Grimdark: Not Cynical Enough?
Jan. 13th, 2019 09:23 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
grayestofghostsI wrote these thoughts down about a month ago and am only now getting to posting them. I am current with the books of A Song of Ice and Fire, though that's not saying much considering the release schedule. I have no interest in watching the TV series after the first couple episodes, and I've heard that a lot of people have a hard time watching it because it’s too dark and depressing.
ASoIaF is the example critics usually give for the genre of “grimdark”, a genre whose definition is pretty loose, but is generally characterized by its relentless pessimism, or what some consider to be “realism”. Liz Bourke gives a compelling definition for grimdark in her review of The Dark Defiles by Richard Morgan: “"Grimdark" is a shorthand in modern fantasy literature for a subgenre that values its gritty realism, and that attempts to overturn long-established heroic tropes. […] for me its defining characteristic lies in a retreat into the valorisation of darkness for darkness's sake, into a kind of nihilism that portrays right action—in terms of personal morality - as either impossible or futile.” She goes on to elaborate, “I think it's a nihilism that many people find comforting: if everything is terrible and no moral decision can either be meaningful or have any lasting effect, then it rather absolves one from trying to make things better, doesn't it?” Further criticism of the genre points to its use of brutality of marginalized people as “realistic” backdrop as exploitative and catering to the fantasies of the (typically white, young, male, heterosexual, cisgender) audience is pretty damning. Because of this, genres to counter the popularity of grimdark have taken on a tone of moral crusade. First was the concept of noblebright, the exact opposite, where good can absolutely triumph over evil, and then hopepunk, which asserts that good isn't a destination but that rightness is an action that should be aspired to. Bloggers who write at length about these two genres argue that they have enough “darkness” in their lives that they don't want to see the descent in depravity that they've seen in real life reflected in their fiction, as well.
I'm going to be honest. I don't really like any of these genres. I don't like the broad pro- or anti-morality stance of either of them. And I have a probably controversial opinion:
Grimdark is not cynical enough.
That everyone is nasty to each other is cynical, but it’s not deeply cynical. It’s pessimistic, maybe nihilistic, sure, but it’s a simplified view of the world, and simplified views are preferable because they’re easy, even if they are, on the surface, unpleasant. If everyone is operating with brutality based on their own self-interest, the world becomes knowable, and understanding the impact of your decisions becomes easy. It’s as Bourke says, the setup of a grimdark landscape absolves both the character and the reader of any moral conflicts. A world that is deeply unpleasant becomes paradoxically comforting to the reader.
It is easy to be cynical when the world around you is displaying the worst of the worst. So, it’s not really right to call grimdark “cynical”. In fact, one could call it anticynical. By almost cartoonishly constantly showcasing the worst of humanity, it can also lull the reader into a false sense of security, of, hey, at least the world isn’t that bad, so what are we complaining about? Grimdark is cynical because it creates its own distrust in humanity by genre convention, not because it actually brings any insight of the dark underbelly of humanity.
If you wanted to write a truly nasty book, you wouldn’t make it grimdark. You would make characters approach the situation with the best of intentions, and you’d make them screw it up anyway. No, you wouldn’t merely make them fail because of circumstances, or make the fail because of some other person’s bad intentions, or even make them fail because of a perfectly human lack of resources, energy, or miscalculation. You’d make them actually fuck up, seriously, by their own merits. That you can be trying to do the right thing for all the right reason but still fail for reasons that are entirely in your control because of your own character flaws, that no, it is not the thought that counts, and even your attempt to tread lightly can materially make things worse for yourself and those around you because of your hidden, ugliest traits, is a dark story. It’s cynical. It’s a bleak view of the world.
But there’s already a genre that does this, and it’s so old it doesn’t even get a cute name. It’s called tragedy.
