I
had fun waffling about cyberpunk in the last post, so here’s another one, this
time harping on another genre I like to talk about: grimdark fantasy.
Much
like cyberpunk, it’s a genre that is both long-lived and has recently enjoyed something
of a revival, thanks to the televisual kinomatic extravaganza that was HBO’s “Game
of Thrones” (about which, I’ve pontificated about here and here).
The
genre itself goes back much further, of course, with one obvious touchstone
being Michael Moorcock’s Elric of Melnibone stories that started in 1961, while
the word ‘grimdark’ was inspired by the 1987 tag line of tabletop wargame
Warhammer 40,000 “In the grim darkness of the far future there is only war.”
Since then we’ve had a range of authors from Stephen R Donaldson’s “Thomas
Covenant” to R Scott Bakker’s “Prince of Nothing” and is there something about
having the initial R that makes you a nihilist, and oh yes also Joe Abercrombie’s
“First Law” series (here and here) and Steven Erickson’s numerous and ponderous
Malazan books.
Grimdark
fantasy is often described as the antidote to Tolkien, a gritty, dirty, messy
genre for everyone who rolled their eyes every time Galadriel broke into song
or Middle Earth was once again saved at the 11th hour by the
unlooked-for arrival of a flock of Very Large Birds Indeed. Grimdark is unepic
fantasy, populated by angsty antiheroes, hard-faced warriors with anger
management issues, villains who might have a point actually, and lots and lots
of stage blood.
Iconoclasm
can feel terribly clever when you are young, lord knows I was an insufferably
contrarian smart-arse from age about 10 to 30 (well, probably long after that,
truth be told). Realizing that, despite your parents’ admonition to tell the
truth, work hard and be kind to others, it was actually quite possible and
perhaps even advantageous to do none of those things and still be successful,
can feel like an enormous betrayal.
Grimdark
is above all an angry, hurt cry of rejection of the beautiful lies that epic
fantasy tells: Life isn’t like that. Good does not always triumph. Good is
boring, evil is interesting. There are no heroes, everyone is flawed. Nobody
really thinks they are evil. And so on.
Hello, Kullervo
Proponents
always trot out the same handful of rationalizations for the genre’s popularity.
The dark times we live in, you see. As though the year of our lord two thousand
and twenty were in someway harder to live through than two world wars, an
influenza epidemic that killed more than the first war, the worst economic collapse
of the century, the AIDS epidemic or the constant threat of nuclear
annihilation.
As
you can tell, I don’t think there’s anything especially new or innovative about
rejecting or subverting epic fantasy tropes. Here is the most grimdark story I’ve
ever read:
A
boy is orphaned when his parents and family are massacred. He is brought up by
his parents’ killers, rebels against them and is sold into slavery. He escapes,
meets and seduces a girl who he later discovers to be his own sister (unbeknown
to him, she escaped the massacre). When she realizes they have committed
incest, she commits suicide. Blinded by fury, the boy returns to the family
that raised him, slaughters them, and then kills himself. The end.
Pretty
grim, eh?
Here’s
the thing, though. That’s the story of Kullervo, a Finnish legend written down
in the 19th century, but based on a much older oral tradition. It’s
also, pretty much beat for beat except with more elves and dragons, Tolkien’s story
of Turin Turambar, which he first began in 1917.
To
flog the dead horse a few more times: Gilgamesh is a tyrant and despot whose
best friend dies, and later he fails to win either immortality or eternal
youth. Achilles is a selfish arse and dies in the Iliad. Beowulf gets eaten by
a dragon. King Arthur is killed by his own son. So it goes.
To
my mind there’s nothing especially new or modern or even particularly anti-Tolkien
about having troubled heroes who do terrible things. That is, if anything, the
default to which Tolkien's Lord of the Rings is a rare exception.
I'll Show You Realism
Nor do
I think there is anything innately more “realistic” about letting the bad guys
win. George Martin may very well be correct, for all I know might does indeed
make right, but a quick glance at history and a fall back on a slightly
different idiom should tell us that he who lives by the sword dies by it. For
example, let’s have a look at the Roman Emperors who were murdered by their own
Praetorian Guard: Caligula, Galba, Pertinax, Julianus, Elagabalus and Aurelian
and that’s not even going into all the ones murdered by their own regular troops.
The
dictator who rules for a lifetime is a relatively modern invention, and
medieval rulers who tried to act like tyrants and despots were more likely to
find themselves on the wrong end of a hot poker enema a la Edward II (yes,
probably apocryphal, but still a good story to tell).
