A fantasy creature, birdman, as seen in Sumerian sculpture. I like the hair. These scuptures were once in the palace and show an amazing degree of artistic ability and are in remarkable condition, given their age and all that could have happened.
On Theme
Character—Plot—Theme all go together as one in a good novel. Of course, there’s other things. Good writing. A great setting. An interesting premise.
Recently, I had an eureka moment about theme, possibly the most misunderstood side of writing. And one I suspect I haven’t really got right in past stories. But you write—and learn, as it were.
The reason for this post is really to explore what are the themes in fantasy stories. In a big book like LOTR, there may be more than one theme. What is Frodo’s “theme” and does it differ from Aragon’s? We can debate the point. The “big theme” in LOTR is, however, obvious. It is one that is a trope of the genre. Well, Tolkein invented the genre and so perhaps others followed his lead. Who knows?
Good vs. evil is certainly a major trope in fantasy. There are plenty of others, of course. However, it remains the mainstay of the genre. Perhaps even defines the genre, as such. But conflict always makes for a great story. We’ve Homer to thank for that. Think Illiad. Think Odyssey. Both triumphs of good (the Greeks) against evil (The Trojans) or Odysseus versus a whole catalogue of fantastic creatures. In a way, if the Illiad is the first story and a “historical” one, the second smacks a lot of being a fantasy, what with cyclops, a magic user, and so on.
Back to theme. I’ve been pondering the theme for a novel that I’m plotting. I’ve my main character, a sort of policeman in that he is commander of the city watch. He’s up against various challenges: political discord, the enmity of a number of patricians, and a monster. It isn’t necessarily a good vs. evil story, though. Is my character a goody-two-shoes? I don’t think so. He’s prepared, at times, to break the law in pursuit of his goal.
I’ll share more in a subsequent post.
Writing a pandemic
A lot of fantasy is written in something that approximates to a medieval world. Not all, but a goodly amount. And has the usual tropes.
The medieval world was overwhelmingly one where life was nasty,brutish, and short. More often than not, people died from the various infections they got. There were no antibiotics, no proper understanding of how infections and diseases were caused (“miasmas”!). A great many died young. It was noteworthy when someone lived much beyond what could be considered a normal lifespan given all the ways (physical, ailments, accidents) could kill people. There were few “old people” as we interpret the term in such worlds.
It’s no surprise that the four horsemen of the apocalypse are pestilence, war, famine, and death. A merry combination indeed. War and death are often featured in fantasy. Famine occasionally and there’s some inclusion of pestilence.
However, I’ve yet to read a story set within a pandemic environment like the one we’re going through. Taht said, I’ve a great French comic book that sets the story at a time of plague and this influences the plot in myriad ways without taking over. And the story is a good one.
To be fair, writers have addressed the issue of disease in their stories. Disfigurement or disability is one possibility. I’m thinking Song of Ice and Fire here where greyscale can leave a person disfigured (a kind of limited leprosy in a way). Incapacity at a critical juncture is another. Dysentry, cholera and other “war” diseases are often referred to but seldom seem to affect named characters. Fevers are used as an obstacle or delayer.
Yet when we read history, we discover that some ailment often either incapacitated a critical actor or killed them just at a critical moment.
Perhaps the current pandemic will lead writers to include more medical aspects to their stories. I know I will.
A cast of characters
Bloomi’ ‘eck, that what I say. Have a cast of characters that is diverse and interesting. No duplications, mind you.
How many? you ask.
Well, there’s our hero (protagonist), his enemy (antagonist), the companion/sidekick, the joker, the love interest, the sage/mentor…and any more you care to name. It’s like the question: How long is a piece of string? If it’s too short, it doesn’t do the job; if it’s too long, the length is a darn nuisance.
Then there’s the minor characters and those that simply appear in a scene or two. And the redshirts.
Can all these people really be different? Perhaps one should give them all a slightly different hair colour.
* * *
Edmund came into the room. He wore a battered suit of armour. His pale-green hair stood up in ill sorted spikes, as casual as the wild grasses of the tundra. He smiled. Or at least attempted to. It came out more like a silent snarl.
“Greetings, Protagonist, I’ve just returned from the north.” He did a double take. “What have you done to your hair?”
Protagonist self-consciously raised a hand to finger the dreadlocks. The witchdoctor had insisted in dying his hair with henna, so now it was the colour of mahogany. “Just keeping up with the latest fashion,” Prog explained. “Do you like it?”
