Writing is hard work. It’s rewarding and often fun, but good writing takes effort. There’s a common misconception that writers have it easy because we just sit around and make things up. Well, in a way that’s true; fiction writers are essentially “making things up.” But a lot goes into making a self-consistent world that will engage readers fully and suspend their disbelief. While each genre and type of writing has its own unique challenges, I want to focus on one that, I think, is unique to writing fantasy: being original with the setting and the magical system.
When it comes to the look and feel of fantasy, Tolkien set the gold standard when he wrote The Lord of the Rings. His depictions of elves, dwarves, and even humans, have persisted, often with very few changes. Fantasy walks a thin line between honoring tradition and breaking it. However, it seems like in fantasy honoring tradition tends to win. Apart from the relatively new sub-genres of urban fantasy and paranormal romance, most fantasy novels follow familiar archetypes regarding the look and behavior of the literary inhabitants and the world around them.
After a while, one gets tried of reading about beautiful long-lived elves, surly artisan dwarves, violently ignorant humans, and endless iterations of dragons set against a forested or mountainous pseudo-medieval British backdrop. There isn’t anything inherently wrong with such a combination. But there is so much more out there, so many other traditions that fantasy writers can draw from.
Most fantasy and magic traditions are based in the look and lore of Western Europe. In the United States, we’re very familiar with Greco-Roman and Christian mythologies, possess some understanding of the Norse legends, and have at least an acquaintance with Celtic and pre-Norman British traditions. But what about the rest of the world? What about Native American shamans and spirit animals, African rituals and witch doctors, the complex rites and customs of Egypt or the Middle East, the nature spirits and ancestor worship of China and Japan, or the vast pantheon of India?
These are all rich mythologies waiting to be explored. And yet I’ve seen very few fantasy writers utilize these resources. The obsession with finding new ways to dress up medieval Britain continues. Granted, I’m guilty of this myself. But I’m becoming aware of stories that step outside the Euro-centric focus of fantasy and hope to write some novels that step outside that box. A new direction makes a book stand out.
Elizabeth Bear uses the Mongols and Huns of the steppes as a basis for Range of Ghosts, the first book in her Eternal Sky trilogy. Lloyd Alexander’s stand-alone book, The Remarkable Journey of Prince Jen, takes the reader on a trip through Indian mythology. The short novel Drums by Mercedes Lackey features Jennifer Talldeer, a private investigator who is also a Native American shaman. The Ear, the Eye, and the Arm by Nancy Farmer follows a trio of kids in Zimbabwe, Africa, as they elude the three detectives sent to bring them home. There’s an Arabian/Middle Eastern flavor to The Warded Man by Peter V. Brett and The Emperor’s Knife by Mazarkis Williams. Pick a manga at random and chances are you’ll find something involving Japanese mythology, probably with a Buddhist cameo.
From the comic and romantic (Fruits Basket, Kamisama Kiss, Inuyasha) to the dramatic, unsettling, or horrific (Ghost Hunt, Mushi-shi, Pet Shop of Horrors), the Japanese don’t hesitate to mine their own mythos for stories. And these stories don’t just mix up the setting but also the social structure, genders, and colors of the characters, adding even more flavor. Maybe American fantasy writers should do the same. Yes, it will involve research, maybe even a trip if you can afford it, but think of how unique a story can be with a different foundation! We see hundreds of dragons, unicorns, and Caucasian heroes in fantasy novels, but rarely griffins or pegasi or people of color. I don’t think I’ve ever read one featuring a hippocampus or a bunyip.
The second challenge with being original lies in creating magical systems. Oddly enough, magic doesn’t really feature much in Tolkien’s work; aside from a few fireworks and chasing away a Nazgul, Gandalf doesn’t perform much magic despite being called a wizard. He obviously has mystical power, but it’s rarely seen. Somewhere along the line, magic took the lead in defining and differentiating works of fantasy. It’s a hallmark of the genre…and another area that runs the risk of stagnation.
