Fiction itself is born in fantasy. The millennia-old quarrel
between Plato and Aristotle questions the source of “truth.” Plato insisted it
resides only in the realm of history and fact. But Aristotle praised a poetic
version of reality, one more coherent, credible, and causal than the randomness
of whatever really happened.
Fantasy has its roots deep in this dispute. Great fantasy
builds a credible world, reveals truths about our own, and gives us a fun read.
“Dwarf and Dragon,” the second book of D. L. Burnett’s trilogy “In the Kingdom of
Dragons,” does all of this and more.
At the Chicago Book Expo in 2004, beloved author Ursula K.
Le Guin told her audience this: “Fantasy is a literature particularly useful
for embodying and examining the real difference between good and evil.”
Burnett’s novel accomplishes this by layering oaths,
dilemmas, and inadvertent betrayal throughout. Is your loyalty to your people
or to the mentor who helped you become a leader? Do you betray your husband or
your moral code? Would you kill a friend who’s gone on a rampage that endangers
lives? Can dragons, or dwarfs, or giantesses overcome their basic nature and
achieve something gentler, more “human”?
Questions without easy answers generate terrific plotting
and gorgeous writing. As the Dwarf army approached, “Their braided beards swung
like pendulums across their chests.” They are defiant about reclaiming their
homeland; they are unbeatable. Only a coerced marriage can save this people.
But this is a novel about loyalty—and love. The marriage begins
with a Dwarf finding his spouse “a worthy diversion.” Sadly, he discovers that “’Human
love is mist. What can I or any Dwarf know of it?...I am less welcome in your
chamber than a winter wind….We cannot build a union upon a grave.’” But wait.
Out of an ephemeral substance called Dripstone, he expresses his love through a
sculpture he must carve and carve again. Will it move her? Read the book and
find out.
LeGuin’s “Why are Americans afraid of dragons?”reminds us that
“The use of imaginative fiction is to deepen your understanding of your world,
and your fellow men, and your own feelings, and your destiny. …For fantasy is
true, of course. It isn’t factual, but it is true… it is by such beautiful
non-facts that we fantastic human beings may arrive, in our peculiar fashion,
at the truth.”
Author Maureen McHugh reminds all novelists to “Follow your
weird.” Plato was wrong. Truth doesn’t “lie” in the fantastic. That’s where truth
resides.
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