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Naming Villains

If you didn’t grow up reading the Harry Potter books, you probably find the name (Lord) Voldemort to be less ominous and more laughable. It kind of is. It’s also the brain-child of a deranged teenager with ego issues, but that’s an in-universe explanation and this post is about how authors best choose names for their characters which induce dread, rather than why characters give themselves names which are dreadful.

A well chosen villain name can be the difference between the reader shivering every time they are mentioned and a reader coming up with cutesy pet names (like Voldie, Moldyshorts, and many others) …which generally means they aren’t taking your villain all that seriously. Personally, I was always more invested in what would happen when the prose – or characters – of Rowling’s books described the Big Bad as Riddle or Tom, because if nothing else his berserk button would be triggered and shit would get real. (The fact that he was a more effective villain – in carrying out plans – when he was still a somewhat saner child/teen also helped with that, but the point stands.)

 

So, what do you have to consider if you want to save your villain from being laughed out of the room the moment they introduce themselves? Well, that can be genre dependent. I might do a part two later about realistic genre villains (you know, people who should have normal human names for their culture), but for now this is geared to the various forms of Speculative Fiction, because that’s where most of this nonsense happens. But within that sphere, the best way to save your villain from being a laughingstock is to answer five simple questions.

 

1) What Does It Mean?

Between Lovecraft’s penchant for the unpronounceable and Tolkien’s fondness for invented language and names, there has been a long trend in speculative fiction genres of simply smashing a bunch of random letters or sounds together and calling it a suitably intimidating villain name. After all, if Cthulhu and Sauron sound terrifying, surely the heroic Eldric’s same-species nemesis Xecodontalzivrek is too, right?

What most rip-offs of Tolkien don’t realise is that his names actually had meanings. They weren’t made up mishmashes. Tolkien created complete languages for his world and every name had a meaning. So names like Sauron (“the Abhorred”, real name: Mairon “the admirable”) and Morgoth (“dark dread” or “black enemy”, real name Melkor “mighty one”) make sense. They have meaning in that world and they fit alongside names like Feänor (“spirit of fire”), Manwë (“Blessed One”), and Curumo (“Cunning”, also called Saruman). Those names sound like they belong together because linguistically they do. And readers will notice if the big bad has a name that not only sounds like it doesn’t belong in that culture but also doesn’t belong in that universe. That being said: most authors aren’t writing complete languages and do not have the time or energy to develop root words and variants and grammar rules. Nor do most readers count such things in when they are emotionally affected by a story. Which means that even though Tolkien’s characters’ names made sense, there was nothing truly dread inducing about them. Likewise, “Voldemort” is made of root words which, together, roughly mean “Flight of/from death” but the name itself sounds like nonsense.

Then there’s Lovecraft. There’s nothing wrong with making an unpronounceable mess of a name if the creature who plays the big bad is a Lovecraftian eldritch abomination – something which would not be obliged to have a comprehensible name because it is not comprehensible to humans. But there is a VERY big difference between naming an eldritch abomination Cthulhu and naming a human or similar species character Cthulhu. If the name supposedly came from a being whose species uses a language humans or human-like species can understand, the names have to follow from that: have to be sounds those species not only could but would make. And, again, no one is scared of Cthulhu for being named Cthulhu. If we didn’t have pop-culture to warn us that he’s an eldritch abomination, we would not be automatically disturbed by the name (bemused and curious if the author suffered a coughing fit while typing, but not disturbed).

And here’s the funny thing, the name doesn’t have to mean anything inherently scary itself. It just has to mean something. Take two classic villain/monster names, which is scarier? Voldemort? Or It? It is scarier, not only because your reader isn’t distracted trying to pronounce it. A creature or person merely known as “It” is disturbing because it implicitly tells the reader that no one is quite sure what It is and humans don’t like things that they can’t define.

If you want a name to be ominous it needs to be an omen of something. Think about it, if you had to choose on name alone and could only flee one, would you flee the one called Asenath or the one called Soulcatcher?

 

2) How Did They Get That Name?