“Well, it’s definitely different, if that’s what you’re asking.” Edmund tried to put some enthusiasm into his voice but could still hear the negative vibes he had about Protagonist’s new hairstyle. It might be different, but it didn’t mean it wasn’t derivative and a very bad cliche. There was no getting away from that.
“It’s the author,” Protagonist explained in a lame sort of voice. “He’s trying to make us all different.”
“Typical. Doesn’t he realise different comes from what we do, how we talk, and behave?” He swished his sword out of its scabbard and waved it in the air. “For King and Country.”
“Err, do you mind putting away that overblown cocktail stick and telling me what news from the north,” Protagonist suggested.
“Oh, if you say so.” Edmund sheathed his sword. “Now I’m just like you.”
“I’m not wearing any armour.”
“Not now, silly, I can see that. What I meant to say is that apart from our hair and clothes, we are exactly alike. You jive to the left. I jive to the left. It’s so boring.”
“What can we do about it, then?”
Protagonist sat down on the convenient chair near him and rested his elbow on his knee and supported his head on his hand. He remained silent looking absentmindedly at the floor.
Eventually, bored at waiting, Edmund prompted, “Well?”
“We’ve got to do things differently.”
“Ah, well, maybe I should take your place. That would be different.”
"Protagonist got to his feet. He gave Edmund a come on gesture. “You try.”
Concept art for the cover of "The Sorcerer's Lackey"
There are some advantages to being forced to stay at home. I’ve been indulging in a bit of electronic housekeeping and found some preliminary sketches of various characters from The Sorcerer’s Lackey that I want to share with you.
Derek Companion, the “wise one” who is, yeah, Hapless’ companion on his adventure. I like the slim moustache and supercilious look with the lowered eyelids he is giving us. Compare this version with the final cover.
Well there’s no mistaking the pointy ears and proud demeanour of Elf, one of the rable that goes with Hapless on his adventure. I like the fact he isn’t looking at you and the braided hair beside his ear is a nice touch.
Elfin, the pretty elvish sister to Elf, is well captured by this drawing. She has the same braided hair and is demurely looking down at the ground, avoiding catching one’s eyes, in a most endearing way. I also liked the hairstyle.
This, of course, needs no introduction. No good fantasy adventure would be complete without the requisite dragon. I love the rather shabby wings, the enormous talons and the snake tongue. A fitting problem for a hero, no?
And here we have an early concept art for the cover with Hapless in a characteristic pose. You need to read the book to understand some of the illusions. The masked woman on the right is Assassin, by the way. I love the idea of her eyes on the lookout for trouble.
Another cover version with some colouring. I like the fact that Elf is looking down with some annoyance or perhaps worry. He seems to have acquired a headress and lost his tresses. Elfin is more of a waif in this version, but the tresses are evident. Hapless is also looking a bit worried as if he’d done something wrong. Derek’s expression is like that of an irritated butler. Compare the composition and layout to the final version.
And here is the final version. Not too dissimilar to the earlier versions. There’s Dwarf added as well as Fighter. It has lost either Elf or Elfin, depending on how you see the elven on the left. Derek is now looking supercillious and Hapless is mouthing: “Not my fault, gov, really.” Well, it was.
I hope you like these drawings and how the cover evolved from concept to what is the published cover.
This is a cool castle. It is partly set in a cave and would make a nice hideout for a pretty devious character.
The builder of the above castle was a nasty piece of work ravashing and pillaging his neighbours. But the stronghold was hard to assault. It is up a steep hill and nestled partly in a large cave. Hence, hard to besiege. The only way to do so was to starve out the defenders. But what the besiegers didn’t know was that there was a secret exit around the back that allowed the inhabitants to replenish their supplies. Consequently, the seiges failed.
Cool idea, eh?
Anthony art. A warrior monk
A fighting Friar Tuck will need a suitable weapon. A scythe blade is an interesting concept.
What kind of role would such a warrior monk have in a story? Would they be part of the hero’s team, an outsider who might on occasion come into contact with the hero? Perhaps the hero’s mentor. Certainly, they would be an interesting substitute to the mentor character having to be a mage or wizard or some such.
If one wanted to be somewhat cliched in their character, they could be at odds with their order or unwilling to accept the orders of their superior.