Tragedy does not get the same sort of criticism leveled against it as a genre as grimdark. We could argue that there are plenty of people who refuse to read tragedy, who hate the genre, and it’s been canonized as valid and good because a bunch of old white dudes have been discussing it for centuries, but there’s more to than that. Tragedy has endured because of its emotional impact. Tragedy isn’t defined by a moral or anti-moral lesson, though it can have one. It’s defined by its impact on the reader. The first thing one learns about tragedy in any literature class is that tragedy is supposed to invoke “catharsis”. The genre has evolved significantly since Aristotle first claimed this, but this is still part of the draw that keeps bringing us back to watch characters fail despite their best efforts.
And this goes back to why my hackles raise at the ideas of ‘noblebright’ and ‘hopepunk’ as oppositional genres to grimdark. The idea of a just world where people can fight for what is right and triumph is, in the experiences of many, unrealistic, and seems facile. But my real objection is to hopepunk. If tragedy is cathartic, then hopepunk, the idea of a perpetual, scrappy fight against despair is the opposite. It’s exhausting. A tragedy may not be comfortable nihilism like grimdark, and it may end badly in the end, but at least, for the love of God, it ends.
I suppose this is the real problem I have with the grimdark vs noblebright/hopepunk view of the world, and why they are both so at odds with reality. The idea that all books need a moral lesson about how to deal with that deluge of shit in your life, that some outcome over another is possible or even inevitable, isn’t necessary. We don’t need to be told to keep fighting the ‘good fight’ all the time. It’s reminiscent of the perpetual drive to be productive, the perpetual drive to appear happy, the perpetual drive that if you’re not fighting for something right this second you should be, and even if you’re ‘practicing self-care’, the clock is still ticking. You have to get back on the horse at some point. It’s your moral obligation to get back on the horse. The constant mantras that ‘we have gone through worse times,’ which brazenly forgets those who didn’t make it. Why can’t we just pause and see value in something sad?
We have tragedy. It’s okay to feel sad sometimes. And with tragedy, you’re not obligated to feel anything else.
ASoIaF is the example critics usually give for the genre of “grimdark”, a genre whose definition is pretty loose, but is generally characterized by its relentless pessimism, or what some consider to be “realism”. Liz Bourke gives a compelling definition for grimdark in her review of The Dark Defiles by Richard Morgan: “"Grimdark" is a shorthand in modern fantasy literature for a subgenre that values its gritty realism, and that attempts to overturn long-established heroic tropes. […] for me its defining characteristic lies in a retreat into the valorisation of darkness for darkness's sake, into a kind of nihilism that portrays right action—in terms of personal morality - as either impossible or futile.” She goes on to elaborate, “I think it's a nihilism that many people find comforting: if everything is terrible and no moral decision can either be meaningful or have any lasting effect, then it rather absolves one from trying to make things better, doesn't it?” Further criticism of the genre points to its use of brutality of marginalized people as “realistic” backdrop as exploitative and catering to the fantasies of the (typically white, young, male, heterosexual, cisgender) audience is pretty damning. Because of this, genres to counter the popularity of grimdark have taken on a tone of moral crusade. First was the concept of noblebright, the exact opposite, where good can absolutely triumph over evil, and then hopepunk, which asserts that good isn't a destination but that rightness is an action that should be aspired to. Bloggers who write at length about these two genres argue that they have enough “darkness” in their lives that they don't want to see the descent in depravity that they've seen in real life reflected in their fiction, as well.
I'm going to be honest. I don't really like any of these genres. I don't like the broad pro- or anti-morality stance of either of them. And I have a probably controversial opinion:
Grimdark is not cynical enough.
That everyone is nasty to each other is cynical, but it’s not deeply cynical. It’s pessimistic, maybe nihilistic, sure, but it’s a simplified view of the world, and simplified views are preferable because they’re easy, even if they are, on the surface, unpleasant. If everyone is operating with brutality based on their own self-interest, the world becomes knowable, and understanding the impact of your decisions becomes easy. It’s as Bourke says, the setup of a grimdark landscape absolves both the character and the reader of any moral conflicts. A world that is deeply unpleasant becomes paradoxically comforting to the reader.
