Notes on the woman warrior, fantasy literature style

The first woman warrior I remember reading was Eowyn in The Lord of the Rings. That image of her standing before the Nazgul Witch-King, her sword brandished, her blond hair spilling down her shoulders and catching in the wind is probably one of the most vivid early memories I have of fantasy literature. And I remember feeling a swell of pride, too, that this woman had done something so remarkable in a world so dominated by men.

Just the other day, my husband remarked to me how surprising it was that Tolkien chose to have Eowyn act so. On the surface it sure seems that way; she’s a rare spot of feminine power in the books, and certainly the only one with martial abilities. Was he showing feminst leanings? I don’t think so. Firstly, he was writing from the Germanic lore tradition, in which there were many shield-maidens. The concept was a bit romanticized, honestly, and I think he liked the idea of a kind of Valkyrie figure. But more than anything, Eowyn’s presence served to fulfil one of Tolkien’s favorite literary mechanisms: the riddle. The Witch-King of Angmar can, of course, be killed by no man. And she is, well, no man. I think the cleverness of that scene is what drove Tolkien to do it, rather than any feminist sympathies (because, as much as I love LoTR, I don’t believe his intention was to rally the cry of repressed women).

Though certainly there are moments in the text that Eowyn gives glimpses into her desire to be treated as her brother (“Too often have I heard of duty. But am I not of the House of Eorl, a shieldmaiden and not a dry-nurse? I have waited on faltering feet long enough. Since they falter no longer, it seems, may I not now spend my life as I will?”) in the end, she marries and is taken care of, and quite quietly fades into the background. She is a lone woman in the texts–Peter Jackson, of course, had to beef up Arwen’s role in the film to make another engaging character.

There have been many other female warriors in fantasy fiction since Tolkien, of course, and many weild martial power and prowess. But few, I think, have real complexity. I’m thinking of Brienne of Tarth in George R. R. Martin’s A Song of Ice and Fire series, in particular, as she’s the clearest woman warrior in the bunch. She’s complex, in some ways, but her sense of duty and simpleness make her a little grating. I like that’s she’s not the sexiest chick on the block, but she just always felt like one of the flattest characters in the series to me. In some ways, she’s not that different from a guy, I guess.

Of course, there’s also the whole gorgeous, leather-clad, bodice-squeezed warriors we know and love, like the Mord Sith in Terry Goodkind’s books. While powerful, and certainly complex from a psychological standpoint, it always irked me that they were “rescued” by Richard. Okay, lots about Richard irked me in general, not the least of which was his instent chatting and feeding forest animals, but that’s another rant for another day.

I should mention that my critique doesn’t mean I don’t enjoy these books. I have, and I will again. The role of the woman, and anyone who’s not a classic male hero, is changing. What’s difficult for me is that so many women are portrayed as either mannish or sexpots. And there’s got to be some middle ground. Women happen to be warriors, or warriors that happen to be women. Sometimes just writing a character means stripping away ideas of gender, and simply writing them the way they are.

Maybe what the issue here is a desire for more complexity from a society perspective. Anyone who chooses voilence as a means of action in life has reasons, and those reasons are often deep-seeded in politics and societal norms. When fantasy leans too much on the shock value of a female warrior, or the “just because” aspect or, the dreaded “I was abused by a man” trope, it lends a flatness to characters. Fantasy societies have the chance to be truly spectacular, and so many fall short. (I poke holes in my own stuff all the time, and don’t exclude my stuff from the list, I should point out. It’s my pet peeve with, um, myself… However, someone who I think does this particularly well is Joss Whedon, especially in the case of River Tam.)

At any rate, the concept of female warrior has been heavy on my mind as of late, as I have two in Peter of Windbourne who could not be more different. One is a warrior of martial power soley, and the other is a little more complicated than that. As secondary characters to the main POV, it’s a tricky trying to convey the depth of character I want. I suppose, at a point, there’s only so much you can do.

Part of the problem is that readers like the sexy ladies in chain mail, and especially mainstream fantasy–or, big-selling fantasy anyway–is reluctant to piss off their fan base. I don’t blame them, in a way. It’s business. You need only wander in to WoW or any convention to see sex sells, and the skimpier the armor, the more attention.

I wonder if the recession will push writers to challenge or to conform. Time will tell, I suppose. I’m intrigued as to what kind of woman warriors this generation will create.

Crowded house: writing a party

Nah, not the kind with ale and food and wenches, though that happens from time to time.

