Fantasy Literature

If we’re not talking about simple brain candy or pleasant escapism, one of the measures of a good book rests in its power to convey multi-layered messages, its ability to communicate on both literal and figurative levels.  Just as James Beane (1997) spoke of high pedagogy, for me to label a book “good,” it must impart high verstehen, high understanding.  Books that challenge the status quo, engender deep thought, make room for a perspective shift, or impart wisdom about human nature satisfy that criterion.  With its rich cultural and psychological insight, Patricia Wrede’s recent fantasy novel Thirteenth Child (Scholastic, 2009) earns such status. 

Like most great fantasy authors, Wrede provides a metaphorical commentary on contemporary society, firmly grounding her story in reality.  For example, at various points in the book, magic takes on a profound metaphoric meaning, a meaning we would miss unless we explore beyond the literal:

            The Society of Progressive Rationalists didn’t hold with magic and

magicians, . . . [believing] that magic was a snare and a crutch, and men

would only realize their full potential if they stopped using it and depended

on their brains and strong arms instead (75).

I’ve heard the same things said of prayer and religious symbols, the amulets and charms that give us hope.  Hope, an irrational but powerful force, can certainly magic us back to mental health and give us the strength to carry on against impossible odds. 

            At another point, magic sounds like a metaphor for technology: “Our ideas and imaginations can soar, if we don’t cripple them by looking to spells to do everything for us” (84).  According to the character Brant Wilson, sometimes manual machinery or methods are more reliable than those with enhanced mechanization.  Similarly, most of us have observed the correlation between dependence on calculators and a decline in rapid, reliable mental computations.

            Later in the text, magic aligns itself with knowledge, education, and talent since magic empowers performance, providing access to the resources required to complete a task.  Allusions to Socrates, Plato, and Pythagoras credit early intellectuals with “contributions to the development of modern magic theory, and the spells and techniques they invented or discovered” (51).  For example, “Pythagoras started number magic” (98), and towards the novel’s end, agriculture science takes on a magical quality as the characters use research methods to conquer the mirror bug and beetle infestation.  With this incident, Wrede also reinforces her view that “natural things change in ways that aren’t natural to them, once people get involved” (228).

            Finally, when Wrede describes three theoretical systems of magic: Avrupan, Aprihikan, and Hijero-Cathayan, she reveals how different world views give rise to various philosophical stances.  One culture may consider the number thirteen unlucky and the number seven lucky, while another may attribute alternate symbolism or interpretation to those same concepts.  Through Miss Ochiba, Wrede explains:

            This is the most important lesson you must learn about magic. . . .

There are many ways of seeing.  Each has an element of truth, but none

is the whole truth.  If you limit yourselves to one way of seeing, one truth,

you will limit your power. . . . To be a good magician, you must see

in many ways.  You must be flexible.  You must be willing to learn from

different sources.  And you must always remember that the truths you see

are incomplete (50).

The explanation easily applies to being a competent thinker or a scholar.  Wisdom depends on the examination of multiple perspectives, on researching different ways of knowing, on accepting that personal understanding and experiences provide only one, limited viewpoint.  Wondering about biases and preferences, Eff Rothmer asks: “How can [we] know [our way, our idea, our belief] is the best, if [we] don’t learn about anything else?” (53).   Without this thorough, balanced approach to knowledge acquisition, our learning is “woefully incomplete,” and while early scholars didn’t have access to later work to improve their understanding, Wrede justifiably considers ignorance inexcusable in anyone with access to a modern education (98).  After all, an alternate opinion isn’t necessarily wrong; it might simply be different.  As we encounter new truths and research different ways of knowing, Wrede reminds us that those truths are always incomplete.  Besides admitting that we can never know all there is to know, we must accept that all incoming data is refracted and discolored by the prism of our own personal understanding and experiences.  These facets reflect a limited viewpoint.  Rather than reject alternate opinions as faulty notions or as anomalies that lie too far out of our frame of reference, Wrede suggests we allow diversity to enhance our knowledge base.  Those with great knowledge often receive social recognition as prophets, seers who look beyond the literal with foresight, a kind of psychic power.

            All of these insights and layers prove this isn’t a book about wands, illusions, sleight of hand, or impossible feats.  Besides, what are imagination, creativity, and intuition—if not magic?  Those forces, which often defy logic, certainly have transformational power, power to change the world.