Myth vs History: An approach to the worldbuilding in fantasy literature
Foto de Nick Morrison en Unsplash
In the round of links (in Spanish) I posted last Sunday, I linked to an entry that discussed the possibility of basing our fantasy world on either a myth or legend, or on historical events. After a comment by Dario Salud Leona , I thought this was a good starting point for theorizing about fantasy worlds. I don’t know if it’s gotten too long, but his comment gave me a lot to think about. I hope you enjoy it and that it’s helpful to anyone who reads it.
1. Key Concepts:
The first thing is to distinguish between myth, legend, and history, because defining their meanings will allow us to better understand what we intend to achieve by building our world.
Beginning with myth, the Encyclopedia Britannica says:
a symbolic narrative, usually of unknown origin and at least partly traditional, that ostensibly relates actual events and that is especially associated with religious belief. It is distinguished from symbolic behavior (cult, ritual) and symbolic places or objects (temples, icons). Myths are specific accounts of gods or superhuman beings involved in extraordinary events or circumstances in a time that is unspecified but which is understood as existing apart from ordinary human experience. The term mythology denotes both the study of myth and the body of myths belonging to a particular religious tradition.
Legend on the other hand is…
traditional story or group of stories told about a particular person or place. Formerly the term legend meant a tale about a saint. Legends resemble folktales in content; they may include supernatural beings, elements of mythology, or explanations of natural phenomena, but they are associated with a particular locality or person and are told as a matter of history.
Lastly, History is a…
discipline that studies the chronological record of events, usually attempting, on the basis of a critical examination of source materials, to explain events.
(…)
History, as a discipline, is traditionally centred on peoples, cultures, countries, and regions, but everything has a history that can be described and studied.
As we can see, while the myth is almost a cosmic example of something, the personification of an idea that transcends the protagonists who participate in it, the legend is something more concrete: it simply tells the story of a being that either did not exist or did not perform the deeds described in it or performed them in a less heroic or exemplary way. A very good example is King Arthur:
Other scholars claim that Arthur was fictional from the beginning; citing a lack of any mention of him in the earliest sources from any region. If a king as great as Arthur really lived, the argument goes, why is he not mentioned in any historical records of his supposed time? This question was asked from a fairly early point in the development of the legends which begin with the work History of the Kings of Britain by Geoffrey of Monmouth (c. 1100 - c. 1155 CE) published in 1136 CE. Although Arthur was referenced in works before Geoffrey, no one had written a comprehensive account of his reign and accomplishments prior to History of the Kings of Britain which claimed Arthur was a great king who not only ruled Britain but conquered most of Europe and defeated Rome. Geoffrey’s book was a bestseller, but there were many who doubted its historical value. The English monk Ranulf Higden (c. 1280-1364 CE) expresses this thought in a section of his Polychronicon (c. 1327 CE):
Many men wonder about this Arthur, whom Geoffrey extols so much singly, how the things that are said of him could be true, for, as Geoffrey repeats, he conquered thirty realms. If he subdued the king of France to him, and did slay Lucius the Procurator of Rome, Italy, then it is astonishing that the chronicles of Rome, of France, and of the Saxons should not have spoken of so noble a prince in their stories, which mentioned little things about men of low degree. (Brengle, 11)
Higden’s point is still valid today.
Although at first it may have been considered a legend (or, at least, a very colorful narrative of events that may not have actually happened as they are told to us), today it may have evolved into the concept of myth, signifying good governance in Camelot, justice, and temperance.
As we can see, then, History recounts real events that did indeed occur, although each historian may understand or interpret them differently. But what cannot be done is to consider Emperor Augustus a Mughal Hindu, Empress Wu of China an Aztec, or the printing press invented by the Egyptians. This would not only falsify history but also lead to incorrect conclusions and, consequently, incorrect decisions based on them.
In conclusion, Legend, Myth, and History are not contradictory, but it is clear that History is based on real events, while the first two do not necessarily have to be.
