Foundational Authors of the Fantasy Genre?

Thomas Cole, The Voyage of Life: Youth, 1842
U.S. National Gallery of Art

All views in this blog are my own and represent the views of no other person, organization, or institution.

Nine years ago this list started a pretty interesting conversation, so I thought I would see if it might do so again. 

The initial post was inspired when I discovered that a good friend of mine, an accomplished, published fantasy author who has also worked as an editor and a book reviewer, had at that point NEVER read anything by R.E. Howard. I found this disconcerting! 

So, I wrote up a quick list of the authors who I considered foundational to the genre, authors that I thought all serious fantasy fans should read at least once. The sorts of writers where you read one of their works and think "that's a cliché" then discover it wasn't a cliché until others copied them...

This isn't about gatekeeping, anyone should and can enjoy fantasy without this reading list, But if one wants to really know and understand the genre, then I think this list covers all the bases.

In no particular order:

J.R.R. Tolkien

C.S. Lewis

R.E. Howard

H.P. Lovecraft

Clark Ashton Smith

Fritz Leiber

Michael Moorcock

Poul Anderson

Lord Dunsany

T.H. White

Mary Stewart

Mary Renault

Lloyd Alexander

Susan Cooper

Ursula K. LeGuin

Leigh Brackett

E.R. Burroughs

J.K. Rowlings

On reflection, after the discussion from nine years ago, I would add these to the list:

Edgar Allen Poe

Terry Pratchett 

Stephen R. Donaldson

I may have missed one or two but those are the big ones, IMO. Influential writers whose work was ground breaking in some way and/or had a profound impact on the genre. There is a bias for older works, writers who came up towards the birth of the modern genre in the first half of the 20th century. I think that is natural and only to be expected. 

This is not a list of the "best" fantasy authors, or my favorite writers. I left many of my favorites off the list, as heart-breaking as it was to do so. 

That said, there are some names that I have a tougher time defending, whose influence may be more personal for me than widespread in the genre. Stewart, Renault, Cooper, and Alexander are perhaps not as widely influential as I believe they should be. 

So, this is a personal list. Others are likely to have a very different list. In fact, the purpose ofthis list is really to generate debate and discussion, not as some sort of litmus test or dogmatic declaration of "How Things Are or Must Be."

Comments encouraged!

Review: Goblin Quest series

 All views in this blog are my own and represent the views of no other person, organization, or institution.

 A version of this article appeared in Knights of the Dinner Table #131 (September, 2007).

Most of the works reviewed in this column over the past year have been influential in the early development of fantasy role-playing games. But the birth of role-playing spawned, nearly simultaneously, the birth of game related novels. Some of the earliest and most obvious examples include the first game novel, Andre Norton's Quag Keep,  the Dragonlance novels, but much game-inspired fiction was not tied so directly into a game setting.  Rather, a generation of fantasy writers grew up gaming and much of their fiction is at least partially influenced by those experiences.

Jim C. Hines ‘Goblin Quest’ series was clearly inspired in large part by gaming, and presents an alternative view of the traditional dungeon exploration motif that is so beloved by old time role-players.  The hero of Hines’ tale is Jig, a runty goblin who is drawn into adventures through circumstance and an unusual dose of common sense (unusual for a goblin, at any rate).

In Goblin Quest Jig is captured by adventurers while on patrol outside his tribe’s lair, and forced to guide them through the dungeon his tribe helps to populate.  The adventurers, (two princes, their dwarven tutor, and an elven thief) are searching the catacombs for a powerful artifact; they believe it lies at the very bottom of the dungeon.  Jig survives, aided by his pet fire spider and a long-forgotten god.   

In Goblin Hero Jig’s status in the world has moved up, not a comfortable position in goblin society as he is seen as a threat by tribal leaders.  Again his world is threatened and he finds himself trying to save not only goblins, but ogres as well, against dangerous magical foes. These foes, pixies from another dimension, are even more dangerous then the dragon and human adventurers he faced in the first book. 

In the final novel, Goblin War, Jig is caught up in the sort of war between humanoids and humanity that is the staple of so many fantasy novels or roleplaying campaigns. Jig discovers that both sides intend harm to the goblins. The recurring motif that the humans and others consider the goblins to be vermin is fully explored here. Jig's solutions are far from perfect, but he manages to save the day for the majority of the less malevolent folks involved.

Hines’ Goblin novels are marketed as fantasy comedy, similar to Robert Asprin’s Mythadventures, or Piers Anthony’s Xanth novels.  But the novels are not particularly comedic. There is comedy, generally found in the absurdities inherent in goblin culture, but the novels are thankfully a straight take on goblin society, from the goblin point of view, rather than a continuous flow of bad puns and short jokes. The goblin society in the books is not candy-coated; they are mean-spirited back-stabbers who fail most often because they cannot trust each other.  They eat whatever sort of meat they can acquire, whether sentient or not, including goblin when nothing else is available and they gladly pick on whatever is smaller or weaker than they are. 

Jig is not Drizzt Do’urden for Goblins.  He does not question his society but merely tries to survive within it, at least at first.  He is neither brave nor strong and while he recognizes goblins for what they are, he still champions his race over others.  Jig is peculiarly realistic hero, fully within his society and yet able to see it from the outside, as well. He's a remarkable literary creation, really.  

Jig is remarkably likeable as well; Hines achieves this end in part by the stereotypical trope in which the handsome noble prince is really an arrogant, cruel, evil fool.  This has been done to death in the Shrek movies and plays even less well in these novels.  However, the humans are so unlikable that Hines can allow Jigs to retain his less savory goblin habits (such as a taste for dwarf flesh) and retain the reader’s sympathies.  

A dwarven priest provides the closet thing to a voice of reason in the original book, and a royal princess in the final book shows that not all of the humans are arrogant, cruel, or foolish. Still, if the books have a weakness it is that Hines fails to treat non-goblin characters with the same sense of balance and individuality he provides the goblins. 

