At Dusk I Reign
Sage
Picture the scene if you will: you open a book, possibly one with a nice glossy cover and a title that's been lovingly designed and embossed in gold, and start reading. Almost instantly you find yourself transported to a world far removed from our own, caught up in a cyclone of mayhem, destruction and magic that isn't really magic because we all know there's a logical reason for everything. Mother turns on father. Sister turns on brother. Cat turns on dog. Goat turns on...well, who knows what goes on in the mind of a goat? Carrots may well play a part.
Ruminating on ruminants will get you nowhere, however. What you're looking for is a hero, someone who'll vanquish the darkness (no doubt at great personal cost) and become a beacon of all that is lovely and nice.
Except that's not what you get. No, that would be too simple. Old-fashioned, even. And let's be honest here, you don't really want it, even if you believe you do.
What you need is an idiot.
Don't worry, though. He's new and improved. He's a product of the Zeitgeist. He's modern.
Not for him the burden of being noble. That's old hat. It belongs to a bygone era where diminutive beings with hairy feet were happily accepted and doing the right thing didn't automatically evoke howls of derision. No, this guy's way too slick for such shenanigans. He doesn't see the world in terms of black and white, right and wrong. That's not cutting edge, and he's a cutting edge kind of guy, his universe painted solely in shades of grey. He'll happily stomp your pet rabbit if it gets in his way. Not for any particular reason, you understand – he could just as easily step over it – but at least it shows the kind of man he is.
And you need to be shown. You need it hammered home, at the end of every page wherever possible. That's your fault. You only bought the book. The fact that you're able to carry out simple transactions at a store doesn't mean you're capable of drawing your own conclusions. You're not. You need everything to be spelt out for you in block capitals, preferably in crayon.
Once that fact has sunk in, you take a closer look at the hero in which all your hopes reside. He's scarred. Not just physically, though a visual manifestation is always helpful (reinforcement, see? The author's name might as well be Pavlov). His mangled visage (or missing fingers, or any number of mutilations you care to imagine) pales in comparison to the wreck that is his mind, though. He's damaged. This makes him cool. He only does the 'right thing' because he has to or because it furthers his own agenda. This makes him super-cool. You'll be reminded of just how groovy he is throughout the remainder of the story. Some of this will exhibit itself as misogyny or racism, but don't get too agitated because it's all done in a knowing manner, and a sidelong wink from the author makes everything okay, doesn't it?
If you manage to stick it out until the final page you may discover that you feel slightly dirty, like there's a layer of grime on your corneas. Don't worry, it's a natural reaction. It's because you're a dinosaur. You probably labour under the delusion that a novel's protagonist should exhibit at least some of the traits most decent human beings accept as a matter of course: compassion, altruism, nobility.
That's not what modern heroes are about, and the fantasy genre is all the better for it.
Right?
Ruminating on ruminants will get you nowhere, however. What you're looking for is a hero, someone who'll vanquish the darkness (no doubt at great personal cost) and become a beacon of all that is lovely and nice.
Except that's not what you get. No, that would be too simple. Old-fashioned, even. And let's be honest here, you don't really want it, even if you believe you do.
What you need is an idiot.
Don't worry, though. He's new and improved. He's a product of the Zeitgeist. He's modern.
Not for him the burden of being noble. That's old hat. It belongs to a bygone era where diminutive beings with hairy feet were happily accepted and doing the right thing didn't automatically evoke howls of derision. No, this guy's way too slick for such shenanigans. He doesn't see the world in terms of black and white, right and wrong. That's not cutting edge, and he's a cutting edge kind of guy, his universe painted solely in shades of grey. He'll happily stomp your pet rabbit if it gets in his way. Not for any particular reason, you understand – he could just as easily step over it – but at least it shows the kind of man he is.
And you need to be shown. You need it hammered home, at the end of every page wherever possible. That's your fault. You only bought the book. The fact that you're able to carry out simple transactions at a store doesn't mean you're capable of drawing your own conclusions. You're not. You need everything to be spelt out for you in block capitals, preferably in crayon.
Once that fact has sunk in, you take a closer look at the hero in which all your hopes reside. He's scarred. Not just physically, though a visual manifestation is always helpful (reinforcement, see? The author's name might as well be Pavlov). His mangled visage (or missing fingers, or any number of mutilations you care to imagine) pales in comparison to the wreck that is his mind, though. He's damaged. This makes him cool. He only does the 'right thing' because he has to or because it furthers his own agenda. This makes him super-cool. You'll be reminded of just how groovy he is throughout the remainder of the story. Some of this will exhibit itself as misogyny or racism, but don't get too agitated because it's all done in a knowing manner, and a sidelong wink from the author makes everything okay, doesn't it?
If you manage to stick it out until the final page you may discover that you feel slightly dirty, like there's a layer of grime on your corneas. Don't worry, it's a natural reaction. It's because you're a dinosaur. You probably labour under the delusion that a novel's protagonist should exhibit at least some of the traits most decent human beings accept as a matter of course: compassion, altruism, nobility.
That's not what modern heroes are about, and the fantasy genre is all the better for it.
Right?
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