The Magicians
By Lev Grossman; Read by Mark Bramhall
Audible Download – 17 hours 24 mins [UNABRIDGED]
Publisher: Penguin Audiobooks
Published: 11 August 2009
Print: Hardcover, Viking Adult, 416 pages

Quentin is a high school kid who thinks he’s attending a private interview for admission to Princeton. In fact, the interview turns out to be for a place far stranger, Brakebills, a college devoted to teaching the magical arts. If this description sounds like Harry Potter: The College Years to you, you’re partly right. Quentin, like Harry, has always felt out-of-place in our mundane world. Yet in terms of style and focus, The Magicians is a very different book. Whereas J. K. Rowling largely relies on external symbolism and action to develop her characters, Grossman chooses to explore the inner lives of his characters in a manner reminiscent of FitzGerald, Faulkner, and other classical “literary” types.

This isn’t to say that The Magicians lacks appeal for readers who prefer page-turning action, suspense, and world-building. Although this is Grossman’s first fantasy novel, he certainly isn’t lacking in “geek cred”. At one point in the novel, one of the characters makes a quip of something to the effect that they should make a pornographic magazine for trees called Enthouse. Grossman is also a master world-builder. Central to the plot of the novel is a writer named Christopher Plover, who in the 1930s wrote a series of allegorical novels set in the fictional land of Fillory. So compelling is Grossman’s description of these novels that at first I was convinced that there was in fact a fantasy author who had escaped my notice. Only after Googling for Christopher Plover did I realize that he was actually Grossman’s creation.

The inclusion of Plover’s Fillory novels in the plot of The Magicians makes the book a discussion and critique of fantasy literature itself, what the genre is, is not, and should be.

The Magicians is the kind of novel that lends itself to close, careful reading and rereading. I’ll probably have more to say when I revisit it at some point in the future, a prospect I’m very much looking forward to.

Warbreaker
By Brandon Sanderson; Read by James Yaegachi
Audible Download – 24 hours 46 mins [UNABRIDGED]
Publisher: Recorded Books
Published: 2009
Print: Hardcover, 592 pages

Royal Princess Vivenna has been trained for a life of courtly politics and schooled in the art of diplomacy. Her younger sister Siri, on the other hand, has largely been left to her own pursuits, which mostly include pilfering food from the palace kitchens and dashing hither and thither across the fields of her father’s kingdom. Both girls are shocked, therefore, when Siri is chosen to marry the fearsome god-king of a neighboring province and, hopefully, avert a war. The story follows the lives of both sisters after this momentous decision.

Along with the royal sisters, the reader gets a glimpse into the life of a lesser god in the god-king’s court, the inaptly named Lightsong the Brave. In the universe of Warbreaker, gods are born when a person dies bravely and is mysteriously “returned.” Though cut off from the rest of the populace in their own district, the gods are like flesh-and-blood humans in many respects. The exact nature of this divinity becomes one of the central mysteries in Warbreaker.

Even though, as I said, Warbreaker is a response to Sanderson’s earlier works, it nevertheless resembles them in many respects. Though the novel’s magic system is refreshingly unique, the setting is otherwise typical Sanderson fare. Most of the action takes place in the lush private palaces and the city streets which Sanderson writes so well. The characters also resemble figures from previous books. I don’t think this is a case of the author becoming cliché or repeating himself. Rather, I think he’s written enough books now that he’s developing a unique style, and for the most part the style works.

The book’s magic system is incredibly inventive, even if it feels slightly contrived. Magic in the world of Warbreaker is based on color and life, with breath as its catalyst. With biochromancy, a user can draw on the color from an inanimate object and his or her own store of breaths to bring other objects and command them to lend their aid. Ropes shimmy up walls of their own accord; trouser cuffs lend extra strength for jumping, and tasseled shirt sleeves lend the wearer an extra set of strong fingers. While not as streamlined as the allomancy system in Sanderson’s Mistborn trilogy, the magic in Warbreaker lends an air of color, no pun intended, to a world that would otherwise seem a bit bland.

To my mind, Brandon Sanderson is one of the masters of the plot twist, and Warbreaker has them in spades, parcelled out to keep the novel moving at a good pace. Unfortunately, the novel’s ending falls a bit flat, and also leaves a few questions open, leading me to hope that Sanderson plans another novel set in this universe. Between The Wheel of Time and The Way of Kings, though, his dance card appears to be full for the foreseeable future.

