How to Analyse the Fantasy Genre

The first part of this text is somewhat inspired by the Worlds of Fantasy book and further augmented by me based on experience and numerous analyses. Now, the typical traits posted here are just that – typical. In other words, these are guidelines, not infallible rules. It must be noted that scholars do not agree completely on the ideas of high and low fantasy. Some define stories based on how different or magical the fantasy world is – completely different from ours = high fantasy, if it takes place in our world = low fantasy. My definition, however, has far more to do with the style, characters, and appeal of the tales based on the idea of highbrow and lowbrow literature, and moral and less-than-moral messages. See below for a more in-depth comparison.
Note: It is somewhat debatable whether fantasy can accurately be described as a genre or is more of a mode, as Dr John Lennard so eloquently puts it. If all it takes for something to be labelled as fantasy is a fantastical or magical element and a quest, we would have to place The Book of Revelation, Paradise Lost, The Pilgrim's Progress, Gulliver's Travels, and various other works under the same umbrella. Do they have enough in common to form a genre? If the plot of Pride and Prejudice is very unrealistic, does it qualify as fantasy? Since this text is aimed at students at a high school level, I shall just leave the question here. I just wanted to make you think about the words and terms we use.

General traits of the fantasy genre

A fantasy tale takes place in a world different from ours, yet somehow familiar – what I like to call either strangely recognizable or recognizably strange. This world or universe may be directly parallel to ours and accessible through a portal to fully mark the place at which our society ends and the other one begins.
Often, the setting will be quasi-Medieval because we (in our hypercomplex Postmodern world) see this historical era as the one most different from ours. A snide, European remark: This is especially true for the savage Americans, who do not have castles. As Italian author Umberto Eco once stated, the Middle Ages are so fascinating to us because they represent the ‘childhood’ of our society, and any psychologist worth her salt will tell you that this is where most of your personality was shaped. This strange world usually includes something supernatural and magic. There is always a quest, a mission to be undertaken in order to reach a goal.

The characters

The protagonist: The main character who undertakes the quest and through whose eyes we see most of the story, even if he/she is not the narrator per se. This character will often be young – perhaps even a child – innocent or otherwise unfamiliar with the ways of the enormous, scary world. Sometimes, the protagonist will be marked as “The Chosen One” in some way. Finally, the protagonist is often from a background that makes him/her a bit of an underdog. What is the effect of these elements, you may ask?

The companions: Helpers and sometimes friends of the main character. They do what the protagonist cannot and give us a better understanding of him/her through contrasts. Also, they teach the reader the value of co-operation. Companions may include:

·         The mentor: A wise older man (possibly a wizard) who will teach the young or innocent protagonist about the world, unravel the plot and give them the tools to survive. The mentor has a certain tendency to die midway through the story – why? Well, since most fantasy tales are really about growing up, they painfully remind us that one day we must be able to get by without our parents, teachers, and other figures of authority.

·         The loyal friend: If the point of the tale is to teach you something about sacrifice and working together, the protagonist needs one of these. Like all good friends, this one is ready to risk his/her life for you and may also have healing powers.

·         The fighter or the champion: The protagonist may – due to innocence or something like that – not be much of a warrior, but this one is. Often a bit of an anti-hero and quite different from the protagonist, but they gradually grow to respect towards.

·         The scholar: Even with a mentor, you could always use more brains. If/when the mentor dies, he/she will take over a large part of that role.

·         The bumbling fool: All stories need comic relief and this one provides it. He may cause trouble, yet never through wicked intention and will eventually prove to be valuable.

Other characters

·         The damsel in distress: A princess is locked away and needs the protagonist to save her due to her own helplessness. Feminists loathe this character.

·         The antagonist: The enemy or villain of the tale and – obviously – the direct opposite of the protagonist.

A strangely recognizable setting

No matter how much we wish to, we are probably not going to be able to do magic or properly wield a broadsword against hordes of Orcs. Nevertheless, identification is an essential aspect of the fantasy genre, and even if you will never have to throw a ring into a volcano or duel a minotaur, we have probably all faced an incredibly difficult task. Although our childhoods were probably better than Harry Potter’s, we can still relate to his problems at school, and most people have been on a date almost as awkward as his with Cho Chang in Order of the Phoenix. The supernatural elements create an immediate attraction and excitement for us, but our ability to relate is often the element that makes us return to our beloved stories.