I personally favor having rules for magic, limitations that help increase drama and suspense rather than deflating it with a deus ex machina. If magic-users can do anything without cost or limit, where is the tension? No one is ever in any real danger, and the plot sounds contrived because, “Hey, they could just use a spell to teleport to the mountain and drop the evil ring into the lava. Why go through all this hardship?” Of course, that makes for a very short and boring story. But with limitations or certain prices for magic, it becomes an asset rather than a liability. (For a more detailed look at what goes into creating a magic system, please read my blog series “Magical Theory and Practice” on The Cat’s Cradle.) In short, how magic works will help define your plot and characters.
Like with setting, the magic systems in most fantasy follow Western traditions. Magic-users often need extensive props and preparations for spells. Incantations or special words such as “true names” are key to controlling magic. Blood has a special (often negative) meaning. The ability to use magic tends to be passed on through families, similar to the divine right of kings, and often rests solely in the hands of men. Magic is often categorized according to the four elements of fire, water, air, and earth, sometimes with the addition of “spirit” or “aether.” And there are a lot of ways these can be combined to form intriguing, complex magical systems.
For example, when I read The Runelords by David Farland, I wasn’t really engaged with the characters or plot, but the magic system was something I’d never seen before. In that world, various attributes, such as Strength, Endurance, or Charisma could be bestowed on others by drawing it out of someone else with special brands. And the ones who lost that attribute would be protected and cared for because if the donor dies, the recipient will lose their contribution. In C.S. Friedman’s Feast of Souls, magic is finite and fueled by a mage’s own life-force…unless they steal from someone else like a magic leech. Otherwise, each spell drains a little more life from the mage until they finally die.
The Elementals series by Mercedes Lackey features magic-users tied to a specific element. They only have power over that one element and its attendant creatures, such as slyphs (air), dryads (earth), naiads (water), and salamanders (fire). Magic in the Dragonlance universe by Margaret Weis and Tracy Hickman can be good, evil, or neutral and requires its users to constantly study spellbooks as they forget spells immediately after casting them. The evil wizards in Patricia C. Wrede’s Enchanted Forest Chronicles are very traditional, using staffs and potions to fuel their spells (although they can be melted by a bucket of soapy water with some lemon juice.)
All of these examples are just using Western ideas about magic, and some of those ideas, such as the power of names, carries over into other magical traditions. But imagine the combinations open to fantasy writers if elements and ideas from other cultures were added to their repertoire! The list of elements in China and Japan excludes air and spirit/aether, but has wood and metal instead. They also have interesting rituals regarding exorcism and purification of people, places, and myriad deities called kami. Native Americans have spirit guides and vision quests. The “Dreamtime” or “the Dreaming” of the Australian Aborigines is the idea of a formless creative spirit that surrounds all things, which is where souls come from when they are born and return to when they die. Jewish folklore references an artificial being, often formed of clay, called a golem.
As you can see, fantasy has a lot of material that can be referenced, and that can be a little daunting. It’s easy to fall back on what is familiar, but that means you must work harder to take that familiar idea and make it your own. Fantasy relies on established archetypes, but the writer must find a way to mold those old, borderline-cliché ideas and turn them into something readers haven’t seen before. That’s something I endeavor to do with my own work. While my novel Ravens and Roses does draw heavily from Western traditions, has a dragon, and features white main characters, I think I’ve managed to tweak it enough to be fresh.
Instead of elves, I have two non-human races: the Vuorien and the Faastani. The Vuorien came from adding elements from dryads, trees, and the Finnish language to the traditional elvish mix. The Faastani pull from Hawaiian culture and Romani (gypsy) culture with a liberal dose of tattoos and the colors blue and orange. The culture and look of Marina (the main country in Ravens and Roses) does have strong influences from British maritime and medieval tradition. The neighboring, hostile nations of Kraggengard and Suthlant have Viking and Arabic traits, respectively. Several important secondary characters are people of color. And I believe the magic system I’ve created is unique even though it utilizes familiar elements. (Sorry, I’m not going to go into more detail; I don’t want to spoil the plot!)
As you can see, writing fantasy isn’t all rainbows and kittens. There’s a lot to consider with your world-building but also great creative freedom. That’s a feeling I’ve never been able to replicate writing any other genre. Let imagination be your guide.