Magic Explained. Definitively.
Well, for my books. Well, mostly.
(I’m jumping back a couple of posts here—but both Brandon and I have been traveling on and off during this Babel Clash, so apologies on some non-linearity.)
From a storytelling standpoint, the more magic you have in a world, the more problems you create, so I’ve dealt with magic differently in my two series. In the Night Angel books, I wanted to start with magic users being incredibly rare. The paradigm was that magic users were like professional athletes—the average person would go their whole life without ever seeing one in person, though they would hear about them. Of course, if you’re in the right circles, you might know or see a lot of pro athletes. But, like pro athletes (depending on the sport), the average person might walk right past one of them on the street and never know it.
That built in some mystery from the start. Then I did something that seemed to hit different reviewers differently. I had a magic system that I understood, that had scientific limits, and costs and clear delineations—but then I filtered that through a medieval, pre-scientific worldview. Then, I figured that each culture is going to have different views of magic: even if magic works the same physically everywhere, a culture is going to affect how people use their magic or understand it. Then I layered in the fact that my main character is an ignorant kid, and some people lie to him about how magic works. And then I put in—for one culture—a parasite that would feed on magic, making those infected more powerful in the short run, but ultimately destroying them.
Sound complex? It was, but I had a handle on it. It had costs and limits—they just weren’t what the main character always thought they were. That preserved some of the mystery, made things fun as they unfolded, and makes re-reads of the books fun. (Wait, you’re telling me Durzo lied?! Um, yep, Durzo lies.)
But the complexity comes at a cost. And this is why I was asking Brandon earlier about how he thinks outside perceptions of a book or its author affect how you read a book. I think Brandon can get away with explaining little about his magic system (systems?) in The Way of Kings precisely because he’s known as a magic system guy—his magic is always well thought out. Because I was a new guy with The Way of Shadows and because there are contradictory statements made about magic and no Irving the Explainer to say How Things Are, you could see the magic as just a mess. Contradictory. Contrived. Deus ex machina stuff.
I don’t know if there’s a way around that except having your reputation grow. It’s like when you show an awkward teen romance: Is this dialogue awkward because the characters are tongue-tied, or because the writer sucks at dialogue?
Regardless, I decided to go the opposite way with The Lightbringer Trilogy, to take on something harder, and juggle the problems having lots of magic creates. This world has a proto-scientific understanding of magic. They’re disciplined in their study, and they get most things right. (It helps that I’m using light as the basis for the magic, and light is innately funky and mind-boggling and cool and mysterious.) I also have the kid taught stuff that is (mostly) true. The fun comes from me making solid rules and making each magic obey the laws of physics: you want to throw a fireball the size of a house? Fine, can you lift a house?
Each color of magic has its own attributes: red is sticky and flammable, blue is hard and smooth, and so forth. Then I gave each drafter a finite amount of magic they can use in their life—use it fast and you’re hastening your own death. Then I gave each color a metaphysical effect on the drafter who uses it: using lots of blue makes a person more orderly, etc. Then I—well, there’s more.
But the rules are simple and analogous to those from real systems. I think this does strip away mystery, but adds wonder. It’s like a physician who comes to understand many processes of the human body, but becomes more and more awed by life itself.
To use a less grandiose metaphor, I see this magic as a box of toys. I hope people will play with them and put them together in ingenious ways. Indeed, the enjoyment and the terror for me as a writer is feeling like I’m in a footrace with my own fans. Who’s going to come up with the coolest uses of these luxins? Them, or me?
It’s an experiment, and I think that’s one of the greatest things about fantasy. We get to play. And if we keep that sense of play, of fun, then the magic—and the stories themselves—will be wondrous.
So on that note, Dane, thank you for having me on to talk about some of the things that I love. And Brandon, thanks for sharing your thoughts—and for swatting aside a few hand grenades. It’s been a real pleasure talking with you. And to my fans out there, if you haven’t already, Check this guy out. His books are great.
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