It is easy to be cynical when the world around you is displaying the worst of the worst. So, it’s not really right to call grimdark “cynical”. In fact, one could call it anticynical. By almost cartoonishly constantly showcasing the worst of humanity, it can also lull the reader into a false sense of security, of, hey, at least the world isn’t that bad, so what are we complaining about? Grimdark is cynical because it creates its own distrust in humanity by genre convention, not because it actually brings any insight of the dark underbelly of humanity.
If you wanted to write a truly nasty book, you wouldn’t make it grimdark. You would make characters approach the situation with the best of intentions, and you’d make them screw it up anyway. No, you wouldn’t merely make them fail because of circumstances, or make the fail because of some other person’s bad intentions, or even make them fail because of a perfectly human lack of resources, energy, or miscalculation. You’d make them actually fuck up, seriously, by their own merits. That you can be trying to do the right thing for all the right reason but still fail for reasons that are entirely in your control because of your own character flaws, that no, it is not the thought that counts, and even your attempt to tread lightly can materially make things worse for yourself and those around you because of your hidden, ugliest traits, is a dark story. It’s cynical. It’s a bleak view of the world.
But there’s already a genre that does this, and it’s so old it doesn’t even get a cute name. It’s called tragedy.
Tragedy does not get the same sort of criticism leveled against it as a genre as grimdark. We could argue that there are plenty of people who refuse to read tragedy, who hate the genre, and it’s been canonized as valid and good because a bunch of old white dudes have been discussing it for centuries, but there’s more to than that. Tragedy has endured because of its emotional impact. Tragedy isn’t defined by a moral or anti-moral lesson, though it can have one. It’s defined by its impact on the reader. The first thing one learns about tragedy in any literature class is that tragedy is supposed to invoke “catharsis”. The genre has evolved significantly since Aristotle first claimed this, but this is still part of the draw that keeps bringing us back to watch characters fail despite their best efforts.
And this goes back to why my hackles raise at the ideas of ‘noblebright’ and ‘hopepunk’ as oppositional genres to grimdark. The idea of a just world where people can fight for what is right and triumph is, in the experiences of many, unrealistic, and seems facile. But my real objection is to hopepunk. If tragedy is cathartic, then hopepunk, the idea of a perpetual, scrappy fight against despair is the opposite. It’s exhausting. A tragedy may not be comfortable nihilism like grimdark, and it may end badly in the end, but at least, for the love of God, it ends.
I suppose this is the real problem I have with the grimdark vs noblebright/hopepunk view of the world, and why they are both so at odds with reality. The idea that all books need a moral lesson about how to deal with that deluge of shit in your life, that some outcome over another is possible or even inevitable, isn’t necessary. We don’t need to be told to keep fighting the ‘good fight’ all the time. It’s reminiscent of the perpetual drive to be productive, the perpetual drive to appear happy, the perpetual drive that if you’re not fighting for something right this second you should be, and even if you’re ‘practicing self-care’, the clock is still ticking. You have to get back on the horse at some point. It’s your moral obligation to get back on the horse. The constant mantras that ‘we have gone through worse times,’ which brazenly forgets those who didn’t make it. Why can’t we just pause and see value in something sad?
We have tragedy. It’s okay to feel sad sometimes. And with tragedy, you’re not obligated to feel anything else.
no subject
Date: 2019-01-16 01:36 am (UTC)Its funny, because so many of the people I know who love Grimdark stories love that it seems to subvert fiction and bring everything closer to reality. Its just like real life!
But yeah, Grimdark is grim if you expect the story to improve or become better for the characters... which implies there is hope in the first place. And after the third time they throw the puppy under the wheels of a bus, you'd think the readers would learn that hope only exists as long they keep investing.
