I’ve already gone on about the tyranny of the Mainstream State, that exiles all those that fail to conform to its rigorous aesthetic to the gulag of genre fiction. However, like all good despotic regimes, “mainstream fiction” is based on hypocrisy and lies. (1)

 

There are two ways of looking at this:

 

First, the scholarly:

 

Where did “fiction” start? The easy answer to that is myth and legend, and it would be a tempting answer to give, as it would hand fantasy fiction the world on a plate. They knew what they liked in those days, and what they liked were heroes, gods and monsters (3).

But that’s the easy way out, really. There is a difference between myths and the modern novel. Myths were told in different ways, and for different reasons, and whilst they provide the root for all later stories, they are of a different tradition. Modern writing can partake of that tradition, but the art of the novel is off at a tangent from Homer and Ovid.

 

The next stop comes with romances (5), stories intentionally written to entertain an audience. Mallory, or Spenser, for example. Yes, symbolism up the wazoo (6), but still… Beowulf, to skip back a bit, is another example: not an olde-worlde myth but a very early ancestor of a modern writer. What kind of writer? A fantasy writer. Ditto Mallory and Spenser, although Chaucer lets the side down a little, perhaps (7). Many of the early ur-novels (8) were supposed travelogues from distant lands, often with sociological axes to grind, such as Swift’s Gulliver’s Travels and many others of the same stripe. An allegory is still a fantasy, and a fantasy novel today can be an allegory. Just because you have a drum to beat doesn’t mean you’re not writing fantasy. Frequently, only fantasy has the soundproofing to let you beat your drum as loud as you want. Fantasy is at the heart of fiction, in effect. Thus for the scholarly.

 

Second, the logical: What, after all, is the distinguishing feature that makes “fantastic fiction”? It is not dragons. It is not elves. It is not even magic. Look at Hardinge’s excellent Fly-by-Night, and you will find an extremely compelling fantasy story that neither has nor needs a jot of Harry Pottering to make it fly. What makes the fantastic, be it high fantasy, low fantasy, swords and sorcery, cyberpunk, steampunk, hard science fiction, horror, space opera, alternative history or what have you, is that it is set in a world where, like the past, they do things different.

 

But that’s the problem, isn’t it? If it’s a novel, if it’s fiction at all, then it’s fantasy. You would have to be an author of superhuman veracity to take any subject matter and pen only what actually happened, and that would make you a reporter, not an author at all (9). Even then, your account is purely subjective. Your facts are, de facto, another man’s fiction.

 

“Based on a true story” is something that television and movie producers still trot through its tired paces every so often. When looked at closely, one often discovers that the “true story” seldom shares more more than a few basic plot points with what eventually got churned out by the production company. Why? Because “true stories” so seldom make good stories and the producer knows that he must give his audience a good story in order to make a watchable film (10). It must have, in fact, a story, and a story is fiction. It is true that Middle Earth is not real, but no more is James Bond, Inspector Morse, Joseph K or Humbert Humbert. The world that Bond swans about in, whilst it has places that share names and semblances with places we know, is fictional. Those things were not done, that man was not there. For that matter, Edward IV in Dymoke’s The Sun in Splendour, whilst “based on a true monarch”, never lived, save in those pages. He is not the man whose name he bears.

 

All fiction is fantasy fiction. It therefore seems harsh for fiction that deals in the avowedly non-existant, rather than the supposedly plausible but actually fabricated, to be tarred with a particular brush.

 

And besides, and finally, as we know, there are two solid ways for a writer of fantastic fiction to get onto those prestigious mainstream shelves, either as invader or collaborator. Let me pick on Jasper Fforde. Mr Fforde has written a number of extremely literate (11) books set in alternate histories with both fantastical and science-fictional elements. I was delighted to see his books in amongst the mainstream in my local Waterstones. Mr Fforde is clever, and he is popular, and he has slipped under the radar of the Mainstream stormtroopers (12) very nicely. The other way in, of course, is to write a book, make it as surreal/meaningful (13) as you like, have time-travel, magic, visions, mythic archetypes and even a dragon (14), write a fantasy novel, in effect, but remain eligible for all those awards and for “(presenter) and (that other presenter)’s book club”, by calling it magical realism.

 

And if you can get away with that, well, that’s magic.

 

(1)   Of course, as a good card-carrying genre-fiction writer, I’m obliged to strike out against the unjust oppression that makes me a second-class literary citizen. If fantasy fiction became the new mainstream tomorrow I’d sit on my throne (2) and wave my despotic sceptre with the best of them. If history has taught us one thing it is that there is no oppressed underclass that will not take up tyranny if handed the whip.

(2)   Well, I say throne. I’m not even in print yet. Call it some kind of small chair.

(3)   Some people will say that these stories were intended literally, that those poor deluded souls (4) believed every word as gospel. I’m dubious, personally, but I’m no anthropologist, fight to the death for your right to say it, and so on. Other people will say, well, yes, but those stories are meaningful, all kinds of metaphors, seasons, astrology, explanations of the natural order of things, on and so forth. To that I would simply say that a story that is wholly without meaning is a poor story indeed, and a story in any genre or setting can explore human nature and the search for truth without being anything other than a story.

(4)   This is closely related to the school of thought that people in ancient civilisations must have had all their great pyramids, stone circles, temples and wonders put up by alien technology, on account of them being, by implication, too stupid to work it out themselves. Whereas we modern types, of course, are quite clever enough to wreck the world in a dozen ways, without any alien assistance at all.

(5)   The original meaning of “romance”, being fictional stories generally revolving around chivalric derring-do, rather than jumping straight from the Iliad to Mills and Boon. The derivation of “romance” refers to the fact that the works, rather than being in sober latin, were written in the common languages of the day, chiefly French and Spanish, the “romance” languages. This is pure etymological perversity, as “romance” languages refers to their derivation from the Roman tongue. The works being genuinely written in the “Roman” tongue, generally academic or religious tomes, were too Roman to be Romances.

(6)   As Spenser himself would have said, I’m sure. Probably straight to Queen Elizabeth’s face, had the mood taken him.

(7)   People say that Shakespeare, had he lived today, would have been writing soap operas. I’m not convinced of that, but I suspect that Chaucer certainly would be, and he’d do a damn good job too.

(8)   I have an idea I am using this bit of a word in the right way, but honestly I couldn’t be sure. It sure looks good though, don’t it?

(9)   In an ideal world. I think this may be slightly optimistic as regards the truthfulness of journalists overall.

(10)  The fact that, in so many of these cases, the story finally vomited forth is neither true nor good says a great deal of the vice of compromise.

(11)  And extremely good.

(12) Do stormtroopers use radar? I’m probably committing some horrible faux pas of militaria.

(13) If it’s surreal enough then you can just say it’s meaningful. If you’re the current enfant terrible then you’ll get away with it. Just because the emperor’s always a bit chilly doesn’t stop him phoning his tailors on regular intervals.

(14)  So long as it’s a meaningful and/or surreal one.