Different subgenres

High-style fantasy:

• ·         The quest will be connected to an enormous struggle between good and evil.
• ·         Quite a few characters will be selfless and pure.
• ·         Although there will be battle scenes, they do not dive too much into the blood and gore.
• ·         Stylistically speaking, the language does not include (much) swearing and cursing.
• ·         No graphic sex. Kissing is enough to show you that two people love each other.

Low-style fantasy:

• The quest will be a lot simpler as the goal is to win gold, destroy a rival kingdom or get the princess because she is, like, totally hot. Excuse my sarcasm.
• Characters will probably include muscular heroes hacking and slashing their way through hordes of their enemies. The chainmail bikini is a perfectly acceptable garment for women, by the way.
• Battle scenes will be “realistic,” as in blood and guts by the bucket.
•  Language is often harsh and vulgar, with plenty of sexual innuendo.
•  Sex scenes (and possibly rape) are not frowned upon. 

Northrop Frye's five fantasy modes from Anatomy of Criticism:

• The mythic, in which the protagonist is superior to other people and to the environment.
• The romance, in which the protagonist is somewhat superior to other people and the environment.
• The high mimetic, in which the protagonist is somewhat superior to other people but not to the environment.
• The low mimetic, in which the protagonist is superior to none, but "one of us."
• The ironic, in which the protagonist is inferior to us.

The Medusa Effect

In all honesty, I would love to be able to take credit for this theory, which - in my view - manages to encapsulate the aspects of fantasy that captivate us. However, I owe all of it to the inimitable Dr John Lennard, who taught me at the Cambridge Summer Programme in 2017 and introduced me to this term. Should you stumble upon some of his writing or - even better - have the chance to follow one of his courses, please do so.
I take it that you know the creature called Medusa from Greek mythology? In order to slay her, Perseus brought a mirror shield; by looking at the monster's reflection instead of directly at her, Perseus could move close enough to cut off her head. In the same way, fantasy allows us to talk indirectly about topics that would otherwise be off limits, so to speak. The magical/fantastical/supernatural elements have a disarming quality (much like humour and satire) that provides us with just a little more freedom to maneuver. This is not to say that all fantasy should be studied as biography or allegory at all, but shadows of real life creep into the works - even more so than in regular fiction. A few examples:

Lewis Carroll (Charles Dodgson) came from a strict family led by an incredibly stern and dominant father. Apart from the famous author, not one of this man's children achieved independence from their father, who would regularly fly into a rage and threaten them with Purgatory, Hell, and various punishments for questioning or contradicting him. Carroll/Dodgson never truly gathered the courage to criticize or stand up to his father directly; however, it seems that one of the characters in Alice's Adventures in Wonderland was based on this temperamental, dominant, and slightly ridiculous man. Which one?
In other words, Carroll/Dodgson used the Medusa Effect to say the things that he could not do in real life, while also letting the logical scholar that he was grapple with the ideas of strange creatures and multiple truths at a time when the idea of Evolution turned everything upside down.

The Gormenghast trilogy by Mervyn Peake is far from the most famous example of fantasy literature, but should be of particular interest to those with a knack for linguistic style and class differences. A parallel realm of traditions for the sake of traditions, clear obligations and boundaries between the haves and the have-nots, and the obscure hierarchy between layers and layers of servants mirrors real-life Britain of the early 20th century (think Downton Abbey with a darker edge). Yet, when the Gormenghast books were written in the 1940's and 1950's, criticizing traditional, British society was more than frowned upon, especially at an insecure time with the Empire falling apart and shortages at home not disappearing, despite the end of the Second World War. The Medusa Effect thus allowed Peake to point out the folly of rituals and the unfairness of society that he saw.

