion within fiction I am talking about a broad spectrum of institutions, superstitions, and beliefs. On the occasion where I refer to specific forms of religion, don't worry, I will make it clear.

Further, bear in mind that religion in fiction should rarely, if ever,  be exclusively monotheistic, or polytheistic. After all, the real world isn't solely one or the other.

Religion in Fantasy

I have my thoughts on religion in fantasy. Too many, if that is possible.  I will try and make them as lucid and coherent as possible through a number of subheadings.

NO RELIGION - I am always very edgy about this, particularly in fantasy settings. Sentient races - yes, that includes us - seem to have a pathological need to explain the inexplicable, and to justify their existence. Ergo, we create a system of beliefs, and so religion is born. In fantasy most, if not all, authors will be writing about sentient beings. It is, to my mind, unreasonable to assume that these races do not have beliefs. Remember, you don't need a deity to have religion. While there may be some atheists in the world you create, it is unlikely that they would be the dominant 'belief system'.

MONOTHEISM - Monotheism has hung on determinedly for millennia in the 'real world'. The notables are, of course, Judaism, Christianity, and Islam. While one might argue that Christian Saints are an echo of a polytheistic world, that is perhaps best saved for another day. Monotheism revolves around the idea of there being ONE deific being, gender optional, that presides of the universe. It is up to the writer to define this being's limitations, and status. Even in a universe with many heavenly beings, monotheism can occur, as one culture may choose to worship one being, ignoring all the others.

POLYTHEISM - Pantheons. Lightning wielding giants with snowy beards. Buxom women with magical bows. Babies strangling snakes. You get the picture. Polytheism is we often associate with the Classical Past. "Old Europe" as it were. This form of religion is often very popular in fantasy fiction. It works well, is versatile, and is often a more 'active' form of religion. 

ANIMISM - No, not the worship of anime, though I totally understand if you do. Animism (which derives its name from the Latin animus, 'soul', or 'life') is a belief system that believes that the natural world has a spiritual essence. Often considered to be 'less developed' than organised religion, it is popular when writing tribal groups. I personally find animism fascinating, and very enjoyable to have incorporated into a narrative.

THE WORX - My personal preference is to take the lot, with a post-mix coke and a side of fries. When building a world, I like to take cues from the only world I know, the real world. Our world is made up of all of the these belief systems, and more. Why shouldn't a fantasy world be? Even under the heel of imperialist religious oppression, the mind is still free to wander, to wonder, and to belief what it will. A diverse world is a believable one.

My final thoughts on the matter are this: Just as you are entitled to your own beliefs, so are all the characters in your world. Religion helps to define an individual, even in the absence of personal belief. Countless novels have done this well, and I have to shout out to the excellent work done by BioWare in the Dragon Age series. While monotheism takes centre stage in Dragon Age, every encounter with a religious character, piece of doctrine, artefact, or animistic Avvar, does an excellent job of fleshing out an already wondrous world.

Apologies for the brevity of today's discussion, I hope to return to this topic in greater detail in the future. I hope you have enjoyed reading, and thank you for your time.

As always, questions and comments are welcome!

NNB CLARKE

Immortality: Is it right for you?

Immortality in the Narrative

Only a few weeks ago, I wrote my first discussion on balance and credibility within the narrative. As my readers may have guess, the following discussions have sought, and will seek, to delve deeper into various aspects of the narrative that can lead to imbalance. This week is no different, and will probe into the pros and cons of immortality within the fictional narrative.

Types of Immortality

It is best, right off the bat, to define what we are actually talking about when we say 'immortality', as like anything good, it comes in many delicious flavours. My experience as both reader and writer has made it clear that despite the dictionary definition of immortality as 'endless life', fiction has a tendency to put multiple spins on the idea. To this end of definition, I have compiled a short and certainly non-exhaustive list of 'types of immortality' as they may appear in fiction.