Whenever I've read grimdark stories, I can't help but find them so outlandish as to be farcical. Sure, they can be gruesome, unpleasant, and depressing, but that doesn't mean they aren't so downtrodden as to be stupid. I half imagine when I am reading them that the next character archetype is made via madlibs and a wheel of tragedy. "And here we have a *Spins person wheel* 'cute young girl' who *spins action wheel* 'frame peasants for crimes' so they can *Spins action wheel* 'torture small animals secretly' ! How edgy! She doesn't need to believe in anything because its darker that way!"
Tragedy works because there is hope that things get better and that the audience can remain consistently in suspense that things could improve. I don't like tragedy, usually, because I don't want to feel more sad than usual, but sometimes, its also okay to not be happy, or to seek out something that actually reflects reality sometimes (but not always!) where mediocre or great people try their best and yet they still fail. Humanity is just a long succession of motives that end in either successes and/or failures. I am not sure Grimdark is about either.
Thoughts
Date: 2019-01-22 01:19 am (UTC)There is absolutely something to be said for examining old tropes and twisting or upending them. Trope knotwork is fun and sometimes enlightening. However, it does not necessarily have to be grimdark; many trope manipulations are hilarious.
>>for me its defining characteristic lies in a retreat into the valorisation of darkness for darkness's sake, into a kind of nihilism that portrays right action—in terms of personal morality - as either impossible or futile.” <<
Or if you want to be particularly brutal, it's actively counterproductive. In my dark fantasy setting Penumbra, good is a fatal flaw. You can get away with a little bit, but the more you have, the more likely it is to ruin your life or kill you, simply because it is at odds with the world you're standing on.
>>“I think it's a nihilism that many people find comforting: if everything is terrible and no moral decision can either be meaningful or have any lasting effect, then it rather absolves one from trying to make things better, doesn't it?” <<
Nailed it. I think this genre, and the other dystopic stuff so popular today, reflects the feelings that many people have about being helpless to fix a world that's pretty fucked up and getting rapidly worse in species-threatening ways.
>>Further criticism of the genre points to its use of brutality of marginalized people as “realistic” backdrop as exploitative and catering to the fantasies of the (typically white, young, male, heterosexual, cisgender) audience is pretty damning. <<
Often true -- perhaps even prevailingly true -- but not always. There's a whole little branch of women's fiction that's extremely graphic revenge fantasy. It makes men deeply uncomfortable. Disabled fiction is juuuuust starting to touch on that; there's an apocalyptic anthology I'm currently reading with at least one story in that area.
>> Because of this, genres to counter the popularity of grimdark have taken on a tone of moral crusade. First was the concept of noblebright, the exact opposite, where good can absolutely triumph over evil, and then hopepunk, which asserts that good isn't a destination but that rightness is an action that should be aspired to.<<
These things, too, have their place. Specifically, one does not get healthy by eating only habeneros or only angelfood or only fruit. Eat the rainbow. Read the rainbow. Choose stories to amplify or counterbalance your mood as needed. In order to suit reading to current taste, we need a wide variety. No one style can be all things to all people.
>> Bloggers who write at length about these two genres argue that they have enough “darkness” in their lives that they don't want to see the descent in depravity that they've seen in real life reflected in their fiction, as well.<<
This is absolutely true. If I wanted to watch people abusing each other and their world and getting away with it, I'd watch the news. I don't; it's depressing, and I gave up after I realized I no longer had anything to say about it other than "Da, eto Pravda" or "Panem et circenses." I have better things I could be doing.
Ironically, after decades of activism, it turned out to storytelling that had the highest conversion factor. If I describe a society that is healthy, functional, and appealing then my fans will dig into the references and start doing those things. Since I prefer to live in a world that is not a giant shitshow, I have devoted more time in that direction. I do also write grimdark, but it is the least popular of my work.
I am often most drawn to the eddies in which light and dark mix in interesting ways. Supervillains who are really sweet with their friends. People who claim to be superheroes but are actually assholes, and somebody calls them on it. Those times when you need someone evil because the only thing that will save the day is heinous and a good person will hesitate a fatal fraction of a second. What happens when someone gets tired of being evil and walks away and then has no idea what else to do.