“From this day forth, I shall be known as LORD VOLDEMORT!” 

“…Tom, you’re drunk, go home.

The failure of the above to happen is quite possibly the least realistic thing in the entire Potterverse.

Unless you’re dealing with a second-generation evil, the big bad’s parents probably did not hold their newborn babe in their arms and think “aww, so cute, this one’s going to grow up to be a genocidal maniac, we need a name that says that”. Sure, you might have a world where everyone has a meaningful name, but in that case you can’t use an overtly evil name – else your back at the “why the heck did their parents call them that?!?” problem. It would have to be something which could, and would, also have less ominous meanings and could be equally likely to be found on a hero, else it wouldn’t be a name in that culture. (Note: some cultures have commonly used names with unpleasant meanings, but in those cases the names are chosen to confuse and ward off evil spirits and the names are as every day and usual as Anne and John are in the Anglosphere, meaning that they don’t actually count as ominous or even unusual.) People name dogs Ripper and ships Dreadnought, but they don’t name their children that.

So when it comes to birth names, the long and the short of it is: villains should still have names you could believably find on regular people.

Now, for the fun bit: epithets, pseudonyms, sobriquets, and nicknames. This is the fun stuff. It’s also the stuff where a lot of people go painfully overboard *cough*Lord-Voldemort-He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named-You-Know-Who*cough*.

Epithets can accompany or replace a name, but have entered into common usage – like a nickname which has become as common, if not more common, than the real name – which a Sobriquet has all but replaced the original name, and a Pseudonym is a disguise. But all of these beg the question: how did they get that name? Generally, if they just started calling themselves something wild other people aren’t going to start doing that and even if they can bully their minions into doing it, they aren’t going to be a very competent player if they spend all their energy trying to make people call them something specific.

If you want your villains to sound intimidating epithets and sobriquets which occurred naturally are probably the best way to go – that means that other people started calling them that and it took off. Like how the monster in IT is just called It. Why? Because no one knows what It is. Likewise, someone called The Impaler probably didn’t start out calling themselves that. They just impaled a lot of people and people came to associate that with them.

Now, you can get away with just using a sobriquet for a villainous character – provided you aren’t giving their detailed backstory or telling an origin story. It also helps to have a social norm relating to this. In real history kings often got epithets so that they could be recognised because the same family names were often used. In fantasy an excellent example of both sobriquet use and social norms is Glen Cook’s Black Company series. In that world true names have power, so wizards adopt pseudonyms which they come to be known by, while most members of the Black Company itself are given a nickname when they join and never after bother with their real names. That being said, the top tier bad guys in that series tend to have names which are more sobriquet than pseudonym – The Limper probably did not call himself that, but he was the one who limps (and Cook thus managed to associate his name with terror when members of the company hear the sound of someone walking with a limp). Likewise Soulcatcher and The Lady have real names and may – although we are never told if it is so – have started out with different pseudonyms, but they came to be known by those sobriquets because The Lady was the evil overlord’s wife (his Lady, the only Lady who needed no introduction) and Soulcatcher …catches souls. By the time the reader meets them these names are long established, but they probably came from frightened enemies trying to identify which of the major villains they were talking about. “Which of the Ten Who Were Taken?” “The limper”, fast forward a few years and that’s “The Limper” as a name.

 

3) Why So Complicated?

The most common pratfall in naming villains is that authors tend to pile epithets and sobriquets, etc, on top of each other (Voldy again) instead of picking one really good one. What they don’t realise is that epithets and sobriquets are there to make people distinctive, not impressive. If you’re one of many King Peters and you happen to be very short, well guess what you’re going down in history as?