Fans of Brandon Sanderson’s previous work will probably find much to like about Warbreaker, and fantasy readers interested in unique magic systems should certainly give it a read. On the other hand, there’s nothing truly revolutionary about Warbreaker, even with its creatively wacky magic. But hey, even Babe Ruth didn’t knock ‘em out of the park every time, and the way Brandon Sanderson’s career’s going that may proove to be a fitting analogy.

The Lies of Locke Lamora
By Scott Lynch; Read by Michael Page
Audible Download – 22 hours [UNABRIDGED]
Publisher: Tantor Audio
Published: 2009
Print: Mass Market Paperback, 736 pages

Orphaned at an early age, Locke Lamora must find his way on the streets and canals of Camorr, a city whose soaring elderglass spires and alchemical streetlamps meet roving street gangs and scheming guilds of thieves. Into one of the latter the young Locke Lamora soon finds employ, and quickly proves hmiself a most capable pickpocket and swindler. Alternating with chapters of Locke’s youth are chapters which comprise the main story, telling how Locke, as garista of the Gentleman Bastards, attempts to pull a massive scam on one of the city’s nobles. The novel’s unique structure keeps the story fresh and interesting. Just as the action in one timeline begins to flag, we cut to the other part of the story to complete more of the picture.

Locke Lamora is your typical noble-hearted thief, but he’s portrayed in a way that defies most of the clichés. Locke suffers some horrible tragedies both in his childhood and in present time, and he responds to these challenges in a strikingly human way. That is to say, sometimes he rises to the occasion, either internally or externally, and other times he does not. Lynch thus transforms what could have been a carbon copy of Robin Hood into a lifelike and ultimately likable character.

The other characters are no less well-drawn, from Locke’s hatchet-wielding partner Jean to the enthusiastic young Bug, the newest inductee into the Gentleman Bastards. Locke’s childhood mentor Chains, who masquerades as a blind, manacled priest by day, holds the childhood chapters together.

The city of Camorr is a character in its own right, highlighting Lynch’s considerable descriptive and worldbuilding skills. The city’s layout, criss-crossed as it is by broad canals traversed by boats, along with the Italianesque names of most characters, lends the city a Venetian feel, a Venice that might have been. Alchemy lights the city by night, and occasionally also serves more nefarious purposes. The city is ostensibly led by Duke Nicovante, but he’s clearly a figurehead, as the various nobles and street gangs hold de facto rule. The magic, geography, and politics combine to render Camorr as lifelick as the people who live there.

I initially found Scott Lynch’s writing style a bit off-putting, since The Lies of Locke Lamora features a high ratio of average swear words per page. In many recent fantasy novels, this comes off to me as pretentious, a deliberate rebuff of the pastoral sanitized language of the fantasy classics of yesteryear. Lynch, however, manages to pull it off. Mostly this is because the language fits so well with the characters and the setting. This is just the way I’d expect Locke Lamora and a band of thieves to talk. A healthy dose of humor doesn’t hurt either.

Part of the reason, I think, that the language didn’t bother me is that Michael Page does a fantastic job of narrating the audio version. For some reason, I wasn’t expecting a British narrator, but now I can’t imagine the story told by any other voice. Page is equal to the task of capturing the broad scope of Lynch’s world and characters.

Any reader of fantasy will probably find much to enjoy in The Lies of Locke Lamora, and fans of the heist genre of books or films will also likely enjoy experiencing that form transposed on a fantasy medieval setting.

Swords in the Mist
By Fritz Leiber; Read by Jonathan Davis
Audible Download – 8 hours [UNABRIDGED]
Publisher: Audible Frontiers
Published: 2008
Print: 224 Pages, Dark Horse

Although it’s a collection, Swords in the Mist nevertheless presents a very loose story arc involving its two protagonists, Fafhrd the barbarian and Gray Mouser the rogue. Additionally, there’s a thematic connection in that several of the stories present the two main characters in conflict with one another.

The book opens on a high point. “The Cloud of Hate” is a short and sweet action story that showcases the visceral power of Leiber’s writing and the strength of the swords-and-sorcery genre.

“Lean Times in Lankhmar” finds the two heroes on the outs with one another for unexplained reasons, though several hypotheses are put forth. The most humorous of these is that the two quarrelled over the spelling of Fafhrd’s name, the name’s owner arguing for its original spelling while the Gray Mouser suggesting a simplification to “Faferd”. Whatever the cause, both find themselves in the service to various figures in Lankhmar’s seedy convoluted religious infrastructure. These scenes showcase Leiber’s capacity for satire as he lambasts organized religions and their avarice.