From a gaming point of view, the books are a gold mine for gamemasters.  Hines presents a believable dungeon ecology and cultures, any gamemaster who takes the time to similarly imagine daily life in his dungeons will find determining the inhabitants’ reactions to invasion much easier.  The examination of goblin culture is particularly enlightening, as previously they have always stood in the shadows of orcs.  And Hackmaster fans may find Hines’ treatment of Pixies in Goblin Quest intriguing.  There are helpful portraits of wizards, priests, and witch doctors, as well.

I recently reread the series as audiobooks: Goblin Quest, Goblin Hero, and Goblin War. These are full cast performances, with a narrator for the text and the dialogue read by different actors for the various characters. Additionally, they have mood music and sound effects added. They were done by Graphic Audio and described as a "movie for your mind." I enjoyed them, though I wouldn't want all books to be read that this way. 

Hines novels are fun and interesting.  Though many works have run with the idea of transforming a traditional antagonist into protagonist, seldom has anyone done so with a race as universally despised as goblins.  Shrek and Drizzt may come from those who traditionally go bump in the night, but their respective races at least have reputations of fearsomeness to fall back on.  Adventurers fear ogres, and drow.  Goblins lack even that advantage, making Jigs' accomplishments and Hines’ audacity that much more compelling.

Thoughts on The Acolyte

I finally finished The Acolyte series last night. 

As always with Star Wars, there is a lot of criticism of the show (mostly about it being "woke" or the supposed lesbian themes) which is just utter and complete nonsense. 

The acting and the special effects were fine, good even. Some of the actors put in excellent performances. All of the characters deserved to be in Star Wars.

Still, the show is bad, a failure. It was the writing. The show lacked clarity in its message and its plot. There is space for a show about the period 100 years before the Clone Wars, highlighting the problems in the Old Republic that led to the separatists, and the problems in the Jedi Order that allowed the Sith to return. 

To do that, you need to have more clarity about what the Jedi believe, and why parts of that belief are wrong or dangerous. The inherent tension in Star Wars is that it is essentially clearly a bi-polar morality - the Light side of the Force versus the Dark side of the force. A Manichean universe. But that leaves little room for grey. 

Most people misunderstand "grey" in morality, IMO. They see grey as eliminating black and white. But Grey cannot exist without black and white, it is a mixture of the two but black and white still exist, and grey exists in shades, but even those shades tend towards black, or white. The yin-yang symbol is itself misleading, the drop of the opposite color in each is still distinct and separate. In reality, there should be grey in there. 

For Star Wars, this becomes an issue as the story expands beyond the original trilogy. Those are excellent films, but they are set in a time of moral clarity - Light and Dark. The Jedi are the wise ones who understand and define the difference between Light and Dark. But when you start out to create prequels, to explain how the Light lost so badly that the Jedi were nearly extinct, that the Old Republic, a representational democracy transformed into an authoritarian empire, then you have an issue. Because Light and Dark so so easy to see in the original trilogy, how do you make them HARD to perceive, even for the "wise" Jedi, in the prequels?

The easy answer is you don't. You go the "Satan" route, with some outside force that transforms and overwhelms the "Light", corrupts it despite many of the Light understanding what is occurring. Individual failings are the culprit here. The Light and the Dark remain distinct from each other. It is to Lucas' credit that he didn't go this route. (though I don't want to denigrate that route, Tolkien follows it and it works brilliantly in his legendarium because he has exceptional moral clarty and message clarity throughout his work).  

Lucas, being a post-World War II American, believes inherently in complexity and "grey." He decided that the prequels are not merely the success of the Sith, but the failure of the Jedi. He decided the heroes of his mythos had to have feet of clay.

And yet... there remained the struggle between the Light and the Dark. And the Prequels biggest failure (after starting the story with Anakin as an 8 year old) was that they never quite found the way to show the grey. Thee Sith are clearly about domination, power, greed and the Jedi are the good guys defending against that. 

So The Acolyte has a problem. Now, some Star Wars has started to understand the issue. Dave Filoni in the Clone Wars cartoon, with Father, Daughter, Son, Force, Light, Dark balance storyline hinted at it. And Lucas' prophecy that Anakin would bring "balance" to the force hints at it. The problem is that the Jedi and the Sith both equate emotions with Evil. This is the Jedi failing, they see no good in emotions, merely unbalance, and so they strive to destroy attachment, taking children from parents early to avoid creating bonds. The Sith use emotion to gain power, but the use of that power is always for selfish reason. 

Star Wars has never made clear that the Jedi are benevolent not because they seek power from balance, but because they use that power for greatest good for the greatest number of people, they are unselfish. The Sith are malevolent not because they seek power from emotion, or imbalance, but because they use that power for selfish ends, to impose their will upon others.

The Acolyte has the right tools for the job, it shows a Force cult of witches who clearly have no trouble with attachment, with emotion. They use both sides of the Force, but they are not malevolent, they appear to merely wish to be left alone on the planet Brendok.

The wheels fall off because the show never properly shows us what the witches want, what the Jedi want, or what the Sith want. Much of this is to preserve mystery, they who is shaped as a murder-mystery. But because we never get a full understanding of motivations the whole thing remains muddled. There are hints that the writer understand what they need to do - for example, Mother Aniseyais says "This Isn't About Good Or Bad. This Is About Power, And Who Is Allowed To Use It." - but overall the motivations remain muddled. 

An equal failure of the writing is that so much of the conflict depends upon bad decisions and misunderstandings. And those poor decisions are out of character for Jedi, or even Sith. The initial conflict between the Witches and the Jedi could be solved by honest conversation, yet neither side engages in that despite clearly being led by individuals who would clearly chose such talk first. 

Later, the four Jedi hide the truth for weak reasons, and it was obvious such a lie would fester. And then at the end, the Stranger and Osha leave Mae behind for the Jedi, with the Stranger wiping her memory (huh?). Again, why? Why not take her with them? All they did was leave information for the jedi behind that way. Poor writing. 