And if you’re thinking, “Well wait a second, if those terms are used to identify that one thing about a person which is most recognisable how is that scary?” You might want to reconsider what about your villain is so uniquely terrifying. Because that’s the point. Vlad the Impaler did a lot of other things in his life, but he’s remembered for impaling people. Lots of people. Soulcatcher is a cunning, manipulative, out of control, utterly mad, super-powerful, nigh-unkillable sorceress. What is Soulcatcher known for? Catching souls. Which becomes creepier when you realise that all the different voices Soulcatcher talks with are those captured souls (and some of them are children). The Joker is a killer and a lunatic, but he’s known for the form in which his kills come (jokes, as he views them). Slapping a dozen or so extra names onto a character (Fanged Deathstar The Magnificient Dark Lord of The Land Of Evil) takes away from the punch and the terror. They aren’t known for one specific stand out screamer, they have a whole list and so are less impressive. Why? Because if no one thing haunts people’s memories, which leads to the epithet or sorbriquet, then none of those things could have left much of an impression. None of them were scary enough to become what they were known for. Less, in this case, is very much more.

 

4) Why Is It ALWAYS Dark Lord?

Speaking of superfluous terms. Dark Lord (or Dark One, etc) is not just overused, it’s meaningless. Dark Lord – and, for that matter, The/Other/s – worked when Tolkien used it. The only person who is Tolkien was Tolkien. Yes, humans naturally fear the night – and the dark – because we are diurnal. We also are naturally terrified of spiders and disease, but we don’t automatically name our villains Web Lord or The Rot. Using Dark Lord is inherently problematic for a lot of reasons beyond how cliché the Dark Vs Light motif is. For one thing, Lord is a title belonging to a hierarchical system based in feudalism. Is Dark a place? Does this lord have administrative duties? If you’re dealing with a setting where such hierarchical systems are not part of the society (whether they are mere remnants or never existed) or where they are part of the society and in fact are very important, your villain can’t just go around calling themselves lord of something – in one case it is a meaningless addition that doesn’t even impress people around them (and wouldn’t mean enough to them for them to add it) and in the other it has a strictly defined meaning which their more decorative use would make into a point of ridicule (“he’s not a real lord”).

So what about Dark? Well what do you mean by Dark anyway? Please tell me it’s not their skin colour. Is there some metaphysical divide between good and evil that happens to have chosen to define itself by how much light things emit? If there is some knowable inherent difference between good and evil in your world, you’d better have an explanation for how any sane person would choose evil – and don’t just say “they’re mad”. Real mad people are more often victims of cruelty than themselves cruel and the insanity defence is “not guilty on grounds of insanity” specifically because being mad in that sense means being unable to understand what you are doing and why it is wrong.

…Dark Lord. Cliché term for “Wannabe noble who can’t afford a candle”.

 

5) What Else Can It Mean?

The thing about words is that sometimes they not only mean what you think they mean, they also mean something else. Something you really didn’t mean, but which people will notice. For example, there is only one reason fans of Tolkien remember the orc Shagrat.

 
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Posted by on April 11, 2017 in On Writing

 

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Help! My Story Has the Mary-Sue Disease (Print)

I forgot to do this: Yay – the book is now available in print!

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(And in epub. Somewhere. I’m still working on that.)

 
 

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Help! My Story Has the Mary-Sue Disease (Kindle)

I was going to wait with posting this until the Print and Epub versions were also available, but I’m still waiting on Ingramspark for something and it’s already been two days since this was published. So you’ll get more posts like this in a few days (hopefully) when the other forms of the book become available.

It’s available on Amazon Kinlde here. It’s also available on other versions of Amazon (UK, AU, etc) if you search for it in the Kindle store.

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…I’m not going to be done stressing until all of the formats are published, at which point I will make a Books page for my blog with easy links to them all.

 
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Posted by on February 24, 2017 in On L.C. Morgenstern's Work

 

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Project Status 7 – A Hint

Coming Soon?

 
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Posted by on February 18, 2017 in On L.C. Morgenstern's Work

 

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On Constructing Folklore

One of the things which bothers me the most in speculative fiction is how the folklore and mythologies are constructed. I love mythopoeia (constructing mythology) and I love folklore, but there’s one thing I see a lot of which drives me so far up the wall that I make friends with the ceiling.