Long Lived: Not technically immortality, this does really still fall under the umbrella term. Readers are probably most accustomed to seeing Elves, or similar races, in many different authors' works, being long lived. Other individuals also gain this trait, such as Martin Longbow in Raymond E. Feist's works. This definition comes with the caveat that, besides the extended life span which does still most certainly come to an end, they are in no other way immortal. Martin Longbow, does however, gain this long life by dint of spending a great deal of time within the elven realm, and thus has been affected by the magics of the elves. I am sure most readers can least off a dozen or so examples of long lived characters in fiction that belong to this category.

Undying: Very similar to Long Lived, the only really difference between this form and the aforementioned form, is that an Undying immortal cannot die from natural causes. That is to say, if no harm befalls them, they can live forever. Certainly this form of immortality appears a little more rarely that Long Lived, as it can have potential complications for the narrative, as an intelligent, insightful Undying immortal could have all the answers for problems too frequently, and thus sabotage the logic of some narratives.

Invincible: I have opted to have Invincible and Invulnerable as two separate forms of immortality, for the sake of differentiation. I define invincible characters as being immortal, but with a number of caveats, including: a normal life span, the ability to be harmed, and some physical limitation upon their immortality. A perfect example of this are the comic characters Asterix & Obelix. These characters are mortals, with ordinary life spans, and an ability to be injured, but gain their invincibility via the potation of a magical potion that provides them with a limited period of power.

Invulnerable: Invulnerable characters are much like invincible ones, but with significantly fewer limitations. This form of immortal generally has no dependency on outside sources, but are inherently invulnerable, while still being bound by some sort of limited life span. Whether their invulnerability takes the form of being unable to be harmed (a problematic situation for the narrative at best) or can regenerate in some way after being injured, is at the discretion of the author. Invulnerable characters can be extremely interesting to say the least, when written well. Brent Weeks' Night Angel trilogy is an excellent exemplar of this style of character done well, though the character in question could also arguably fall into the next category as well.

True Immortals: True Immortals are a blend of Undying and Invulnerable, and as such are the dictionary definition of immortal. These characters do appear in fiction, and if written well, can be absolutely fantastic assets in the narrative. If written poorly however...

Balancing Immortals

Naturally each of these has its own pros and cons, and as such, need to be treated differently within the narrative. Again I bow my head to the excellent way in which Brent Weeks engaged the problem of immortality, and executed its depiction in his Night Angel trilogy. If my praise of Weeks seems sycophantic I apologise, but his narrative serves as an excellent example of this topic, and rarely have I encountered such a well balanced system that also serves to drive the narrative.

As you might expect, balancing immortality within the narrative is very important as - here I go again - a poorly written or ill planned depiction of immortality can detract from the strength of the narrative or serve to break the suspension of disbelief. To this matter then, we must look. There are (of course) a number of ways in which immortality may be balanced, and indeed some forms of immortality are intrinsically self-balancing. I have plotted out some methods of balancing immortality below, all of which I expect you will find rather familiar.

The Price: I put it first, because it is the most common, and in my opinion, the most efficacious. Johnny is immortal, but there is a price to pay. This might not seem very original, but it works. Feist did it, Weeks did it, Sanderson did it. Most authors and writers, myself included, have at one point or another used the idea of immortality coming at a price. Sometimes the price may be one to be paid later (Feist's character Pug), or may be paid at indeterminate intervals (Weeks' characters Durzo and Kylar). The Price style of balance creates a plot in and of itself, and often a powerful one at that. To those of us prone to introspection, another obvious price for immortality is present as well: the immortal would have to watch everyone they know and love die, and have that cycle repeat endlessly. While depressing and emotional, I would make the case that unless you intend to write a very long series focusing on one character, this particular form of The Price may not be particularly poignant.

No Eternal Youth: Immortality loses its appeal when you get told that you can live forever, but you will continue to age. This could serve as a potent plot device, but also is a tad predictable, and I daresay more common when writing power hungry and vain villains.