The Acolyte was a good idea, but the writing never rose to the occasion. It is interesting to compare it to Andor. The writing on that show is superlative, it is probably the best Star Wars media product, period. It covers complexity well, but it does benefit from moral clarity - the Empire is clearly malevolent. What it shows is not why some rebel, but why some serve such a clearly evil organization. And, of course, Andor is just as "woke" as The Acolyte. More so, in fact, with a very clear same sex relationship whereas The Acolyte only hints at them, 

I don't regret watching The Acolyte, it wasn't a bad show at all. I would like to see more of the surviving characters, a new season would be good. But I do hope that with Dave Filoni in charge we see more clarity in Star Wars writing across the board. His record on that is mixed, however. 

What I would really like to see is a Clone Wars-style cartoon set during the Galactic Civil War, starting with the aftermath of the Battle of Yavin. With Han, Luke, Leia, and Chewbacca as main characters, just like we see Anakin and Obi-wan in Clone Wars. Drawing on all the old extended universe material for inspiration (Jaxxon! Zeltrons!) and showing new fan favorites like Ashoka (how does she escape that  Between Worlds place?) and Rex interacting with the OT characters. And Wedge. We need Rogue Squadron back. 😀

All views in this blog are my own and represent the views of no other person, organization, or institution.

Review: His Majesty's Dragon by Naomi Novik

 All views in this blog are my own and represent the views of no other person, organization, or institution.

 A version of this article appeared in Knights of the Dinner Table #136 (February, 2008).

The Napoleonic Wars have long fascinated gamers. In fact, the first true gaming book, H.G. Wells’ Little Wars, is essentially a set of rules for wargaming the Napoleonic Wars. At any given general gaming convention a few tables a sure to be covered with Napoleon’s armies marching against Lord Wellington, or with Nelson’s warships sailing to victory at Trafalgar. Along with the American Civil War and World War II the period sits at the top of the war gaming heap.

And why should it not? The period is bright, colorful, and melodramatic. Brave men face lethal technologies with naught but their courage only a heartbeat away from being shot by a musket or skewered on a sword blade. It has some of the very best works of fiction in multiple tongues, including Leo Tolstoy’s War and Peace, C.S. Forester’s superb Hornblower novels, and Victor Hugo’s Les Misérables.  

The period has drawn fantasy and horror writers alongside myriad alternative history works in both games and fiction. Flintloque, a fantasy miniatures skirmish game imagined the English as orcs and the French as elves, while the instant classic novel Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell by Susanna Clarke posited the war if English Magic were rediscovered and restored to its rightful place of power. Seth Grahame-Smith imagined a Napoleonic Britain overrun by Zombies and good manners in Pride and Prejudice and Zombies. 

Naomi Novik breaks similar ground with His Majesty’s Dragon, in which she imagines an Earth where dragons are real and powerful, albeit rare, creatures. The historical past is unclear, but in broad outline seems to have followed our own world’s timelines. The introduction of dragons seems to have relatively little impact on British society and the war between Britain and Napoleon’s France seems posited on the same root causes. Though divided into breeds, dragons are rare and powerful. They seem to have little role in society beyond military service (though later books apparently adjust this concept somewhat) but are large, powerful flyers. Individual dragons bond with individual humans, though they are longer lived. This is very similar to the way Anne McCaffrey’s Pern dragons bond with humans, but lacks the telepathic impressment. Novik’s dragons and their riders interact much like McCaffrey’s but lacking the telepathic ties the pairings feel more like a pair of humans falling in love. 

The novel charts the course of the dragon Temeraire and her human captain, Will Laurence.  Laurence is a frigate captain in the Royal Navy, who wins a grand prize, a dragon egg, from a French vessel.  Unexpectedly chosenas handler by Temeraire, he enters the Aerial Corps as an outsider, and he and Tremeraire work together to thwart Napoleon’s plans to conquer England. 

Full disclosure, in addition to wargaming in the Napoleonic period for years, and reading a great deal of period historical fiction, including some of the expected Bernard Cornwall Sharpe  and the Patrick O'Brian Aubrey–Maturin series, my professional work has been hyper focused on the Age of Sail over the last seven years. I am writing a history of U.S. Marines from 1798-1859. So, perhaps I am being overly critical with the next bit. Nonetheless...

In combat, the Novik's dragons fight in an odd style that is clearly an attempt to merge McCaffrey’s thread fights with the nautical conflicts of C.S. Forester or Patrick O’Brian. The dragons carry crews of a dozen or so, using muskets, bombs, and even boarding actions against each other. The dragons are highly intelligent yet they need "handlers?" The result is oddly unconvincing, were dragons real it seems highly unlikely that they would be used as Novik imagines, certainly not if they intelligent creatures. If they allowed themselves to be used as beasts of war they surely would have a better understanding of aerial combat than any human would have. The dragons fail to inspire the sort of awe that Tolkien's Smaug brings, and her world building falls flat when compared to the precise science fiction underpinnings of McCaffrey's Pern, the most obvious comparison. 

A lack of authenticity bedevils her dialogue as well.  Novik betrays an incomplete grasp of the period’s style that is particularly noticeable those who have read Clarke’s magnificent Jonathon Strange and Mr. Norrell. It is obvious that she imagines the British Aerial Corps’ officers as non-traditional precisely so she can free herself of the period restrictions which would have elevated her novel’s style and accomplishment. Novik is so busy trying to merge two distinct genres (fantasy and historical fiction) that the seams of her novel occasionally fail to meet neatly.

Despite merging disparate styles into a single pastiche, His Majesty’s Dragon is a fun, enjoyable read.  The flaws are glaring, but the two main characters are engaging and the premise intriguing.  There are far worse ways to spend time than reading a failed but noble experiment, and game masters will undoubtedly gather many excellent ideas for using dragons in their own campaigns. There is, moreover, always the hope that the subsequent volumes will improve in style. (although, I have to admit that 16 years after I first read this novel, I still haven't been inspired to read the others despite my immersion in the period)  

Still, for a first novel, it is quite an achievement and readers lacking my historians obsessions will enjoy the work even more.