Umm, maybe I should be thinking of including such a character in a story. Or making them the protagonist in a story? There’s an idea.
The Witcher TV Series
There is lots to admire in the Netflix Witcher series if you like fantasy. At one level, it doesn’t stint on the nastiness of medieval society and the bruttishness of it. At another, it follows all the required tropes for the genre. The way magic is portrayed is really good and its use also has some interesting consequences, so using magic without consideration is not something the various mages do.
One thing I disagree with many reviewers is when they have complained that the production values aren’t as good as those from GOT. It does, on occasion have spectacle and the CGI is well done and the sets are fine if you like the close angle lens and captures the feel of the books. I personally like the smaller, more intimate feel of the series.
In the early episodes, I found myself noticing the number of cliches or tropes that are present. Not that I find this is to the detriment of the series, it’s just that there’s a lot of them. However, they are generally used in a good way.
Just to consider some of the more obvious ones. Spoiler alert! I will be discussing aspects of the plot below.
A medieval kingdom under attack by dark forces that are not well explained.
A beautiful daughter who has to escape via a secret exit, helped by a loyal retainer.
The Witcher himself is a bit of a cliche character of the outcast hero, broody, with a shady past (High Plains Drifter, anyone?). An outsider, a tough guy, but with a heart of gold. A cold man who is drawn to Yennifer, perhaps recognising in her something of himself. And one could go on here.
Then we have the irritating bard who is intent on glorifying the Witcher’s life in music. He gets into all sorts of trouble and has to be rescued. I think we’ve seen this one before.
Or, there’s a secret grouping of mages that is trying to influence events working in the background.
A kingdom that is intent on conquering the whole continent. Oh, that’s not a cliche, is it? Every kingdom wants to expand its reach and build an empire. That’s history.
All evil/conflicted characters wear dark colours.
A kind hearted, jolly prostitute.
Magic items.
A curse that is lifted by love.
And one could go on. Dwarves are gruff, elves are in tune with the environment, etc.
But you know what? It works and for an afficiado of fantasy, it’s a great visual spectacle and a decent plot, generally well executed. My only beef—and this is one shared by many reviewers—is in the way they handled the many switches in time and place.
I can’t wait for the second series!
More plot generation
As I’m working on a—let’s just call it less than serious—whodunnit, and needed respite, I returned to this wonderful plot generator for some fun. I actually quite like the title and it would fit with my story. Who knows?
The story has some rough edges. Who would want to kidnap a cat? Still 10 murders in ten weeks. Quite scary if it is a small village, don’t you think?
Medieval fantasy
While this is not directly related to the medieval fantasy story I have been working on, I like this image of a fantasy queen.
Interestingly enough, in the sotry, the queen is not a good character; but then again when she’s also a stepmother, it’s to be expected.
Painting is by Anthony Moles
I really liked it so much I had to do another one
I really like the idea of the mangled fingers; it’s the kind of ghoulish behaviour one expects from a serial killer.
Also the coffee addiction? Know about that.
Isn't this is fun
Hapless the Vampire Slayer
A Teen Vampire Story
by Tony Carden
There's a virtuous new girl in Cluj and she has everybody talking. Stunningly stunning and devastatingly scruffy, all the boys want her. However, Margarette Polonius has a secret - she's a clueless vampire.
Hapless hero is a loving, thin boy who enjoys the theatre. He becomes fascinated by Margarette, who can stop bags with her bare hands. He doesn't understand why she's so standoffish.
His best friend, a hilarious strenoi called Lucy, helps Hapless begin to piece together the puzzle. Together, they discover the ultimate weapon - the gloomy, wild dagger.
When bodies start turning up all over Cluj, Hapless begins to fear the worst. The strenoi urges him to report Margarette to the police and he knows he should, so what's stopping him?
He may resist Margarette's bite, but can he resist her charms?
Will he be caught talking with the vampire?
The above was created from a plot generator available at:
https://www.plot-generator.org.uk/
I inputed various items, the location—Cluj, in case you’re wondering, is the capital of Transylvania. Lucy is a character from Dracula and I’ve included her in Hamlette! And the Prince of Darkness, a sequel to The Sorcerer’s Lackey I’m currently working on. And Margarette is Hapless’ love interest in the work-in-progress.
All great fun.
Um… I wonder how I can incorporate the above into the book. Maybe a play within a play?