No Free Will: A character cannot die from any wound, or the ravages of time. However, nor can he determine his own path. Perhaps the granter of immortality holds the leash, or perhaps kings war over the amulet that controls this undying tool. A very interesting idea...might keep that one for myself.

The Sleeper: A little bit Davy Jones perhaps. The character is immortal, but is absent for prolonged periods. Perhaps once he of she returns to the 'mortal' realms, they can only stay a week, or a month, before vanishing for another century. Could smell a bit of deus ex machina. 

What about me?

As I said, I have written an immortal character. This character is almost a True Immortal, but has a number of conditions applied to his immortality. Firstly, he never chose to become immortal, and thus loathes the gift in many ways. Secondly, while he can recover from grievous injuries, the recovery time is dependent on the severity of his wounds, thus preventing him from becoming the ultimate killing machine. Thirdly, he becomes cynical as he travels through life, and begins to hate his own kind as he seems the endlessly repeat the same mistakes, regardless of what he does. Beyond that, I will say nothing as he is a key character in a number of my upcoming works.

I will end the discussion there for today, though I would be happy to return to it in even more depth if I was asked to.

I would like to shamelessly plug myself now. Besides my blog, you can follow me on Facebook at https://www.facebook.com/NNBCLARKE and my first published work can be found at http://www.amazon.com.au/Introduction-Doranath-Chronicles-Book-ebook/dp/B00U0JVFR8/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1425081350&sr=8-1&keywords=doranath
If you enjoy my blog, or my published work, please share it as I really do rely heavily on word of mouth promotion at this stage.

Your support, however you wish to show it, is deeply appreciated.

Until next time,

NNB CLARKE

p.s. I intend to alter the appearance of this blog over the next few weeks, due to feedback.

Magicus, μαγικός, drȳcræft, magique, magic

Magic in the Narrative

Today's discussion is on magic, the role it plays in a narrative world, and how I created the magic system that prevails in my own fantasy world.

What is Magic?

Well, how long have you got?

Magic, how we depict it, and how it operates within our narrative is a tricky prospect when writing. It is one of those things in the narrative that is dependant on so very many things: the writer's cultural background; the audience's cultural background; the genre that the narrative belongs to; the desired effect; its importance as a plot device, just to name a few things. I won't get into the culture debate, I'll leave that for someone else.

Even someone who is not 'widely read' will have undoubtedly encountered a number of 'magic systems', or sets of rules within which a particular narrative's magic functions. Every writer/author has their own idea on how magic should exist in their world, some of the idea being their own, and some of it being influenced by things they have read, movies they have watched, or games they have played.

For example, Raymond E Feist's acclaimed Midkemia novels have two 'Paths' of magic, the 'Greater' and 'Lesser', and although at times the boundaries of these disciplines seem a little hazy, the system holds up and seems to function well, fitting the world like a figurative glove. Pratchett's Discworld, much like the diverse cultures and races within it, featured a number of systems, depending on who or what was wielding magic. For Pratchett, witches and wizards used different forms of magic, which was separate from that of the Elves, or any other fey beings. Due in no small part to the late Sir Terry Pratchett's literary mastery, this diverse network of magical systems operated extremely well, and helped breathe life into an already vibrant world. Both of these authors (Feist and Pratchett) employed, but were not restricted to, 'flash-bang' magic, i.e. the use of fireballs, lightning, and other explosively tasty things. I will, for the sake of brevity and the illusion of academic prose, refer to this kind of magic as 'active' magic.

By contrast (excluding the Istari) Tolkien's Middle Earth featured a much more subtle magical system, with magic, as a whole, being more of a background element. Elven magic, and even the rings, could be described as possessing 'compulsion' magic. Other things, such as Elven weapons, were imbued with certain traits and powers. Fireballs, and other 'active' magics were the realm of the wizards, or 'Istari'. I will refer to this more delicate magic as 'subtle' magic.