That’s the assumption, by writers, that anything folklore that they write in – fairy tales, myths, legends, ancient prophecies, tall tales, jokes, etc – are basically like little stories in the main story which all work on the same rules. Yes, a focus on the numbers three and seven will appear – along with a few other ‘staples’ of the fairy tale – and the language will take on a more pretentious ‘old fashioned’ air, but other than that they are written as if they are working on the same rules as modern fiction writing. That they have the same sense and polish.

They arent polished. The ‘rules’ of writing a story are rules for polished, planned, stories written at once by one person for the purpose of telling that story. Folklore isnt. Myths, legends, folk tales, fairy tales, etc are the mish-mashed amalgams of many generations telling what they can remember of incidents, jokes, and stories, to each other and themselves, and twisting with each new teller – none of whom save the last (the one who writes it down in what comes to be the ‘final’ or ‘popular’ form) will be professional story-tellers and none of whom will know the craft.

No one who created folklore (as opposed to setting down on the record) set out to write a story. If you want your fictional folklore – your fairy tales, or mythopoeia, or legends for your heroes to go in search of – to ring true, to actually sound like they are folklore and not the author slamming a massive infodump down on a culture it doesn’t mesh with, you have to do one thing:

Take everything you ever learned about how to write a story or write correctly and THROW IT OUT.

Myths, fairy tales, and other folklore do not obey the rules of fiction writing. It’s not just a stylistic tone change. You know the phrase ‘truth is stranger than fiction’? Doesn’t apply here. Truth is stranger than fiction because truth involves the actions of humanity as a group. Fiction, in the modern sense, is not written by humanity as a group – it is written by one or two individual humans. Folklore, like truth, comes from humanity as a group. And humanity as a group is batshit crazy.

Folklore is not neat and tidy. Fiction is expected to be neat and tidy (tie up loose ends, not have plot holes, have characters who aren’t acting like they’ve been slapped half to death with a stupid stick, have a message or theme, etc). Most folklore, for all that there are some very ‘logical’ things within it (like how most vampire’s weaknesses are anti-septics), makes no sense. Consider the modern meme. No one can explain why certain things suddenly become hugely popular and get quoted and remixed to death, but they do and they are – for the most part – nonsensical. Nevertheless, they become a common theme amongst large swathes of the population – and while most fade from existence as rapidly as they occur, others linger …despite there being no rhyme or reason to which or why. The same is true of folklore. The myths and fairy tales which we have had passed down to us are the ones which lasted best – the funniest, or the least confusing – but if you actually read them (not their many retellings and adaptations) you find that they make no sense and that all of the ‘rules’ of fiction writing appear to have been ignored.

They weren’t ignored. They just aren’t applicable. And this is what modern writers creating folklore for their works need to understand. Fiction is orderly, but folklore is chaotic. If you are trying to neatly categorise your gods by what they are god of and your myths follow modern writing structures …well, then, you’ve failed to understand what real mythology is like.

Folklore – myths, fairy tales, the like – should feel alive. The clear, plot-relevant, modern-structured ‘myths’ and ‘fairy tales’ seen in modern speculative fiction don’t. The heart is missing from them. The myths and fairy tales – all the folklore, in fact – that writers create for the world’s they build work very well as little modern stories, but not as myths and fairy tales.

 
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Posted by on February 12, 2017 in Uncategorized

 

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Myths About Writing

I am slightly horrified by the realisation that it’s been about a month and a half since I last posted. In that time I have found a wonderful editor who was willing to take my project on for a lower than usual rate – which, after putting some of the money I’d saved for formatting and cover creation into the fund for paying my editor, I could afford. I’ve gotten my edited manuscript back and the improvement is amazing. There are no more incomprehensibly over-claused sentences like the one two before this one. I’m beginning to think that I might actually have my first book published by the end of January …or early February, given that everything’s about to close up shop for the holidays.

I’m fairly over-worked at the moment, so in lieu of a proper rant, here’s a quick list of myths about writing that are just plain wrong.