>>Grimdark is not cynical enough.<<
Well, you're not wrong. There are a few people who write dark things -- I'm one of them, but Suzette Haden Elgin did it too -- that scare people for real. Things that are too disturbing if phantasmagoric, or too plausible if realistic.
There are things I used to enjoy that I just don't anymore, because they were laughably exaggerated at the time but now are happening or close to happening. The old roleplaying game Paranoia was hilarious in high school but now we have computers reading valence and corporations monitoring employee moods with consequences if they are not happy enough. Not funny anymore.
One of the few branches of grimdark that I sometimes enjoy is environmental or biological apocalyptica. Because hey, we actually are fucking up this nice planet, and we could be very totally screwed by that. "The Time of the Greatest Dying" was a favorite -- someone drilled into a nugget of amber and released a germ that killed everything. No saving the day, just BANG! end of the anthropocene.
Then again, I'm also a huge fan of its flipside: that when you remove humans, the Earth bounces back blindingly fast. I love things like Earth: Population Zero that show how it happens. We can look at examples here, such as Chernobyl -- I've been watching that one unfold all along. I told people the animals would recolonize in a year or so, and nobody believed me, but they did. There are red deer and wolves and rare species out the wazoo now. The mutations mostly wash out in Darwin's river. But the radiation itself does not. Over most of mainland Europe, you now have to test wild boar for that before you can eat it, and half the time you can't, because they roam so far. And the damn things are all over Chernobyl.
>>If you wanted to write a truly nasty book, you wouldn’t make it grimdark. You would make characters approach the situation with the best of intentions, and you’d make them screw it up anyway. No, you wouldn’t merely make them fail because of circumstances, or make the fail because of some other person’s bad intentions, or even make them fail because of a perfectly human lack of resources, energy, or miscalculation. You’d make them actually fuck up, seriously, by their own merits. <<
You might like "Compromising Positions" and "A Perspective, Not the Truth." That guy is actually the opposite of the surrounding culture, but no place is homogenous.
>>Tragedy isn’t defined by a moral or anti-moral lesson, though it can have one. <<
*laugh* The original Greek tragedies have the Chorus literally chanting the moral lessons throughout the play. It's what that role is for. And the main character used to do things like run off with friends named Riot and Ruin. I laughed my ass off in The Lion King when Simba took up with Timon and Pumbaa. Hello, Riot and Ruin! :D
I confess that I have a real yen for evil characters bringing themselves down with their own flaws. The animal abuser who spurs his horse and gets bucked off to break his neck. The evil warlord who gets crushed by his own castle. One of the most nihilistic superhero cartoons I've ever seen is a multiple-Earths movie where Owlman tries to destroy the core Earth because that's the only action that could ever truly matter. He literally spends the whole show repeating "It doesn't matter" until his own bomb blows up in his face.
It's not satisfying for me when sympathetic characters fail that way, though. I think that leads back to the premise that hopelessness breeds inaction, which is generally not a good thing.
>>The first thing one learns about tragedy in any literature class is that tragedy is supposed to invoke “catharsis”. <<
It doesn't do that trick for me. I may enjoy watching awful characters fail, or seeing that things could be worse, and there's certainly something to be said for a well-placed warning not to do stupid things, but I don't get the sense of release that some people seem to.
>>And this goes back to why my hackles raise at the ideas of ‘noblebright’ and ‘hopepunk’ as oppositional genres to grimdark. The idea of a just world where people can fight for what is right and triumph is, in the experiences of many, unrealistic, and seems facile. <<
To a large extent, the world is what we make of it. You don't see these battles of good and evil among animals; they're morally neutral. Morality is a sapient choice. We have the option of choosing good. If most of us do that, the world will be nicer for everyone. There have been excellent society, just as there have been abominable ones; we know it's possible; we're just not doing a great job right now. But people can always make a different choice.
