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A thread: I've long been a fan of the fantastic in fiction, especially in short stories, but over the last month, as I’ve returned to my anthologies of weird, wondrous & surreal short fiction, I’ve also thought about the consolations of these kinds of stories in uncertain times.
When reality is especially resistant to serving up a narrative shape, when we have no idea where we are in an arc or what the ending will be, the uncertainty itself can feel like a form of horror. Why then, don’t we all crave happy digestible stories?
Marina Warner identified a rise in the fantastic as a mode of understanding in the late 20th century – causally connected to the looming sense of ecological catastrophe, alongside fragmentation and other radical change in our world.
The same could be said of today, but more so. Why might reading or writing the fantastic help when life is stranger than fiction? Todorov (in The Fantastic) sees the fantastic as creating hesitation.
When we hesitate, says Todorov, we neither come to terms with what is happening in a story, nor dismiss it as a purely supernatural phenomenon. We’re asked to hover in a place of uncertainty (which sounds a lot like life in 2020).
Rather like facing fears in the ‘safe’ space of a fictional (horror) story, perhaps welcoming uncertainty, willingly hesitating over interpretation, is one of the consolations of fantastic fiction when life is uncertain too.
I think there are other things going on. Much great fantastic fiction resists allegory, or costumed commentary on real life. Instead, the deep meaning is not necessarily one that can be articulated. It flickers beneath symbol and story.
Fantastic fiction of this kind has what Carol Emshwiller calls ‘resonance’ – we feel meaning, but there’s no one message or claim. This satisfies the nonverbal subconscious, without letting us draw rational conclusions.
The pleasure of experiencing resonance when reading fantastic fiction reminds us that there can be meaning without being able to say exactly what happened and why. This might also be useful in uncertain times.
Lastly, I think there’s a positive characterisation of Todorov’s ‘hesitation’, which is enchantment. We always need enchantment, but especially when life reaches seemingly new heights of disenchantment. The fantastic provides this.
To be enchanted is to be sung into a story, to have a spell cast upon you. The wonder created by fantastical stories is an easy way into this state, and once in it, we can find meaning free from the mundanity and ache of real life.
Not to mention, of course, the sheer enchantment of escapism, and the acceptance of magical or supernatural forces for a while. It does us good to dream, after all.
I started reading more fantastical stories because I was putting together a writing course, but in the end it felt like a series of tiny holidays, rather than work. I loathe uncertainty (who doesn’t), but this reading calmed me a bit.
It also reminded me why I write about totally made-up stuff. It’s all about finding meanings we can’t articulate any other way, finding our own particular methods of enchantment, and hopefully casting spells on others.
Anyway, if like me you enjoy reading (and writing) the fantastic, and could do with a thoughtful jolt back into that world, I’ve linked to lots of brilliant fantastic fiction which is free to read online in this post at London Lit Lab: https://www.londonlitlab.co.uk/?page_id=254
And the writing course I was building is here. Happy reading, and writing, all. https://www.londonlitlab.co.uk/?page_id=921
