Earlier this year, author V.E. Schwab delivered the sixth annual J.R.R. Tolkien Lecture on Fantasy Literature at Pembroke College, Oxford. With her permission, we are proud to present the text of that lecture; you can also find a complete video of the lecture and the excellent Q&A session that followed here, and also embedded below.
I have a confession to make:
I haven’t read The Lord of the Rings, or The Hobbit. I do not consider myself a well-versed fan of Tolkien, let alone an expert. I have nothing against the titular author of this lecture series, of course—in fact, when I was awarded the immense opportunity of delivering this talk, I considered dropping everything to read those books. Not because I wanted to, but because how could I step up to this podium otherwise? Fluency, if not fandom, felt expected of me.
Which is exactly why, in the end, I chose not to. I have a very strong belief that reading should be an act of love, of joy, of willing discovery. That when we force someone across the wrong literary threshold, we risk turning them away instead of ushering them through.
I was at a book conference earlier this year, on a panel, when this idea came up. The concept of gateway books. The stories responsible for making us into readers. Ironically, it was the topic of Tolkien that set the debate off. A male author on the panel said—and I’m paraphrasing because I wasn’t taking notes, but the words are more or less burned into my mind—he said that a person shouldn’t be allowed to consider themselves a lover of science fiction or fantasy if they hadn’t read Tolkien. That his work should be required reading.
Required reading. A dangerous label, that. As the Guest of Honor at this conference, and as someone who’s already admitted to you that she hasn’t achieved that designation, I challenged him. Why? Why was Tolkien the threshold, the marker, the metric by which membership in this club should be determined? And the author said, simply, “Because he made me a reader. Because without him, I wouldn’t be here.”
Which is wonderful, for that author, and for anyone who found their way to reading via Tolkien’s hallowed halls. But there isn’t one door through which we must find a love of reading, or nothing. In fact, such a prescription is dangerous, limiting. What happens, when a budding reader is handed a book and told, if you don’t love this, you don’t love fantasy? Setting aside the fact it’s unfair to put that much weight on one book, it is equally unfair to put that much pressure on one reader.
I told the man on the panel I had never read Tolkien, and he looked at me not with derision exactly, but with such open astonishment, as if wondering how I found my way into that chair, onto that panel, into the building, onto the pages of books, without him. And I simply said, “I found another door.”
It didn’t seem to occur to him there could be more than one. But that is the beauty of readership. It does not matter how we find our ways in—Boxcar Children, The Bourne Identity, Anne McCaffrey, or Stephen King. What matters is that we find them.
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Vengeful
I was eleven when I found my door. An only child and over-achiever, I was a capable reader, but not an enamored one. I’d yet to find a story that could make the pages of a book disappear, one that could make me forget I was looking at words on paper the way a good movie makes you forget the cinema seat, the edges of the screen.
And then a family friend called my mum. She was at a bookstore in Southern California, and there was an author there signing her debut novel. It was geared toward kids my age, and the friend asked my mum if I might like a signed copy. My mother, knowing I wasn’t a passionate reader, but not wanting to be rude, said yes, sure, that would be nice, and a week later, the book arrived in the mail.
It wasn’t very thick, but it had an illustration on the front of a boy on a broomstick, flying through an arch. If you haven’t guessed, it was called Harry Potter and the Philosopher’s Stone (well, Sorcerer’s Stone—this was, after all, in the States). The author, the one my mother’s friend just happen to stumble on in the bookshop, was of course, J.K. Rowling.
This sounds like the beginning of a familiar story, I know.
So many of my generation owe a debt to Rowling: for fostering a love of story, but the simple fact is that without her, without that series, I’m not sure when I would have developed a fondness for books. Certainly not until much later. Harry Potter was the first time when I fell in love. The first time I forgot I was reading words, because I felt like I was watching a film inside my head. The first time I forgot where I was. Who I was. Harry Potter—and J.K. Rowling—provided me my first taste of true narrative escape, and from that moment I was hooked. Mesmerized by the idea that someone could use words that way, to transport. The alchemy of translating letters into stories. It was, pure and simple, magic. And it made me a reader. It was my door.
But I would never set those books before someone and say, “If you do not love these, you are not a reader. If these do not speak to you, you are not one of us.” Because it does not matter which door you take, so long as you find one. Some of us find the door young, and some don’t. My father, who is 69 years old, has found his love of reading in the six months since he’s retired, proving there is no expiration date on doors.
Nearly twenty years after I stepped through my own, here I am.
People often ask me why I write fantasy. I used to only have one answer. Because I grew up wanting the world to be stranger than it was. Now I think, what I meant, what I mean, is that I also wanted it to be more.
I was the kind of child who scoured the piled stone hills behind my grandmother’s house in Tahoe, looking for cracks shaped like doorways, grooves shaped like keyholes. I would run my hands over the rocky surface and try to remember a magic I’d never known. A password I convinced myself I’d simply forgotten. I told myself that if I could just remember the right word, the door would open, and I would find that other world I was so convinced was there. That was my youth—spent looking for doors. Not because I was unhappy—I had the kind of loving upbringing that registers in your memory as a painting instead of a film, a still life. My mother is a dreamer, and my father is a diabetic, and aside from her occasional outbursts and his occasional episodes, it was a perfectly stable, if rather solitary, childhood.
I searched for ways out not because I was miserable, or lost, but because I couldn’t shake the feeling that there was more. That the world was bigger and stranger and more magical than the one I could see. I suppose, in some ways, it was my version of faith. A belief in something you cannot see, cannot prove. But you search for it all the same.
I grew up wanting the world to be stranger than it was, in large part because I hadn’t found my place in the version that was. Or rather, because I’d only found my place in the pages of books. I wanted to be Alanna, and Hermione Granger. I wanted to be Jason Bourne, Jonathan Strange, Katniss Everdeen, King Arthur, and Sabriel. I wanted to be powerful, and important, and free. I wanted to find the keys to the world. I wanted to see myself, and be someone else at the same time, wanted to be reinvented as someone stronger. I never went looking for happiness, never folded myself up in romance.
What I wanted were the adventures.
I wanted to wander the world of the dead, wanted to cast spells, and wear battle armor, fight spies and topple empires, and tap into the well of magic I knew was inside me, waiting to be woken, the same way I knew the world was big and strange, even if I couldn’t see it yet.
That is the power of fantasy. Of fiction. Of story. Of words.
We’re taught in school to use words carefully, to use them kindly, to use them well. But we are never truly taught—at least not in a classroom—how much magic they truly have.
I discovered that magic first as a reader. But it wouldn’t take me long to realize that the power words held over me was a power I could wield. Once I discovered that, I was unstoppable. Insatiable. I still am. Creativity is not only a potent magic. It is also an addictive one.
Before I was born my mother had a prophecy read over me. It was that kind of family. It wasn’t the most generous prophecy, but it was incredibly specific. Some pieces were unsettling, and some were startlingly accurate—I would be from the beginning an outsider, a keen observer, a social mimic, lost inside my own head—but the part I loved best was the part where the psychic said I would have a gift for words. A gift she wasn’t sure I would use for good. She predicted I would either become a cult leader, or a novelist. And whether or not you believe in any of this, it never fails to delight me that spinners of stories rank with swayers of minds and faith. A cult leader, or a novelist. The power to move masses. To hypnotize, or indoctrinate, or enthrall. Words are powerful things.
I often joke that writers are the gods of their own world. We are certainly its most adept magicians. Many authors talk about finding their way through their stories, about the mystery and the surprise and the reveal. They speak of their stories as things that already exist, entities waiting to be discovered, uncovered, explored, understood. They see themselves as mediums. Conduits.
But I have always seen myself as a conjurer.
Putting piece after piece, ingredient after ingredient, into the cauldron until the spell takes shape, the contents become more than the sum of their parts. That’s what spirits are, in bodies, that unquantifiable spark. That’s what stories are, too. They are what happens when ideas and words thread together into something more. A sentence is letters plus spaces plus meaning. A story is a sentence on a larger scale. It is alchemy. The transmutation of one element into another through some variable combination of method and madness. Impossible to quantify the ratios because they are different for all of us.
Believe it or not—and it’s becoming harder to believe some thirteen books in—I never set out to write novels. I’m an intensely visual person—I see everything before I write it down, I block and choreograph every beat, roll through the seconds of mental film, cut to different cameras in my head, different angles. Every scene comes with its own color palette. Every moment comes with an underlying soundtrack. I was a decent artist, but I couldn’t find a way to fully bring what I saw to life using pens, ink, paint. So I wrote.
When I was a kid, I would write screenplays, and then force my friends and neighbors and family to act them out, just so I could see the story played out before my eyes instead of behind them.
As I grew up, I became more attached to the words themselves, as if each one were indeed part of a larger incantation. There was magic in order, and cadence, syllable and flow. For years everything I wrote came out in meter and verse. Poetry felt like the most distilled form of power. I was fifteen when I won my first poetry contest.
I still remember the poem, its eight short lines woven into the fabric of my memory:
Perhaps the moon
Is in the sea
Reflecting up
Against the skyAs night beams bathe
In ocean waves
And all the stars
Swim by.