 

1. Writers Can’t Do Maths. This one tends to crop up as an excuse to avoid working out the logistics of a story. “Space doesn’t work that way” a reader cries, and is firmly told that it doesn’t matter because writers can’t do maths. They aren’t rocket scientists, so expecting them to properly describe how huge space is would be silly. (What’s actually silly is blaming mathematics when it would be perfectly reasonable for an author to take artistic licence with the numbers because such a story won’t work without FTL travel or unusually dense civilisation in the universe, or both. That’s a perfectly good reason!) A character’s birth date does not match their given age? The hero and his five buddies take on an army of evildoers some 100,000 strong? And win? And don’t explain how the hell the Dark Lord of The Place Where Nothing Grows managed to FEED 100,000 soldiers? Well, why bother to make sure it works out “I’m a writer,” says the writer, “I can’t do maths”.

The eyebrow of disapproval is up, guys.

Firstly: most of those issues are logistics, not mathematics. Secondly: “don’t like” and “can’t do” are not the same thing. If you aren’t very good at something, there is all the more reason to double check it – and in a world where we have computers and phones with calculators essentially glued to our bodies, there is no excuse for checking. Remember, even if you really can’t do math, you are surrounded by machines which can do it for you – so claiming you specifically cannot do math does not work as a get out of jail free card for making mathematical (and logistical!) errors.

2. “Okay so the computer can do the maths but I’m a Writer. That means I’m too creative and artsy to be able to figure out how to work the machines that would do the maths for me.” When I was a kid I hated maths. I frustrated the hell out of one person trying to explain arithmetic to me by objecting to the premise that 1+1=2, on the grounds that it differed depending on what was being discussed. 1 Apple + 1 Apple is, indeed, 2 Apples, I’d argued, but 1 Apple + 1 Orange is still only 1 Apple, even if it is 2 pieces of fruit. 1 Antelope + 1 Lion would result in 1 very full Lion, not two living creatures, while 1 Bunny + 1 Bunny would have different results depending on what genders the bunnies were. I could not accept the laws which bound those theoretical numbers to always resulting in specific other numbers, because I was already trying to apply the concept of numbers to the real world where things happen differently. I always considered myself to be a writer and I was, as a child, a textbook case of Can’t Do Maths. I’m hoping to have my first book out within the next few months and am very definitely a writer.

I’m also the Chief Finance Officer for a small business. Admittedly I’m holding the position as a contractor and in need of a raise, but I work with machines that do maths for me for a living. I also do the maths myself. I’m not as good with Excel as some of the other employees and I’m still working on learning how to do financial modelling so that I can take that burden off the CEO’s shoulders (as I said: small company. VERY small company) but I am living proof that writers can both do maths and learn to work with the technology which can do maths for them.

But even if I was the exception, here’s the thing: adults (at least, responsible adults) do maths every day, in their heads, to work out how much they can afford to spend on anything and how long they have to make their money last.

3. You Don’t Really Need an Editor. Yes, you do.

4. Yeah but if you’re reaaaallly good with your language and have edited it yourself… You still need an editor. Maybe, like me, you can’t afford the standard rate unless you get a pay rise soon. You still need an editor. Don’t give up hope. Keep looking until you find someone who has the credentials and the ability to take on your project for less than their normal rate. (And don’t send them flowers or the like afterward – if you can afford that you can afford to add to their pay. If you really want to thank them for their generosity, when you can afford to pay the full fee for your next project, offer it to them – for their full price.)

Why? Well, let me put it this way: I’m reasonably good with English and I’d gone over my manuscript six times looking for mistakes before I found an editor who would take it on. I’d caught the missing ‘s where I’d accidentally written that the average human male’s member is about ten centimetres larger than the average gorilla – which is a kind of horrifying sentence without the ‘s at the end of it. I knew there was no such thing as a perfect book and was having so much trouble finding an editor that I was about to give up. (Seriously, what part of “I’m on a tight budget and will have to get creative with my finances to get anywhere above 350” sounds like “I can totally go up to 1k if you pressure me and am just low-balling it”? …I need a pay rise. Or for my book to sell well. Preferably both.) If I started the manuscript with a claim that the writing advice book was deliberately full of hidden problems to help train eager young writers, I thought, then I might just be able to get away with it by taking refuge in audacity.