Work-in-progress on the sequel to The Sorcerer's Lackey
Lucy lay down on her bed. A single candle lit the room. She contemplated blowing it out but feared the dark. She no longer knew what to do. She was dead tired. Why couldn’t she sleep?
Then she heard a squeaking noise. She looked up.
With considerable difficulty, a bat emerged out of a small hole in the ceiling and, as she watched it, the creature gyrated, twirled, flipped, and flopped its way to the floor. Even before Lucy could take in the unexpected arrival, the nocturnal visitor transformed itself into a human dressed in evening attire, as if for the theatre, complete with a flowing red-lined cloak.
The man gazed down on her. “Ahz, zher youz arez, luciouz Luciz.”
A bat arriving in her room was one thing. A bat arriving in her room and turning into a man was another completely different thing. Lucy knew she should scream for help. But she was paralysed. She thought her reaction odd. And thought it odder she wasn’t screaming at the sight before her. She just lay there watching it. She managed a drawn smile. She’d been taught always to be polite.
“Youz pleazed to seez mez, I seez.”
The bat-man slowly approached her and sat down on the bed.
“Archz, I seez the problemz.” He flicked his fingers. “Lucz, rememberez.”
It was as if scales fell from her eyes. She remembered her previous encounters with…with. She wasn’t too sure.
“It’s you!”
“It’s mez. Muwhahahahaha!” The vampire gave her a wicked smile. “Now shalz we rezume, I’m hungrez?”
He bent down towards her neck. Lucy felt powerless to do anything. She lay there as he sank his fangs into her and started feeding, slurping noisily as he did so. She closed her eyes. Her mind whirled and she faded in and out of consciousness.
Eventually, he stopped and got up.
“Dazt wazt gutz.”
Lucy opened her eyes and stared up at the ceiling noting things there she’d not seen before. She turned her head to see the man—no, not a man a nostefaru who had been feasting on her, draining her of all her blood. To the very last drop—was getting ready to leave.
“Hey, what about me?”
“Yous shouldz bez dzead.”
“But I feel alive.”
“Datz notz pozzible.”
“Hey, don’t tell me what’s possible or not possible.”
She rose to her feet and padded over to him. She grabbed hold of his evening jacket. He jerked. She hadn’t realised she had that much strength.
“You’re not leaving without me.”
“Butz…butz…Iz draindz zou.”
She smiled. “Yes, and now I’m yours.” She rubbed up against him provocatively.
“Butz…butz…thisb idzst mozdezst irregulaz.”
“Whether regular or not, I’m coming with you.” She gave him another tug just to emphasise her determination.
“You kandz.”
Lucy stamped her pretty foot. “I can and I will. I know everything about you. What if I was to let slip your secret resting place and the hidden treasures?”
“Youz wouldnz!”
“I will unless I go with you.”
The undead gave her the most piteous look imaginable, one that dwarfed any picture of a wide-eyed, sweet little kitten looking up and on the point of saying ‘meow’.
“Ohz verzy welz. Butz helz bez furiouz.”
“Let him.”
The vampire opened the door and stepped out into the corridor. Lucy, still clutching hold, followed.
Female Assassins Rule, OK?
In my comic fantasy novel The Sorcerer’s Lackey, I have a female assassin with all the right kit. She comes with a large number of knives and swords, dark inconspicuous clothing, and the like. She ticks all the cliché boxes of course, for good reasons that have to do with the comic nature of the story.
Following my lady assassin’s outing, I continue to be fascinated in many ways by the idea of a “femme fatale”. Not a comic personage, but a deadly serious character. (Pun intended.) A “Black Widow” as portrayed by Scarlett Johansson is captivating and certainly adds to the potential cast of characters for a story.
However, lately I have been thinking a bit about the “reality” of a woman taking on the role of assassin. Of course, from an entertainment point of view, a female assassin has the possibility of becoming enamoured with her target. Of being put in extreme jeopardy physically and, if captured, in a very dark way. Therefore, the emotional stakes can be high.
Nevertheless, how practical is it in an age before firearms (which can be seen as a great force leveller) for a woman, however well trained, to be an effective assassin as usually portrayed in fantasy stories and parodied in my comic fantasy novel? My thoughts on this come from the realisation that—in a fight or any physical contest—compared to their likely adversaries, they are at a serious disadvantage. Okay, not if the target happens to be a fat merchant who is looking the other way when she strikes.