All views in this blog are my own and represent the views of no other person, organization, or institution.

A Halloween Review: The Werewolf of Paris by Guy Endore

  A version of this article appeared in Knights of the Dinner Table #156 (October, 2009).

From 2006 through 2012 I was the "Off the Shelf" columnist for Knights of the Dinner Table, a magazine and comic book devoted to tabletop fantasy role paying games. I reviewed classic and
modern fantasy, horror, and science fiction novels. Every October I tried to review a work of classic horror in honor of Halloween. I am trying to continue that tradition with my blog. You can find previous Halloween Reviews here. 

When Halloween again rises from its grave to stalk the cool fall nights, one’s thoughts turn to the classic move monster of yore, that unholy triad of Dracula, Frankenstein’s Monster, and the Wolfman. The first two first appeared in classic gothic novels of the nineteenth century, widely read and beloved thrillers that often feature in high school reading lists. The werewolf’s historical and mythological roots are deeper than the other two; nearly every culture has some sort of lycanthropic legend. Werewolf tales are particularly widespread in Europe, where true stories of horrific wolf attacks were mythologized into fables such as Red Riding Hood. Despite this rich history, the literary antecedent of the Wolfman is less well known than his two companion classic horrors, in part because that 1933 novel, The Werewolf of Paris, remains under copyright.  

The Werewolf of Paris was written by Guy Endore, born Samuel Goldstein. Endore is best known today as a novelist and screen writer who was black-listed as a communist during the Red Scare. Endore was a communist (at least for a time), and was thoroughly immersed in the avant-garde intellectual movements of the 1930s. He was also educated in Europe.

Endore’s political leanings add a great deal to The Werewolf of Paris, a truly remarkable horror novel. Set in nineteenth century France, the novel tells the story of Bertrand Caillet as told primarily by his step-uncle, Aymar. Unlike later versions of the werewolf myth, Bertrand is not cursed by the bite of another werewolf but suffers rather from a family curse.  The novel tells the origin of this curse, and then details Bertrand’s sad life from birth to death.  The novel climaxes during the Franco-Prussian War, Bertrand is in Paris during the German siege, the Paris Commune, and the eventual retaking of Paris by the Versaillais troops. 

The descriptions of the Commune are vivid, and throughout the novel Endore’s Leftist sympathies leak through the text, yet this enhances rather than detracts from the experience, allowing the reader to immerse him or herself in the languid yet fevered atmosphere of France in the nineteenth century. The contrast between Bertrand’s bucolic home village and the beleaguered Paris, were Bertrand’s depredations are truly the least of horrors is particularly acute.

In addition to the politics, Endore’s novel reeks of sex, and the sex is both more blatant and more depraved than the bubbling under-currents of Victorian erotic repression found in Dracula. The werewolf tale has always had a direct connection to sex, again Red Riding Hood is the most obvious example. The Caillet family curse is born and perpetuated through sexual transgression down the ages. Bertrand’s own bestial urges expresses itself sexually as well as violently, and the only cure for his affliction appears to be a demented sort of true love. Though certainly not pornographic or particularly explicit, the sexuality is disturbing enough that I recommend parents read he book before their teenagers. I would only allow older, mature teens to read it myself. 

For gamemasters the novel is most fruitful as a background template, demonstrating how to design a memorable non-player character.  Bertrand makes an excellent tragic villain, and presenting the players with this sort of challenge, a monster that perhaps should not be killed yet must be stopped, is an excellent change of pace. Players may find less of immediate use, although Aymar’s investigations once he is in Paris itself may be instructive for Call of Cthulhu or other games involving supernatural investigations.

Despite its popularity, Endore’s novel was not filmed itself until 1962 when the famous British horror studio, Hammer Films, made Curse of the Werewolf. The novel’s psychological depth and overt sexuality was a deterrent to earlier dramatization. The filmed version moved the action to 18th century Spain, and was Oliver Reed's first starring role.

Bertrand’s rich, evocative prose makes the novel an engaging read despite the heavy subject matter.  Readers looking for a classic horror story with depth and resonance will be well rewarded his work. Read it late on a windy night with a window open and dogs howling in the distance… and don’t be surprised if you crave red meat and more the next day…

All views in this blog are my own and represent the views of no other person, organization, or institution.

The Express Diaries by Nick Marsh

A version of this article appeared in Knights of the Dinner Table #196 (February, 2013)

Role-playing has always been intimately linked to literature, it grew from wargaming, certainly, but its
soul has also been a deep desire to live within the fantastical worlds we immerse ourselves in while reading.  Indeed, styles of role-play can often be divined from one’s reading preferences (Conan fans usually love hack and slash, for example). Many books have inspired role-playing games, and as the role-playing hobby has developed, it has inspired books in its own turn. 

Usually these works are best when a writer simply sets a work within a specific role-playing setting, though many have attempted to turn their characters exploit into novels, those attempts usually fall very flat. But not always, some writers have succeeded in turning roleplaying campaign inspiration into fictional gold. 

The Express Diaries by Nick Marsh was inspired by a series of role-playing sessions played and recorded by an RPG group, the Bradford Players (at one time these were available for sale online, as shown here, but they seem to be no longer available, sadly). The Bradford Players were running through a classic Call of Cthulhu adventure, Horror on the Orient Express (Chaosium, 1991). The adventure was inspired by the literary works of H.P. Lovecraft and Thomas Ligotti, Marsh’s novelization of the game sessions brings the cycle full circle. 

The novel follows a band of investigators as they chase down the mystery of the “Sedefkar Simulacrum” from London to Constantinople and back again, travelling generally on the infamous Orient Express. The tales is told, as the title implies, through various diary and journal entries, and further expanded through newspaper articles, advertisements. This is reminiscent of Stoker’s technique in Dracula and it is equally effective in this work. 

