The deft touch of worldbuilding
Here's a thing about writing fantasy (or speculative fiction of any kind, really): it relies upon a contract between you and the reader that you will build a world different from the one they know, and if they follow you there, you will tell them a really interesting story.
The differences can be anywhere from slight and subtle to comprehensive and entire, and the reader doesn't really know until you tell her. In a way, therefore, the opening chapters of speculative fiction don't just have to do all the stuff that a 'normal' book does - establish characters and the hook of the story - but also rough out the parameters of the universe, give some idea of the general changes made. (After all, if you're muddling along happily in a world where apparently the only difference is that the Church of England never happened, and then all of a sudden in chapter 45 - wham - goblins, you're going to be ticked off, because that changes the assumptions you've been making for all the preceding pages. Or at least, I would be, if that were sprung on me.)
There are a couple of interesting repercussions of this. One is the old difference I observed when workshopping the opening chapters of my (fantasy) novel with my (90% non-fantasy-reading) class: they kept pulling up on world details, saying "I don't understand". Whereas the 10% of the class who did read spec-fic said, "Yeah, but at this point you're just collecting information. It will all settle together into a coherent view of the universe by and by." The speculative reader is willing to give you an elastic zone in which to paint your world; they are willing to store away mysteries under the expectation that they will later become clear. Possibly, they even like figuring that stuff out. (I know I do.)
The second repercussion is that when writing, and especially when writing the early chapters, you have to be very careful with your language, because nothing can be taken for granted.
To illustrate the point, let me use the example in the book I'm currently reading that prompted this entry:Fragrant steam rose from the silver tray balanced in her plump paws.
Now, I'm in chapter seven, but it's been a pretty action-ful opening, so now that we're in a bit of downtime, I'm prepared to allow one last spate of foundational world-building. So despite the fact that hitherto, the changes from Victorian England have been reasonably minor, I'm suddenly wondering if the housekeeper actually has paws.
There might be large humanoid bunnies in this world! It's still an option!
Having now read on another few pages, with no further mention of fur or big ears or non-opposable thumbs, I'm pretty sure they were metaphorical paws. Figure-of-speech paws. Large hands. But for that moment - because we're still in the formative stages of world-building in the novel - I really wasn't sure.
You have to be careful. The contract cuts both ways, and before you know it you end up with giant bunnies. ;)
Originally posted on Dreamwidth
The differences can be anywhere from slight and subtle to comprehensive and entire, and the reader doesn't really know until you tell her. In a way, therefore, the opening chapters of speculative fiction don't just have to do all the stuff that a 'normal' book does - establish characters and the hook of the story - but also rough out the parameters of the universe, give some idea of the general changes made. (After all, if you're muddling along happily in a world where apparently the only difference is that the Church of England never happened, and then all of a sudden in chapter 45 - wham - goblins, you're going to be ticked off, because that changes the assumptions you've been making for all the preceding pages. Or at least, I would be, if that were sprung on me.)
There are a couple of interesting repercussions of this. One is the old difference I observed when workshopping the opening chapters of my (fantasy) novel with my (90% non-fantasy-reading) class: they kept pulling up on world details, saying "I don't understand". Whereas the 10% of the class who did read spec-fic said, "Yeah, but at this point you're just collecting information. It will all settle together into a coherent view of the universe by and by." The speculative reader is willing to give you an elastic zone in which to paint your world; they are willing to store away mysteries under the expectation that they will later become clear. Possibly, they even like figuring that stuff out. (I know I do.)
The second repercussion is that when writing, and especially when writing the early chapters, you have to be very careful with your language, because nothing can be taken for granted.
To illustrate the point, let me use the example in the book I'm currently reading that prompted this entry:Fragrant steam rose from the silver tray balanced in her plump paws.
Now, I'm in chapter seven, but it's been a pretty action-ful opening, so now that we're in a bit of downtime, I'm prepared to allow one last spate of foundational world-building. So despite the fact that hitherto, the changes from Victorian England have been reasonably minor, I'm suddenly wondering if the housekeeper actually has paws.
There might be large humanoid bunnies in this world! It's still an option!
Having now read on another few pages, with no further mention of fur or big ears or non-opposable thumbs, I'm pretty sure they were metaphorical paws. Figure-of-speech paws. Large hands. But for that moment - because we're still in the formative stages of world-building in the novel - I really wasn't sure.
You have to be careful. The contract cuts both ways, and before you know it you end up with giant bunnies. ;)
Originally posted on Dreamwidth