The next few stories in the collection find the two antiheroes together again sailing the inner sea. Like a fizzy beverage, these stories are fun and refreshing but don’t really leave a lasting impression.

The book’s closing novella, Adept’s Gambit, is unique in that it brings Fafhrd and the Gray Mouser into our own world, a century or so after the death of Alexander the Great. The preceding vignette, “The Wrong Fork”, explains that Fafhrd and the Gray Mouser made a wrong turn while journeying through the labyrinthine home of Fafhrd’s patron warlock, Ningauble of the Seven Eyes, and end up in Gaia, in which their home world of Nehwon becomes only a dream. This framework was not present in Leiber’s original 1947 novella.

On Earth, they do eventually meet with Ningauble, who sends them on a series of quests with the ultimate aim of curing their romantic woes. The novella reads like a “Who’s Who” of ancient Near-East mythology, with allusions to Babylon, Socrates, Zoroaster, and Alexandria to name only a few. The tale again finds Fafhrd and the Gray Mouser at odds with each other, this time over a love interest. Early on, the novella reads like one of Chaucer’s comedic tales, with just a touch of Lovecraftian creepiness. The story holds immense promise, but sadly bogs down in exposition, bringing the novella, and the book, to a less-than-perfect close.

In some ways, Leiber’s writing is showing its age. His language is often stilted, and occasionally he uses adverbs like “horrifiedly” and “whistlingly” that would make even the most open-minded writing instructor wince. These deficits are offset, however, by a plethora of charm. Leiber’s attention to detail and his subtle sense of irony bring the city of Lankhmar, the wider world of Nehwon, and even our own ancient past, alive in vibrant color.

All seven Fafhrd and the Gray Moser audiobooks published by Audible Frontiers feature charming, insightful introductions by Neil Gaiman and stellar performances by Jonathan Davis, who adds a new dimension to the titular characters.

These stories are meant to stand alone, and readers could probably begin their Leiber experience with Swords in the Mist without feeling left behind. However, the editors of these collections were careful to place the stories in a rough sequence, so it’s probably best to begin with Swords Against Deviltry. Fans of Robert E. Howard’s Conan stories will enjoy Leiber’s work, and those unfamiliar with swords-and-sorcery will find Leiber an excellent introduction.

Harry Potter and the Half Blood Prince

Due to the round robin of directors tapped for the Harry Potter film series, the quality of the movies thus far has varied wildly, from the solid first and second films to the highly inventive Prisoner of Azkaban to the unpolished Goblet of Fire. Director David Yates took the helm for Order of the Phoenix, and will see J. K. Rowling’s series through to its cinematic conclusion. While I enjoyed Order of the Phoenix, I wasn’t entirely convinced that the franchise was in good hands. After viewing Harry Potter and the Half Blood Prince, however, my doubts are assuaged. David Yates has transformed the sixth installment of the series into an emotional and rousing film.

Purists beware. Harry Potter and the Half Blood Prince takes some liberties with the source material. Entirely absent are the Dursleys, Harry’s abusive biological family, and Professor Sibyl Trelawney, who plays a small but pivotal role in the novel. Furthermore, several scenes are either inserted or amended. For instance, when Harry is left bloodied, petrified, and concealed on the Hogwarts Express, it isn’t the shapeshifter Tonks who finds him, as in the novel, but the quirky, enigmatic Ravenclaw student Luna Lovegood. For some, I’m sure these omissions, additions, and amendments are cause for concern. The net result, though, is that the film maintains a strong thematic unity and solid pacing.

The sixth novel was marked by romantic developments in the lives of our young heroes. While in these book these scenes seemed to drag on for pages, the medium of film was able to address them much more succinctly. Thus the chapter “Hermione’s Helping Hand”, whose only purpose in the book is to show Hermione surreptitiously helping Ron retain his position as Gryffindor keeper, is here handled in a single, tight scene that lasts only a minute or two. The romantic story arcs are still present, but they don’t dominate the story to the extent they do in the book.

There are no real stand-out performances in Harry Potter and the Half Blood Prince, but the acting is solid and enjoyable throughout. Michael Gambon finally comes into his own as Dumbledore, though I still don’t feel he can compete with the late Richard Harris’s portrayal of the old, odd wizard. Alan Rickman’s Snape is as oily smooth as ever, and the trio has aged gracefully. Newcomer Jim Broadbent embodies the soul of the ambitious, social-butterfly potions professor Horace Slughorn, though the absence of walrus mustaches disturbed me greatly. Tom Felton’s Draco Malfoy also becomes far more emotionally textured than he has ever been before.

