Swords and Dark Magic: Garth Nix's, "A Suitable Present for a Sorcerous Puppet" and Narrative Richness

Today I’m going to continue my extended review of the anthology of Swords and Dark Magic, edited by Jonathan Strahan and Lou Anders. I'm committed to working my way through this entire anthology, reviewing each story. Here is a link to previous posts in this series: An Extended Review of Swords and Dark Magic

The story I’m focusing on today is “A Suitable Present for a Sorcerous Puppet,” by Australian writer, Garth Nix.

This was my first encounter with Garth Nix, and it was a strange one.

To begin, I don’t think I would classify his story as a sword and sorcery. It was too light-hearted, playful, and comical. Consequently, it was more of a fairy-tale or a kind of parody of sword and sorcery.

Let me be clear: I don’t think comedy or playfulness shouldn't be in sword and sorcery. Of course it should. The Conan stories are tinged with dark comedy. The “Fafhrd and the Gray Mouser” stories are filled with joking and witty dialog. And yet, in both Howard and Lieber's cases, the comedy and playfulness is always juxtaposed with a dark and dangerous world.

In this Nix story there is a notable conformity, I think, between the humorous and playful tone of the characters and the world/context within which their story unfolds.

I’m wondering if a “dark, dangerous world,” is a necessary component of sword and sorcery.

In spite of its playful nature, I still found the story entertaining. Parts of it were quire amusing: the protagonist is likable enough, a wounded warrior who is otherwise infallible; and his companion, a “sorcerous puppet” named Mister Fitz, was interesting.

It’s most endearing quality for me were the glimpses of the fantasy world that came through. Let me explain by considering a brief passage. Referring to the unorganized nature and other strange idiosyncrasies of a book the protagonist is reading, the narrator states, “these might be symptomatic of the somewhat unusual end of Jerreke, a city-state which had defaulted on its debt so enormously that  its entire population had to be sold into slavery” (181). Here you have a “micro-narrative” that makes the short story what I call “narratively rich,” meaning, the overarching narrative trajectory is pleasantly sidelined to encapsulate additional stories, stories not included for the sake of their narrative functionality but for their own sake, the pleasure they offer.

Another way of referring to this effect is the “Arabian Nights” effect. This is where you fold narratives within narratives, not for the sake of furthering an overarching plot but for the visceral pleasure of storytelling. Nix doesn’t quite do that here. And yet, there is a tendency to do that in this story that makes the world quite rich.

This story is a firm 3 out 5 in my view.

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.

My Favorite Author of 2011: Jack Vance

I'm going to put off continuing with my "Aesthetic Analysis of Genre Fiction" posts for now. There's a history of the fantasy genre I want to read before I continue: Lin Carter's, Imaginary Worlds.

Today I'm going to spend some time discussing my favorite author of 2011. 

I've already discussed how I have a serious problem with not reading contemporary genre fiction. And so, it should come as no surprise that my favorite author of 2011 wrote and published many years ago: Jack Vance.

I hadn't given Jack Vance a long, thorough read until this year. I'd read his famous short story, "Mazirian the Magician," in book 1 of Isaac Asimov's Magical Worlds of Fantasy series, Wizards. I remember wanting to follow this reading up with more Vance and so I purchased both The Dying Earth and Eyes of the Overworld. 

I subsequently put them on my shelf and quickly forgot about them. It just so happened The Dying Earth was on my qualifying examinations list for my degree, and so I found myself reading it again earlier this fall. This was followed by Eyes of the Overworld. 

I wrote a review for almost each book I read during my qualifying exams reading. I know this is a short-cut, but I'm going to cite those reviews. 

The Dying Earth

I read Jack Vance’s The Dying Earth (New York: Baen, 1986, originally published 1950) and I loved it. It’s a collection of loosely related short stories about all sorts of different fantasy scenarios; however, the main character, I think, is the setting: the dying earth.

Some words about “the dying earth.” All of the stories take place in an extremely distant future where the sun has become a huge red giant and it could nova at any time. Meanwhile, magic has returned to the world but it has been forgotten. Sorcerers and wizards continue to weave spells, but they are no longer imaginative or understand the principles upon which magic is based. Thus, their magical art is a decadent endeavor marked by atavism. These sorcerers know how to do magic, but they do it by rote, by simply following through the formulas of previously developed spells. The spells have interesting names like “the Excellent Prismatic Spray,” “Phandaal’s Mantle of Stealth,” and “the Spell of the Slow Hour.”

If you’ve played Dungeons and Dragons before, then these names will seem familiar. Why? Well, Jack Vance’s The Dying Earth and its sequels were influences on the creators of Dungeons and Dragons. This is of course why I came to these stories in the first place, to see the mythic forefathers of the magical spells of Dungeons and Dragons.

