Is Fantasy True Literature?

“I propose to speak about fairy-stories, though I am aware that this is a rash adventure.”  -J.R.R. Tolkien

            A question I’ve considered lately, and one I’ve been asked by many people, concerns the literary merit of fantasy books: whether or not the genre is worthy of academic study or even capable of depth beyond simple moral lessons. I wrote in an earlier blog post that the number one question I get asked is why did I choose to write fantasy? The question is fair, and I’m sure writers of other genres are asked the same question, except that when people ask this of me, the query seems tainted with condescension. For years fantasy has ridden the short bus of literature, dismissed as childish or without true literary resonance. So, when people ask why I write fantasy, I tend to react defensively. That is not to say that these people are vindictive in their questioning, merely that they have been biased about the genre, quite understandably, by their upbringing and training.

            Consider how the application of genre has changed through the years. Once upon a time, for something to qualify as true literature (a thing worthy of study), it had to be an artistic experiment, extremely high quality writing, or a significant examination or parable of the human condition. This view became widespread in the early 20th Century in the academic community, led by esteemed academics such as F.R. Leavis, who injected a ‘seriousness’ into literature study that many universities adopted. This ‘seriousness’ affected writers primarily in terms of marketing. Because of strict limitations on what defined different genres, writers fought against classifying their work as mystery, as fantasy, as romance, etc… To do so would essentially remove the book from serious valuation by academics. Famously, Kurt Vonnegut insisted that he did not write science fiction despite the fact that his most famous story involved a soldier being kidnapped by time-travelling aliens.

            More recently, these restrictions on genre have faded.  Before, someone writing murder mysteries, or science fiction, or fantasy couldn’t stretch his or her limits and create something truly unique. Nowadays, for a piece of writing to qualify as fantasy, the only requirement is that it contains a significant facet of the supernatural, unexplained by human technology. If that were the case in years past, then Vonnegut, Kafka, and Margaret Atwood would all have been considered fantasy/sci-fi writers. Hell, even Shakespeare wrote plays like Tempest and Midsummer Night’s Dream.

            But still the fantasy stigma lingers in academia (though admittedly in recent years, there has been significant rise in SF&F advocates). Perhaps part of the reason for this can be attributed, at least in part, to the commercial charm of cookie-cutter fantasy in stores. Typically, literary scholars turn their noses at anything approaching commercialism. Their snobbery may (quite reasonably) be exacerbated by the success of books such as Harry Potter and Game of Thrones, and the resulting avalanche of formulaic stories by fly-by-night authors hoping to cash in.  Couple that with an audience skewed to younger readers, and the genre stigma thrives. Surely something children read can’t be literary? On this subject I am of the mind of Tolkien: “I think this is an error; at best an error of false sentiment, and one that is therefore most often made by those who, for whatever private reason (such as childlessness), tend to think of children as a special kind of creature, almost a different race, rather than as normal, if immature, members of a particular family, and of the human family at large.” (On Fairy Stories 4).

            Science Fiction and Fantasy are literature of ideas, often experimenting with social, political, and technological change. It would be impossible to list all the qualities worthy of study in such stories.  There are as many as there are in any work of literature. These are human stories with harmony, strife, and all the complexities of human relationships, except that they exist in fantastical places. In many cases, I would argue, fantasy allows for heightened symbolism through embellishment, and the extension of an idea through the fantastic. By stretching the realm of grounded reality, an author can reach levels of imagery or severity unachievable without the freedom of the fantastic. The caveat to this, of course, is the difficulty of execution. It is not easy to write quality Fantasy.  But it is easy to differentiate truly literary Fantasy from the banal, cheap Fantasy lining many bookstore shelves today.