Epic fantasy formulas are usually thus:
An ordinary young person, (usually a boy, but also sometimes a girl), discovers something unique about him or herself: a hidden talent or a prophesy, or maybe they can swallow swords while juggling cats, I don’t know. And it turns out that this secret is what saves the world.
Rinse and repeat. Along the way, the hero goes on the hero’s journey to accomplish a Very Important Quest. And while I love this genre, and can swallow this formula if it’s well-done, I’ve always asked myself something:
Why don’t you guys give up?
I mean, I get it if the main character is the heir to the throne or a Chosen One who grew up knowing he or she was a Chosen One. But as much as we all love the idea of regular old joes rising up to be the hero, I just find it hard to believe how some will continue to fight against all odds if there’s nothing at stake but their pride. (And remember, the fight HAS to be against all odds because it’s not going to be epic fantasy, otherwise).
Authors in this genre these days are great, and have figured out all sorts of ways to make this work. Maybe they ARE just ambitious and will take things far just to save face (Vlad Taltos). Maybe they have nothing else left and the fight gives them meaning. Maybe they WANT to give up but their friend or lover is caught up in it. Maybe they done fucked up and are just trying to fix their mistake.
There is one thing, though, that occurred to me after years of writing while observing and interacting with the people around me. It’s the fact that everybody, from their point of view, is the hero. Everyone is living their own hero’s journey. They don’t need a prophecy or quest.
The man who gets up every day, before the crack of dawn, and sets this boat out to fish so he can bring them home for his family to eat…
The woman who makes her children’s lunch and then takes her husband and kids to work, and then spends half an hour in the playground alone in the baby, wondering how they could stretch their budget another day…
Everyday life isn’t easy. Sometimes, the idea of fighting dragons is vastly preferable to facing your spouse and telling her that you just got fired. This matters just as well in fantasy, even though some writers and readers think otherwise. Throwing all the magical elements in doesn’t change that these people have lives to live, too, and sometimes that everyday is more important or more difficult than all the orc armies in the world combined.
“What is honor compared to a woman’s love? What is duty against the feel of a newborn son in your arms . . . or the memory of a brother’s smile? Wind and words. Wind and words. We are only human, and the gods have fashioned us for love. That is our great glory, and our great tragedy.”
-A Game of Thrones
The Agartes Epilogues, being my first trilogy, takes this idea and runs with it. Because it’s my first trilogy, it kind of trips all over it, too, but what can you do? I’m young and I have to start somewhere.
The Interludes are brief snippets happening in the present form to various viewpoints. They tell you sides of the story that can’t be shown from the main characters’ point of views, but also reflect on what the trilogy deems as important: the everyday, the mundane, things more beautiful than any Unbreakable Sword or Magical Kingdom. Now, how far would you go to preserve these things? Would you travel thousands of miles? Face a magical monster, or an army, and fight to the death?
“When you reach my age, it’s sometimes hard to remember the shape of your life as it once was. Once, I carried that bedraggled rat on my shoulders, much like you do with your girl. I would take him to the beach before lunch-time and think that I would never tire of watching him squeal as the sand sank around his toes, such precious toes. Now his squealing sounds like wheels in much need of oiling, and if they don’t grate my old bones, they make me snore. I don’t even want to think about what his toes might look like now.”
“Sorrow,” she said, “is not always tragic.”
-Aina’s Breath
Check out The Agartes Epilogues. It’s R-rated. R for “Run, the giant monster is going to make you talk about feelings!”