The film isn’t perfect. While most of the film’s omissions are forgivable and perhaps even laudatory, a few plot holes are left unaddressed. One key pensieve flashback scene from the novel, in which we learn of Voldemort’s parentage, is missing from the film, and this information seems to me of great thematic importance. Hopefully director Yates has simply shuffled the scene into the forthcoming two-part adaptation of Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows. The ending, while emotional, still felt a bit rushed, and the climactic battle that concludes the book is all but absent.

As I sit here now, I can probably think of many other little quibbles with various aspects of the film. But sitting in the theatre, I was enthralled by the film from start to finish. The magic and mystery of Harry Potter is still very much alive.

In a letter to Richard Woodhouse on 27 October 1818, Keats wrote:

What shocks the virtuous philosopher, delights the camelion [sic] Poet. It does no harm from its relish of the dark side of things any more than from its taste for the bright one; because they both end in speculation. A Poet is the most unpoetical of any thing in existence; because he has no Identity-he is continually in forming–and filling some other Body–the Sun, the Moon, the Sea, and Men and Women who are creatures of impulse are poetical and have about them an unchangeable attribute-the poet has none; no identity-he is certainly the most unpoetical of all God’s Creatures.

The letter is short, and worth reading in full. Keats makes several observations here which, almost two centuries later, are still highly pertinent to writing in general, and to the writing of speculative fiction in particular.

The above passage parallels the Buddhist concept of anattā, loosely translated as “not self.” The concept, as its translation suggests, denies the existence of a permanent self as set apart from the world. Along with anicca, the idea of impermanence, and dukkha, the presence of unhappiness or suffering, anattā is one of the central precepts of Buddhist thought. I do not know whether Keats had any exposure to Buddhist texts, but a quick Google search reveals that I’m by no means the first to point out such a connection.

To some extent, Keats’s assertion flies in the face of the dictum of modern writing teachers to “write what you know.” This rule reflects an underlying that the self, the writer’s outlook, knowledge, and experience, forms the basis of good, solid writing. Even teachers like Julia Cameron and Natalie Goldberg who embrace a more “universal” approach to writing sometimes unintentionally fall back into this comfort zone. But “writing what you know” precludes the joy of discovery, the “gusto” for embracing the new that Keats hints at in his letter.

Of course, speculative fiction presents its own set of challenges to the “write what you know” axiom. Very few of us, I’ll wager, have encountered ice dragons or interstellar warp drives during the course of our everyday experience. In the absence of purely empirical knowledge, the writer of SF must fall back on, yes, “speculation.” Imagination comprises a large part of the speculative process, but it isn’t the whole story. Good writers not only imagine their creations into being, but spend some time inhabiting them. of “filling some other body,” as Keats put it.

I’m not trying to completely discount the “write what you know” premise; it serves as an excellent starting point, and not without reason do writers of urban fantasy set their tales in cities with which they’re familiar. I’m merely suggesting that writers of speculative fiction, and I’d argue writers of other genres as well, succeed when they push their boundaries beyond the known, get out of their own heads, and experience the world–both real and imagined, seen and unseen–from an objective universal perspective.

Julia Cameron, author of The Artist’s Way, would answer in the affirmative. One of the first concepts she introduces in her book is that of the “shadow artist.”

Too intimidated to become artists themselves, very often too low in self-worth to even recognize that they have an artistic dream, these people become shadow artists instead. Artists themselves but ignorant of their true identity, shadow artists are to be found shadowing declared artists . . . Shadow artists often chose shadow careers–those close to the desired art, even parallel to it, but not the art itself (Julia Cameron, The Complete Artist’s Way, pp. 42-3).

For me, this description holds a lot of painful truth. For a long time, I’ve wanted–or at least claimed I’ve wanted–to write fantasy novels, yet I haven’t penned much beyond a couple short stories and a few tentative chapters. Yet I’ve poured out tens of thousands of words on this and other blogs, extolling the virtues of other writers, lambasting the flaws of others, and expounding upon nearly every facet of the writer’s craft. Even as I write this, I can’t help feeling that I’m turning away from my own creative process. I can’t help but wonder if this is true for other bloggers as well. The writing on many review blogs I frequent is sprightly, inventive, and readable, and I find myself imagining what marvels would spring forth if these creative minds turned their hand to fiction.