I loved poetry, but as the stories in my head grew more and more elaborate, I knew I hadn’t found the right form. It wasn’t until I got to college—wasn’t until I’d tried short fiction, and non-fiction, and micro-fiction, and screenplay, and journalism, before I realized why I hadn’t tried to write a book.
I was afraid. Afraid I didn’t have the attention span. Afraid I wasn’t smart enough to build something that large. Afraid it would collapse. Afraid I would fail. Luckily for me, I have a rather adversarial nature when it comes to fear. I had a fear of heights, so I went skydiving. I had a fair of change, so I cut off all my hair. I had a fear of leaving home, so I backpacked through Europe. I had a fear of failing to write a book, so I sat down, and started.
I wrote my first novel, and it was terrible, as all first novels should be. But it was a start. And the high of not only starting a story, but finishing it, was the most addictive sensation. I was hooked.
Since that first foray, I’ve always written fantasy. Now and then I’ve tried to dip my toe in realistic fiction, but within a few chapters, I invariably find myself longing for a demon, or a ghost, a way to make the world stranger.
Fantasy, it must be said, is a very large umbrella. Some insist on breaking it down into further, smaller shelters—speculative, high fantasy, second world, urban, supernatural thriller, fairy tale, magical realism, and so on. And yet, for such a broad concept, we too often seem to have a narrow vision of it. It need not always have wizards or dragons, necromancy or magic or chosen ones or worlds we cannot touch.
I have written about witches on the English moors. Libraries where the dead are shelved like books. Superpowers born of near-death experiences. Elemental magic in alternate Londons. Cities where violence breeds monsters.
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A Darker Shade of Magic
When I say fantasy, I simply mean, a story in which one foot—or heel, or toe—is not planted on firm, familiar ground. But my favorite fantasies are the ones where the other foot is, where the line between the known and the new, the observable reality and the strange fantastic, is dotted, blurred. It goes back to my childhood, searching those Lake Tahoe hills for cracks in the stone that might be doors. Because a fantasy set entirely in another world is an escapism with limits. You can read about it, sure, but you can never really get there. A fantasy with a door, a portal, a way in, that breeds a different kind of belief.
It is the difference between Tolkien and C.S. Lewis. Middle-earth is accessible only on the page. But Narnia had a door in the back of a wardrobe. That wardrobe is not simply a piece of furniture, it is an object that instills doubt—doubt that the world is as simple or mundane as it seems—the kind of doubt that makes a child climb into every cupboard and armoire they can find, looking for doors. When we make readers doubt their own reality, even a little, we grant them hope for a different one.
Writers of fantasy possess a special kind of magic.
We have the ability to change the world.
Writers of the speculative have the incredible opportunity to speculate. To reinvent and reimagine. We have the power to create spaces where diverse readers can see themselves, not only as tangential, but as essential. Fantasy authors have the opportunity to tell stories about characters whose real-life analogs are so often cast to the outside edges of the narrative, and to center those too often relegated to its fringes.
Which is why it’s disheartening, if I’m being generous, and maddening, if I’m being honest, to see so many new stories conforming to such old conceits. To see so many contemporary fantasy authors subscribing to antiquated models, either because of nostalgia, or the ease of well-worn roads, or, more likely, because they still feel adequately represented by them.
What a waste. The most beautiful part of writing fantasy is the freedom, not from rules—because we all know that good stories need good worlds, and good worlds, whether they’re rooted in fantasy, sci-fi, or realism, require solid scaffolding—no, not from rules, but from the exact details of the present we inhabit.
We have the opportunity to subvert the established tropes, to redefine power, to conceive of social landscapes and climates perpendicular to the ones in which we live. Fantasy allows us to explore the strengths and weaknesses of our own world through the lens of another. To draw a concept from its natural framework, its classic, well-worn context, and examine the underbelly of the idea. To restructure, and re-center. Fantasy affords the luxury of close examination—of the self, and of society—laid within a framework of escapism. It can be a commentary, a conversation, and it can simply be a refuge.
Good Fantasy operates within this seeming paradox.
It allows the writer, and by extension the reader, to use fictional and fantastical analogs to examine the dilemmas of the real world.
But it also allows the reader to escape from it. To discover a space where things are stranger, different, more.
In my opinion, there is no such thing as pure Fantasy.
Fantasy, like all stories, has its roots in reality—it grows from that soil. Stories are born from “what if…”, and that is a question that will always be rooted in the known. “What if…” by its nature is a distillation of “What if things were different?” And that question depends on a foundation of what we want them to be different from. In that sense, all fantasy is in conversation with a reality we recognize. It is a contrast, a counterpoint, and in my opinion the best fantasies are those which acknowledge and engage with that reality in some way.
Perhaps that means we see the world we are leaving—we board the train to Hogwarts, we step through the wardrobe—or perhaps we simply acknowledge the foundations on which our story is born and from which we are departing.
I’m not advocating for fantasy as an overt metaphor. The questions and counterpoints need not be the driving force of the narrative—as with Le Guin’s Left Hand of Darkness—but that question, “what if…?”, is strongest when it challenges the world we already know, and finds a way to pivot from it. To ask more interesting questions. To tell new stories.
Because, I must confess, I am tired of one true kings.
I am tired of stories centered around a young white man learning how to wield power, as if the real world doesn’t already do enough to prepare them.
I am tired of stories where women are either princesses or whores or manic pixie dream girls who have no story of their own but exist only as plot devices, obstacles, or pit stops on the quest of the male lead.
I am tired of stories that look and feel, act and behave, exactly like the world in which we already live, because they subscribe to the same conceptions of hierarchy, the same delineation of power, the same accepted norms.
And as tired as I am, I cannot fathom how tired some of my colleagues are. What seem like hills to me must be mountains to authors of color. I know that. I can only hope that, in helping to create commercial fantasy that breaks these old molds, I can also make space for others to do the same. Hold open a door.
I love this space, I love fantasy, and I love what it has the potential to become. There is this fear I sense from authors—most of them white, straight, male—as if moving forward means leaving the past—their past—behind. And perhaps, in reality that is true, but in fiction, the rules do not apply. The old is not erased by the new, it is not replaced by the new. It is only made better, stranger, more.
And that is why I write fantasy, why I’ve always written fantasy, to make the world stranger than it is, better than it is, more than it is. I write fantasy because I want to feel the way I felt when I stood on my grandmother’s stone hills, searching for doors. The way I feel when the air suddenly shifts and I can smell the energy in our world like the beginnings of a brewing storm. I don’t write to create a magic that isn’t there. I write to access a magic that is. To amplify it so that others feel it, too.
I write fantasy to make cracks in the foundation of a reader’s expectations, to challenge the solidity of their assumptions and beliefs.
I write fantasy because I want to bolster the believers, and make the skeptics wonder, to instill doubt and hope in equal measure. To help readers envision a time, a place, a world in which fantastical concepts like magic, or immortality, or equality, seem within reach.
My favorite stories are the ones laid like gossamer over our own world. The ones that make magic feel close at hand, that promise us there is a door, even if we haven’t found it yet. The ones that make us doubt our senses. The way a paranormal experience, or a near-death experience, or a spiritual experience, makes a cynic doubt their own established and accepted truths.
One of the most satisfying experiences I’ve ever had revolves around my novel, Vicious. It is a book about two pre-med students who discover the key to superpowers are near-death experiences—that the proximity of fatality can trigger a permanent adrenal shift. I threaded my magic through science. Took what is, and nudged it just a measure into what could be, and about three months after that book came out, I got an email from a man, who couldn’t sleep until I told him the truth: was any of it real?
A full-grown adult sent me an email in the middle of the night, because the question, the idea, the what-if, was keeping him awake. He was sure—he was almost sure—but the doubt had crept in like kudzu in the South, peeling up the clean foundation of his mind as it made room to grow.
I wish believing were always that easy.
I wish I could write a reality that was kinder to so many of those reading my work. Wish that, like in A Darker Shade of Magic, the strength of one’s power was more important than who they loved. I wish that I could center women and LGBTQ and people of color in the real world as easily as in my books.
But until that day, I am committed to doing it in fiction.
I will write powerful women, and princes in love with princes, and worlds where the monsters that plague our own have shapes that can actually be fought, bested. I will write flawed people because people are flawed, and I will write books where those who are so often relegated to sidekick or token or object are centered in the narrative, where they have their own agency, their own power, their own story.
I will write what I love, and what I long for, in the hopes that for someone, it might be not only be a way out, but a way in.
In short, I will write in the hopes of writing someone else a door.
Victoria “V.E.” Schwab is the bestselling author of more than a dozen books, including the Shades of Magic series and This Savage Song. Her Villains series, which began with Vicious, continues this September in Vengeful. Her work has received critical acclaim, been featured by EW and The New York Times, been translated into more than a dozen languages, and been optioned for TV and Film.
Thank you! :)
I love this so much!
This is fantastic, and so interesting!
I thought perhaps that was not the best way to start off a speech for a gathering that presumably is full of in-depth analysis of everything Tolkien – but that closer is a clincher. We adore and respect and study Tolkien for having granted us this so frequently used door, and that presents a perfect topic to centre this speech on. Fantastic.
