Nonetheless, they laid the groundwork for other imaginary playmates: the characters who exist in my novels. Because even when we write about historically documented individuals, we’re still making up things about them. We must; research is limited by the materials available to us. In some cases, there are large chunks of documented information that can be incorporated into the novel. But mostly we create entire story arcs that are nothing more than an exercise of our imaginations.
My primary genre is fantasy . . . and saying so in public has been made considerably easier by the Lord of the Rings film trilogy, because now I need not hastily explain that my kind of fantasy is not erotic adult fiction. It’s easy to say “You know, like Lord of the Rings,” despite the fact that my fantasy bears no resemblence to Tolkien’s novels. It’s a communications shortcut, and it works. I don’t get funny looks anymore.
Well, better to say I don’t get as many funny looks. There still exists a fair-sized chunk of the population that cannot comprehend why anyone would want to make up stories about magic, and people who wield it.
Everyone understands the challenge of a murder mystery, the allure of romance, the draw in a meaty generational saga incorporating known historical periods and events. But shapechangers? Magical swords? Mythical beasties such as dragons and unicorns? Why, they ask? None of it is real.
And that is the root of the challenge facing every fantasy author. One must make it real. One must seduce the reader into a suspension of disbelief so complete that he completely forgets the story can’t possibly be real and invests all of his emotions in the characters, their adventures, and the outcome of the story. He believes.
Authors have often described science fiction as the literature of ideas, of technology. In sf, the reader believes that the spacecraft described may one day actually exist, because it’s entirely possible within the realm of scientific discovery. But fantasy is the literature of emotions, of the soul. Magic, too, is a technology, but of things that can never exist.
And yet we want so badly to believe they could exist. That maybe, if we dig deeply enough into the tor at Glastonbury, we will indeed find Camelot.
In books, and in our souls, we all of us want to believe.
Since 1984, Jennifer Roberson has published twenty-four solo novels, with her primary genre, fantasy, divided among three different universes. Most recently she debuted her new Karavans series, the second volume of which (Deepwood) is just now hitting the shelves. Roberson has also published the six-volume Sword-Dancer saga, and eight novels in the Chronicles of the Cheysuli, with three new Cheysuli titles under contract.
Visit Jennifer's web site at cheysuli.com.
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