Supernatural characters in fantasy
Sophie Masson on May 20 2009 | Filed under: CRAFT
The exploration of the Otherworld and its supernatural inhabitants is one of the most exciting aspects of fantasy for many readers and writers. It is a world that is linked inextricably with the human world—sometimes positively, sometimes negatively–but also that has its own rationales, and just like ours, it is populated with a multitude of inhabitants, good and bad and in-between, from orcs and dragons and trolls to fairies, angels, elves, giants, dwarves, unicorns, griffins, demons and lots, lots more.
Like the human characters of fantasy, Otherworlders must feel real, but there are important differences between them and humans to think about, in order to make them convincing.
• Otherworlders are generally immortal. Sometimes, it’s true that Otherworlders can actually be killed, but they never die through disease or accident or biological ageing. Think about what immortality really entails—both good and bad. There is no fear of death, but neither is there the urge to create. If there is no mortality, then there is also no need to have children. Otherworldly emotions may be stunted, or else extreme. Without mortality, there is little to distinguish the passing of time at all—no past, no future, only an unending, continuous present, with restlessness and boredom constant features. There is tragedy in this, and pathos, as well as possibility.
• Otherworlders often act in very ‘fateful’ or pre-determined ways, and know little of free will or choice, which is part of the compensation of being mortal. This aspect of Otherworldly character can be used quite effectively—both in its traditional sense and by reversing it. This reversal is used in many old stories, such as Sleeping Beauty, where the last fairy goes against the fate imposed on Beauty and of her own will, changes the course of destiny. Similarly, in Andersen’s The Little Mermaid, the mermaid rejects her immortality and powers for human love.
• Read as widely as possible on the traditions of the various Otherworlders. For instance, two books I have found very useful in terms of fairies are Katherine Briggs’ wonderful A Dictionary of Fairies ( which I’m sure must have been a key reference book for J.K.Rowling!) and the Reverend Robert Kirk’s amazing 1691 book, The Secret Commonwealth of Elves, Fauns and Fairies. There are many others. Sometimes, it’s not at all easy to find information about specific otherworldly beings–for instance, I had to trawl through hundreds of scattered references, including on the Internet, to build a coherent picture of the Jinns, the Otherworlders of Arabic myth for my four-volume fantasy series, the Chronicles of El Jisal.
• Though the traditional behaviour of Otherworlders can quite easily be subverted by writers, take great care if you are trying to actually subvert the core of the archetypes themselves. Taking a character like ‘wicked, greedy dragon’ and simply turning it into ‘kind, wise dragon’ is not enough. The archetypal image is there for a reason—the dragon hunched over his pile of gold and going out to breathe fire and death on villages is a kind of representation of the greedy, wicked raider/bandit who torches villages, kills people and hoards stolen gold in the hills. Subverting the image also subverts that understanding, and you should have a good reason for doing it, and not just a whimsical one. For instance, you could have the dragon and the villagers uniting against a common enemy—a powerful, oppressive ruler, for instance, or an invading army. Just remember, it’s got to ring true.
Image by black-butt3rfly.





















This was very informative. I just finished reading Immortal Warrior by Lisa Hendrix, about men doubly cursed by living as half beast, half men, and immortality. You are correct that you cannot just make simple changes to their beastly characteristics for the purposes of your story. Each half must influence the other in a powerful way. Thanks
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I like this idea about subverting the core archtype while staying true to it. Tricky, but the best revisionist retellings can pull it off. Lots to mull over here, Sophie, thanks!
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There’s a lot here that I think will be useful for my wip. Thanks so much for the post, Sophie.
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I have to disagree with your take on the effect immortality would have on creativity. As it is, we have time to become truly good at only one or two things in our lives. For most people, one is the job they have to do to put food on the table. If they are dedicated and willing to sacrifice a huge amount of their personal life they can also become good at a creative outlet like music, writing or painting.
Right now, we live a grossly truncated life that only gives us maybe fifty years in which to cram everything we want to do. We have no time to be creative.
Old age and the death it leads to is a universal, genetics based degenerative disease. Take away that literal deadline looming and there would be an explosion of creativity. Right now I am trying to get writing to pay the bills. I would also like to learn to play the guitar but where am I going to find the 10,000 hours I would need to become merely competent at it? How about painting? I would love to become a good animator as well. An architect! Falling Water inspires me no end. That could lead to aerospace engineering, finding solutions to architecture off planet.
There are so many things I want to do but as this wasting disease called ageing takes its toll, I have to decide what ONE thing I will pursue. Well of course I can always give up any hopes of a family to give me time to follow just one more of those muses.
Family. How much better would it be if we had the time to go about that right? As it is, our reproductive lifespan is confined into the time when we should be setting up a stable environment for a family. Biologically, a woman is best able to get pregnant and carry a healthy baby to term when she is between her middle teens to her early thirties. After this, the complications and genetic problems rapidly escalate until only a decade or two later it is impossible for her to conceive at all. A male’s contribution has a wider age range and a slower decay in viability and health… but the limits are still there.
How much better would it be if a person could build a stable life and then, maybe in their fifties or sixties, have a healthy child that they can take care of full time. Take a decade or two off work just to raise that child as best you can.
Or we can stick to the status quo and spend most of our time learning to do a job we don’t care all that much about- as we scramble to pay for a home and a school where some near random group of strangers spend more time with our children than we do. Then we can stress out about taking what little time we have outside of work to strive at a creative outlet… wondering all the while what we are missing in the lives of our spouse and children.
Ageing and dying over less than a hundred years is a creativity crusher and a huge burden on a family. Forget AIDS or cancer, we need to cure ageing. There is no upside to it and if you think that curing this degenerative disease will cost you a crucial goad to creativity… then all you have to do is call up a hit man and hire them to kill you some time in you 75th year. You get the deadline without the failing body and mind that lead up to it.
Bringing it back to the land of fiction writing, it would only make sense to me that the immortal “others” would, after a few hundred years, be accomplished at pretty much anything that catches their fancy. They would paint better, play better, build better families and just be so all around accomplished that they would make the mortal humans look pretty pale and pathetic by comparison. Since most readers empathy would normally gravitate to the humans, we would have to inject fatal character or intellectual flaws into these “others” that would keep them from overshadowing us to that degree.
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Here’s an alternative theory to Clint’s:
It is our very mortality that makes us creative. The darkness and light in our human experience, including the knowledge that we have a finite lifespan, can sharpen and intensify our perceptions of the world around us, motivate us to greater creative effort, and enable us to build a full gamut of feelings into our work.
Immortality, on the other hand, would breed boredom and sameness in creative work. An immortal might indeed develop superb technical skills. His or her work would inevitably lack emotional depth because the same high stakes would not exist. If you cannot die, you do not learn compassion, selfless love, tenderness, fear, empathy, awe … Your creative work may be technically brilliant, but must be without heart, soul or spirit. Of course, if we were all immortal we wouldn’t care about that!
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Interesting theories, Clint. But I must say I agree with Juliet. And all the stories people have ever told about immortal beings certainly bear that out.
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