Consider the following situation where she has to go up against the victim’s bodyguard to reach her target. Catch him off-guard and she can potentially deliver him a lethal blow (and it would have to be silent otherwise the target would be alerted and prepared). My research on knife wounds suggests that if she simply delivered him a body blow, it might wound him, but not necessarily incapacitate him. She might slit his throat—that would do it. However, if the guard is doing his job, that would be extremely unlikely and, personally, I don’t like my stories to rely on extreme skills or behaviours that stretch the bound of credulity. And getting into a one-on-one sword or physical fight does not bear thinking about.
If she only manages to wound him, then the game is up, no?
It all boils down to what I think is achievable for our female assassin without breaking the bounds of reality. Any successful attempt would have to be covert and with very limited or no violence. Stealth and seduction rather than brute force would be her weapons. So the stiletto and poison rather than the rapier and katana. And there would be no need for the action outfit. Looking like a walking arsenal would be a dead giveaway—for our assassin.
I am not suggesting here that—as mentioned above—having a female rogue/assassin is not a good story point. Far from it. I will probably continue to consider the possibility in stories. They provide a good source of conflict—and danger—for both the protagonist and their party as well as the antagonist. However, I think they need to be used in terms of what is realistic.
Someone is bound to point out that years of training and being a skilled weaponsmith would allow our femme fatale to go head-to-head on better than even terms with the most muscled of bodyguards of bad guys. Of course, as a writer one can go for that. In Mistborn, Vin is an innately accomplished fighter, her ability honed by both living in the gutter and having a great teacher. But does she do well against the opposite sex in a fight? Not at all, she really, really struggles and is mostly not successful. Brandon Sanderson could easily have made her engagements with other mistborn a fight between equals, but chooses not to. She is described as petite and agile. Her advantage is both her innate street sense and her dexterity. Not her strength. As such, she is all the more realistic for it.
Weirdness in the Plant Kingdom
Fantasy writers are always on the lookout for interesting ideas and “weird stuff” with which to populate their stories. An unusual or exotic location is often an important background element to a story. This is particularly the case when crossing over into science fiction. Tattooine is the desert planet used for many scenes in Star Wars. Exotic and a little frightening. Who wants to get swallowed by a giant worm.
A recent exhibition at Kew of the paintings by Chris Thorogood from his book, Weird Plants, shows that our own planet is stuffed full of exotic flora. The plants would make a scene setter proud. What to make of the Rhizanthes that looks more like a sea creature than a plant that grows on the floor of a rain-forest?
What about the vampire plants—the stuff of nightmares—that grow off other plants? We have our very own, of course, in the mistletoe or lichens that attack trees. But the Hydnora? This parasitic plant has a red interior and opens up into a maw. It looks totally alien.
Of course, John Wyndham famously took the idea of parasitic plants to make these the centrepiece of his book The Day of the Triffids; and how they took over the earth. Quite nightmarish.
In addition, lesser things that are not so easily observed are going on. In the jungle, some plants poison rivals by emitting chemicals that inhibit their growth. How is that for a subtle plot idea?
I’m interested in the above because, over the last year or so, I have been toying with writing a story set on a desert planet and have been world building. I decided early on that the fauna and flora are savage. Some of the inspiration for the plants comes from cactuses, which protect themselves from being eaten by having spikes. The idea of plants having defensive missiles is also an idea I have considered using. I also intend to include a carnivorous plant along the lines of a Venus flytrap but only much, much larger. So big, it could eat large animals—or the protagonist. On the fauna front, there would a range of predators—all of which would be happy to attack and eat the main characters. I decided that since the main species are, in essence, six limbed, the whole ecosystem operated on the same principle. The equivalent of a lion would thus be a six-limbed monster. It could claw with its front limbs whilst still being able to move freely about on its other four legs.
For the book, the environment I have planned is very hostile and it plays a major part in how I see the story developing. Just to give an idea of the thinking here, I could envisage the protagonist (or other character) luring their opponent(s) into being ambushed by plants. Or the plants providing a defensive wall around a settlement.
The possibilities for being creative with unusual fauna or flora are endless.
Serilda is published
Well, at last my YA novel, Serilda is out there on the Amazon bookstore. It had been sitting around after I’d given it its nth edit and I wondered why, now that it’s available.
I just love the cover that Anthony produced for it. It nicely captures the environment in which most of the story is set.