I am still puzzled every time I meet a student with no knowledge of the Harry Potter series. Few pieces of fiction can claim to rival the success of the tale of the young wizard over the past two decades. Although still widely dismissed by so-called serious literary scholars, the HP Universe offers an application of the Medusa Effect that is often overlooked.
It is no secret that J.K. Rowling struggled with severe depression at a time when talking about doing so was even less accepted than it is today. Since she could not address this directly, Rowling invented a creature whose power was to cause symptoms very similar to depression - which one?
However, the main theme of the series is somewhat hidden behind another use of the Medusa Effect. Born in 1965, Rowling grew up in a Britain that was turning more and more multicultural and faced racism and anti-racism simultaneously. Since it would be too obvious to simply write a story about how "racism is bad," it seems that Rowling cleverly hid the powerful anti-racist message of the HP series behind the entrancing aspects of fantasy. Where in the series do we see that co-operation is far superior to the idea that some are worth more than others simply because of their genetics and ethnic or racial background?

Of course, the modern success of fantasy owes almost everything to the genius of J.R.R. Tolkien, who enjoyed inventing languages so much that he created a rather expansive background story for them, complete with different countries, rulers, and historical events. Tolkien vehemently denied that The Lord of the Rings should be read as an allegory of either the First or the Second World War, with the Ring playing the part of the atomic bomb; this seems to have steered many interpretations away from anything remotely resembling the Medusa Effect. Yet, as stated earlier the point of the Medusa Effect is not to talk of allegory as such, but about the elements of our world that we cannot escape. For Tolkien, it seems to have been the First World War, during which he served as a signals officer in the carnage of the Battle of the Somme, losing two of his three best friends in the process.
We have no proof that Tolkien ever told anyone - not even his wife - of the horrors he witnessed in the trenches, and perhaps that is the reason why the Great War's shadows are present so many places in his works. For instance: An enduring image of the Western Front is the muddy, waterlogged, ruined fields of No-Man's Land between the trenches, corpses left behind just below the surface of the water-filled craters. Does this ghastly image remind you of any chilling scenes in The Lord of the Rings?
Even in The Hobbit, which was supposed to be a children's book, Tolkien could not avoid referring to modern warfare in his description of the Goblins, adding a touch of sarcasm: 

It is not unlikely that they invented some of the machines that have since troubled the world, especially the ingenious devices for killing large numbers of people at once, for wheels and engines and explosions always delighted them, and also not working with their own hands more than they could help; but in those days and those wild parts they had not advanced (as it is called) so far.” (Tolkien, J.R.R.: The Hobbit. Harper Collins. 1937. Pp. 73-74.)

Try searching for weapons associated with the First World War and see whether they match the descriptions here.
Should we still be in doubt whether Tolkien was conscious about his references to the First World War, please look at this description from one of the first drafts of "The Fall of Gondolin," written in approx. 1917 and possibly his first writing about the universe that would enjoy so much success.

“But a third variety, the iron dragons, carry Orcs within and move on ‘iron so cunningly linked that they might flow…around and above all obstacles before them’; they break down the city gates ‘by reason of the exceeding heaviness of their bodies’ and, under bombardment, ‘their hollow bellies clanged…yet it availed not for they might not be broken, and the fires rolled off them’.” (Garth, John: Tolkien and the Great War. The Threshold of Middle-earth. Harper Collins. 2003. P. 220.)

Do these "iron dragons" remind you of anything monstrous invented during the First World War? For Tolkien, it does seem that writing became his way of dealing with his experiences in the trenches, and Frodo's nightmares and survivor's guilt after returning to the Shire may be a reflection of the way Tolkien felt after being sent home from the trenches, suffering from a sickness that psychosomatically flared up again whenever a return to the front was mentioned.

Now, if only I could find a term for the opposite taking place, i.e., letting something very real seep into the fantasy and sci-fi realms... Here, I am specifically thinking of the highly obvious visual Nazi references in, say, The Lion King or The Hunger Games. We are still looking at something "strangely recognizable," but in some ways disguising the more unfamiliar elements behind something very real is, after all, quite the opposite of the Medusa Effect, no? Keep contemplating and reflecting out there.