So, I hear your minds ask, which is right?

BOTH - and by no means are they the only 'types' of magic that appear in narratives. I am simply picking a pair of examples to demonstrate my point.

Perhaps the fundamental thing to remember when looking at magic in fiction is that the magic system in any given narrative is the brainchild of the author. As I said before, these authors draw inspiration from other magic systems they have encountered, and then adjusted it, shaped it if you will, to fit into their world, making it their own. Authors try to make the magic system of their narrative fit their world as well as possible.

For me, the best way to check the efficacy of  a given magic system is to ask a simple question:

 'If I removed the magic from this story, would there be any sort of impact upon this narrative or its world?' 

If the answer is yes, then the magic system works, and makes the narrative a more complete piece of work.

Native Perception of Magic

To make magic 'fit', the residents of a given narrative world must have some opinion, and perception of magic. Even if it is extremely rare, magic should be 'in the public eye'. If you disagree, have a think about this; the human race, until recently (and particularly during the 'Dark' and 'Middle' Ages), genuinely believed in magic. People genuinely believed in magical poultices, curses, witches, and creepy things under the bed (we now know that these are in fact old children's toys, long since abandoned, which have take on an ill aspect). So what is important is how magic is perceived in any given narrative.

The general populace may be suspicious of magic, or worship those who use it. They may be afraid, or consider it a blessing from the God(s). In some worlds it could be a tool or resource (like coal), resulting in a mago-industrial revolution, resulting in magically powered trains, clocks, and street lamps. In another, it may be a rare gift, which only 1 in a million people has. The possibilities are as good as endless.

Writing magic isn't easy, and shouldn't be - but it should be satisfying to write and read. A few things should be thought about early on in the creation process:-

How common is magic? - This is crucial to nail down early. Does everyone have it? If so, are there vastly different degrees of power, or is it equal across the board? If not, does it result in the general population treating the magic users as a 'lesser' or 'tainted' part of society, or perhaps a new upper class that rules with magic? These questions are vitally important, as they shape the world you are writing.

How is it accessed? - Access to magic is another key element of world and plot development. Is magic wielded through some ancillary device, such as a wand, crystal, or staff? Is it operated through speech? Does it require the consumption of something (for example, some forms of magic in Brent Weeks' Night Angel Trilogy require the wielder to be exposed to sunlight), or is it purely mind driven? Nail this down, and it can have an effect on many points within your narrative. For example, think about how detrimental it was for Ron Weasley in Rowling's Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets when his wand was damaged.

How is applied? - How does the magic in your world manifest itself? Is it 'active' or 'subtle'? Is all magic telekinetic, or psychic? How magic is applied (should) have a notable impact on how the populace of a world perceives it. If it is all fireballs and demon summoning, they probably are going to be less than welcoming to the chap who is waving the glowing lump of wood around and laughing maniacally.

Once these points have been established, some more things should be taken into account. Magic will undoubtedly effect governments, religions, and how society functions in general. If magical healing is pervasive in society, for example, would there be as high a rate of death due to infection or accidental injury as humans have historically suffered?

In a medieval setting in particular, both religion and political (for the sake of the argument, feudal) systems would be impacted upon. How, for example, does magic and its application feature in relation to religious doctrine? One possibility is that it could be treated in the same manner as medieval Christianity treated supposed 'witches' -  i.e. burn at the stake or drowning. Or, do priests use magic as part of their work as holy men? An interesting scenario might be one in which a priest uses emotion altering magic to enhance his sermons, making his clergy more likely to react in certain ways. Another possibility would be to look at how certain classes might be impacted. In fact, let's do just that...

The Royal Family of Mages - In a particular world, only a very small group (one bloodline), have any magical powers. This family manages to establish/usurp a kingdom. Their magic can be used in an oppressive manner, or to better the lives of their adoring (or fearing) subjects. If treated with due care and attention, this would be a fantastic plot device for a novel. If used poorly, it would create a terrible imbalance (see last week's blog on credibility).

