Swords and Dark Magic: K.J. Parker's "A Rich Full Week," and the Health Benefits of Reading Bad Fiction

The last three days in my place has been inordinately quiet. Why? My wife has been working on her qualifying exams, but they were due out this morning. And so--I just heard her trudging up the steps. Her tread seemed quite heavy. Mine would be, too, if I had minimal sleep in 72 hours.

Anyhow...

This morning I’m going to continue my series of reviews of the anthologized stories contained in, Swords and Dark Magic (edited by Jonathan Strahan and Lou Anders). Proceeding in the order in which they appear, the sixth story I focus on today is titled, “A Rich Full Week,” by K.J. Parker.

Here is a link to previous posts in this series: An Extended Review of Swords and Dark Magic

Some summary: the story concerns the efforts of an unnamed priest of an nameless order (feels like a fantasy version of the Catholic church) who wanders around various “medievalish” villages doing services for folks, e.g. curing illnesses, putting to rest the restless dead. This story, as per the title, is an example of one week of his services. More specifically, it concerns his encounter with a dead person who had decided not to stay dead.

Let me just be frank and then justify my frankness: I loved this story. Three reasons.

Theme: It has all of the thematic elements that I find so intriguing about fantasy: the implications of other worlds; the subordinaton of material reality to consciousness and thought; the nature of life and death.

Protagonists: Aside from the thematic characteristics, the protagonist is great. He’s an underachieving wise-guy who obviously knows his stuff and yet, in spite of his irritation with his job, he does it quite well. I love that kind of character.

Narrative Technique: In terms of narrative technique, this story functions the way a short story should: it’s pacing is economic, and yet it doesn’t feel rushed. There are wonderful moments of pure reflection—e.g. when the narrator, staring at the earthen ceiling of the turf-roofed cottage he has been boarded in, wonders “if this what it’ll be like” (154)—and yet, these moments of reflection don’t retard the plot to the extent that the narrative grounds to a halt.

A minor flaw I perceive in this story is overarching narrative structure. There is an obvious split running down the middle of this story. There’s a micro-narrative, a pause, and a return to another micro-narrative that is connected to the initiating one. Ideally, in a short story, you want one narrative: one character, one fundamental transformation, one conflict, one story. This short fiction is like two stories that are related by a common element.

And so, I would give this story a 4.5 out of 5.

If you're interested in the ratings I've given the other stories, you can find them here.

Let me just say something about ratings like this before I proceed to a writing exercise.

I’ve been rating the stories in the anthology as I move along, a practice, to my mind, that’s kind of arbitrary; and yet—I guess it’s useful for folks who have limited reading time and want a blueprint as to which stories to read and which to skip.

I’m reluctant to rate because I think implied in the practice of rating is the idea that, if it’s bad, you shouldn’t read it. I don’t agree with this.

There’s something useful in reading structurally flawed fiction, aside from the fact that, to me, some bad writing has its own kind of beauty, i.e. it thrills in a unique way (I get this feeling reading L. Sprague de Camp, whose prose is just awful to me; and yet—I love his stuff).

I think identifying the flaws of certain specimens of fiction is just as useful for a craftsman as reading the best work. Sometimes reading “the best,” if you will, can be detrimental; if that’s all you read (and, if you’re anything like me and realize your writing needs some improvement), you paralyze yourself.

There is a separate issue here, which is, “As a writer, who do you adopt as your peers? Who are you, artistically, attempting to dialog with?” There’s a lot at stake in how you answer that question.

I’m not ready to answer that question just yet; I am, however, eager to consider the possibility that there are writers whose artistic projects have influenced mine. And so, without further ado, here is a writing exercise linked to that idea.

Writing exercise: Think of a genre writer who you love. Try not to pick an esoteric writer. Choose someone “big,” like H.P. Lovecraft of Robert E. Howard, or J.R.R. Tolkien, or H.G. Wells, or Isaac Asimov. Next, write two sentences describing, in your words, their writing style. Next, write a two sentence summary of a story they might have written. Finally, write that story in the form of a flash fiction (no more than 500 words). In writing this story, try to parody their style. Exaggerate the elements you described in their earlier description of their work.