Have a look at the extracts I have put up to get a flavour of the story.
The Plot Twist Conundrum
“Nothing bores me more than books where you read two pages and you know exactly how it’s going to come out. I want twists and turns that surprise me, characters that have a difficult time and that I don’t know if they’re going to live or die.”
– George R.R. Martin
I am currently writing a fantasy story with lots of magic in it and have what I consider a great plot that takes an idea from a fairy story (you’ll get no spoilers here, though) and uses it as a vehicle for putting magic centre stage in the story, something I haven’t really done before. Magic is tricky in a story. It can so easily lead to ridiculous outcomes.
Now while I like the twists I’ve put into the story, I’m beginning to worry that—as per the above quotation it has that damning “…you read two pages and you know exactly how it’s going to come out.” Gulp! What a put-me-down.
No! I want the reader to remain gripped to the very last word. But, at the same time twists in the plot must be integral to the story. No deus ex machina or bolt from the blue stuff, please. I have strong views about plot integrity. So the hero suddenly finding they have the strength or the skill to outfight a much tougher, more experienced opponent, or similar goes against characterisation and believability. Outwitting, yes. Discovering a whole new set of skills when needed, no thank you.
It is the believability issue that makes creating the plot twists to escape Martin’s condemnation and get his approval difficult. He wants “…twists and turns that surprise me…” Great. That’s what I want too.
And I’ve been doing some research on this, you’ll be pleased to know.
The Ugly, the bad, and the Good of Plot Twists
It shouldn’t be anything obvious. That’s not going to be much of a twist and such telegraphed developments are simply bad writing. So they’re out.
In my view, the following are poor solutions, in that they’re gimmicks:
Cheating on the reader by not giving them all the facts. They should be able to see the twist in retrospect makes sense by having all the pieces of the jigsaw, even if in so doing you misdirect them (legit). But simply not telling them? That’s bad.
As is bringing in a deity at a critical moment to sort it all out in an unexpected way. That’s ugly.
Nor should it rely on a coincidence. Is that bad or ugly?
I think the use of a convenient coincidence is ugly plotting. The hero is fighting the baddie in the temple of “Addon”, which just happens to have…[insert your choice of whatever leads to a flip in the situation]. So the baddie is about to terminate the goodie when he “accidentally” reanimates the benign or evil (take your pick) God by spilling the hero’s blood on its tomb—or whatever. Henceforth, the fight switches to dealing with the mega-powerful divine entity. This is not the stuff of good writing. It’s just wham-bam at ‘em stuff. Hence, fails the acceptability test. The only time this works is if it’s being parodied. Then I love it.
And one could go on.
So the challenge is to come up with plot twists that are integral to the possibilities of the story. Hence my challenge because the story is quite simple really. A quest by a magician for a solution to a curse laid on a character. That is, the story revolves around the "search for a person, place or thing, tangible or intangible.” (Tobias: 20 master Plots (and How to Build them))
Yes, there are conventions to follow. But this is challenging: “"It isn't unusual in this type of plot for there to be additional complications—as a result of obtaining the goal. Things aren't what the hero expected them to be, and it could be that what the hero was searching for all this time wasn't what she really wanted.”
I plan on having “complications” but they need to be integral to the plot. I think I’ve largely managed to do this but still worry that by putting all the cards on the table for the reader, as it were—albeit with a fair degree of misdirection—the plot becomes too linear. I need to avoid giving the reader what they expect. Tricky. But we’ll see.
So what is allowed? Here’s a short list of things that various commentators have suggested:
Use the theme for relevant plot ideas.
Don’t make the foreshadowing too obvious.
Use the setting as part of the reveals.
Make the reveal in characterisation.
Use the twist(s) to distract the reader from later, more important reveals.
Redirect suspicion.
So what can one do?
Add the odd red herring, misapply Chekov’s Gun, use anagnorisis, have a n unreliable narrator and a false protagonist.
Write on…
The Periodic Table of Story Telling
Sometimes you come across things you wish you’d thought up. I’m a great fan of TV Tropes and can only admire the collective effort that’s gone into creating the website. What a fabulous resource for everyone, but particularly for writers.
I came across a reworking of the work from TV Tropes by James Harris, a designer and web developer, who has set about recasting it as a set or periodic elements. You can find it here:
http://jamesharris.design/periodic/
What’s so great about it is that it takes the tropes and upends their discussion to show how certain tropes feature in stories such as Star Wars, mass Effect and so on.
