Language in Literature (Part 2 of 2)

The use of language in writing goes beyond the words we use, further than what language(s) we employ. The words we put into the mouths of our characters are just as vital to the narrative as the words words we use to describe the pot plant on the window sill.
Amongst the myriad things that will be discussed today are the use of slang, the alteration of speech, and the use of catch-words and -phrases.
Hold onto your horses, trim your (metaphorical) sails, and brace for impact.

What is in a word?

Letter, undoubtedly letters.

You may have heard the turn of phrase, 'a picture is worth a thousand words.' I would make the case here that the careful choice of a word or key phrase is at least worth a few hundred.

Take a moment to think about it. A character might use a certain, uncommon word (e.g. voluptuous instead of shapely) which informs the reader about the character in a clever way. Here is a character who has a specific way of perceiving and and describing appearances. It encourages the reader to think a little more deeply about just who this character is, and why the see the world the way they do. Further, this single use of a word can, when employed skilfully, depict the character more succinctly that an entire page of dry descriptions.

Perhaps a character greets people with 'wotcher' rather than the conventional 'hello.' What does that tell the reader about the character? Does a particular image come to mind of the type of character who might use such word?

For an example that is close to my heart, if someone came up to you in the street, and greeted you with "G'day", what would you immediately assume about them?

The important point here is that how someone speaks is intimately bound to who, and what, they are. Someone who takes part in academic discussion on a regular basis might seem to speak in a normal manner in the opinion of their peers. Ask a builder though, and he might suggest that the individual in question is 'pretentious.' Or, more to the point, he wouldn't. Instead, he might use the phrase "stuck up little ****."

Vocabulary

Thus we plough on into the diverse and wondrous world of vocabulary. That is "what words we know, or don't." A fun little activity before we plunge on into the abyss is always a good idea. Go to www.dictionary.reference.com and punch in some words that you use on a regular basis whether verbally, or in your written work. The website has a wonderful little slider that will tell you how commonly known and used each word is. You might surprise yourself.

The point is that for a writer vocabulary is terrifically important. Unless all your characters are scholars, I would suggest that they should not all speak and write at your level. If you a writing (for example) a dialogue between a prince and a night soil remover, should they speak on the same 'level'? While it is possible to create a scenario that allows them to have matching vocabularies, it is much more likely that they would be talking on different levels.

For every character, the writer should consider their background, education, and environment. The character's voice is one of the most important parts of shaping who they are, and their vocabulary (or lack thereof) should reflect that. A former drill sergeant would certainly use different words to express himself than would an economist, even if they were talking about the same thing.

Let us have a play with the idea. Here is a very plain sentence:

"The police officer walked down the street."

A pickpocketing street urchin might rephrase that as:

"The pig waltzed down the track as though he owned the joint."

Whereas a magistrate might tackle it as follows:

"The senior constable proceeded at a pace along the avenue, carrying out his duties as a law keeper."

In both cases the reader both receives further information about the police officer, and come to understand the speaker better, while still receiving the original message that "the police officer walked down the street."

While the original sentence is perfectly functional, delivering the information in a clear manner, the other versions make for a more interesting, and informative, read.

Slang

Another neat little segue. Slang is an excellent way to define a character's speech. However, for it to do so, it needs to both feel natural, and be understood. If it is complete gibberish (even well written gibberish), it will achieve little in regards to deepening a character. The writer doesn't need to provide a dictionary definition of the slang, or a discourse on the nuances of its use, but the slang should make sense to the reader.

At the same time, slang needs to preserve its sense of mystery. Slang is often restricted in its use. To go back to the Prince and night soil collector, it is quite possible that due to his class, occupation, and social circles, that the night soilman uses slang that the Prince doesn't use or comprehend. In this situation the slang serves not only to flesh out the characters, but to reaffirm the social structure (particular in relation to class divide), in which the Prince is superior. However, because of this class superiority, the Prince is excluded from certain parts of society, not just by rank, but by language. Here, despite their speaking the same language, these two characters are impeded by a language barrier.

The power of language, particularly of slang, should never be underestimated. It can often make the characters, or the entire narrative, seem disingenuous if characters are using language that cannot be logically ascribed to them by the reader. To call up from the distant past my discussion about Credibility, you can extrapolate the importance of appropriate use of language.