More like a party of people. At the moment I’m struggling with some of my chapters, as there are just too many damned people there all the time. Up until this point most of what I’ve written has been fairly straight-forward, with a handful of people doing fairly straight-forward things. Two, maybe three people in conversation, nice tight little story arcs… It was particularly comfortable in The Aldersgate because, well, every chapter was a new point of view, and helped me keep things neat and in a row.

Now, in Peter of Windbourne, all of the sudden there are at least five people in just about every single scene. Oh sure I can write it out. Sure I can finagle it. But that doesn’t give me many options. Not to mention that my inability to balance characters was one of the reasons the first draft didn’t work (one of myriad reasons, but one still). I mean, I’m traveling with an entourage. There were five, but soon there will be seven. Seven!?

Maybe this is one of the hallmarks of pure fantasy, rather than steampunk fantasy. With no travel available but horseback, people tend to cluster together and travel in groups. It certainly goes back to the whole retinue concept, of a knight and his soldiers trolling the countryside, and always reminds me a bit of Tolkien’s Fellowship. What Tolkien did was to segment his characters, and build stronger relationships between the to facilitate dialogue and plot. Legolas and Gimli had their competition, Merry and Pippin their food, Frodo and Sam their melancholy, and Aragorn and Gandalf their leadery stuff. Oh, then there was Boromir somewhere in between. But he didn’t end up so well.

So certainly the first step is trying to forge relationships between the characters. It’s also essential to “pull a Dumbledore”–that is, to have a character who serves as a point of exposition, someone that the reader–and protagonist–can believe. Not only does this prevent all the characters constantly asking questions of one another (which would be unbearably annoying) but allows me to advance the plot without resorting to straight-out exposition.

One of the biggest changes I also have done in this draft is to make Peter, the protagonist, smarter and a little older. I think in the first draft he was 15 or 16; by the second he was 18. This draft, he’s almost twenty, and he’s spent his life with tutors. It makes sense for the course of the story, as he was schooled for a monastery. In earlier drafts I was frustrated with his lack of character, which was really more a result of his ignorance and starry-eyed (cliche) nature. Well, suffice it to say I was a little sick of it. I mean, this is sword and sorcery; there are some things I should keep from the genre. But not everything.

More than anything though, it makes Peter active. Even though he’s learning a great deal through his new companions, he’s got something to say. He’s got opinions. He’s not just a sponge. And sponges, as I’ve learned, are boring. Right?

What I didn’t expect, however, is a heightened sense of tension with this revamped crew. I find that because so many characters are in so many scenes, there’s much more opportunity for argument, disagreement and confrontation. It also makes fight scenes a whole lot more like a coordinated dance. Without guns, which was the primary weapon in The Aldersgate, there’s a focus to combat that I didn’t have before. And it’s actually a blast. Both of my readers have commented that the scenes are a bit nail-biting–and they should be. It’s one of the things about medieval warfare that I love so much; it’s more brawn and endurance than skill, sometimes, and it’s drawn out, difficult.

I’m still learning this whole “big crew” perspective. Thankfully it’s not something that will be apparent through the whole book–they move on and split up a bit, and reconvene, etc. But I’ve got at least one more solid chapter to keep the balance…

Any writers out there experience similar juggling acts? I’d love to know how you manage a crowd!

Ten Things I Want to See More of in Fantasy Literature

Consider this a call for suggestions. While I do my best to catch up on reading, covering both classics and new material, I can’t be everywhere at once. And between my own writing and editing I don’t have a lot of time to scour the internet…

So: ten things I’d like to see more of in fantasy literature (some I’ve already mentioned but hey, if they’re still irking me, they’re worth mentioning again!).