Brilliant, really.
Fantasy Money 3
In the first two posts on fantasy money, I explored the purposes of money and some ideas on how old money might have come into being. In this post, I’d like to consider monetary denominations. For this purpose, I’m going to use the old English coinage system as an example as well as refer to other systems at the end.
The first thing one must understand is that the old English system was tri-metallic. At its apex it had gold, below that, silver, and for small denominations copper/bronze. Only the first two were precious metals.
The other thing to understand about the “£ s d” system was that it incorporated a huge range of currencies within it. This reflected the use of precious metals in its composition. The value of the metal dictated the value of the coin.
At the base was the penny. This gave the “d” in the system. There were 12 pennies to a shilling. Since there were 20 shillings (a silver coin) to a pound (the gold coin), that meant there were 240 pennies to a pound. There are some really nice benefits to this arrangement. A base 12 allows division by 12, 6, 4, 3, 2, and 1. A base 10 system (decimal) as is current in most countries only allows 10, 5, 2, and 1. This a base 12 provides more flexibility, though counting up isn’t one of them. So with a base 12 coin, we can have bigger units that represent multiples of the penny, as we can of course with the current decimal system. And that is what we find. There was a tuppence piece (2 pennies), a threepenny piece and a sixpenny piece. This made carrying change around a lot easier. One can convert a sixpenny into two threepenny pieces or one threepenny piece and three pennies. Note the sixpenny piece was a silver coin—indicating the crossover that takes place between base and precious metals at some unit of value, whereas the threepenny was a base coin. The sixpence could—and was—equally thought of as a half-shilling.
The same flexibility extends to the shilling (which gave the “s” in the system). The unit here is doubled up into a two shilling piece, called a florin. It was the same currency unit as became popular across Europe minted by the Florentines to facilitate trade. The next logical unit is a five shilling piece, which is a crown. This is in effect a quarter pound so could have been either gold or silver. It was silver. Then—interestingly enough—there was a half-crown and because of the 20 to the pound system, this meant this had a value of two shillings and six pence. Note that this gave 8 half-crowns to the pound. These are the “pieces of eight” so beloved of pirates. These coins were, in fact, as far as the currency was concerned, another import. The half-crown was a Spanish dollar (also called thaler) and the base later for the U.S. dollar. This partly explains its importance to pirates—most preyed on Spanish shipping and settlements. In the English old money system, this dollar coin could be constructed by using two already existing silver coins, the florin with a silver sixpenny piece. It suggests that in early England and elsewhere foreign coins of a given precious weight circulated alongside locally produced coins of the same or similar specie value.
Note, just to confuse matters (as if the monetary system wasn’t confusing enough!), the gold pound (the “£” sign) came in more than one weight. By the time it got regularised, there was the pound sterling (of a given weight) worth 20 shillings and the guinea, worth 21 shillings, with a slightly larger gold content. Some transactions were effected in pound sterling, others in guineas.
How much did old English money buy? Well obviously the value of particular denominations today is different to what it was. If we are interested in medieval times (and this is for England) then the following website is a useful resource to obtain an idea of how far money went:
https://thehistoryofengland.co.uk/resource/medieval-prices-and-wages/
What it shows is how prices varied very considerably. This was due to the primitive and costly production systems involved and for which we have a great deal of difficulty understanding given the way production techniques have so radically changed.
A peasant’s tunic cost 36 pence, a linen shirt 8 pence. At the other end of the scale, a top of the range gown 2,400 pence. A more normal fashionable item would still set back the buyer 63 pence. Given that an unskilled labourer earned 2-3 pence per day, buying a tunic would set them back over a week’s wages. At the other end, a skilled mason could earn double what an unskilled labourer earned and an armourer 16 pence per day.
Now to look at another monetary system, that of Biblical times, for comparison. There were many systems of course and they have similarities and differences. But there was a need for different value coins and a logical relationship between them. The most valuable coin was the talent, which was 34.2 kilograms of gold. This was divided by 60 to create the mina, which was 570 grams of gold. The shekel was one-fiftieth of a mina at 11.4 grams. That meant that 3000 shekels made up one talent.