But the interest of the stories aren’t exhausted in that one, esoteric characteristic. Vance has an extremely distinct style. He writes with humor while depicting cruel violence. Amid horrifying scenes—say, an orgy wherein a cult cavorts with demons—love and beauty can blossom. Eclectic is the adjective that best describes Vance’s fantasy.

I recommend giving these stories a read. Of all the stories, I believe “Mazirian the Magician” is the best. The main character—a sorcerer who is obsessed with a girl--will linger with you for a long time after reading of him.

Eyes of the Overworld

I finished The Eyes of the Overworld (New York: Pocket Books, 1966) last night and enjoyed it. For me its better than the earlier Dying Earth collection of short-stories because each of the stories are embedded into an overarching, picaresque plot (though at times some of the stories due seem incidental and random, though I enjoy the tone of playfulness this creates). Though such a comparison is silly because obviously the originality of Dying Earth is the platform upon which Vance constructs this narrative. Rather than make more bald assessments, let me tell you a little about the novel.

Published in 1966, The Eyes of the Overworld is the second book in Jack Vance’s Dying Earth series. Many of the same plot elements show up in this story: powerful sorcerers, strange creatures, an extremely dangerous yet beautiful wilderness. What anchors this series of stories is the main character’s quest. His name is Cugel the Clever, a roguish figure who I thought was hilarious. He’s a great anti-hero: extremely self-interested, narcissistic, borderline crazy, a fast-talker. In the opening frame story he gets tricked into burglarizing a powerful sorcerer’s home who catches him and threatens to curse him with the “Charm of Forlorn Encystment,” “which constricts the subject in a pore some forty-five miles below the surface of the earth” (14). The novel is filled with all sorts of cruel, interestingly humorous curses and spells like this. Rather than accept this punishment, the sorcerer and Cugel work out a deal together. Cugel is required to go to a far away land and retrieve a magical contact lens that allows one to see the world as a paradise.

The sorcerer’s magic quickly spirits him far away to where he discovers the lens; the rest of the novel is Cugel’s adventures in making his way back to his home in Azenomei. I won’t spoil the story by listing these numerous adventures, but many of them are strange, disturbing, hilarious, intense, and sad.

Swords and Dark Magic: Steven Erikson's, "Goats of Glory"

I recently read Steven Erikson’s “Goats of Glory,” the first story in the “Swords and Dark Magic Anthology.” I liked it a lot. To a large extent, it has everything I would expect from a sword and sorcery yarn. Here are some highlights:

Conventional Sword and Sorcery Elements

The “secondary world” where the adventures take place is dark, gritty, and unforgiving. It is violent and the violence is portrayed (struggling for the right adjective here) “beautifully.” And the antagonists, rather than being mere mortals, are otherworldy, demented, and imbued with magic. In other words, the main conflict is between the natural/ the immanent—soldiers who are road worn and wielding steel—and the supernatural—demon sorcerers from other planes.

This violent confrontation, between the worldly and the otherworldly is, for me, the essence of sword and sorcery. The mundane and the magical, in sword and sorcery, tend to be suspicious of each other. In this story, this is indeed the case.

Unconventional Sword and Sorcery Elements

In spite of its traditional sword and sorcery elements, there is a lot about this story that is indeed new.

On the level of plot, the protagonist is not a single, lone figure but a group of people, a fellowship. Let me explain why I think this is new.

When I think of sword and sorcery., I often think of “the one versus the many,” the barbarian versus the sorcerer and the spirits he summons. Think of all the Franz Frazetta paintings that depict a single barbarian facing off with a sorcerer or demon. In this story you have a group of people confronting the darkness of sorcery (i.e. demons). I’m probably overstating the case here, but Robert E. Howard’s Conan stories, C.L. Moore’s Jorel of Joiry stories, Michael Moorcock’s Elric of Melnibone stories, and, to a certain extent, Fritz Leiber’s Fafhrd and the Gray Mouser stories—these all depict a single individual (or a duo) facing a pluralistic force. To some extent, these writers setup this theme of the one versus the many (I get the sense that the “fellowship” of folks fighting against evil is more of an element of high or epic fantasy). In this sword and sorcery yarn you have what seems like a platoon or fellowship facing a (evil?) force together. I am reluctant to write “evil” because sword and sorcery often blurs the distinction between so-called good and evil; this story is no exception.