In Summary

As I have (hopefully) illuminated here, the words and language used by characters within the narrative plays a huge role in how the reader interprets them. They are shaped by their words, not just their actions, and as such their language should accurately, and consistently reflect who they are.

As always, it feels as though I have barely scratched the surface of the week's topic, but I sincerely hope that it has been of help. I also hope that it has encouraged you to think a little more deeply about how we, as writers, use speech to shape out characters and our narratives.

Until next week!

NNBC

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

Delayed in the works

Just a quick post. Due to various hectic activities since the last post, I have had to delay the upcoming one. It is on the way, but may be a day (or two) late. I will hint that the topic is a tad different to the recent theme.
Thank you for your patience,
N N B 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
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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.

The Issue(s) of Credibility

Day One, Post One. The discussion of 'credible' fiction is something that is is common, at least in my life. What makes one fiction better than another? What makes a fantasy world click? Why does that character just not fit? I will go into some of my thoughts on the matter. However, I doubt this will be the last time I air this discussion here. I hope I answer at least some of my own questions, as well as yours.
For today, I will introduce the topic with reference to Fan Fiction.

The Multifaceted Gem of Fan Fiction
[For a quick definition, despite my edginess as an academic to recommend this site, jump on here: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Fan_fiction] 

Fan Fiction is something that has become increasingly prevalent (at least to my observations) with the rapid growth of the internet and social media in the 21st Century. Often, perhaps too often, it is denigrated by readers, authors, writers, and critics. Beneath the aggression, hatred, and bilious accusations, there is perhaps at least a grain of validity. Fan Fiction is what I would refer to as a 'Free for All' genre, where writers write their own stories, but set them in the world created by another, using the other writer's setting, lore, and characters. This, in itself, does no harm whatsoever, and can be a good way for writers and authors to gain a greater following. However, Fan Fiction, particularly when done poorly, has a habit of breaking the rules of the setting it has appropriated. Again, in and of itself, this is harmless, and often very fun to write and/or read.

However, while this is okay for a Fan Fiction author to do, as they have no binding obligation to produce something that is anything beyond fun. Conversely, an author of non-Fan Fiction must do their best to avoid the temptations of the much more liberal Fan Fiction style. This is so they may maintain the credibility and balance of their narrative, and maintain the suspension of disbelief within their work.

Balance?

Even though a writer technically has freedoms beyond reality in their own work, moderation must take a powerful role within the creative process. While a godlike magic user with immeasurable 'mana' (or your regional equivalent), along with no weaknesses, might be 'cool', or 'exciting', or even 'wicked sick', such a character can unbalance or even break the narrative they exist in. Readers enjoy conflict, they enjoy seeing a character overcome challenges and face setbacks.

If the magic user in question can solve any problem with a wiggle of his or her magical little fingers, stories end as quickly as they began. Such a character becomes, for all intents and purposes, deus ex machina, a godlike character who steps in and saves (or ruins) the day on a whim. Don't get me wrong, used intelligently and sparingly, deus ex machina characters can be excellent and compelling plot devices, but outside that role, they are a plot crash waiting to happen. Importantly, these sought of characters don't just appear in Fan Fiction, or due to a lapse of judgement on the part of a DM in Dungeons & Dragons; prominent fantasy authors have fallen into the trap of over powered characters. The question then is, how does one get out of such a trap?

Nerfing?

For the gamers among you, the term nerfing will be very familiar. In the games industry, nerfing refers to the practice of drastically limiting the powers or performance of a particular element of a game. A weapon or piece of armour might be too powerful, causing an imbalance in the gameplay, or a boss might be so difficult as to be impossible.

While, to my knowledge at least, authors don't come out and say that they had to nerf character x for reasons y and z. There are probably a number of reasons for this. Perhaps the most glaring reason is the idea of suspension of disbelief (aka the danger of metagaming); if an author were to publish an article that essential said 'Yep, I stuffed it royally, please pretend Sir Blathersby did not ever find the Sword of  Inscrutable Epicosity, as I will be removing it from all future novels for the sake of balance,' we would probably choke on our collective morning beverages and wonder how a 'professional' got it so wrong.