Perhaps because Marsh wasn’t one of the original players, but rather an outsider inspired by the sessions, this novel suffers from none of the self-indulgent flaws one usually finds in fiction inspired by game sessions. The characters view points are each unique, and this is apparent as the view shifts with each entry.  The earlier chapters have quite a bit of humor, some of it can get a bit predictable for anyone familiar with gaming in the 19th century. That doesn’t prevent it from being funny, however, and the early humor allows the reader to bond with the characters, and lulls the reader, so that when the horror truly begins, it is a bit shocking. 

For gamers, the value of this work is obvious, it serves as a wonderful example of a Call of Cthulhu campaign, or really, it works for nearly any horror adventure. The Bradford players seem to have been very role-playing oriented, none of the characters could be described as combat heavy hitters so the campaign is an excellent example of games in which direct combat and firefights play little if any role (appropriate, for the setting). 

Marsh’ sense of humor and ability to portray character is excellent, his prose is very sure-footed. Perhaps he doesn’t quite handle the horrific portions of the tale quite as well as the humorous sections, but they are still a great read. The reader heavily identifies with the characters and subsequently feels their defeats quite keenly. 

Of course, critical for any tale of this sort are the scenes on the train proper, as well as the sense of travel as the story progresses across Europe. This is one of Marsh’ strengths, the train comes alive through his prose, the reader feels as if they too have taken the long journey, and despite the horror, like they might want to take another such trip. I appreciate when he points out anachronisms such as dining cars that appear in the original adventure.

The novel is well suited for both prequels and sequels, and one can hope that Marsh finds good reason to continue novelizing the adventures of the Bradford Players. Certainly this work is a worthy addition to the Cthulhu mythos, even if Lovecraft himself may not have approved of the tale (he seems to have preferred a single protagonist, and never a female lead).In fact, I found this comment from a reader on the book's Amazon page extremely insightful: "...not so much something H.P. Lovecraft himself might have written as what you might have gotten if Clark Ashton Smith had written a Bram Stoker pastiche." I wish I written that myself!

If you enjoy horror, the writings of H.P. Lovecraft, or if you enjoy role-playing then give The Express Diaries a read. Or if you just are in between campaigns and need a Call of Cthulhu fix. Regardless, you’ll have a good read.

All views in this blog are my own and represent the views of no other person, organization, or institution.

Yule Review: Santa Claus in Fantasy Fiction

 

A version of this article appeared in Knights of the Dinner Table #182 (December, 2011).

Some of the pictures of Father Christmas in our world make him look only funny and jolly. But now that the children actually stood looking at him they didn’t find it quite like that. He was so big, and so glad, and so real, that they all became quite still. They felt very glad, but also very solemn. 

–The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe, by C.S. Lewis.

It is once again the merry time of Yule, when the old year dies and the new is born again. It is natural in the northern hemisphere, and especially in the truly northern regions, to associate this time with death and rebirth. It is a special time for myth and religion, a time that seems to attract mythical figures like moth to a flame. Christianity and Mithraism both chose this time to honor the birth of their respective deities, of course, but equally entwined in the season is the legend of the Gift Bringer, a magical figure that rewards children for good behavior and, sometimes, punishes the bad children. 

The gift figure takes many forms throughout Europe, ranging from the Yule Goat of Scandinavia to La Befana, the Old Woman of Italy or the Christkind of Bavaria and Austria. The more common form, however is a bearded old man, usually connected to the Christian Saint Nicholas, called Father Christmas in the British Isles. In America he is Santa Claus, and like many American things he has sprung from his old world origins to spread back out throughout the world. 

Whatever we call him, Santa Claus is a powerfully mythic figure and a seeming natural for fantasy fiction, especially the more mystical, dream-like style of fantasy that follows in Lord Dunsany’s footsteps far from the  fields we know and deep into the realms of Faerie. But as I have mentioned before, Christmas remains a difficult subject, and perhaps its relentless commercialization and the plethora of children’s stories have dissuaded fantasy authors from exploring its fantasy potential. Regardless, there are some very good fantasy tales of Santa, by the greatest writers in the field, and fantasy lovers looking for a fantastical take on Christmas should give them a try.   

Perhaps the earliest fantasy novel to tell a Santa story is L. Frank Baum's excellent The Life and Adventures of Santa Claus (1902), which I reviewed here. Baum revisited Santa in the short story "A Kidnapped Santa Claus" (1904), a sequel to the origin tale which the five "Daemons of the Caves" (Selfishness, Envy, Hatred, Malice, and Repentance). They try to eliminate Santa and his influence on children first through temptation then when that fails through kidnapping. It's an excellent short parable, with plenty of fodder for gamemasters.

C.S. Lewis, of course, employs Father Christmas, but his momentous appearance in Narnia in The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe (1950) was indistinguishable from Santa save in name. His appearance is a pivotal plot point, and the gifts he brings are not mere toys, but essential to the tale - in fact, rather similar to Galadriel's gifts to the Fellowship in Tolkien's The Lord of the Rings. 

Lewis’ friend J.R.R. Tolkien produced a series of letters from Father Christmas to his children, written over two decades and first published in 1976.  Letters from Father Christmas (revised 1999), notable not only for its engaging prose and episodic tales of life at the North Pole, but also because so many of the motifs and events of Tolkien’s The Hobbit, The Lord of the Rings, and Silmarillion are foreshadowed in the letters.

Of course, as well written as they are, the Santa works of Tolkien, Lewis, and Baum are aimed at children.  Seabury Quinn’s Roads, first published in Weird Tales in 1938 and then in hardback by Arkham House in 1948, is written for adults, asking the question, "What if Conan the Barbarian became Santa Claus?"  The Arkham House novel was well illustrated by Virgil Finlay, and was reprinted in 2005.  It is divided into three parts, ‘The Road to Bethlehem,’ ‘The Road to Calvary,’ and ‘The Long, Long

Road.’ Santa is really "Claudius" an immortal German mercenary who apparently spent centuries slaughtering his way across Europe and the Middle east with his equally immortal wife (a sort of Jewish Red Sonja who begins life as a prostitute in a brothel run by Mary Magdalen). The book positively reeks of anti-Semitism and Anglo-Saxon triumphalism. Quinn is best known for writing occult detective stories, which appeared in the pulp magazines alongside the tales of H.P. Lovecraft, R.E. Howard, and Clark Ashton Smith. Roads is a religious Christmas tale told through a Sword & Sorcery lens and dripping with 1930s style anti-Semitism that it simply never rises above.