  1. Gender bending. Why not? If I read one more fantasy novel with a deviant/evil homosexual character I might actually light it on fire. I mean, come on people. Fantasy is the most forgiving of all genres, and yet we’re still conforming to antiquated notions about sex, sexuality, and gender? Shame, shame!
  2. Women heroes that don’t suck. This is still an issue. Or if the women are heroes, they either resort to sex or violence to get what they want. Or they depend on a man for power. Or they are looking for a man’s approval. How about a woman just being plain smart? Or skilled? How about a woman with kids instead of some moody, love-stricken maven?
  3. Animals other than dragons. I’ve written about this before. And I like dragons, really, I promise I do. But it’s swords and sorcery, not dragons and sorcery.
  4. Creatures other than, say, vampires and zombies. It’s high time we give the less-known werewolves, manticores and minotaurs their turn, wouldn’t you say? Or at least if you choose the vampire/zombie type story, write them well. And please stray from sexy, cute, and/or sparkly.
  5. Really gritty battle. Fights that draw blood, that incapacitate, that leave scars mentally and physically. Even on heroes. Even on wizards. But not to the point of innards flying all over the place.
  6. Risks other than the Bad Guys Winning. Yes, I know that one of the comforts of the fantasy genre is the notion of good vs. evil, the light vs. the dark, and all that jazz. But hasn’t that been done to death? Aren’t we beyond that at this point? Readers need to be challenged, and as much as I love the old regime like Tolkien and his ilk, that model just doesn’t hold in our world anymore. Give me the gritty gray area!
  7. Realistic dialogue. Sure, writing dialogue in a fantasy world is tough. They’re probably not even speaking something remotely English. But the stiff, heightened, and often laughingly archaic language just cheapens the whole thing and often comes in the way of good writing. Chill out, use contractions, and make it readable!
  8. Settings that don’t look like England. Okay, I’m guilty as charged, but well, you know. Though I’m currently writing a story in a very Britain-esque world, I am hungering for something sweeping and foreign. A fantasy in a rain forest, or the steppes, or the Serengeti.
  9. Intriguing cultures. Not cultures based on real cultures. Not even necessarily human cultures. I want whacked out weird and above all, convincing cultures. Down to the food, the gesticulations, and the customs. Yes, I’m in a demanding mood. Why do you ask?
  10. Stories that make me cry. Epic and fantasy go hand in hand for me. But if the story doesn’t move me, is predictable, and leaves me scratching my head or checking to see if I missed something, it feels like one hell of a waste of time. And these days I don’t have that time to waste!

So how about you? Any fantasy genre gripes? Or good reading suggestions?

The creativity curve, and time for the cure.

Creativity is a fickle little brat. You know, I try my best to be disciplined. Okay, that’s a blatant lie.

Let me try this again.

I’m not good at being disciplined, but I occasionally make the effort to do more than write whenever I feel like it. I write when I can. And what exactly the magic mix that entices me to write thousands of words at a go might be… well, damned if I know. Sometimes opening up my laptop and staring at Scrivener is akin to a holy experience, the story unfolding in front of me faster than I can type. Other times, I feel like a dried up husk with bad anecdotes and virtually no abilities.

For all my shortcomings as a human being (vices include: sloth (procrastination), gluttony (cheese and wine please), and envy (why the CRAP is [soandso] published and I’m not), I think I have enough redeeming qualities to move me from a) person who talks about being a writer but doesn’t really do it enough to qualify to b) person who actually writes books, short stories, and completes them. Granted, I’m not as clever or as skilled as a metric ton of other writers out there, but from my experience gleaning the shelves of local bookstores, wit and talent have little to do with actually being published.

What’s frustrating is my inability to sustain. Sure, I go through phases where I literally drip words. I write tens of thousands of words in a week; I am bombarded at every turn by plot twists, character dialogue snippets, and intriguing word combinations. I can’t escape thinking about what I’m writing if I tried (which, in the case of last night, kept me up way past my bed-time).

But then? It’s like someone quite surreptitiously turns off the lights, cuts the power, and takes away my wine. I sit down to write, and it’s void. A chasm. Emptiness, despair. My own little Swamp of Sorrows. Just for me. How lucky I am. Worse even, I look back at what I’ve written and cringe, feel ill, and have to suppress the desire to kill everything I’ve worked on up to that point with fire. Sulfuric fire. Or a lake of fire. Something along those lines.

I have no one to blame but my own frustrating self, because I know it’s possible. I know I am capable. I just have no idea what’s at the root of the highs and lows of my writing habits. And that, friends, is really what ticks me off.

When I decided to Be A Writer, I vowed to write. I promised myself that I’d be more than someone who dabbles, that puts cute ideas together and ponders the possibility of ever finishing. With this new year, I no longer have a full-time job in the Real World–but I am a full-time Mom.  Until I am old and withered, I will always have other things to do.

See, organized people would try and figure out what causes these rises and falls in creativity. They’d get out Google Calendar and every day they’d rate themselves on how they feel, and what they’ve done and eaten, and how much sun they’ve seen, and take all that evidence, digest it a bit, and proclaim triumphantly after a year’s worth of data and compiling that [THIS] is the cause of their oscillation.

I am not that person.

Alas. I am going to go back and try and get back in this groove. Except writing today feels like putting on a damp shirt from the dryer that was left too long in the wash; musty, wet, and cold all at the same time.

I think it might be time for the Cure.

Hah. Irony.