Fantastic- my doorway was Dune, then Susan Cooper’s The Dark is Rising Sequence. It was years later before I ‘forced’ then, fell in love with Tolkien. If anything, Fantasy proves to us time and again, that doorways, like people, come in many forms, shapes and wonders- but in the end have one common thread- all are magical! Thank you again.
Beautiful, with the perfect last line. I have requested “A Darker Shade..” from my library (I always try to read from the library before buying, because I’m chronically short of shelf space) and confidently expect to buy the whole series.
Oh, FFS! I love Tolkien, and while he didn’t bring me into reading, he was certainly the first Great Author I encountered.
But… “required reading”? Gack! That would have turned me off immediately! I admire you for not reading Tolkien before you gave this speech, but I hope you’ve come to your senses since :-) I may well be an SF/F reader because my mother thought that was crap (from the woman who read… well, crap), but I’ve always said that if your doorway is Harlequin romances, then “more power to you!”
Doorways… As Seanan MacGuire says, Every Heart’s a Doorway. She’s not one of my favourite authors. Not up there with Tolkien, but she nailed it with that title!
No one should ever require anyone to read anything.
I was a reader swallowing books long since I ever heard anything about Tolkien, but you might say that he was the one who opened the door to fantasy for me. And I almost laughed when I read the words ” I’d yet to find a story that could make the pages of a book disappear” and thought to myself “Hmmm, sounds like what I experienced with my first Harry Potter book”, and then got to the part about the book the firend bought being “Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone”.
But yes, I do agree. It is a dangerous idea to claim a certain book is “required reading” for becoming a reader, because, as stated, everyone is different. By requiring to read something, the effect might be the opposite of what was intended. Everyone deserves to find their own doorway.
It is a truly beautiful article/lecture. Thank you for sharing this.
Thank you. What a lovely piece. You capture exactly my feelings about this too. I hope everyone feels inspired by it, as I do.
@7: Keleborn, I understand your sentiments but must respectfully disagree. My (adult) children can probably still list for me the titles of books they *love* but would never have read if I hadn’t required them to get through at least the first chapter. Not only those but the number of books they sought out at the library after they read the chapter or two that had been included in their required reading anthologies for school (most of which had been devoured by the end of the first week of any new school year).
When I was in first grade my amazing teacher gave each and every child in her class our very own book. Mine was the story of the princess, the golden apples and the glass mountain. She opened the door for me and made me what I am today, a bookseller. It is my very great privilege to every once and a while give the key to that door to someone else. It always makes my day. Thank you for a wonderful speech!
My door was Dragonlance – one of the many descendants of Tolkien, and many would say an inferior experience. To those people, I respond: to hell with you. I devoured those books by the armload. They made me a reader, and that’s the important thing.
I actually didn’t read Tolkien until I was an adult, and actually found The Lord of the Rings to be quite a slog. Dense, stuffy, and just a little pretentious. I understand why so many people like it; I understand why it’s considered important. But I didn’t, and still don’t upon re-reading it, like it all that much.
Wonderful and inspiring. What did you tell the man who asked if it was real? I’ve thought and thought of what I would say if I had received that email (assuming my worlds would ever compel someone to ask!)….and I have no idea how I’d reply.
I’m not buying the criticism of authors who just rewrite the same stories. A Darker Shade of Magic has (possible spoilers) an orphaned one-of-a-kind magic user as the main character and a story driven by destroying a dangerous magical artifact that corrupts everyone who touches it. I agree with her, but she’s guilty of some of the things she’s criticizing. I still don’t hate DSoM, by the way—it’s a fun book. Schwab just doesn’t have the grounds for criticizing the usage of clichés by other authors.
While I agree that one shouldn’t say someone can’t be a fantasy fan without reading LotR (or whatever book) but I am sad that Ms Schwab chose not to read Tolkien’s works, even when she had a good reason to (being asked to give this talk), and so has missed the pleasure she may have gotten from reading LotR/Hobbit.
A very thought provoking essay from V.E. Schwab. I agree with many of the points she raises. To require someone to read Tolkien or any other Spec-Fic author and tell them “If you do not love these, you are not a reader, you are not one of us” is ludacris. I wonder though is she falling into the same error that she herself is critiquing. She rightfully comments that Spec-Fic should stretch the boundaries and subvert established tropes. She comments that its maddening for her to see so many new stories conform to such old conceits and antiquated models. And I believe she makes a good point. There are many stories to be told. But what if a new reader’s gateway happens to be a tale about a one true king? What if a budding future author believes that the best vehicle to tell the story that is true to them happens to be a close variation on the chosen one theme? One thinks of Christopher Paolini with his Eragon series. J.K. Rowling’s Harry Potter series which was V.E.’s gateway emodies nearly all of the tropes that she is critiquing. I wholeheartedly agree that we need stories that subvert the established tropes. Recent examples that do this well are N.K. Jemisin’s Broken Earth series and Ken Liu’s Dandelion Dynasty. I wonder though should we discourage new readers and new authors from enjoying and creating if they follow closely in the footsteps of a Tolkien, a Lewis, a Rowling? Is that in some ways not another way of saying “If you DO love these, you are not a reader, you are not a writer, you are not one of us?”
I have a hard time even imagining Tolkien himself saying or ever even thinking, “No one comes to fantasy [or fairy-stories] except through me,” especially as many other storytellers introduced him to it. He was not a gatekeeper. No one should be, to be sure
Wow, I had no idea she is as young as she is. Very interesting talk.
No book should be “required”. However, it is important to understand that for those of us of a certain age (i.e. Baby Boomers) there were such a smaller number of doors when we were young. Sure, there was Conan, Narnia, Oz and others but the depth of Tolkien’s world-building was so far ahead of all of those as to be a total stunner. It was a door unlike any other and has been imitated by countless authors, including J.K Rowling.
Reading Tolkien for the first time in 2018 would be a totally different experience and I understand #12’s reaction. Objectively, LOTR is a very unusual book by an Edwardian Oxford professor who was not a professional writer.
It would be like the time I watched Citizen Kane. It was reputed to be the greatest movie ever but I had seen so many movies that had copied its innovations that the impact was totally lost on me.
Some thoughtful commentary here both from Schwab, whom my daughter adores, and from this community in general. I am a fan of Tolkien and Lewis, and, in fact, I team-teach a college course focused on their mostly anti-Modernist views, but our students are not required to have read either author, nor are they required to do so during the course except for some excerpts, etc.. Sometimes, much beloved authors are deified, ridiculously so, but are just as often an acquired taste. My so-called gateway to fantasy was the Oz books. From there, I went to The Hobbit and LOTR to the Chronicles of Narnia and the Earthsea books. All still hold a niche in my heart and imagination, and I have gone on to read various other authors as well, even some GRRM (definitely an acquired taste!). But, as a straight, white, male and published author, I am already a little weary of being taken to task for not reading books from authors whose sexual orientation, race, or religious beliefs differ from mine just because they differ from mine. I am drawn to a book due to its story, its writing style, and often its skillful world building, and its ability to take me out of the routine of daily life and not because of some agenda, etc. However, I am glad that writers from previously under-represented communities s are being heard and becoming popular on their own merit and hopefully not just because of who they are or which community they represent.
Thoughtful essay/address, and VE Schwab’s point that a love of reading is truly only sustained by the individual … however, what if the unnamed author had simply said “you make your living as fantasy novelist; shouldn’t you be familiar with what has already been done in the field?”
One of Schwab’s points is that there is a lot of – for want of a better word – “rehash” in the marketplace; one would think as a professional novelist, educating oneself as to the foundations of one’s field is only smart.
If Schwab was writing mysteries, one would think a passing familiarity with – say – Doyle would be a useful piece of body of knowledge to possess.
Nanos gigantum humeris insidentes, after all
“is” that a love of reading, etc.
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@Jeffersonian Why? Doyle’s not the only, nor even the best (except to those who love him passionately) mystery writer. As a genderqueer person, I’d be more likely to seek out writers who aren’t men who write in that field – Christie, Sayers, Tey, and Ngaio Marsh would be the ones I’d read to start with (and in fact, have read over and above Doyle). After all, there are plenty of Holmes-a-likes already in the field. Besides which, as someone who’s not a man, it’s very tiresome when people insist that a writer must be familiar with the Great Man in a genre before they start writing.
@Jack Jim James: As a READER (never mind a writer) do you not want to explore outside your Straight White Male universe? As a white reader, I definitely want to look at the fantasy worlds created by non-white writers. It expands my boundaries, increases my empathy, and helps me discover amazing stories. Which is why I’ve been going out of my way to read more non-white writers.
My door was Enid Blyton’s “The Pantomime Cat”. That was the book that made me a reader. Thankfully she’s written a hundred other books so that sustained me until I moved on to Anne McCaffrey and David Eddings, and from there a hundred directions.
So many doors. I was first exposed to fantasy through “The Hobbit” and “The Lion, The Witch, and The Wardrobe”. My first SF was Star Trek on TV, and Blish’s summaries. By 6th grade I was reading Dune, and a librarian recommended Grendel by John Gardner. (Totally inappropriate for a 12 year old, but I loved it.)