I’m fairly sure that my writing career would have died then and there if I had. Somehow, despite going over it six times for mistakes, I’d missed that I kept adding an extra s to pus. Consequently, I had a manuscript which repeatedly referred to abscesses filled with CATS. I’d had one other person read it over between my fourth and fifth edits, for comprehension, and she’d missed that too.

Even if you’re really good with the language, you are too familiar with your work – you know too well what it is supposed to say – and so you will miss things. You need an editor.

5. Writers Have To Write Every Day. Should is a bad word. It shoves a vicious sense of obligation through the heart of the person it belittles and all but guarantees that they will feel guilt the moment they are unable to complete their “should” task. This is how you get people staring blankly at white pages or typing utter nonsense (All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy. All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy. All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy. All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy. All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy. All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy. All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy).

This is also how you get people who desperately need things like SLEEP refusing to go to bed until they’ve written something, because they’ve been told that to be a writer they ‘have’ to write something every day. Thing is: that’s bullshit.

For some people, it is beneficial to have a set time and place within which to write regularly. But that’s not “should”. Should is an obligation which creates guilt – and guilt creates stress, which prevents creativity, which makes it impossible to write, which creates more guilt. It’s a vicious cycle. It’s perfectly fine to say “I try to write a little every day” because that leaves room for “oh fuck it’s eleven thirty and I’ve been at work since six in the morning and then had the washing machine explode and it’s finally fixed and I haven’t had enough sleep in a week and I’m not going to write today because I’m too fucking tired!” People who insist that you “must” write every day would call this an excuse. It’s not an excuse. It’s called COMMON SENSE. It’s about putting your physical and mental health before an arbitrary set limit imposed by someone who probably a) hasn’t got anything published themselves and b) probably doesn’t stick as strictly to it as they are pressuring you to.

Moreover, not everyone is the same. That means not everything works for everyone. Some writers may benefit from pencilling in “writing time” each day (and note the “pencilling” bit. Pencil can be erased). But others work best by writing continuously for a few days in a row (as in, all day or most of it, not “a little” as in the previous type) and then don’t write a word for days because they’re working through the story in their heads, and/or need time to relax after that bulldozer full-throttle effort of doing near nothing else. Some people have methods that aren’t covered by either of those two examples.

THERE IS NOTHING WRONG WITH THAT.

If you want to give an aspiring writer advice, don’t say “You Should” because they may be – and usually are – a different type of person than you and will need a different method. Say “This works for me, but it might not for you”.

6. Writing is Easy. NO. No art is easy.

 
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Posted by on December 16, 2016 in Uncategorized

 

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The Three Types of Speculative Fiction

A few posts – and an alarmingly long time – ago, I wrote extensively on the value of Fantasy and how it is connected to (and as valuable as) its sibling-genres. Today I want to expand on that by discussing the three types of speculative fiction. No, not Horror, Sci-Fi, and Fantasy. You see, one of the most common arguments about Fantasy – a reason people mistake it as inferior – is that people generally assume that Fantasy only comes in one flavour and therefore that any socio-politically heavy Fantasy must not “really” be Fantasy. This, however, is a false syllogism.

A what? A false syllogism is a type of logical failure wherein two premises are put forth but the conclusion drawn from putting them together is not valid. For instance: My cat does not chase mice. Cats stereotypically chase mice. Therefore, my cat is a dog.

People who think Fantasy can only be adventures and that they are all Tolkien rip-offs do the same thing. They say: “This high quality Fantasy is socio-political. I believe in the stereotype that all Fantasy is childish romance-heavy, fireball casting garbage about defeating the Evil Overlord and riding unicorns. Therefore, this is ‘really’ Sci-Fi.” Sure, they probably do this sub-consciously, but it’s still what happens.

Incidentally, I don’t have a cat. There used to be a cat, but she only chased string, ribbons, and laser beams. But I digress.