A more modern take comes in Bill Willingham’s long running comic Fables. The comic addressed Santa, in “Jiminy Christmas” (issue #56). Santa is a

‘Fable’ (a living, breathing fairy tale) of course, but he is a particularly powerful one who somehow transcends the other Fables in power and influence. The tale is very adult, all though it portrays a young child’s quest to see Santa during his gift-giving (the explanation provided for Claus’ miraculous Christmas Eve global service is sublime). Like Lewis, Willingham uses Santa as a deus ex machina who passes gifts and knowledge onto the protagonists. It also provides one of the best explanations for how Santa reaches all the houses around the globe in one night. 

Another modern fantasy take is Tony Abbot's Kringle, from 2005. It isn't a traditional Christmas book but rather a Dark Age bildungsroman. Kringle has goblins, elves, magic, all against a back drop of Anglo-Saxon Britain. It's very
good, but it is really only about the start of the tale, how Kringle transform into Santa is barely addressed. But as far as it goes its a great, fun, fantasy tale. It reminds me a great deal of Poul Anderson's The Broken Sword, with the magic world existing alongside but hidden from the barbarity of the Dark Ages.

An even more modern take is The Christmas Chronicles: The Legend of Santa Claus by Tim Slover. It is a pleasant enough tale, but it doesn't quite scratch the Santa and Fantasy itch I've always had. It doesn't catch the magic of the elves and faerie quite right. Magic only enters the tale after Claus and his wife have had a long life as toy givers. Even then, it ignores or changes most of the Christmas legends, (Rudolph gets a different name and totally different story). It lacks that connection to older, deeper mythologies

and is very Christian, aside from an odd digression concerning the Dalai Lama.

For gamemasters looking to add some Christmas spark, Lewis and Willingham’s use of Santa as a gift-giver provides an excellent example. Lewis’ Santa, especially, is similar in role to Tolkien’s Galadriel. Santa can pass on wisdom or knowledge (suitably hidden in rhyme) as well as providing precisely the needed magic weapon or spell. If limited to a one time, special event for a particularly mythic quest, this can work extremely well. Of course, Christmas scenarios can also be drawn from these Santa tales, especially the ongoing war between Santa and the goblins in Tolkien’s The Father Christmas Letters.

Whether you read these tales for fun, for a window into the holiday, or merely to get some ideas for the Christmas Eve role-playing session, I hope you will sing:

Goday, goday, my lord Sire Christëmas, goday!

Goday, Sire Christëmas, our king,

for ev'ry man, both old and ying,

is glad and blithe of your coming;

Goday!

(Anon. Christmas Carol, 1458)

All views in this blog are my own and represent the views of no other person, organization, or institution.

A Halloween Review: Frankenstein by Mary Shelley

 A version of this article appeared in Knights of the Dinner Table #168 (October, 2010).

From 2006 through 2012 I was the "Off the Shelf" columnist for Knights of the Dinner Table, a magazine and comic book devoted to tabletop fantasy role paying games. I reviewed classic and modern fantasy, horror, and science fiction novels. Every October I tried to review a work of classic horror in honor of Halloween. I am trying to continue that tradition with my blog. You can find previous Halloween Reviews here. 

The witch is on the broomstick and a chill is in the air as haunted old Halloween arrives. This year I review Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein.

Mary Shelley was a remarkable woman from a remarkable family; her father was a famous philosopher, her mother a famous feminist, her husband the renowned poet Percy Bysshe Shelley. Her early life was remarkable for the early 19th century, ‘radical’ even by today’s standards and colored by a remarkable amount of grief.  Aside from the creation of his monster, she in fact led a far more fascinating and interesting life than her novel’s protagonist. But a full accounting of her life would require a thick biography.

The story of the genesis of Frankenstein is well known. In 1816 she and Percy visited Lord Byron at a villa near Lake Geneva, Switzerland.  To pass the rainy days, Byron suggested they write ghost stories themselves, and from that summer came the story that she later worked into the novel: Frankenstein; or, The Modern Prometheus.

The plot of the novel is well know: Frankenstein, a Byronic figure, becomes infatuated with creating life through electricity and his obsessive studies and experiments allow him to eventually give life to a creature he has constructed from cadavers.  His reaction is not what he expects:

It was on a dreary night of November that I beheld the accomplishment of my toils. With an anxiety that almost amounted to agony, I collected the instruments of life around me, that I might infuse a spark of being into the lifeless thing that lay at my feet. It was already one in the morning; the rain pattered dismally against the panes, and my candle was nearly burnt out, when, by the glimmer of the half-extinguished light, I saw the dull yellow eye of the creature open; it breathed hard, and a convulsive motion agitated its limbs. 

How can I describe my emotions at this catastrophe, or how delineate the wretch whom with such infinite pains and care I had endeavoured to form? His limbs were in proportion, and I had selected his features as beautiful. Beautiful! Great God! His yellow skin scarcely covered the work of muscles and arteries beneath; his hair was of a lustrous black, and flowing; his teeth of a pearly whiteness; but these luxuriances only formed a more horrid contrast with his watery eyes, that seemed almost of the same colour as the dun-white sockets in which they were set, his shrivelled complexion and straight black lips.

Frankenstein violently rejects his creature and abandons it, returning to his home and trying to resume his life as though his demented escapade had never occurred. But of course one’s mistakes cannot be so easily buried or forgotten and tragedy stalks Frankenstein’s loved ones until finally he and the creature race to a final confrontation in the far north. The novel is narrated by the device of a framing tale to the captain of an arctic exploration vessel as Frankenstein recovers from exposure.