“Required reading”. Ugh. Fortunately I discovered some of the classics before high school English teachers foisted them upon me, but to this day I can’t stand King Lear or Moby Dick.
I think if we dwell too much on Schwab’s mention of cliches, we may be missing the primary points she’s making in this speech:
1) Tolkien was a significant force in the field, but not critical to its appreciation
2) That appreciation can be realized through many authors and works
3) That appreciation ought to be made available to as wide and inclusive an array of readers as possible
It’s perhaps that last point where the focus becomes fuzzy. I don’t believe she’s saying let’s abandon all hallmarks of the genre we’re accustomed to and love; a significant portion of fantasy fans will continue to seek out and adore those. I do believe she’s saying, let’s remember to appreciate authors who forge a different path and broaden fantasy’s range and reach, i.e. not lose sight of their value while showing our appreciation for Tolkien’s work and deserved legacy.
@12, *high five*
Dragons of Autumn Twilight was absolutely my door thrown wide open (and I’m proud that those core Dragonlance books were co-written by a male/female partnership), but it was quickly followed by so many more—Tolkien’s books came a bit later for me, but then the various animated films based on his works were already in my sights, and might well have unlocked the first door.
But things like this were also my door:
I’m not entirely sure what my door was, but I know who it was: it was my father, who read to me, encouraged me to read (anything and everything), and regularly lugged large bags of books to and from libraries for me.
He introduced me to both Lewis and Tolkien at a formative age. But, before that, he introduced me to Jules Verne. 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea and The Mysterious Island were perhaps my entry point into genre fiction, generally.
My dual doorways were Tolkien via The Hobbit (it would be several years later before I got access to the trilogy) and Andre Norton’s The Time Traders. I agree that people, especially children, ought to read what they want to read. I also think that people, especially children, can benefit from being urged to grow by trying things beyond their comfort zone. But you do that by making the new fascinating, not compulsory, and not by labeling it as worthier than the things they are already enjoying.
There is a quote from Madeline L’Engle which is obviously religious, but which I think applies to doorways into reading as well. She said, “We draw people to Christ not by loudly discrediting what they believe, by telling them how wrong they are and how right we are, but by showing them a light that is so lovely that they want with all their hearts to know the source of it.”
Yeah, I also had many doors and it’s hard for me to remember exactly the order in which I passed through them — John Christopher’s Tripods trilogy; Lloyd Alexander’s Prydain books; Narnia & Middle-Earth, of course; Heinlein’s juveniles; Burroughs’ Tarzan and John Carter of Mars. But while I still revisit just about all of them from time to time, I wouldn’t say that any of them are required reading before you can call yourself a fan; and some (Tarzan in particular) I’d probably actively steer younger folks away from these days. My doors are probably not going to be their doors (and, to be fair, vice versa).
(Now if you do come to me asking for recommendations for older books, I have many thoughts. And if you’re actually taking some kind of course or doing some kind of academic research, that’s also another beast entirely.)
Dear Michele – For a professional novelist, as opposed to someone reading for pleasure, familiarity with the body of work in the genre the professional has chosen to work in is common sense, if simply to avoid the same plot lines. Setting aside whatever voice the author writes in, or characteristics an author provides their protagonist, antagonist, or supporting characters, the basics of avoiding cliche, plagiarism, and a host of other challenges would appear to be foundational for success – commercial and critical – as an author.
In that sense, reading Tolkien, as a predecessor whose body of work is going to be familiar to a large percentage of the audience for any fantasy author is simple self defense – as would be reading Doyle or your suggestions of Christie et al. for someone writing mysteries.
if not, then the appellation of “rehash” is going to come, as you make the point. There are innumerable “versions” of Holmes & Watson in print; the original as conceived by Doyle, and various updates, including gender-flipped, role-flipped, species-flipped, various historical eras, etc. There’s an audience for that, but largely the same audience that enjoys Doyle’s original, or at least recognizes the tropes and appreciates the resulting work as an homage.
Schwab is saying she does not her original work seen as an homage; great, originality is to be applauded in a world of mass market paperbacks – but the surest way to ensure that is to be familiar with what is to avoided. … In this case, Tolkien.
Best,
My doors were the Star Trek and Star Wars novels possibly preceded by Piers Anthony. DragonLance fits in there somewhere. I don’t remember for sure but I think the book that got me reading more broadly was A Game of Thrones in the first paperback edition.
I know some authors have been doors for me to new parts of SFF. Not just their own work but also the work of their friends and collaborators. It seems like there’s always a new door to open even if I can’t find the energy to open it just yet.
@32: “a librarian recommended Grendel by John Gardner. (Totally inappropriate for a 12 year old, but I loved it.)”
I disagree! Sounds like a great book for an avid 12-year old reader. I’m sorry I’ve missed it, but I intend to correct that error!
@30, that wasn’t Jack Jim James’ point though. He was saying that he reads based on what appeals to him, not based on the backgrounds of the authors. If anything, choosing to read only a certain segment of what’s out there based on the writer’s race or identity is more restrictive than anything.
@40.
Grendel is Beowulf told from the monster’s point of view, and it’s very adult. Fortunately adult enough that most of the problematic stuff went over my head. By the time I was 16 I was ready for it.
It’s a great novel, and I’d love to see someone here tackle a review of it.
Tolkien is not required reading for someone to be considered a fantasy fan. Tolkien is required reading for someone to be considered a *well-read* fantasy fan.
I find it ironic that the author of this piece talks about the freedom of everyone to write and read what they want, then she turns about and complains about people’s choices and saying that the old should be subverted. I personally love subversion of fantasy tropes, but those tropes lasted as long as they did because they said something to people that they found valuable, and there’s no reason why people shouldn’t continue to write or read them without being shamed for their choices.
There’s room in fantasy for everyone. Pieces like the above seem to say that, but what they’re really saying is “There’s room in fantasy but there should be less for those people and more for people who are like me”.
@43. Kate: “Tolkien is required reading for someone to be considered a *well-read* fantasy fan.”
I disagree–even putting aside the fact that Tolkien’s work so permeates our culture that you end up gaining exposure to the stories whether or not you seek out the books, to declare any one author/text as seminal is a dangerous thing. Who gets to dictate? Who prescribes? Why not choose Doyle, then? Or Lewis? Or Peake? What happens when an author has read 9 out of the 10 authors you decide to be the most important, because either time or taste hasn’t made it happen, or because they’ve chosen to make room in their canon for more modern and more diverse work? Does the absence of one title/author in their literary education suddenly negate the entirety of it?
@15. Mark — You’ll notice I never excuse my own doorways for their shortcomings, nor do I begrudge Tolkien his. I simply say that we should be allowed to find our own doorways without them being so strictly prescribed and guarded, and that as a creator now as well as a reader, I’m hopeful that some of the doorways being added to the options are finally showing a level of diversity that better acknowledges and reflects the readers.
@14. Neithan — Believe it or not, just because I haven’t read Tolkien’s work, doesn’t mean I’m not painstakingly familiar with the tropes, because they’ve entered pop culture. Whether or not one likes my books, one of my goals is both the calling to and subversion of those classic tropes (hence the familiarity of framework with the magical artifact, and the subversion of the chosen-one narrative). Kell is in almost every way a failed chosen one, nor is he in fact a chosen ONE. His survival rests not on his own ability in the end, but in his relationships with and dependence on others.
A well-read fantasy fan knows more than just Tolkien and Tolkien clones. Why should English-language male authors be the only valid standard? Non-English readers tend to know English books in addition to those in their own language, while English readers only know English books. Since they are already limited that way why should they be further limited to “required” reading? I don’t care for many of the “classics” like Dune or Earthsea. Books from the beginning of the genre aren’t necessarily better, they made many mistakes that later authors no longer make because they learned from those who came before them. Tolkien’s style probably wouldn’t be accepted by modern editors.
@44: And while we’re at it, there’s the very real possibility that being told “If you haven’t read this work, you’re not a True Fan” may actually make someone less likely to read it, because you’ve made that book/comic/tv series/etc. less of a pleasure and more of a chore.
@42: I just don’t accept that there’s ever a book that’s “totally inappropriate for a 12 year old”.
My parents didn’t, apparently, read much to me, nor did they actively encourage me to read. But they were both readers, and there was never anything that was “appropriate” to them that I wasn’t allowed to read. Your own observation “that most of the problematic stuff went over my head” is pretty typical: if you’re not ready for it, it will! I read Dracula before I was 10, and I didn’t have a clue about the eroticism…
@47: I don’t think anybody here has argued that anybody should be “restricted” to reading any particular authors. There are just some authors who people would argue that you need to read, in addition to whatever else takes your fancy.
I’m always disappointed if somebody doesn’t like Tolkien. But my wife’s one of them. In all other respects, she’s a fine person.
But I, otoh, haven’t read Tolstoy or Dostoevsky, Austen or any of the Brontes. And I tried Peake and Bolgakov: not my thing.