There was a smaller coin to the shekel—which seems like the importation of a different weight base gold coin 9as with pieces of eight)—called the pim, which was 7.8 grams of gold. This was 2/3rds of a shekel. Note the pim was similar to other Middle Eastern coins like the daric, a Persian gold coin, which was 8.4 grams of gold. This probably meant the shekel and the daric could be used somewhat interchangeably—as with the florin and Spanish dollar in the English system.
Then there was the bekah which is a half-shekel coin and weighted 5.7 grams. Finally, the gerah was 1/10th of a bekah, which meant—interestingly enough—that you needed 20 of these coins to make a shekel.
China started, interestingly enough, from a different perspective with copper coins and made a rapid transition to paper money. They don’t seem to have adopted the Western idea of creating coins of different denominations at first. By the Qing dynasty, however, they operated a bimetallic system with silver for the higher denominations based on weight and coins of different denominations.
In writing historically correct fiction, one needs to know what coins might be used for what purchases and sales. If one is creating a fantasy world, it is useful to consider what kind of economic development it has reached and use an appropriate match between any fantasy money and its purchasing power for verisimilitude.
P.S. After writing the above, I discovered there was at one point in the 19th Century a quarter penny. The reason I discovered this was that the current U.K. penny is worth less in purchasing power than this fractional coin. Such is inflation! And a lesson to writers who set stories in the past.
Fantasy Money 2
In my first post on money in fantasy writing, I discussed the roles money plays in economic activity as a unit of exchange, a measure of value and a store of value.
In this post, I want to talk about some of the attributes a good money must have. Foremost, whatever is chosen to be money has to have two important characteristics. It has to be accepted by the recipient and it should be available in limited quantity. The first is obvious. If the person exchanging goods or services for money doesn’t accept the money then it is of no use. We can think of arriving in a foreign country with home money. Will it be accepted by the seller? Probably not. In a story, this could lead to interesting complications for our intrepid adventurer. Hence, mutually acceptable money is an important attribute.
Personally, I don’t think writers have made enough of this problem. Generally, if the currency in use is specie based, it is assumed that the recipient will automatically accept it. But in a world where travel isn’t common or only follows predictable routes (for instance, caravan trade routes) not having local currency will lead to all sorts of complications. Of course, if the distance isn’t that great, the recipients will have some knowledge of or even use the currency alongside the local one. But if the location of the exchange is a long way from where the currency is normally used, then there can be problems.
In a partially written story, I have the protagonist arrive in Brazil with only English money. It creates a difficulty. They try to use it and it isn’t well received. Or the exchange rate at which it is accepted proves unacceptably high which will lead them to run out of money very quickly.
The second issue that needs considering is finding a type of money that is only available in limited quantity. Most writers resort to using a precious metal. Gold is a favourite, but the more value attributable to the metal, the less use of it in practice. That’s why gold, silver and base metal coins all circulated side-by-side within an economy as the old British currency system so aptly demonstrates. I’ll have more on that point in a later post.
Now there is a good reason why gold became the foundation of many currency systems. Alongside other precious metals—and silver, in particular—it has some nice qualities. Gold is one of the most malleable, ductile, dense, conductive, non-destructive, brilliant and beautiful of metals. Gold does not perish over time. Hence it has some nice physical properties. Also there is a very limited quantity of the metal and obtaining more is a laborious and costly process, which helps create its value in the first place.
Consequently, gold as a currency is often used in stories alongside silver and base metals as part of some unexplained coinage system. Very often, the use of precious metals in stories relies on our tacit understanding of the value of gold and silver compared to say bronze or copper coinage when characters are involved in buying and selling. There’s an implicit value system at work here.
Note that money doesn’t have to come in coins. The reason coins work well is that they provide an acceptable unit—generally by weight—as to what the coin’s value is. The original English currency was the silver penny which was fixed at 22.5 troy grains, which was about 1.46 grams. It was fixed at 1/240th of a troy pound, which was about 373 grams. There was a difference between the bullion value and the coinage represented a premium to the mint for turning bullion into coins.
If all parties agreed on the value of silver as a store of value and hence as a medium for exchange, then the actual nature of the coinage might not matter too much. In large transactions, then, it would be possible to weigh the coins to determine their value—and we see sets of scales and weights in paintings of Renaissance bankers for just this purpose. That would be fine for big items, but for that drink in the inn, not so much if the coin wasn’t one they were familiar with. And biting on it? No, that wouldn’t work though it looks good in movies, if weight is what mattered, what are they doing?