I’ve spent a good deal of time on this blog discussing the possible forms and functions of fantasy, what it does, why we read it, and all the rest. And I’ll continue to do so. After all, I started writing articles here because, for some unfathomable reason, I actually missed writing papers in university. I’m strange that way. In the end though, there’s a major caveat to all my musings on the topic:
Sometimes, people just want to write about dragons. And sometimes, people just want to read about them.
Trying for a “grand theory” behind fantasy is a lost cause, really. Humans are fundamentally irrational. We like some things. We dislike others. We all have different reasons. Sometimes, we don’t have any reasons at all.
My reasons for reading fantasy and writing it have a deep connection to my experience as an immigrant in Canada. I even wrote a piece about it all, once, but the end result was far too personal for me to comfortably put up here (and contained some genuine anger as well, which doesn’t really fit with the atmosphere on One Last Sketch). Suffice to say, the reasons I read and enjoyed fantasy, and came to write primarily fantasy, aren’t the same as the reasons most of my friends do. From various discussions across the net in the past seven months, it’s clear other people have very different connections to imaginative literature that they’re trying to work out as well.
Sure, we might write fantasy to explore history. Or embark on some philosophical experiment. Or try and explore the emptiness of modern life.
But sometimes, we just want to write an adventure in lands unknown. Sometimes, we just want to read a bit of fluff where people smack swords against each other.
Sometimes, we just want to write about dragons.