@50: I dunno, that still feels like that treads too close to “If you don’t read this, then you’re not a True Fan,” which, as I mentioned above, has its own share of problems.
And just for the record, I did try reading Lord of the Rings, but just couldn’t get into it. Maybe I’ll give it a shot again, someday (like I did with Pratchett), but if so, it’ll be because I wanna see what the big deal’s about, not because I feel required to read it.
While I fully agree with all of the sentiments of this speech, I think there is a point that was overlooked. No reader should be forced to read Tolkien, of course. No fantasy author or even fan should be forced to read him either.
But a professional author should want to read the classics of the genre if only to better articulate what they don’t like about it. It’s sort of like a plumber who doesn’t want to use a certain wrench. Sure, they can probably navigate their professional life that way, but why? Part of being a professional anything is availing oneself of all tools, a much wider array than the general population.
Another analogy might be a history professor who loves the study of WWI (their gateway into history). But then never reads anything about WWII. Sure, there’s a million other things to read, and it might not interest the professor all that much, but it’s their profession. Filling that gap should be something they just want to do and not feel like they need to from some outside force.
yes! I’m keeping this quote in my pocket for the next time I have to explain why GRRM’s A Song of Ice and Fire couldn’t hold my attention (nothing against it! it’s a well-told, engaging story… it’s just not what I’m looking for in my fantasy). I yearn for fantasy that opens doors behind which I find worlds/power hierarchies/norms/things I could not imagine.
the earliest doors I remember finding: Chronicles of Narnia, The Hobbit, Edgar Eager’s Half Magic, Tamora Pierce’s Alanna series, Anne McCaffery’s Harper’s Hall trilogy + Dragonriders of Pern series, LeGuin’s Earthsea books, Stephen King, Robin Hobb, Octavia Butler
more recent doors that have brought me to entirely new worlds: NK Jemisin’s Broken Earth series & Inheritance series, Nnedi Okorafor’s Who Fears Death , Marjorie Liu’s Monstress series, Matt Ruff’s Lovecraft Country, Naomi Novik’s Temeraire series, China Miéville’s Perdido Street Station, VE Schwab’s Shades of Magic series
what a glorious time to be alive for lovers of SF/F!
I began reading this, and found another person describing my experience as an author. Not the personal history. My tale is quite different and I disagree with some of her initial premise. She writes Fantasy, I write Speculative Historical Fiction.
But when she talks about the writing experience: the building of worlds, the creation of characters who take on a life of their own, to the point where they begin to involve themselves in the creative process. THAT spoke to me.
To my mind, making a decision to be deliberately ignorant in literature is not usually good. Like V.E., I’ve rejected some of the leading fantasy authors (GRRM and J.K. Rowling in my case) out of hand, but at least I read parts of the first Harry Potter book and the first Song of Ice and Fire book before abandoning the lot. Tolkien is a central part of the canon. I think authors do a better job of rejecting Tolkien after reading him than ignoring LOTR and absorbing worn-out and second-hand parts of the Tolkien gestalt from the incompetent heirs of Middle Earth.
As for the rest of V.E.’s speech, I agree. Fantasy’s net should be wider, though as a cis het white guy I wonder how I can contribute. Give it the old multicultural try, I suppose.
@52 I would not expect a history professor who studies WWI to do any significant study WWII. If they want to make an argument about the WWI using WWII, they should do some research (though I still wouldn’t expect it given early modern historian’s habits regarding the middle ages).
The current state of Fantasy is several generations past Tolkien. A writer should be familiar with the elements of Tolkien that persist but I don’t see that it’s necessary for them to be intimately familiar with the source material. It’s far more useful to be able to articulate what they don’t like about current fantasy than to talk about a work that’s already been thoroughly reacted to. Which isn’t to say there’s nothing new to be said about LOTR but a modern writer isn’t completely detached from the genre if they aren’t directly familiar with it.
I have mixed feelings about this.
On the one hand, yes, not every doorway will work for every person. One doesn’t have to have read Tolkien (or Rowling, or Martin, etc) to enter the fantasy genre. One doesn’t need to have read Stephen King to enter horror, Asimov for SF, or Christie for mystery. You don’t have to have watched Star Wars, Star Trek, or Dr Who to be a fan of SFF on screen. No one should ever say “oh, you don’t know [X]? Well then, you’re not a real fan of the genre.” No one should ever be told that.
I don’t think that fandom should ever be restricted to those who have read or watched or listened to a given canon.
But on the other hand, I sort of feel that if someone is going to be a spokesperson for their field, they should be familiar with the most popular or foundational works. To some extent, this lecture feels like someone saying “I have never heard a Michael Jackson song. Let’s talk about pop music.”
Kate (43) and Matt (52) above did a pretty good job of expressing my views. There’s a big difference between saying something should be “required” reading for kids in a genre, and expecting a literature professional or an influential author to have something in their background, especially when they are giving this type of speech. A child should be reading mainly to build their love of reading, and whatever supports that is a good thing, and whatever detracts from that is NOT a good thing, no matter how good people think it might be for them. Adults may certainly also be reading for a balance of love of reading and personal growth. Literary professionals, however, may need to read things they don’t personally like in order to broaden their knowledge and be able to better relate to people and discuss topics in their field. Without doing so, much of the good message this author is trying to pass along to others about being open to new areas becomes a bit hypocritical.
I personally came to fantasy reading through the “Riddles in the Dark” chapter of the Hobbit printed in a primary reader textbook I used in 3rd grade in school. It contained a sampling of a lot of different styles and genres of work, and Tolkien happened to be the one that sparked my interest and lit my fire for a love of reading, while other types of stories and authors certainly did the same for others who I’m sure were bored with Tolkien. There’s no wrong path to a love of reading! However, since then, I’ve branched out into many different areas of literature. I’m far from a literary expert, but I’ve often benefitted most from times when I’ve stretched my comfort zone into books/genres that forced me to be open to new ideas.
@56. I’m going to change your analogy slightly to make it more applicable to this situation To be history professor who is an expert on WWI, you are right that you don’t need a whole lot of knowledge of WWII. However, to be a history professor who is an expert on WWII, you definitely need to have a lot of knowledge about WWI, since many of the root causes for WWII are based on issues directly related to WWI and the treaties which ended it. No “expert” on WWII can truly be an expert unless they understand what came before and set the conditions for the War that is their specialty.
Literature and history are certainly a bit different from each other, and casual readers and authors don’t need to have this type of background in their fields. However, as I mentioned in my post above, for an influential author to go into this type of situation, and try to persuade others to be open to new/different things while emphasizing that they aren’t themselves (even in such a small area) seems to undermine their point a bit.
For me my first doorway at 13 was Andre Norton. I found Three against the Witch World in the Greyhound bus station. I devoured it, found it was the third book and read the first two in 3 days. She is still my favorite. I didnt read Tolkien till college when a friend shoved it it my hands and said read this. Loved it. If it was required reading I would never have read it. I have had many doorways since. Everyone from A. Merritt, Henry Kuttner to Edgar Rice Burroughs to Robert Asprin, Lord Dunsany, William Morris, Anne McCaffrey, Robert Heinlein, Harry Harrison Geoge R. R. Martin, Robert Jordan, Lynn Fflewing, Lynn Abbey. Those are just a few of my doorways. I don’t look just for those who are considered great writers. I look for intriguing, offbeat tales. Something not everyone else is doing. It doesn’t matter who your doorway is but that you found it. Since that first Norton I have had thousands of doorways. Here’s to reading. My doorways have grown to at least fifteen thousand or more books I have read. I have travelled everywhere from Sinhart to Barsoom to Lankhmar and the journeys have been amazing. May they continue.
My door into reading came from the mystery genre first: the Trixie Belden Mysteries and some Nancy Drew and the Hardy Boys too, though those didn’t stick for me. An early double-sided book led to science fiction, but I think it was Narnia and later Susan Cooper’s wonderful The Dark is Rising Sequence which let me in through the fantasy door. I still return to Cooper’s books with joy, even now.
I did not read any Tolkien until the movies came out and to be quite honest, I found the stories slow, dull, and thoroughly uninteresting. Yes, I can say I’m more rounded out in my reading now than I was when I started, but ultimately, it was like a slog through a bog with weights attached. I quit after Fellowship, but have seen all the movies which do a lovely job of streamlining the plots and getting to the core of the action quite nicely. To be honest, if I’d been required to read these books, I would have a very different, very negative reaction to them, because whatever joy might have been possible in the reading would have been overwhelmed by my unhappiness at the assignment. Mostly I read the two first books to see what all the fuss was about, to figure out why my older friends were so enamored with the Tolkien (I’m still puzzled), and to see if I could enjoy them. All I can say is, to each his/her/their own.
@59 But they wouldn’t need to be as familiar with the primary sources on WWI the way a WWI scholar would need to be. So long as they kept up with the historiography of the relationship between the world wars, they’d still be an expert on WWII. In this case that “historiography” is more recent works in fantasy that long post-date Tolkien.