Frankentsein is a major influence for gamers, directly inspiring villains in various horror settings like TSR’s Ravenloft. Frankenstein himself serves as an excellent model for either PC protagonist or NPC antagonist, indeed stripped of his scientific trappings he makes an excellent wizard.  The Creature is equally fascinating, and gamemasters who study how he plots his actions and justifies his actions can model truly tragic and emotionally painful foes for their players on him. Of course, for those gaming in a ‘Steam-punk’ setting the novel is practically required reading.  

Frankenstein is a classic novel that fully deserves the attention it receives, but it has perhaps been over-exposed.  High school English teachers reach for it easily, since it grabs the attention of students and the author’s life touches on so many important themes: Romanticism, Feminism, Liberalism, and so forth. But few of us truly enjoy works we are forced to read as homework, and when our memories are tainted by dozens of movies which pay only a passing nod to the novel while employing its themes and characters with casual abandon, it is only natural the one begins to think of it as an anemic, unoriginal motif.

But Shelley’s novel is more than that, it is a rich, full-bodied gothic experience that induces in the willing reader a deep despair. Her prose is as carefully crafted as any other from that most literary period, and just as passionate as anything written by Byron or Shelley themselves. 

When the moon is full and you wish to delve into the soul of horror and despair, leave the urban vampire tales alone and revisit Frankenstein.  It will be time well spent. 

All views in this blog are my own and represent the views of no other person, organization, or institution.

Review: Sanctuary by Lynn Abbey

 A version of this article appeared in Knights of the Dinner Table #198 (April, 2013).

All the good things of the earth flow into our city because of its greatness…

(Pericles' Funeral Oration, Thucydides 2.38)

Pericles was speaking of Athens, one of the marvels of the ancient world, a city whose institutions have
come to us through the centuries and whose reputation may be tarnished but has never descended from greatness. It was literally a ‘city on a hill;’ the original great cosmopolis or ‘world city.’ Cities have long captured our imaginations, and usually there are two types. One is the great, shining city that was Athens, or if one looks at fictional cities, Superman’s Metropolis. But it is the other sort of city, the city into which all vile things flow that this novel explores, a city ironically named Sanctuary.

Lynn Abbey’s Sanctuary is a unique novel for many reasons. It is intended as a bridge between the original incarnation of Thieves’ World and its second life. Thieves’ World was the first ‘shared world’ setting, and it was primarily a fantasy short story anthology series edited by Robert Asprin and Lynn Abbey, though novels, board games, comics, and a truly excellent multi-system city RPG boxed set were also produced. Its influence on shared worlds, the fantasy genre, and roleplaying was significant, but it reached creative and sales exhaustion by the 1990s.  However, fans of the series never completely disappeared and Abbey was persuaded to resurrect it in 2002. 

Sanctuary is not your normal hero’s quest tale, though it a coming of age tale. It merges the tragic history of Sanctuary with the equally tragic back story of its protagonist, Cauvin. Cauvin is the adopted son of a mason, adopted following the flaming, bloody demise of the Hand of Dyareela cult. This cult, devoted to a hermaphroditic deity of chaos, disease, madness, and death (first introduced in the second anthology of the series, Tales from the Vulgar Unicorn in 1980), had gained control of the city in the years following the last anthology. The Hand prefers children as followers; it gathered orphans and raised them to be corrupt, mad, and cannibalistic. Cauvin was one of the very few sane survivors, saved by those who destroyed the cult because he displayed a spark of humanity. Still a child, he is adopted by a stone mason and becomes his servant/apprentice, and he settles into the humdrum life of a Sanctuary working man. Then he discovers on his daily business a decrepit, aged, and wounded Molin Torchholder. 

Torchholder appeared or was mentioned in more stories than any other character in the original series, often just a cameo or an off-screen threat, but always there, always involved. His choice as the bridge character was inspired, as was the idea that he would chose an heir to whom to pass his knowledge of the secrets and lore of the city. Cauvin, Molin, and Cauvin’s younger adopted brother, Bec, are forced to confront the demons and angels of the past while facing a new, yet familiar threat to the city.  

And the city is the real hero of the story. Cauvin is endearing and the reader will certainly root for him, but the soul of Thieves’ World has always been the city of Sanctuary itself, and Abbey manages to show its shifts and changes over time, its many physical alterations, while holding true to the Sanctuary's soul. The city is alive and real, it attracts pain, suffering, corruption, and despair yet the city itself is neither corrupt nor wicked but rather a tough survivor battered and bruised by tragic life and yet unbroken.  

In the past, when I've read this novel I've been very focused on the easter eggs and hints to the past, this time around I am trying very hard to focus instead on this novel as its own thing, with its own story to tell. For example, the Dyareelans make INCREDIBLE fantasy world villains, Sanctuary has never had a scarcity of evil and cruelty but the Dyareelans surpassed everything previously seen. - they make Roxanne look like a mildly difficult hedge witch of quite banal "evil" in comparison. Their focus on children as both victims and tools in their atrocities makes them feel very real and very abhorrent.

The Molin/Cauvin relationship with reminds me a little of Merlin and Nimue in Mary Stewart's The Last Enchantment (obviously without the romantic element). And Molin and Cauvin's relationship with Arizak and Raith remind of Merlin's relationship with Uther and Arthur. The idea of a younger heir taking over for a lamed great king is a common Arthurian motif, but stripping it from its Faerie and British environment and instead applying it to the succession crisis for a barbarian tribe ruling a conquered desert city is inspired. Or... I've just read far too much of Thieves' World and the matter of Britain both and I'm seeing things that aren't there. 😀

Gamemasters will find in Sanctuary a wonderful example for rebuilding or advancing old, stale campaigns. It is also an excellent example of city design, and the importance of forming a cohesive history for your settings. The Hand of Dyareela is a wonderful example for structuring an evil cult to oppose your players. For players, Cauvin, Bec, and Soldt all provide excellent character templates that can be altered and emulated to provide depth. Players running priests who wish to be something other than clerical healing dispensers will find Molin Torchholder inspirational as well.