The Magic Caste  - Those born with, or capable of wielding magic, make up approximately 10% of the population. As such, they are common enough to be an acknowledged part of society, but few enough to be a minority that is discriminated against. Along with limitations to the potency of their power (so many possible reasons for this) this means they become a spurned element of society. Perhaps they are branded, or bear disfiguring marks for identification. Another possibility is that they are born looking different, which only adds to their discrimination.

Magic is Learned - Let's step away from the idea of magic being genetic, and bound only to a percentage of the population. What if the ability to cast magic is present in everyone, but has to be taught? Perhaps to master magic you need some equivalent to a university education. This would have an interesting impact on society, as perhaps only those with the financial resources could become educated in the magic arts. This would certainly create an interesting world.

Balance

You knew, after what you read last week, that this was coming. Balance and credibility, you may have noticed, have a great deal of bearing on magic in narratives. Unrestricted magical power, while not impossible to write, can be more trouble than it is worth. Even an impressive wielder of 'active' and 'subtle' magic, who has ruled an empire for 100 years probably wouldn't have limitless power. Perhaps by using magic to extend his life, he has crippled himself in some other way. Maybe while magically supreme, he is decrepit and cannot move from his throne (akin to Mr House in Fallout: New Vegas). Below are some more fleshed out examples.

The God Emperor - Emperor Vallis Terrenius the Prime ascended to the throne by using his magic to bend all in the imperial court to his will. However, to maintain his position, he must constantly expend his magical energy on the upkeep of this manipulative spells, Should he end those spells, he would face all out rebellion. Thus, he must really on the Imperial Army (whose General is under one of these spells) and his own cadre of mages. Should the loyalty of his mages be lost, Emperor Terrenius would be bound to fall.

The Burning Duke - After the Battle of Tirfal, where he used his fire magic to obliterate the enemy legions, Duke Justinian was hailed a hero. He is often called on by his King to use his legendary powers to vanquish the King's enemies. However, every time he uses his magic, the Duke's life is shortened by a number of years. The greatest threat known has arrived at the border, but the Duke knows that if he faces the enemy with magic, his life will run out...

With these two examples, we see a way of balancing the immeasurable power of a 'super mage' with something else. Not only does this prevent imbalance, it often creates an intriguing plot device.

Arcane vs. Divine

D&D aficionados ahoy! As some readers might have noticed, the magic system in Dungeons & Dragons has inspired many an author. I am sure you can name a fair number of authors, novels, films, or video games that feature a system reminiscent of D&D. You might be wondering why this is...

For me, there are a number of reasons for this.

Credibility to Religion -  In a world where magic and its use are in abundance, a religious system like the ones in the 'real world' would simply not work. Denial of magic would only function up to a point when the walls of the church/temple were built by one woman who quarried, cut, and set the blocks with her mind. Thus, by introducing a dualistic magic system, with 'Arcane' (from the Latin arcanus - 'hidden' or 'secret') and 'Divine' (from Latin divus - 'God') magics available. In this system, the two types of magic, which are drastically different in use and manifestation, are wielded by Wizards/Sorcerers, and Clerics/Priests respectively. With the ability to wield god(s) granted magic, the priests grant their faith a credibility that it would otherwise lack.

Diversity of Forms and Uses - As I said above, Arcane and Divine magics are often very different in their purpose. While Arcane magic is akin to what I define as 'active' magic, Divine is more subtle, and is more about healing and (as gamers would say) 'buffing'. This difference means their is a societal diversity, and prevents all the magic users from being lumped into one basket. This leads to my next point...

Balance - By avoiding allowing one magic user to wield the entire spectrum of magics, regardless of their power or intellect, this dual system holds an inherent balance. Nuff said.

It is just more fun, and more interesting - It really is. Take all these points, and think awhile. It creates a more diverse environment, allowing for more stories, with different results. Diversity is good!

