Judging by the success of Game of Thrones, epic fantasy has never been more popular. As a writer in the genre myself, that can only be a good thing. I like reading stories with high stakes, a panoramic scale and intricate worldbuilding, so that’s also the type of book I write. Can there be such a thing as “too” epic, though?
Here are a few pitfalls that I think someone writing in the genre could fall into.
- How long?
Sometimes I hear the criticism that epic fantasies are too long, but no-one could seriously argue that length alone determines whether a book is good or bad. You could have a thousand pages crammed with action and gripping character development, or a hundred pages of your protagonist wondering what to have for breakfast. There is a world of difference between long and ponderous.
But I would argue that there is such a thing as “too” long, and as exhibit “A” I would offer up Peter Jackson’s adaptation of The Hobbit. If you’re not familiar with the films, Jackson has turned what was a pretty short book (in fantasy terms) into three huge, sprawling blockbusters, each about three hours long. Now to be clear, I’ve only seen the first two films, and I enjoyed them. There were some excellent scenes in there, particularly the exchange of riddles between Bilbo and Gollum, and the conversation between Bilbo and Smaug. But nine hours in total? Does anyone remember reading The Hobbit and thinking, “Great book! What it really needs, though, is to be three times as long”?
I like books with multiple threads and characters. I like complex stories that deal with the fates of nations. You can’t squeeze something like that into a short story without it feeling rushed. But by the same token, not every story is big enough to warrant a multi-book epic. And I think the longer a story becomes, the more a writer has to be careful he is always moving the plot forward – and that he doesn’t introduce so many characters and sub-plots that momentum flounders, and the book becomes not so much an epic as a soap opera.
- Bigger is not always better
At the risk of laying the boot into The Hobbit films again (I really did like them!), I would say they also show that big doesn’t necessarily mean better in a fantasy context. In the adaptation, everything has been made bigger. Smaug now owns so much gold, the Lonely Mountain must have been hollowed out to contain it all. And Bard is getting ready to shoot the dragon not with a black arrow but with a black harpoon that must be fired from a ballista. Why?
Consider also the fights. A lot of them were fun to watch, but doesn’t there need to be some sense of believability?
For me, the flight from the goblins in film one had a cartoonish feel to it. The same with the barrel fight in film two, where we get elves battling orcs while jumping on the heads of floating dwarves. Make your fights epic, yes, but don’t ask the viewer (or the reader) to suspend disbelief beyond all credibility.
- Characters who are too powerful.
I’ve already mentioned that epic fantasy stories typically have high stakes. If the world is going to be put at risk, you need an antagonist who can threaten it. And if that antagonist is to be defeated, it stands to reason you need a powerful protagonist too, right? There is a danger lurking here, though. Imagine if Tolkien had replaced Frodo with a character who could stand toe-to-toe with Sauron. That’s going to make for an epic clash at the end, but what sort of challenges could you give that character in the build-up? When a protagonist becomes so powerful that nothing can threaten him, the book loses all narrative tension.
I did some role-playing when I was younger. As Games Master, I constantly had to be alert to the risk of the players becoming overpowered. Everyone wants a sword +5, but when every character is a walking magical emporium, the fun quickly leaches out of the game. “Yes, you’re going to have to fight a dragon.” “What, just one?” It’s the same with role-playing video games like Skyrim. At the start of the game you want the Daedric armour, and a skill of one hundred in alchemy and enchanting. But put it all together, and defeating even the toughest enemy becomes no harder than drawing your sword. Boring.
Sometimes in seeking to provide a challenge to your overpowered characters, you can throw your worldbuilding out of sync. Again, some video RPGs provide a good example. Since the game makers are trying to make every fight a challenge, the bandits end up wearing enchanted armour and wielding magical swords. If they can afford those things, though, why are they hiding in a cave, robbing people?
- Obliteratus everythingus
Closely linked to the overpowered character is the overpowered magic system. If your protagonist is a super-powered mage, she’s a super-powered mage all the time. She can’t just have an off day because you want the approaching
band of orcs to pose a threat. To combat this problem, some books feature characters that have powers they can’t control. Unfortunately, that sometimes means the magic becomes plot-convenient, in the sense that the protagonist can or can’t use the power depending on what best serves the needs of the story.
Akin to this is the magic system that follows no discernible rules. A mage can do whatever he needs to do in order to get out of the hole he happens to find himself in. Magic is magical, yes, but I think it has to follow some sort of scheme. That’s not to say readers need a manual of the paranormal at the outset. But any time a character uses an ability, it should be consistent with the abilities he has shown previously in the story.
Marc Turner is the author of the epic fantasy series The Chronicles of the Exile. Book three, Red Tide, is available now in the UK from Titan and in the US from Tor Books. It features sea dragons, an entire nation of pirates, and a man who can make his dreams manifest in the waking world. You can find Marc at his website and on Twitter (@MarcJTurner).
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All excellent points! I deliberately kept Malessar’s Curse to a duology because I didn’t want to lose the (relatively) tight shape of the plot. I found that one way to keep things manageable was to always ask: what does this mean for the characters? If there’s no personal impact on the characters themselves, then perhaps it’s “too epic”…
Reading your thoughts on epic fantasy, I am quite pleased that I have When the Heavens Fall ready to go in my ebook carousel.