But, as I said before, the professionals do get it wrong. We have all read, I am sure, a fantasy novel (possibly even by a critically acclaimed author) that has a moment where we stop and think, 'that is a bit much.' The reasons for this are, surprise surprise, manifold. Here are some possibilities. First, perhaps the author wrote themselves into a corner, creating an obstacle that required immense power, but could not find a way to rescind that power afterwards (more on this later). Secondly, perhaps the novel in which the unbalancing effects was intending to be a one off that was more successful than anticipated ( I can think of quite a prominent example of this without even trying), and thus the problem of balance wasn't taken into account. Third, less probable, is that the author used some form of random generation to decide on plot events (unlikely, but it does happen), in the style of Dungeons & Dragons.

So, now we are stuck, we have created something that unbalances the narrative. Let's make up an example.

Guy Broadhelm stood atop the cliff, revelling in the power that filled him. The scars on his hands began to fade as his newfound magic spread through his being. He raised a hand to the sky, as though to grab it. Clenching his fist he pulled down, the motion accompanied by the screams of a million tormented souls as the sky itself was torn asunder. He stamped his armoured foot and the mountains either side of him crumbled into dust. Dizzy with his potency, Guy laughed so loud that the heavens trembled.

Here, the narrator explores the seemingly limitless power of Guy Broadhelm, a mage capable of manipulating nature itself. He is not, by any means, the most unbalancing character to ever appear in a narrative, but you can see that he would create potential difficulties in any plot, whether as the antagonist or protagonist. So, how do we nerf him? More importantly, how do we nerf him without upsetting the flow of our narrative, or disrupting the suspension of disbelief.

For the answer to this, I bow to the immense knowledge and experience of the team at Wizards of the Coast. I feel that the following passage nails solution on the head very neatly...

Sometimes...the unexpected will happen. The characters may defeat a villian, foiling what the villan (and you [in this case the author]) thought was an unstoppable escape plan, and gain a vorpal sword that you never intended to fall into their hands...Or, even more likely, the combination of some new acquisition with an item or spell or power a character already has will prove unbalancing in a way you didn't foresee.
When a mistake is made, and a [character] ends up too powerful, all is not yet lost. In fact, it's usually simple to increase the challenges that the character faces to keep him or her from breezing through encounters. However, this way of solving the problem can be unsatisfying...

(Wizards of the Coast, 2003, Dungeons & Dragons: Dungeon Master's Guide (v3.5), pg.13)

Of course, when reading this example, you need to keep in mind that a Dungeon Master in D&D has significantly less control over the events within his or her 'narrative world' due to the input of players. However, even writers can back themselves into the corner, giving a character an innocuous power which, unfortunately, when acting in conjunction with his or her other powers, makes the character far too powerful, or grants them some additional benefit that unbalances the narrative, but cannot be omitted as the omission would be glaringly obvious to the reader. 

Before we look at the Wizards of the Coast solution to such a problem, I will propose a few that I have seen before, or even used before.

Hubris:A favourite of the Ancient Greeks, this one can work very well, and leave the ready feeling, if not satisfied, then at the very least vindicated. A character revels to greatly in their power, using it with reckless abandon, drawing the attention of gods, or fate, or some other 'higher power.' Then, either through the machinations of these higher powers, or the character's own poor judgement, the character meets their downfall. The downside to this method is that it can smack of deus ex machina, and should definitely be used sparingly for maximum narrative impact.

Curses: Always a bit of fun, the old curse balance. The individual (or group) doing the cursing need not even be 'evil' despite the connotations of the word 'curse', Perhaps the unbalancing character gained his power by retrieving a magical sword from a haunted wood (because who doesn't love a good old cliché), but in doing so is cursed; he might lose the ability to speak his native tongue, or become deaf, or be overcome by aggression whenever wielding said sword. The options are legion and are excellent plot devices in and of themselves. In a positive alternative, perhaps the hero's friends are concerned by the effects the new sword is having on him, and thus cast a curse (or compulsion) upon him to counter the weapon's influence. Perhaps, as long is it does not feel contrived, this method of balancing is the most effective.

Cost: Similar in part to curses, this balancer can work very well too. A limit on the frequency some new power can be used, or a great cost for the user if they abuse the power, A frequency of 'uses per day' method can work well, especially if the use of the power is physically demanding, or mentally draining. The cost method can also be a potent plot device, especially if it is a moral or personal cost. The best example of this I have seen to date is by far the way Brent Weeks manages Kylar's immortality in his Night Angel trilogy. I won't explain it here, so as to avoid spoilers.