It is extremely silly (and illogical) of people to assume that Fantasy only comes in adventure!flavour, when Sci-Fi (the genre these people tend to prefer) is viewed as having three basic forms: Gadget, Adventure, and Social. These terms, and the idea of dividing Sci-Fi this way, come from acclaimed author Isaac Asimov. In his 1953 article “Social Science Fiction”, which was published in Modern Science Fiction, he declared that all Sci-Fi plots are ultimately one of three types:

Gadget Science Fiction: In which the story is focused on the invention and how it works. In this form the main character would, for example, invent a car and then give a lecture on how the car works.

Adventure Science Fiction: In which the story is action focused and the invention – the science – is a prompt. In this case the protagonist invents a car, only for the bad guys to steal it and force the hero to go on a high speed chase to save the day.

Social Science Fiction: In which the invention neither ignites nor ends the plot, but influences it and considers the ramifications of a world in which such a thing existed. In this case the protagonist invents a car, tries to get mass production funded, people start being able to live further from work because the commute is easier – causing class distinctions to blur – someone gets run over, and most people get stuck in traffic.

 

But this division is not only apparent in Sci-Fi. Its sibling-genres also can be divided up in this way. Indeed, with the blurring genres of Science-Fantasy and New Weird involved, is worthwhile to divide speculative fiction up in this way.  Of course, as Gadget is a Sci-Fi focused term it will need to be replaced, and I have chosen Phenomenon to fill its role as the equivalent of a gadget in fantasy and horror is usually not something the humans have invented or even understand (indeed, it is usually something which cannot be understood). In this case the divisions within the genres would be as follows:

Phenomenon Horror: In which the story is focused on the fact that something terrifying (natural or supernatural) is happening and the protagonist tries to figure out what and why. Whether or not they succeed in this is dependent of whether nothing or knowledge would be scarier.  For example, items start moving in the house and the protagonist tries to figure out if they’re being haunted, stalked, or just forgetful.

Adventure Horror: In which the details of the terrifying occurrence are irrelevant, and the hero is running and fighting for their life because it wants to kill them (or worse). For example, items start moving in the house and shortly thereafter the ghost/serial killer starts chasing the suspiciously buxom leading lady through the house.

Social Horror: In which the focus of the plot is not that something terrifying is happening, but how people cope with this. Such horror tends to be slower moving and lends itself to the psychological. (True dystopias fall into this category.) For example, items start moving in the house and the protagonist suffers from the mind games something/someone/they themselves unwittingly are playing with them while trying to hold their family together and struggling to convince the world that they aren’t insane.

Phenomenon Fantasy: In which something which is not explicable by our universe’s laws of physics (Newtonian, Quantum, etc) happens and the protagonist either tries to cope with it or explain it. If they attempt to explain by the physics of our universe they will, necessarily, fail, but if magic is a type of branch of physics in that universe they may be able to explain it in those terms. Nevertheless, something beyond our physics happens and is difficult, if not impossible, to explain. For example, the protagonist discovers that ice fairies have reappeared and tries to figure out why and how. They fail, or possibly succeed, but cannot truly grasp how it all works, even as they are both awed and terrified by the ice fairies.

Adventure Fantasy: In which something which is not explicable by our universe’s laws of physics is either accepted as a normal part of the surroundings or the instigator for the action, but essentially is a prop for the plot. For example, the protagonist discovers that ice fairies have reappeared and must use their new fire magic to defeat the dark lord of ice, save the world and win the crown.

Social Fantasy: In which something which is not explicable by our universe’s laws of physics exists or comes into existence in the world and the protagonist has to live with the effects. For example, ice fairies reappear and start altering the weather systems – causing food shortages, mass migrations of refugees, and political refugee crises.

 

And this? This is why it’s so painful to see people stereotype all Fantasy as Adventure Fantasy. Social and Phenomenon Fantasies exist too, guys. They’re beautiful and terrifying and marvellous in their own right, if only you give them the chance. The same is true of Horror. Some of the best – most deeply and truly terrifying – Horror comes not from running away from the monster, but in sitting at home, too scared to turn around, and wondering if it’s right behind you. Is that it’s breath you feel? Surely it’s just the fan. Surely. That prickling sensation is definitely not something …right?

 
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Posted by on November 7, 2016 in On Writing

 

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