On the other hand, Cameron’s writing shows a bias against critics which must be taken into account. It’s my hope that as a reviewer I play a valuable role in facilitating discussions among readers, and even between readers and the authors themselves, and I derive real pleasure as a part of that community. And even review writing, even academic writing, demands creativity of its own sort. Rhetoric may be a neglected art, but it certainly isn’t dead.

The two aren’t necessarily mutually exclusive, either. Many editors and agents go write their own novels while holding on to their current posts. Among the blogging community, I know Aidan over at A Dribble of Ink has written several short stories and, last I heard, was nearing completion of his first novel.

For me, I suppose the ultimate litmus test comes down to whether I feel fulfilled. Ever the Libra equivocator, I’m afraid my best answer at this point is that it depends on which day you ask me.

Lest I put words into the mouths–or fingers–of other readers and reviewers, I’m curious to know how you feel about the supposed existence of “shadow artists.” Feel free to comment below.

We’ll be reading Spin by Robert Charles Wilson, winner of the 2006 Hugo Award for best novel. Here’s the blurb.

One night when he was 10, Tyler stood in his backyard and watched the stars go out. They flared into brilliance, then disappeared, replaced by an empty black barrier. He and his best friends, Jason and Diane Lawton, had seen what became known as the Big Blackout. It would shape their lives.

The “sun” is now a featureless disk – a heat source, rather than an astronomical object. The moon is gone, but tides remain. The world’s artificial satellites have fallen out of orbit. Eventually, space probes reveal that the barrier is artificial, generated by huge alien artifacts. Time passes faster outside the barrier – more than a hundred million years per day on Earth. At this rate, the death of the sun is only about forty years away.

Jason, now a promising young scientist, devotes his life to working against this slow-moving apocalypse. Diane throws herself into hedonism, marrying a sinister cult leader who’s forged a religion out of the fears of the masses.

Earth sends terraforming machines, then humans, to Mars…and immediately an emissary returns with thousands of stories about the settling of Mars. Then an identical barrier appears around Mars.

Life on Earth is about to get much, much stranger.

This isn’t really my genre, but I have to admit the book sounds very cool! I’m excited.

The book is readily available from Amazon, Audible, and through the Kindle Store.

You’ve got until Friday June 26 to read the book, at which point we’ll discuss the book on Twitter using the hashtag #sfbookclub. The discussion is open-ended in theory, but in practice will probably run through the weekend, wrapping up on Monday, June 29. This will give everyone a chance to participate whether they tend to tweet from work or home.

See the official #sfbookclub page for more details.

As a taste of things to come, here’s a list of what I’m reading, watching, and otherwise devouring.

The Last Light of the Sun
By Guy Gavriel Kay; Read by Holter Graham
Audible Download –  17 hours 40 mins [UNABRIDGED]
Publisher: Penguin Audiobooks
Published: 2009

While studying Classics and early Medieval history, I discovered Kay’s Sarantine Mosaic, an alternate history set in a world much like our own, with names of people and places changed to protect the innocent, and more importantly to allow the author to play around with the world without fearing the condemnation of historical purists. He’s written many novels set in this same pseudo-historical world, the latest of which is Last Light of the Sun, which explores the complex interrelations of Saxons, Vikings, and Welsh in ninth-century England. I’m nearly through the book, and while it plods along at times, it’s a worthy addition to Kay’s catalogue. It’s of special interest to me since I recently completed a Masters degree analyzing magical practices in the Scandinavian world.

The Strain
By Guillermo del Toro and Chuck Hogan; Read by Ron Perlman
Audible Download – 13 hours 36 mins [UNABRIDGED]
Publisher: Harper Audio
Published: 2009

I’ve taken an interest in Guillermo del Toro ever since I learned he’d be directing the film adaptation of The Hobbit, so I was curious how his creative genius would translate to the written page. Two-thirds through The Strain, his biologically-grounded vampire thriller which serves as book one of The Strain Trilogy, I’m entertained but underwhelmed. It’s hard to know whether to lay the blame at the feet of del Toro or his co-author Chuck Hogan, who, while undoubtedly the better writer in a technical sense, probably lacks the former’s sensitivity to archetypal and mythological themes.

True Blood
Season One
Created by Alan Ball
Starring Anna Paquin, Stephen Moyer, Sam Trammell

Based on Charlaine Harris’s ever-evolving Sookie Stackhouse Southern Vampire Mysteries, the show tells the story of Sookie Stackhouse, a bartender in the fictional town of Bon Temps, Louisiana, with the ability to read minds. Far from an asset, her gift actually alienates her from the other townsfolk, so her quick mind and fiery personality is often draped under a veil of distant reserve. As far as I’m concerned, Sookie herself, portrayed brilliantly by Anna Paquin, is the show’s main draw.