I was a reluctant reader in a family of readers. My parents tried to get me to read more, mostly handing me the books my older brother liked, but they did nothing for me. When I was assigned to a group project in 4th grade and the book chosen by my group was “A Horse and His Boy,” I found my door. I have no issue with the rehash, the standard tropes, the minor variation on a story told many times before, because maybe it will be a door that someone else finds when Tolkien, Lewis, Rowling or Schwab don’t feel like the entrance they want to use.
@62. No, they wouldn’t need to be “as familiar” with WWI as WWII, but they would need to have a VERY strong basis in it to be taken seriously by their fellow historians. It’s only an analogy, and history isn’t literature, so I won’t go too far, but there is no way for a true historian to understand the causes of WWII and the decisions made by the leaders before and during it without a thorough understanding of WWI and its aftermath. On the other hand, it IS very possible for a history buff (or any other well rounded individual) to have quite a bit knowledge of one or the other, and derive enjoyment and general knowledge from learning about pieces of the big picture. It’s the difference between casual interest and being an expert in the field.
Many comments here along the lines of “but if you don’t read Tolkien, how will you avoid rehashing him? How will you write stories that react against him?” I’m paraphrasing, obviously, but there seems to be this implicit assumption that every work of fantasy must respond to Tolkien. Where is that assumption coming from? In particular, I find it unlikely that someone who never reads LOTR is going to inadvertently recreate it in their ignorance.
Why can’t people just… write what they want to write? Based on whatever reading and life experiences and ideas they personally have? What bad thing do you imagine will happen if a fantasy author writes without having read LOTR?
@30Michelle, I think someone already reiterated my point, but I’ll say it again: as a reader, I explore writers due to the appeal of their writing, etc. and not because of their race, sexual orientation, political affiliation, etc. I don’t read white writers, male or female, just because they’re white heterosexuals, even though for decades–and I’ve been reading for almost six now–such writers were in the majority. I’m glad you make an effort to broaden your reading horizons. We all should, and many of us do, but I hope it’s not just because we feel obligated to do so because of writers’ backgrounds, etc. That’s rings false to me. Whomever you choose to read, enjoy!
Ive read LOTR many times, and The Simarillion and The Hobbit. I have never read any Harry Potter at all.
Everytime I read them I remember how sad and depressing they are, how badly they needed a decent editor, how lovely the story is, how great the characters and emotion is written, and how they always leave me feeling empty and hollow.
I think my doorway book was probably the Narnia series – I was the child who read at every possible opportunity and lived in my school library and read voraciously. But I struggle to thing of a book that really bought to life the magic and possibilities and sensawunder like the Narnia books did. Later it was the Pern series and Julian May’s Many Coloured Land series. Of course the Fionavar Tapestry too – I still have a special preference for portal fantasies :)
Its nice to return to that as an adult with Seanan McGuire’s own Doorway series, although her Indexing books I found deeply satisfying too. Lindsay Buroker’s Emperors Edge series was an utter delight in recent years and Melissa McShane with her Tremontane series, The Liaden series, T Kingfisher and her delightful dark take on fairytale tropes, Tansy Rayner Roberts with Fake Geek Girl and Musketeer Space utterly entranced and delighted me in the last year and MCA Hogarth’s epic Princes Game series completely rocked my world, Jodi Taylor and her wonderful funny and yet tragically sad in moments – St Mary’s time travel series and the delicious witty clever Rivers of London series.
All these books provided me with another new doorway to enjoy a new and different direction or flavour to enjoy. There are no limits to our imaginations and the opportunity to share in that created by an author and to do so in a way that transports you utterly? Leaves you wrung out dry from the emotions you experience in the book and yet you cannot wait to share it with other like minded souls?
I will probably never read LOTR again – I don’t need to feel the way it makes me feel, I will watch the movies instead. Or I will find a new author and go on another different journey through a new door hopefully.
And so long as people keep writing, there will always be new magical doors for us to find and take that first anticipatory step through.
As a reader Im really happy to have so many options – share what you love because you love it, but don’t expect that everyone else will or *has* to love it too – so long as people are reading, does it really matter WHAT they read?
I couldn’t begin to tell you what my doorway book was, I’ve always been a reader. I’ve always loved fantasy. As a very young child I loved the Letterland and Mr Men (and Little Miss) books, and I don’t remember how I got to where I am now, but Tolkien only came along in my late teens, by which time I’d already found Jordan and McCaffrey and Moorcock and Pratchett and Sagan and Clarke and Rice and Adams and… the list goes on. I found Tolkien’s ideas grand, but his writing… I didn’t like it so much. Hobbit is alright, Fellowship of the Ring not so much. Couldn’t make it all the way through the Two Towers. They make better films, IMHO. Something similar for HP (not lovecraft). I love the films, but have never been able to read the books. My brothers both read them and I get the vague gist of what happens in them because the littles one used to read them aloud, but for a number of reasons, I just couldn’t get on with them.
There are two particular books I remember reading for the first time though. Sorcery (by Terry Pratchett) had me laughing so hard my parents thought I’d pass out and it was an absolute revelation to me. The other was Down Under (by Bill Bryson) which, while a diary of his travels in Australia, was so fantastical and enjoyable and full of ‘other’ and ‘more’ to teenage me that I count it as fantasy. There are other books, obviously, but more than two decades later and I can still trace my (admittedly terrible) sense of humour (and a number of the punishments challenges I have set PC’s in RPG’s) to these two books.
Just goes to show: you can blame my father for everything!
There is a difference between an author and a history of literature professor. Of course a professor should know important historical works, but why should an author need to be a historian?
How many people who like vampire books have actually read Dracula? And why should Dracula be more important than Carmilla or The Vampyr or others? Even fewer people know about those, and most who know Dracula know it from one of the many movies instead of the book. It is possible to be familiar with the ideas in a work without having read it, especially if it is a “classic”.
Many define a classic as the boring stuff one is forced to read in school. Do we really want to put LotR in that category? The way literature is taught in schools often is more likely to turn children away from reading. Forcing them to read the classics before they are allowed to enjoy modern works often means they will never get around to reading anything. Why do you have to study literature before you are “allowed” to write? And who decides what you “have” to read before you qualify as an author?
@44. “Tolkien’s work so permeates our culture that you end up gaining exposure to the stories whether or not you seek out the books”
Tropes are not stories. Description, dialogue, pacing, characters, choices, themes, voice are stories.
I don’t begrudge anyone for not having read this-or-that book, but bragging about it is another issue.
@69/Birgit,
I imagine it will be only a short time before LOTR (as well as Harry Potter) will be required reading in the public schools. (If you write about it in a way they approve of, you will be given your very own Ring of Power.)
@65: “I’m paraphrasing, obviously, but there seems to be this implicit assumption that every work of fantasy must respond to Tolkien.”
No, you have it backwards. That argument is that if you haven’t read Tolkien, you risk rehashing him. And I totally accept Ms. Schwab’s argument there–so many people have already done that, that reading Tolkien is hardly required for that purpose.
@51: “I dunno, that still feels like that treads too close to “If you don’t read this, then you’re not a True Fan,” which, as I mentioned above, has its own share of problems.“
That isn’t something that anybody should read into what I’ve already said. I’m “disappointed” if someone doesn’t like Tolkien. Why shouldn’t I be? It means we have no common ground on one of my great loves. That doesn’t mean we can’t find plenty of other common ground. After all, even though my wife found LOTR “tedious”, we’ve still been married over 30 years (and I even knew she didn’t like Tolkien before I proposed!).
Great article.
I devoured LotR when I first encountered it, but I agree with you. There are many doors. LotR was not my first Fantasy read. I was already a devout Fantasy fan. For me the door came through a science fiction book club. Despite the lamentations of putting scifi and Fantasy on the same shelf, that mail order book club led me to Darkover, the first Fantasy world to show me that alternative worlds with magic existed in literature. By the time I encountered Tolkien, I had already been to Pern and many other Fantasy worlds.
Like most Fantasy writers I wanted to create a fantastic world of my own, but for years was unable to force it. The goblin world came to me when it was ready and is still my favourite of my own material.
Meanwhile I’ve continued to be a Fantasy fan and discovered more Fantasy worlds, like your alternative Londons which I’ve really enjoyed. Being of a certain age, Harry Potter was a fairly late addition to my literary travels. I found that one through religious fanatic objections that made me wonder if the books would be suitable for my daughter, so I read them first and passed them on to her.
I’ve read many recent authors, always looking out for those fascinating alternative worlds. I highly recommend Alwyn Hamilton and you’re on the same list of recommendations. Ironically, the second time I read LotR I found it rather slow. I do recommend it, starting with The Hobbit of course, but the first time discovery cannot be repeated as faster moving stories can.
I am looking forward to reading Vicious.
Discussions about required reading are invariably interminable and ignore the best basic advice on reading I have seen for the aspiring writer: namely, that reading outside of your chosen genre is at least as important as reading within it, if not more so.
“If you like fantasy and you want to be the next Tolkien, don’t read big Tolkienesque fantasies — Tolkien didn’t read big Tolkienesque fantasies, he read books on Finnish philology. Go and read outside of your comfort zone, go and learn stuff.” – Neil Gaiman
@74,
Since Finnish philology definitely wasn’t outside Tolkien’s comfort zone, what the hell was Neil Gaiman talking about?