Evil gets really, really boring after a while. Another reason I'm not into grimdark is that I simply don't find it entertaining. I gave up on George R.R. Martin's books because they were boring and predictable, not because they were morally repugnant.
>> But my real objection is to hopepunk. If tragedy is cathartic, then hopepunk, the idea of a perpetual, scrappy fight against despair is the opposite. It’s exhausting. A tragedy may not be comfortable nihilism like grimdark, and it may end badly in the end, but at least, for the love of God, it ends.<<
Conversely, what I find exhausting is unrelenting hopelessness. If I get tired of fighting, I can stop for a while, and pick up again later. There will always be a fresh pile of crap that needs attention, after all. YMMV, and that's okay.
>> I suppose this is the real problem I have with the grimdark vs noblebright/hopepunk view of the world, and why they are both so at odds with reality. <<
No one of those is realistic. But put them together and they make a pretty good elephant.
>>The idea that all books need a moral lesson about how to deal with that deluge of shit in your life, that some outcome over another is possible or even inevitable, isn’t necessary. <<
Not all entertainment needs a message. But it is okay to make entertainment that has one, or several, and it can be any message you want. Up to your readers which ones they want to buy. Me, I happen to like stories with ideas I can use and most of my readers agree, based on what they buy. Other audiences obviously love the nihilistic stuff, given the popularity of apocalyptica today.
>>We have tragedy. It’s okay to feel sad sometimes. And with tragedy, you’re not obligated to feel anything else.<<
That, too, has value. My taste in sadfic is different, but we need all kinds of stories.
Re: Thoughts
Date: 2019-01-22 03:38 am (UTC)I don't really know if I should respond to everything here. But I guess I may have a different view of things than a lot of people and I often forget. My worldview is highly influenced by absurdism/existentialism and broadly what I write is, I guess, horror. Horror and grimdark are both genres of "bad things happening", but while grimdark is firing with abandon into a building with a minigun, horror is a scalpels in the hands of an exalted torture technician. If someone becomes numb to the bad things happening in a horror story you're absolutely doing it wrong.
I remember getting into a discussion with other writers online about villains. They were talking about villains needing an understandable motive and I said that the villain I was writing at the time did not have one. The other people I was discussing with didn't like this. I understand the "idea" behind insisting that a villain has an understandable motive which is usually to prevent writers from falling into the trap of making a villain do things just because they're evil. In the case of this character, however, I had tried to write him so it was impossible to know if he was sincere in his apparent motives for obstructing the protagonist while trying to "help" or if he just liked to play with the protagonist because he was a sadist. Not being able to tell was important. It makes the abuse the protagonist goes through at the hands of this character that much more confusing, makes attempts to reason with him that much more impossible, makes trying to make a coherent narrative about what had happened for the purposes of closure that much more difficult. If you've experienced abuse by someone close to you, you may know what this is like. And it's scary to have to deal with these people and it's difficult to sort through these feelings. And that's why I specifically wrote this villain this way.
A villain that defies evaluation and leaves scars like this isn't particularly "useful" for any of the genres mentioned in my blog post. I guess what I was trying to say is that the message here isn't anything moral, anything about hopefulness or hopelessness, and more, "Yes, there are people out there in the real world who are like this, and I am sorry." I am having a hard time quantifying these ideas, maybe because I do not have the language for them -- the spaces where I frequent are usually dominated by science fiction and fantasy writers and these genres generally address bigger ideas than what I usually write.
Re: Thoughts
Date: 2019-01-22 04:29 am (UTC)I get that a lot.
>> I don't really know if I should respond to everything here. <<
Up to you.
>> But I guess I may have a different view of things than a lot of people and I often forget. <<
That happens to me all the time.
>> My worldview is highly influenced by absurdism/existentialism <<
In that direction, I'm more into chaos theory and Discordianism. Dadaist poetry can be fun in small doses. Surrealist jokes are hilarious.