Sanctuary was followed by two new short story anthologies, Turning Points (2002) and Enemies of Fortune (2004), each structured like the original Thieves’ World anthologies with a stable of writers from the old series as well as new comers.

I said earlier that Sanctuary is ironically named, yet it is aptly named as well. The city draws all that is vile to it, but also acts as a protector to it citizens, and for readers the city is a sanctuary as well, you will truly enjoy your time in Thieves’ World. So check your purse, loosen your sword, and give the city another chance. 

All views in this blog are my own and represent the views of no other person, organization, or institution.

Yule Review: The Life and Adventures of Santa Claus

 A version of this article appeared in Knights of the Dinner Table #170 (December, 2010).

The circle of the world has turned and Yule is come again. In the Northern Hemisphere the light has slowly been declining until the shortest day of the year arrives, and the longest night. Bells tinkle and magic is in the air as so much of the Western World again descends into fantasy and childhood.

It's Christmas Eve! 

Despite the obvious links to fantasy inherent in so many Christmas traditions and tales, the holiday is stubbornly difficult for fantasy writers to handle successfully. Perhaps it is the broad, mass appeal of Christmas stories, its religious overtones, or its economic importance. Whatever the reason, precious few good, modern fantasy genre stories are set during the holidays, and even fewer successfully tackle its themes. The topic is generally abandoned to the authors of children’s book. In the 19^th century, however, it was a common topic for prolific writers whose longevity and popularity have elevated them to icon status today.

L. Frank Baum is a prime example. Because he wrote for children and enjoyed mass appeal, the author of The Wizard of Oz is seldom thought of as a fantasy author, a status he shares with Peter Pan’s J.M. Barrie and Alice in Wonderland’s Lewis Carroll. Of course, all three were fantasy writers who built fantastical imaginary worlds that have directly influenced much modern fantasy, and fantasy roleplaying.

In 1902 Baum wrote The Life and Adventures of Santa Claus, which purported to provide Santa’s origin story, creating an elaborate and original mythology that includes traditional creatures such as nymphs, gnomes, and elves as well as original creations such as Ryls and Knooks. The story is set in the Forest of Burzee, described memorably by Baum:

Have you heard of the great Forest of Burzee? Nurse used to sing of it when I was a child. She sang of the big tree-trunks, standing close together, with their roots intertwining below the earth and their branches intertwining above it; of their rough coating of bark and queer, gnarled limbs; of the bushy foliage that roofed the entire forest, save where the sunbeams found a path through which to touch the ground in little spots and to cast weird and curious shadows over the mosses, the lichens and the drifts of dried leaves.

The Forest of Burzee is mighty and grand and awesome to those who steal beneath its shade. Coming from the sunlit meadows into its mazes it seems at first gloomy, then pleasant, and afterward filled with never-ending delights.

Baum carefully describes the ways in which all of the different aspects of the Santa tradition come into being, from reindeer to the first Christmas Tree. It’s all fanciful, and differs significantly from today’s better known traditions: for example Santa’s deer number ten rather than eight and are named Glossie,  Flossie, Racer, Pacer, Fearless, Peerless, Ready, Steady, Feckless, and Speckless, When Baum wrote Christmas traditions were less calcified, and he made full use of this creative freedom. 

Santa’s rise to greatness is not unopposed; a great battle is fought between the evil Awgwas and the immortals, Santa’s patrons. Santa himself is not involved in the battle, Baum is careful to maintain his essential purity and goodness, established firmly when the young Claus, finally exposed to the evils that so many children suffer after his own happy childhood in the Forest of Burzee, embarks upon his great quest to bring children happiness.

The Forest of Burzee, and Santa himself, are connected to Baum’s Oz legendarium in the 1909 novel The Road to Oz (the fifth Oz book), when Santa and his entourage come to Princess Ozma’s birthday party. The Forest, and Santa, appear in some of Baum’s short stories, especially “A Kidnapped Santa Claus” from 1904, a slightly darker tale which featured the Daemons of Selfishness, Envy, Hatred, Malice, and Repentance.

The fairy tale style of Life and Adventures of Santa Claus might put off players and game-masters from seeking inspiration in the tale, but in fact the mythology is a rich vein to mine for gaming nuggets. One limitation of the Christmas mythology, from a gaming perspective, has always been its close ties to the Christian religion. Baum’s tale presents a well reason Santa Claus figure in a mythology divorced from Christianity (though not hostile to it).  A game-master can thus introduce Santa and his accompanying mythology to a pagan campaign world without violating either logic or insulting a real world religion. Indeed, the Immortals make an excellent pantheon that a game-master could drop ready-made into any campaign with a strong element of faerie in its makeup.

Baum wrote the tale for children, but his prose is skillful if minimalist. It is filled with evocative images and memorable if quickly drawn characters. Discerning, open-minded adults should enjoy the pleasant tale and younger truly may truly love it. The novel has been adapted to the screen in two cartoons, and handles the transition well, Baum laved the theater and his writing retained a theatrical sense that encouraged such adaption.

Finally, like most of Baum’s work the tale is in the public domain. It can be found readily enough in various new editions, and is also available as a free download at Project Gutenberg.

The work was adapted into an interesting stop-motion animation holiday special by Rankin-Bass in 1985. It never attained the popularity of the other Rankin-Bass shows, but it has some remarkable images, the Great Ak especially is really dignified and impressive. And Universal produced a cartoon version as well in 2000, but I've never had an opportunity to watch it. 

Any figure as pervasive and influential as Santa Claus can carry the weight of multiple origin tales. Baum’s is a worthy contribution to the legend, and an excellent way to add a hint of mistletoe and holly to your fantasy gaming.

All views in this blog are my own and represent the views of no other person, organization, or institution.