Being
a ruthless bastards isn’t any more of a shortcut to success than being
virtuous, generous and kind. Honestly, it’s all a bit of a crap shoot. You
always hear about successful authors who got a break because someone assistant’s
wife just happened to read the manuscript and insist it must be published, or
showrunners whose first-ever pitch was greenlit because they have famous
parents or the man who became president of the United States mainly because his
father had been too, and my takeaway is that quite frankly nobody, neither good
nor evil, has the slightest fucking clue what they’re doing. Evil works
sometimes, sure. So does being good. That’s the only reality.
What Audiences Really Want (What They Really, Really Want)
But
of course all these claims at greater realism are a decoy, a smokescreen,
because we all know fiction isn’t really about reflecting reality, fantasy fiction
doubly not so. I mean, the name of a genre is a bit of a dead giveaway, isn’t
it: Fantasy. Not reality.
The whole
point of speculative fiction, non-mimetic writing and fantasy as a literary,
marketing genre is that it draws on myth and magic, legends and fairy tales, in
order to present a world which is very definitely NOT our own. Sure, you could
write a story that is essentially just the real world with a couple of elves in
the background, but then my question becomes why (other than the commercial
reasons) is this marketed as fantasy? Grimdark fantasy, like all fantasy, is
not a reflection but an exaggeration, a specific attempt to highlight and twist
something we find in our world. In this case: the atavistic taste for revenge,
and the desire to indulge our darkest impulses.
Fans
do not flock to watch “Game of Thrones” or pick up the latest god and wizards
tome because they’re looking for an accurate depiction of the human condition.
Grimdark is as escapist as epic fantasy, merely in the opposite direction. It
indulges all the things we’d like to do in our darker moments, the co-worker we’d
cheerfully strangle, the careless driver we’d like to run off the road, the
rude shop clerk we’d like to stuff inside their own till. Grimdark lets you
vicariously live out those fantasies in all their visceral glory.
In
that sense, the genre is regressive and conservative, not iconoclastic.
Nihilism and the refusal to believe in any kind of positive change, preferring
instead to indulge in revenge fantasies, is inherently pro-establishment,
because they’re the ones who benefit if nobody tries to change anything. Audiences
want to have their caked blood and eat it too, to feel they’re doing something
rebellious while engaging in the very boggiest of standard entertainment.
(This
American need to be at once both the rebel underdog and the invincible champion
is probably worth exploring. Maybe next time. On the same note, I make plenty
of digs at America’s expense in this blog, but to be fair, most of the
Americans I’ve met have been wonderful, kind people. This kind of ribbing is
just what you get for being so big and famous and dominating the discourse all
the time.)
It's Not All Bad Though
The
only exception I’ll admit is grimdark that is satire, either of other grimdark
works or of the nihilistic mindset it supports. And to be fair, the Terry Brookses
and Tad Williamses and Robert Jordanses and Brandon Sorensonsons of the genre can
stand to be brought down to earth every once in a while lest they get too
carried away. It’s worth pointing out that for all their medievalist and poetic
trappings the modern epic fantasy is still ultimately about dudes killing other
dudes with swords.
Abercrombie
gets this, I think, with his alcoholic princesses, dashingly brain-dead swordsmen,
manipulative mentor wizards, perfectly pleasant torturers and barbarian
berserkers with a heart of … if not gold, then brass maybe. I think Warhammer
40,000 also had this, until a certain cohort of fans started taking the setting
at face value (you can still see traces of humor in the dimbulb orks, for
example).
In
line with my unwarranted American-bashing above, I note that this kind of
satire seems to be a particularly British thing. I’ve seen this elsewhere too,
with reams of American publications warning you not to try humor. I think the default
American mode of communication is sincerity, which is why political discourse
gets so overheated, nobody can look at the topic or themselves from an ironic
distance. Whereas British people seem much more keyed to look for or expect
life to be absurd. But I’m digressing.
I note
in closing that the “Game of Thrones” fandom has more or less evaporated now
that the show is over (whimper not a bang, there) and the next book nowhere in sight (next year, says
Martin, and we’ve heard that before). That suggests a lack of staying power, a
lack of purchase or foothold on the imagination, and thus a shallowness to the
Gotcha! adolescent epiphany that life sucks. We know, dear. That ceased to feel
insightful by about age 16. These days, it’s the hopeful fantasies that feel
ground-breaking and innovative.