The Imprisonment Approach: I will be honest, I am not a fan of this method, though possibly only because I have never seen it done where it has been subtle enough to not feel contrived. Essentially, the unbalancing character(s) in question are removed from the events of a particular narrative or section thereof so that they cannot quick fix the conflict of the narrative. I won't name the well known author who used this at least once in an attempt to balance the narrative of one of their books, but if you have read it, you will know what I am referring to. I suspect, if this method used carefully, it can be very effective, but it is easy for it to feel contrived.

The 'Oops, pretend he couldn't do it' Method: This should just be a no-no. Unfortunately, at least one critically acclaimed author has done it, along with (let's be honest) most amateurs. Sometimes, when writing, we give a particular character a very potent ability without thinking ahead to the problems it might create (for this example, let us use teleportation). Two books later, we realise how story breaking it is for that character to get across the planet in the blink of an eye, but what do we do? Well, what we shouldn't do is pretend that the character could never do it. That is jarring, and can very easily prevent the reader from engaging fully with the narrative. After all, this might be a character whose life the reader has followed through half a dozen books, and such an arbitrary change to the character can be very damaging to the readers' engagement with the character and the novel. Ultimately, this should be avoided at every turn, as it is not a fix, because even ten books later a reader might mutter, 'This wouldn't be a problem if the author hadn't broken my favourite character...'

I have not brought up deus ex machina as a fix, simply because, really, all of the above fixes are, in some way or another, deus ex machinae.

So, how do Wizards of the Coast suggest to fix an unbalanced character? Let us see...

For example, suppose a [character] becomes an unbalanced character by using a wish spell to give herself the ability to cast all of her prepared spells twice rather than once. [thus breaking the cost balancer I described above] An in-game [in this case in-narrative] solution might be to have an enemy cleric use a miracle to rob her of that newfound ability. Whatever you do, try no to make it obvious that the situation is just a tool to balance the game [narrative]. Instead, make it seem just a part of the adventure.

(Wizards of the Coast, 2003, Dungeons & Dragons: Dungeon Master's Guide (v3.5), pg.13)

As we can see, the Wizards of the Coasts' advice is perhaps the wisest. Solve the dilemma in the most believable way. Make the fix invisible within the adventure of the narrative. An obviously contrived fix is no fix at all, but an invisible one can often hide the initial loss of balance as well. Make it credible.

Now, you might be wondering, how is this author going to fix Guy Broadhelm and his planet killing mind? I refrained from mentioning another fix, one that resonates well with the human psyche (and in some ways, Newton) the Weakness. Let me show you...

Guy shuddered as he released the magic from his grasp, feeling hollow as he did. His insides burned, his breathing became difficult. The shard within him burned so brightly that it shone through his chest, surrounded by an opalescent aura. He fell to his knees, the arcane energy engulfing him. He fumbled for the flask of elixir at his belt, and drained its contents in a single mighty gulp. He felt it start to soothe the rampant arcane fire but it was too late. Too late.
Light exploded from his every orifice and he fell to the ground, a shattered, burnt out husk.

This particular weakness is present within all magic users in my fantasy universe. Every author finds a way to balance magic, as if left unbalanced, it can be an ever lingering elephant in the room for both the author and his audience.

Conclusion?

Well, I am sure your eyes are now a little sore from this rather long discussion. However, I can hopefully sum this up in brief. Unbalanced characters are part of fiction, and particularly fantasy; they even plague the best authors in the world. The trick is to know how to deal with the loss of balance in such a way as to preserve your credibility as a writer, as well as that of the narrative. As long as the problem and the solution feel comfortable and natural within the narrative's universe, they are not a problem.

The main thrust, at least for me, is that one should think ahead in regards to how best to control and mould the lack of balance in such a way that it can either be redressed later on or even become a fundamental (but fitting) element within the greater narrative of your fantasy universe.

Thank you for taking the time to read this, and I hope you got something out of it. I apologise if I didn't cover something quite to your satisfaction, or if I rabbited on overly much on one particular element or another.   

The two future instalments that are in the pipeline for The Narrative Within are on magic and another big elephant in the room: immortality.

In the magic discussion, I will explain how I created the magic system of my fantasy world, and how it interacts with the world it exists within.

In the immortality discussion, I will write about my character Lucian, and how I deal with making his immortality functional, and balanced.

For now, 

Cheers,

NNB CLARKE

p.s. I apologise for any typos; I don't allow myself much editing time at present due to a simple lack of time, and a desire to get this stuff up sooner rather than later.