Paraphrasing Robert Heinlein, the best advice for the aspiring writer is to stop aspiring to write, and just fucking write. As with anything, accept doing it awkwardly at first, and feel your way toward doing it better. And if you have to ask anyone else whether or not its any good, for God’s sake stop doing it and become an accountant or something.
I don’t have time to reply to all the comments here, but want to thank you all for this wonderful discussion – spurred a lot of thought in me. For myself – on the current line of discussion…I guess I can say when I see that someone holds it as a point of pride to not having read Tolkien, it does hurt my soul a little bit. Emotionally, I think – why? LotR is my all-time favourite work of fiction and it makes me sad that someone would choose not to read it. But at the end of the day, the point of the article is absolutely correct – and no one should feel belittled or “less than” for not having read a particular work. But as someone who is deeply passionate about books, I want people to care about what I care about(are we not all similar in that!?)…and so I would love for others to know and read the books that have touched me so deeply. Anna Karenina, Brothers Karamazov, Lord of the Rings, Wrinkle in Time trilogy, Mark Helprin’s Winter Tale, all of Narnia, Miklós Bánffy’s Transylvanian trilogy, Sheldon Vanauken’s A Severe Mercy, and so many others…
But. But. As so many here have stated – we can’t force others what to love. We can suggest and share our love. But no one should feel that they’re “out of the club” if they haven’t read certain books. So I guess I agree with the main point of the article? (Although as previously stated – it still hurts my soul!!)
Also – really like your point, SchuylerH @@@@@ 74. For aspiring authors (or even current authors!), reading non-fiction (or very different fiction than stuff you write) is extremely important. Partly why I’ve started veering outside the fantasy / sci-fi genre in my own reading lately. Reading a lot more biographies and histories(yay for Tom Holland’s historical narratives!) and even a good deal of cellular biology lately. Feel this will fertilize my mind such that I’d write far better works than if I just stuck with reading fantasy over and over and over again. Love that quote by Gaiman.
I confess, I don’t quite get the sturm und drang on this. It isn’t as if “You have to read . . . “ or “You can’t call yourself an X if you have read Y” are literal. Nobody is wiring eyes open and forcing people to scan pages. There’s no actual building where you get carded at the door and not let in if you haven’t read Tolkien. As far as I know, no Submittable pages have the question “Are you now reading or have you ever read LoTR?” (As opposed to actual gatekeepers like publishers and editors who have real biases, whether overt or implicit).
And it seems to me that not reading a book just because people think you should is the same kneejerk response as reading it because someone said you should. It reminds me of those people who wouldn’t listen to a band if they had a song that was played more than once on a radio station (look it up kids) before three a.m.. Oh wait, that was me. What an idjit!
And I don’t see anything that points to anyone, even panel guy, as arguing there’s only “one” doorway to fantasy or “one” book that is “the standard.” It seems to require more than a little telepathy to make the leap from what he supposedly said/meant (not implying willful mischaracterization, but memory’s a slippery tool and tainted by our own biases obviously) to “it didn’t seem to occur to him . . . “ Even in his allegedly small, narrow-mindedness he couldn’t say, have imagined coming to fantasy through Narnia? Gormenghast? I find that hard to, well, imagine.
As for his surprise, I’d also be surprised that someone who reads/writes lots of fantasy hasn’t at least tried Tolkien (less so that they hadn’t liked it). But that’s not reserved just for Tolkien. I’d be equally surprised if someone hadn’t read Lewis. And way, way, way more astonished if someone of a younger generation hadn’t read Rowling.
Maybe, given more time or a more informal setting and a few drinks, panel guy would have expanded beyond the personal, saying reading Tolkien is important (maybe he’d use “essential”—I wouldn’t but he might) because so many decades of writer were in conversation with Tolkien, as many have noted. I don’t think that’s controversial, either Tolkien’s massive impact or why it makes sense to read someone who had such impact. If someone is a film critic, I’d think they’d want to read some Pauline Kael and Roger Ebert for instance (Google ‘em kids). Maybe too he would have added other names of “required reading” (does any reader really only have one on that list?) LeGuin maybe. Rowling perhaps.
And I’m sure there’s a generational thing going on with some who think this about Tolkien. People are writing/reading now who not only haven’t read Tolkien but haven’t read those responding to Tolkien. But it’s hard for humans to step outside their personal time bubbles. Your little cousins are still your “little” cousins even if they’re 45 with two kids. It’s why I’ve stopped saying something happened 5 or 10 years ago, because invariably it was 15 or 20 (this way I can just keep believing it was 5 or 10)
I do find it a bit disheartening to see someone, especially a writer and especially one I’m a huge fan of, label the output of a slew of writers as a “waste” because they aren’t writing the stories she’d prefer they write. I’d like to think I’m misreading that, but I’m not sure how (though happy to be instructed). ertainly if Rowling shows us anything, it’s that those “well-worn roads” can still inspire and enthrall, since it’s hard to argue she doesn’t pull out a host of tropes, clichés, and “antiquated models” i.e. the British boarding school novel.
I’m with her on exploding this genre (and all others) I too have grown weary of seeing the same old same old, and take joy in the range of voices coming to the fore, too many of whom have been willfully silenced for too long. I too prefer my fantasy lately to come with more social bite. But that’s my personal choice. I’m not willing to go so far as to label the work that doesn’t do that a “waste.” (again, happy to be wrong on that interpretation)
I do absolutely love what the speech says about fantasy when it moves away from arguing with panel guy or taking down what seems to me to be a straw argument—that segment of the speech is a beautiful love letter to the genre and an inspiring call to what it can be. And I’m thrilled she’s writing her own doors because so far I’ve thoroughly enjoyed each one I’ve opened.
I absolutely agree that no one should be obligated to read anything, even foundational, to partake of a genre. Least of all The Lord of the Rings, which I adore, but wouldn’t want to see the impact of having it forced on anyone. There are quite a few classics of fantasy and sci-fi that I just can’t muster interest in, and it’s up to me to decide if I need to have the information. And if you’re a writer of fiction, you have to continually to weigh enjoyment vs. research and decide what’s best for you.
That said, the Dracula comparison makes me think…
@69:
Dracula is definitely dry for some, but for those who like older styles of writing, it’s great. And you can write and enjoy vampire-related fiction without knowing it, but I wouldn’t agree that knowing about the tropes that have come from it or even how other have reimagined the Dracula story is comparable to having actually read it. Of knowing the source. That would be like saying you watched this movie so now you’re familiar enough with the Dracula thing.
:)
But on that subject, I’d say yeah, you should add in things like Carmilla for a more well-rounded foundation….if you want a foundation. If you don’t, that’s fine, but just make sure you don’t proclaim to be a master in the genre.
It’s also like saying you don’t need to read Mary Shelley’s novel because you’ve had a bowl of Frankenberry cereal. There’s a vaguely flesh golem-like character on the box, so now you get the gist of the Frankenstein thing. Or heck, having seen any of the Boris Karloff Frankenstein movies—which are all great in their own medium, but also a far cry from the original book.
You can absolutely skip on all the source material, and no one should judge you for it. Be true to yourself is all I would say. If someone telling you you have to read something instantly deters you from ever doing so—especially because of their gender or ethnicity—I personally think that’s a disservice to yourself.
And even that said, the core of Ms. Schwab’s words I at least agree with. There are many doors into reading, into fantasy, into immersion in other worlds. Gatekeepers should rub their eyes, wipe away the sleepiness, and notice that there are tons of open gates all around them and they’re just standing there looking like a doofus. And each of us regards those gates differently.
@76 ” holds it as a point of pride to not having read Tolkien”
That I think is what bothers me too, not that people haven’t read it, but that some seem to think it makes them better for it. I have not read Harry Potter (mostly a saturation thing- I have seen and enjoyed the movies and am culturally surrounded by it so haven’t felt a major pull to re-do that story). But I might read it some day. Of Tolkien, I’ve only read the Hobbit. Again, I might read the others some day..
My door to fantasy was actually Neil Gaiman’s Sandman. Around 5th or 6th grade some wonderful librarian out there displayed a couple of the trades in the High School section of the library. I flipped through and noticed Bast, Odin, Thor.. and I loved mythology so I picked it up. I was a major reader but had only read the generic realistic elementary school fiction before that (Fudge, Ramona, Soup, etc). I had never read fantasy OR comics before. Seasons of Mist- what an awesome gate to step through! It blew my mind and actually introduced me to Christian mythology. I became a Christian a few years later, and his depictions of angels, hell, and God still echo in my devotion to this day. Other Sandman trades traumatized me though.. haha.
Pretty much every early fantasy and sci fi book I read, I read because Gaiman had recommended it in some interview or article found by my teenage self. Chief among them Gene Wolfe. Again, such a treasure.
Required reading can steal joy. But discovering a book on a library shelf definitely has a magic all its own. I think every reader SHOULD read Wolfe, Gaiman, Le Guin, Herbert.. but I am not going to require it.
It is treasure. You should be begging me for the key..