My World

For my world of Doranath I, naturally, have created a special magical system that allows me to tick boxes of my own making. I will briefly run down them, and follow them with a brief narrative of sorts that I wrote to visualise the system, and create my world's perspective on arcane magic. I am sure you will notice some similarities with other systems that you have come across. As I said before, all writers are influenced by other things they have read, heard, or seen. Anyone who says difference is naive. 

Dual System - My world has a dual magic system. Arcane is 'active' magic, and is more potent but at greater cost. Only those born with an Arcane Shard can wield Arcane magic. Divine, or deific, magic can be learned by anyone except Arcane mages (the Arcane shard prevents the presence of any other magic form). However, it is less potent (usually) than arcane magic, and is wholly reliant on practice and mental discipline, as well as religious devotion. There are other restrictions to magic, but...well...Spoilers.

The Arcane Shard - Those born with an Arcane shard suffer a terrible fate. Their mind develops at an accelerated rate, reaching adult maturity at age ten, though the body matures at a normal rate. Arcane power comes from the Arcane shard within their body, which in turn creates power by consuming its host, eventually converting their entire being to pure magical energy, often to dramatic effect. Use of difficult magic speeds up the conversion. Most mages live to a maximum age of thirty.

Appearance - Magic users in my world look different. They have no iris, pupil, or white in their eyes. Their eyes are one solid, luminescent colour that is tied to their native element. This is due to the arcane shard's consumption of the flesh. An adult mage who has used magic often will have blood that glows a matching colour.

Reliance on Elixir - To combat the conversion of flesh to magic, and prevent the magic user going nuclear upon their demise, all arcane wielders use some method to control. The most common form is known as 'the Elixir' which is a mysterious potion that serves to slow the shard's progress through the body. This recipe is carefully controlled, and even most mages do not know it, thus affecting the way in which mages may move around the world, and impacting upon the economy of the world. 

No hard and fast rule on perception - My world is made up of many races and cultures. Thus, the perception of mages varies wildly. The Erelisians see it as a taint, and any mage caught within their territory will be executed. Conversely, the Dwarves of Mount Drael see it as a valuable gift, and Arcane smiths attain great fame as a result.

Excerpt from 'A Brief Account of the People and Customs of Doranath'

Arcana and the Magi

          It is said by the great lore keepers, that after man rose to power, there was a collision of the planes. The plane of Arcana, the birthplace of all magic, other than that of the Gods, somehow merged with our own plane, and mankind received the gift of the Arcane.

            This immense power was not without a cost however, as most mages live only very short lives, until their 30^th year quite often. This is due to a combination of the incredible power they hold within their bodies, which quite often is uncontrollable, and the fact that to be able to utilise their planar gift they must constantly drink of a strange brew made by the men of Darrianus. It is said that is made of the powdered scales of salamanders and various mystical herbs and roots. Without this potion, mages have no way of controlling their magic, and they will die in acute agony.

            I do not know whether it is the magic, the potion or the combination of the two that makes the eyes of a mage so strange. They seem to be lit from within, and never have whites, pupil, nor iris. In some places mages must wear a hood that conceals their eyes so as not to drawn undue attention, or frighten the simple minded, though many mages do this anyway, regardless of their locale.

Conclusion

Here we are, once more, at the end of a discussion. I hope my thoughts and opinions on magic within narratives has been informative, and perhaps even insightful. If lacking that, then I hope at the very least that you have enjoyed this diversion from your daily routine. Thank you again for taking the time to read this.

If you do wish to leave comments, you are more than welcome to, providing they are civil and add to the discussion (or are desperately sycophantic, because a touch of narcissism is a good thing). If you think I have missed a point in my discussion, I would love to know.

Until next time, I bid thee farewell,

NNB CLARKE

P.S. I once again apologise for any typos. I do reread several times after this goes up to double check, but I know I make mistakes.