Secondly, gender is portrayed somewhat neutrally in this story; thus, there are a unique type of “strong women” characters. Sure, you may cite Jorel of Joiry or Red Sonja (or Red Sonja), but the “strong women” in these stories are different. Jorel and Red (the comic book girl or the literary version) are sex objects and unique *because* they are women. Even though they are Medusa-like females who often expose the emptiness of their male antagonists so-called masculinity, they nevertheless become portrayed as sexual objects and are unique because they are women.

In this story, however, this is entirely not the case. The Captain is a woman and this situation is in no way portrayed in this story as unique. Furthermore, the women aren’t portrayed as being “sexy” or attractive; and furthermore—this was an interesting element of this story—they are sexually aggressive, i.e. they seek out males “for hire” when they arrive in town.

I know that non-sexualized woman who seek out sex aren’t anything new as far as fantasy literature; nevertheless, this type of neutral approach to gender in a traditionally masculinist genre like sword and sorcery seems interesting and perhaps new to me.

A reminder: this is the first of a series of reflections I’m going to do on the anthology of new sword and sorcery titled *Swords and Dark Magic,* edited by Jonathan Strahan and Lou Anders (New York: EOS, 2010). I’m probably going to take a break from this as I have another post idea in mind. But I’ll return to it later this week.

Swords and Dark Magic: Setting Aside the Road Map and Risky Reading

I recently purchased an interesting anthology of fantasy short stories titled, *Swords and Dark Magic.* Edited by Jonathan Strahan and Lou Anders, it purports to be an anthology of what they refer to as “the new sword and sorcery.” This is awesome.

I have to admit: the concept of a *new* sword and sorcery gets my pulse going. Why? Because I’m an enthusiast of sword and sorcery. Furthermore, I want to write sword and sorcery. And further furthermore, I thought sword and sorcery was dead. Imagine my surprise at founding this book on an end cap in a bookstore in Portland.

Being that this anthology was published 2010 (a scant two years ago), I find it extremely inspiring that something like *new* sword and sorcery exists. And here is where this blog becomes a confessional: I admit it. I don’t read contemporary fantasy fiction. Before my fast-talking attempt to evade your well-justified scorn, let me just acknowledge how *uncool* that is, especially considering the goal of this blog.

I get the sense that if one wants to be a writer, one should be reading contemporary fiction. Why?Well, it seems that if you set out to write fiction and don’t read any fiction being written today, you set yourself to be neglected by everyone. I’m not preaching to you: I’m preaching to myself.

O.k.. Now for the explanation. You see, I have been reading fantasy ever since I’ve been a reader; however, at the same I’ve also been reading the “literary” texts (I won’t bore you with the strange relationship I have with that adjective, which is both a value judgment and indicator of a specific tradition). For a long time, I made no distinction between so-called “literary” and “genre” texts (oh, the innocence of childhood!). To this day, this distinction is one I adopt somewhat awkwardly.

So, conditionally agreeing that there exists things called “literary texts” and things called “genre texts,” I have to admit that genre literature has been only a portion of my reading (albeit a large portion—let us say approximately 50%).

Here’s some more conjecture: academic training in literary studies, of which I have had a fair amount, makes one read in a specific way: in accordance with a road map. It takes the *risk* out of the exploratory work. In other words, it conditions ones to read in conformity with pre-established canons. I haven been reading “the canon,” if you will, of science-fiction, fantasy, and horror rather than, say, the work being produced today.

There’s a very pessimistic subtext that informs this bias for the old, the established, the work that has generated commentary: the idea that the stuff being written today is *ephemeral* and may or may not stand the test of time. Carrying this logic forward: if it is written today, then it *may not* be worth one’s time.

Thus, the way one decides what to read is to ask if this given text has “withstood the test of time.” How do you know if a text or writer has withstood the test of time? Well, that writer or that novel appears in a list or canon. But who decides who makes the list or canon? Folks who are well read in the canon. And here we have an echo chamber, the implications of which are worth further meditation.

The consequence of reading in conformity with “canons”--whether they be the canons of science fiction, fantasy, or the “Western Canon”--means that you end up missing out on authors who haven’t “made the cut.” Or who *have yet* to make the cut. I truly believe this. And so, as I set out to become a writer, I hereby make a commitment: to change my ways, to read texts that are being written today. To seek out the ephemeral and quit seeking after the eternal. Hence, my purchase of an anthology of *Swords and Dark Magic*.

I’m going to be spending some extra time on this anthology in the coming month. Here’s the plan: I’ll read a story from it and react to it and also try to compile some information about each author: their website, their twitter feed, their blog. My hope is that by doing this I’ll be able to get a clearer sense of the kind of sword and sorcery being written *right now*.

In other words, I’m setting aside the road map for a little bit.