Gene Siskel once said that the real subject of every movie review is “Why you should be more like me .”
(He claimed to be quoting somebody else.)
I’ll admit that I fall into that myself sometimes, even on these threads. But what we’re all trying to do is to just find our community – the people whose values and sensibilities make sense to us and whom we can identify with. And we’re always trying to recruit new members into that club. (IMHO.)
Concur with @15. Don’t miss out something because it’s popular! I used to respond to peer pressure this way, reveling in my own ignorance with pride. I can only imagine how pretentious that appeared to my friends, and I’m sad about it now.
Read what you like, but don’t discount recommendations, or “the wisdom of the crowds” they can lead to fascinating worlds and inspiration.
Seeing this myriad of people who haven’t read Lord of the Rings, I’m reminded of the Flying Moose of Nargothrond’s fantastic LOTR synopsis. It’s perfect for those who don’t have time to read the books. It’s a great synopsis, from the intro:
“The story starts with the twentieth birthday-party for Frodo Baggins, a Hobbit who lives with his brother Sam in a mythical land called the Shire. Frodo owns a magic Ring which makes him invisible when he wears it, a gift from his cousin Bilbo who stole it from the hoard of a Dragon years ago.”
to little-known facets of the plot:
“On the way, their path is repeatedly beset by evil forces. First they are attacked by evil Orcs in the woods; next they are driven into the dark forest of Lothlorien, where they are imprisoned by the beautiful but evil Queen Beruthiel. They make their escape when Beruthiel’s good sister, Galadriel, frees them from their prison-cell and floats them down the river in barrels. After that they think it best to leave the woods and head to Moria, the secret city under the mountains; here, however, they face a terrifying setback when they are found by the evil wizard Radagast.”
I strongly recommend it for anyone who can’t muster up the energy or inclination to read The Lord of the Rings.
That “summary” tells a different story than the real books.
@82 That is not how LOTR’s The Fellowship of the Ring begins. As @83 comments that “summary” tells a different story.
@82/Kat,
Well I got it.
@83/84 Shhh…
Actually, a very confused reporter from the London Sunday Times picked it up as a “primary source” for an article (Ian Markham-Smith, appeared in the Sunday Times on 26 July 2000, titled “Tolkien about me, my elf and I – and Middle Earth”) on Cate Blanchett’s role as Galadriel, resulting in some interesting statements:
For the uninitiated, Galadriel is the good sister of the evil but beautiful Queen Beruthiel, who imprisons the Fellowship of the Ring in the forest of Lothlorien. In the book, Galadriel frees them from her sister’s clutches. It’s a small but memorable part, and Blanchett lobbied hard for it. “I heard on the grapevine that Peter and Fran Walsh, his writing partner, were going to do it. I’d long been a fan of their films,” says Blanchett, who was nominated for a Best Actress Oscar for her performance in Elizabeth.
To be fair, I think there may be a Beruthiel mentioned once or so in the Silmarillion.
What I’d love to see is a lit professor’s reaction to Flying Moose of Nargothrond’s suggested “essay prompts”:
1. Brothers in the Lord of the Rings. Many of the characters in Tolkien’s work have brothers, or sometimes sisters, who demonstrate different aspects of their families’ beliefs. You could write a paper contrasting the many family relationships, such as the way Frodo is helped by his brother Sam, the way Denethor and his brother Boromir conspire, and the way Feanor is assisted by his brother Feenamint. Contrast this to the sharp differences seen in other Tolkien families, such as Beruthiel and her sister Galadriel, Melkor and his brother Morgoth, and Gandalf and his half-brother Saruman.
@87/Kat,
At a pause in their journey through Moria, Aragorn reassures the Company that Gandalf is “surer of finding the way home in a blind night than the cats of Queen Berúthiel.”
The first book of fantasy I read was celebrated this year on its 56th anniversary: Alan Garner’s The Weirdstone of Brisingamen.
I have a letter written by my mother saying, that suddenly I’d become a reader. Years later, I wrote fiction, then went into journalism – non-fiction, non-fantasy.
But I always went back to fantasy and science fiction for freedom. I’m going to check her writing. I’d like to find a new writer.
WOW! Thank you for finally putting into words why I have had a lifelong love of reading Fantasy and Science Fiction. This is an inspirational essay that I am going to share under the heading- Why children should be able to choose their own books and have free access to a library – classrooms are not enough!
But how can anyone appreciate the height of fantasy writing without reading LoTR? You will never understand the Lays of Tim Benzedrino, the Tale of Serutan vs the VeeAtes, and the Pity of Dildo Bugger!
For those getting grumpy about the author “bragging” about not reading Tolkien, or refusing to read him because of his popularity, she…didn’t do that. She didn’t say she would NEVER read the books or that it was a point of pride that she hadn’t. She considered reading them specifically before giving this lecture, and chose not to do so at that point in time or for that reason (because it was expected of her and not because she wanted to). I love the Lord of the Rings. The book, the characters, and the messages it sends are all incredibly important to me. But I would never want anyone to force themselves to read a book they weren’t excited about just because they felt like they had to. There are so many and they speak differently to all of us (one commentor mentioned that reading LOTR made them feel hollow and sad and depressed, which is the opposite of my experience – neither of us are wrong). What Schwab is arguing for here is a broadening of doorways into reading, a broadening of creativity and ideas and representation, and recognition that there is more than one gateway into fantasy.
Yeah, don’t be a Sorehead about it.:)
What’s wrong with ALL THE DOORS!
The author astonished that you hadn’t read Tolkien might have been astonished that you were denying yourself something so amazing that countless people consider it one of the best things ever written.
Tolkien does just as much ‘what if’ in his writing as you could want. He simply starts at an earlier point in his story than you chose to. His absolute genius at worldbuilding makes everything work.
In fact, if you think about it, MANY of the fantasy writers since have used Tolkien as their ‘what if’ starting point, but you’ll never know that because you’re denying yourself the pleasure of a good read.
“Nine mounds and seven there are now green with grass, and through all the long years he has lain at the door he could not unlock. Whither does it lead? Why would he pass? None shall ever know!”
The good thing about some people choosing not to read LOTR is that we can tell private jokes that really are private. What good is it to be in with the in crowd if everyone else is in too? :)
@95: Plenty of people have enjoyed Tolkein’s work in the past, but other people liking something doesn’t necessarily guarantee that I will like it.
I won’t yuck your yum, but at the same time, you have to realize that your yum isn’t my yum, either.
srEDIT @@@@@ 10: there is a world (if not a universe) of difference between “you can’t refuse this without tasting it” (your approach) and “you aren’t worthy to eat if you haven’t eaten all of this”.
ISTM that the problem with saying “you must have read the fundamentals” is that there’s so much been done between them and the present day that merely not copying them will mean inadvertently copying something else — and there’s no way to have read everything that everybody says is an important intermediate and still have time to write. (I sometimes find this issue with mundanes who step into genre — they try to produce a new take on a classic and wind up with something that’s been done to death since then.) ISTM that at some point one has to say “Yes, this was fundamental in its time — but building on it is not like erecting a literal building; omitting the foundation doesn’t undermine what happens dozens or hundreds of years/stories away.”
I read LotR over 50 years ago, when it was Hip (“Frodo Lives!” buttons everywhere) and liked it — but (as noted above) there wasn’t enough else to read. (I’d been reading genre at least 6 years by then; the first book I remember was a Tom Swift Jr., but there was Cameron and L’Engle and Lewis and Norton early, and Heinlein and Anderson and Bester (fireworks!) before I got to Tolkien.) I reread it after the first movie came out and didn’t think it had aged well; the tribalism still wasn’t as obvious (I had to have some of that pointed out), but the reproduction on the page of inflated language (perhaps originally developed to make memorization and oral recital possible) read too much like “Look at me being beautiful!”.
I did recommend The Stars My Destination to Schwab after a panel she was on some time ago, but only because The Count of Monte Cristo had come up; the problem with saying we are dwarfs standing on the shoulders of giants is that there are stacks of giants, not just a single layer, and demanding that people delve all the way down before contributing is unreasonable. More — stories are not just cold stackable facts like history (or even science, which I once pursued); they can grow with wild undiscipline. I would even question how important an intermediary Tolkien was between older fantasists (Morris? MacDonald?), or even ~contemporaries (Pratt when serious?) and modern fantasy; he was more than another brick in the wall, but not a plinth. (Borrowing from one of my other interests: people used to say that Oklahoma was a fundamental step beyond what had been done previously in plays-with-songs; reading history of the form shows that the pieces were there already, and several had been combined before.)
Near the end of Silverlock, the minstrel, arguing for the narrator’s freedom, trashes the prosecution’s argument that one who has had several experiences in the Land is nonetheless not worthy to be allowed within reach of the Hippocrene spring because of all the other experiences he hasn’t had; even Puck (says the minstrel) may not have done this, despite his claim. I doubt that Myers was thinking of the current question at all, considering how long ago he wrote — but his argument seems to me to be trenchant today.
@32 I recommend the book FOOL by Christopher Moore which is king Lear from the POV of the fool. It it takes a tragedy and makes it a comedy.