Dark Lord
By Ed Greenwood; Read by Christopher Lane
11 CDs – 13 hours 30 mins [UNABRIDGED]
Publisher: Brilliance Audio
Published: 2007

I’m not familiar with Ed Greenwood, but evidently he’s a prominent figure in the world of RPGs who’s now turned his attention to creating his own fictional universe. His background in gaming reveals itself in Dark Lord, book one of the Falconfar Saga, in the formulaic plot and characters. I’ve been reading this book for weeks and haven’t been able to bring myself to finish it–always a bad sign. Worse still, I’ve got the second book in the series sitting on my shelf for review when I finish this one. But I’m always willing to be surprised.

Avatar The Last Airbender
Season One

On the surface, it’s yet another Nickelodeon cartoon for kids. Yet it’s also an intriguing fantasy incorporating elements from Eastern mythology. The world of Avatar once enjoyed a balance among the four elements, until the uppity Fire Nation exerted its dominance. Only the mythical Avatar can restore peace and balance to the world. Could the young Ang, blessed with the power of airbending and trapped in an iceberg for over a century, really be the one? The show’s title certainly suggests so. I’ve only watched one episode, but I’m looking forward to more. Director M. Night Shyamalan, of Sixth Sense fame, is also heading up a live-action adaptation.

I think it’s also about time to close polls on the second Twitter book club.

So anyhow, that’s what I’m up to, and what you can expect coming down the pike.

I’m not sure this is so. Recently I’ve been rereading Lord of the Rings, as I do once or twice a year like clockwork. Gandalf’s magic, and the magic practiced by the book’s other Powers, is never fully explained. It’s just there. I thinks this works to Tolkien’s benefit in a couple of ways. First, mystery comprises one of the epic’s major themes. In this respect Tolkien captures the essence of John Keats’s negative capability.

I had not a dispute but a disquisition, with Dilke on various subjects; several things dove-tailed in my mind, and at once it struck me what quality went to form a Man of Achievement, especially in Literature, and which Shakespeare possessed so enormously – I mean Negative Capability, that is, when a man is capable of being in uncertainties, mysteries, doubts, without any irritable reaching after fact and reason-Coleridge, for instance, would let go by a fine isolated verisimilitude caught from the Penetralium of mystery, from being incapable of remaining content with half-knowledge. This pursued through volumes would perhaps take us no further than this, that with a great poet the sense of Beauty overcomes every other consideration, or rather obliterates all consideration.

The countless allusions and references to people, places, and events in Middle Earth’s past which are never explained within the text force the reader to remain in a constant, low-level state of uncertainty. A prime example of this is the idiomatic reference when Aragorn says of Gandalf, “He is surer of finding the way home in a blind night than the cats of Queen Berúthiel.” Though Tolkien expounds on this figure elsewhere, the reader of Lord of the Rings never learns who she is, and hence she becomes part of the richness and depth of Tolkien’s world. In a similar way, Gandalf’s magic suggests whole realms of unexplored lore.

Secondly, though Gandalf’s magic is never fully explained, it is clearly finite. In perhaps the closest Tolkien comes to developing the workings of the wizard’s craft, Gandalf grumbles, while the Fellowship toils through the Pass of Caradhras, that “I cannot burn snow.” Tolkien rarely resorts to employing Gandalf’s magic as a deus ex machina device.

Having said that, I’ve also enjoyed fantasy authors who systematically approach magic in their novels. I found David Eddings’s construction of “the Will and the Word” to be one of the more enjoyable aspects of his Belgariad series, and of course the symbolic, sympathetic magic of the Harry Potter series, recalling Plato’s definition of forms and the “as above, so below” approach lends itself to hours of erudite exploration, even though the books themselves are at times juvenile.

I suppose my conclusion is that the extent to which a writer chooses to develop or not to develop a world’s magic system largely depends on the novel’s style and tone. In whimsical fantasy like Tolkien’s Lord of the Rings and Patricia A. McKillip’s Od Magic, to over-analyze the magic would actually detract from the world rather than add to it. But in other fantasy sub-genres, which in extreme cases might almost be called “science fantasy,” a sound logical foundation for the book’s magical workings are mandatory. The crime novel style of Jim Butcher’s Dresden Files demands that wizard Harry Dresden employ his powers of deduction in reasoning out the magical mechanics behind supernatural misdeeds.

But enough from me. I’m curious to know what you think. Discuss in the comments.