Why I Like Fantasy Fiction

As an avid reader of any genre on the planet I’ve often come across an argument from people slightly senior to me about fantasy fiction. My parents for example, never understood my fascination for vampires and werewolves and zombies as a teenager and they thought I would “outgrow it”; my mother particularly, and read real literature like Chaucer’s Canterbury Tales (which I found to be unreadable) or War and Peace (which she bragged to have read 17 times and probably had, who knows?). While I am aware that these books are considered to be and are perhaps some of the greatest works ever to have been written, I must with all due respect say that I did not enjoy War and Peace and I feel that as reading is something very personal and intimate (for me almost as personal and intimate as sex) it’s up to me what I want to give time to or time for!

 Does this mean I did not like any of the “classics”? No. I loved Jane Austen, I adored Bernard Shaw. I found Of Human Bondage by William Somerset Maugham to be fascinating and humane, despite its length. I was so affected by it that immediately upon finishing the book, I picked up The Moon and Sixpence and lost myself again and refused to be found until the book’s last page had been turned. I think Heathcliff from Wuthering Heights is one of the most complex characters I’ve ever come across.

 So, I do read classical literature. But- and this is a significant but- so I’m going to rephrase it. But.

 I also believe in faeries. I believe in Ents and in Balrogs and dragons and wizards and swords that can suck out your soul and spellcasters and tantrics. Why do I do so? It’s as Neil Gaiman points out

 

 

And now we come to a part of the writeup that makes you the reader understand why fantasy matters so much to me. I was diagnosed with depression in 2014 and I am still on medication for it. So, the quote above about fairy tale dragons and how they can be beaten resonates with me on a very personal level.

 I was nine years old when Gandalf broke the Bridge of Khazad-Dum and took on the Balrog. I am now 28 and I’ve read the book again when I turned 26 and my mother passed away. What changed was that it wasn’t Gandalf on that bridge, it was me and it wasn’t a Balrog, it was my depression. And the bit where Gandalf tells the Balrog that he is a servant of the Secret Fire, wielder of the Flame of Anor and the Balrog will not pass and that the dark fire will not avail it…before demanding of it that it goes back to the shadows, yes that was also me, grieving the loss of a parent, dealing with severe mental strain due to the COVID pandemic having left me unemployed…I turned not to Wuthering Heights or Sherlock Holmes but to The Fellowship of the Ring. The book told me that I should hold on, that like Frodo, I would one day be able to destroy the Ring and reach the Gray Havens with the elves and that gave me hope.

 I recently tried to read The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn again and revisiting that book as an adult with a condition made me weep at the blatant racism in it. I did not face this problem before and I am aware that as you mature, your mind grows with you and the mark of good literature is that it grows with you as well. So, it was for Huckleberry Finn and also for Crime and Punishment by Dostoevsky whose protagonist I found to be a totally idiotic over thinker with too many silly decisions under his belt.

 So, if you will excuse me for this somewhat blasphemous post, let me point out that the world in which my parents grew up was one that was limited in terms of access to the kind of books we, the new generation has access to and therefore perhaps they are better versed in the classics and in the whodunit series of novels than we are and conversely, we are better versed in fantasy literature than they are.

 In an ideal world, we the next generation would reach an understanding with our seniors and they with us but there does exist a generation gap after all, and thus we must simply live, let live and read what makes us happy.

 And should the fancy strike me, maybe one day when I am about 35, I’ll revisit War and Peace and this time I’ll like it!

The Bilge Master