>> and broadly what I write is, I guess, horror. Horror and grimdark are both genres of "bad things happening", but while grimdark is firing with abandon into a building with a minigun, horror is a scalpels in the hands of an exalted torture technician. If someone becomes numb to the bad things happening in a horror story you're absolutely doing it wrong.<<
Agreed. And that's why my horror has a tendency to scare people for real. I don't write it often.
>>They were talking about villains needing an understandable motive and I said that the villain I was writing at the time did not have one. <<
1) There is not "has to" in writing. Unless you're stuck in a class or someone is paying for the privilege of telling you what to do, you can write what you damn please. It's up to readers if they like it or not.
2) Consider the elements of a story. Any one of them may be load-bearing support: characters, plot, setting, theme, etc. Any sub-part may: the character's gender, race, age, politics, religion, motive, quirks, whatever. It depends on the story what is important. Do not shove in things because someone said they have to be there. If they're not contributing to the story, they're padding. Very few stories are complex enough to engage all that stuff at once.
3) The bigger the story, the more complex, the more support it needs. If you are writing a short story from the perspective of the victim, the villain may not need a motive. The victim may never know the villain or have any idea why he did what he did. Sometimes shit just happens. However, a motive can make a villain more potent. Look at Magneto. He is a scary bastard, because he is RIGHT. He is right and the superheroes know it and they can't bear to admit it so they fight with him. If he was just killing people for fun, he wouldn't be sympathetic or interesting. A guy who crushes people's heads because he's not willing to watch them commit genocide again? Cooooool.
I have a lot of fun with motives. One of my settings involves character sheets where that's an entry, so I was able to make a sample list.
>>Not being able to tell was important. It makes the abuse the protagonist goes through at the hands of this character that much more confusing, makes attempts to reason with him that much more impossible, makes trying to make a coherent narrative about what had happened for the purposes of closure that much more difficult.<<
If you succeeded in making it ambiguous instead of just muddy, that's awesome. It is very difficult to write about characters who are confused, topics which are confusing, or scenes with details that are necessarily unclear -- without making the story itself incomprehensible or looking like you just made a mistake. It can be done, and when it works, it's creepy and awesome.
>>A villain that defies evaluation and leaves scars like this isn't particularly "useful" for any of the genres mentioned in my blog post.<<
It works fine for grimdark, which is often low on motivation for anything.
>> I guess what I was trying to say is that the message here isn't anything moral, anything about hopefulness or hopelessness, and more, "Yes, there are people out there in the real world who are like this, and I am sorry." <<
It doesn't have to be moral. The thing is itself. It's useful to have the story just to talk about that thing.
>> I am having a hard time quantifying these ideas, maybe because I do not have the language for them -- the spaces where I frequent are usually dominated by science fiction and fantasy writers and these genres generally address bigger ideas than what I usually write.<<
I do write speculative fiction. However, I was also a rhetoric major and I'm accustomed to digging into the mechanics of literature. It's just interesting to see what makes it work, like opening a clock. Only with literature I can consistently get all the pieces back inside in working order after I have taken them apart to play with. Sorry if I tossed you into the deep end -- your initial post was detailed enough that it sounded like you were familiar with that style of examining what works or doesn't and why.
Re: Thoughts
Date: 2019-01-22 05:40 am (UTC)Re: Thoughts
Date: 2019-01-22 06:11 am (UTC)If you want to write horror, or you want to write characters without agency, those two aspects go very well together. Few things are as horrifying as helplessness. Most people want a story about characters who do things, but horror is very often about characters who are done to. Again, it all depends on the kind of story you want to tell, or read.
>> because now I know I am being watched 👀 <<
Isn't that kind of the point to writing and publishing? But if it bugs you, I'll back off. I just dropped by because you friended me and I saw your blog had interesting things. A lot more people write fiction than meta about fiction.