2. Essential Conditions (conditio sine qua non) of the Story/Narrative, Whatever its Foundation, in Fantasy Literature:
Having made this brief introduction, it is necessary to emphasize that each author can use whichever conditions they prefer or mix them—as we will see below—but the resulting story/narrative must meet two fundamental requirements:
a) Coherence: we cannot put a jet plane in Middle-earth, because it would not be coherent. However, seemingly contradictory world elements can be combined, provided that their existence is clearly explained. For example, this is what happens in steampunk stories. Supernatural elements can also be included in detective work, resulting in True Detective, but this must be done in a way that the result is not ridiculous, stupid, irrelevant, or nonsensical. Basically, the goal is to ensure that the reader does not see as contradictory or irrational a world where an extraterrestrial being that flies (Superman), where a stepmother can become an old witch and turn tasty apples into lethal weapons (Snow White), or where there is a child so small that, once grown up, a thumb is bigger than him (Tom Thumb).
The reader will use their imagination, but also their logic and intelligence, and both must be respected: obviously, an epic story (Memory, Sorrow, and Thorn by Tad Williams) will not be the same as a hilarious one (Discworld by Terry Pratchett) or an urban one (Harry Potter). But in all of them, coherence will be necessary to avoid confusing or frustrating the reader.
b) The order of the elements: every set of elements follows a process, a path, a development (Lat. iter). In school, we were taught that living beings are born, grow, reproduce (those that do), and die, but they cannot die and then be reborn. If we want to write a story like that (Benjamin Button), we must examine the character’s contradictions, the problems he faces for having violated the natural order, the effect this has on the “real” world in which he lives (his parents, for example), etc.
Exactly the same happens with political changes in an imaginary world: a kingdom disappears, swept away by a new power, for specific reasons, and this brings consequences that must be explained. In any world, even an imaginary one, things happen in a certain order, and events or beings that deviate from that natural order (for example, a shape-shifting human, a talking cat, or a vegetarian shark—yes, Bruce, I’m looking at you) must be explained so that the reader doesn’t think the story makes no sense.
Thus, we can base our character on a Hittite god living in Brasília or a monster from Guinea roaming Paris, but for it to be believable, it must meet the two previous requirements. The Hittite god must behave as he would, according to the mythology he belongs to, in a city like Brasília today (which includes avenues, buildings, offices, supermarkets, dangerous neighborhoods, social inequalities, etc.): there will be moments of joy, anger, misunderstanding, and so on. And the monster from Guinea will likely not understand why Paris has traditionally been considered the “City of Light” or the “City of Love,” which can lead to very funny or terrible scenes, depending on the story’s mood or atmosphere.
However, as we have seen, myths and legends draw from historical events: the legend of the Seven Princes of Lara mentions a series of historical figures who certainly lived, such as Almanzor. In the monastery of San Millán de Suso, there are seven sarcophagi believed to be those of the seven princes mentioned. Can we see how history has turned into legend? We’ve gone from a specific individual (Almanzor) to believing that seven sarcophagi belonging to unknown people actually contain the remains of the unfortunate princes of the legend.
This technique of blending reality and fiction in an imaginary world is not new to the 20th century; it has been practiced throughout history. And not only in legends, but also in epic poems (such as the Cantar de Mio Cid in Spain or the Chanson de Roland in France) or in chivalric romances, with literary phenomena like Amadís de Gaula, a true bestseller of the late Middle Ages, whose influence we still feel today. Written by Garcí Rodríguez (not Ordóñez) de Montalvo (15th-16th centuries), who was governor of Medina del Campo during the reign of the Catholic Monarchs, it has had a fundamental influence on modern fantasy literature.
I’m also leaving you this link (in Spanish), which is well worth reading in its entirety. In fact, we owe the writing of Don Quixote to Amadís, because Cervantes specifically wrote the adventures of the knight who lived in a place in La Mancha he didn’t want to remember, precisely to ridicule this type of novel: they weren’t realistic, and there was a danger that people wouldn’t distinguish between reality and fiction, as happens to Don Quixote on so many occasions, although the most famous example is the scene with the windmills. As this last link tells us:
The main theme is the love of Amadís and Oriana, who, protected by the fairy Urganda, manage to marry after several adventures; and intertwined with Amadís’s adventures are those of Alidoro, Oriana’s brother, who is in love with Miranda, the protagonist’s sister, and of the other pair of lovers, Floridante and Filidora. All the knights are full of high virtues, always faithful to their ladies. Only Galahor, with his fickle love affairs, is an exception, but it seems a deliberate one, intended to better highlight the exaltation of honest love that Tasso sought to achieve in his poem. Maintaining the intellectual nature of the work, abstractions and personifications abound, but they fail to enliven the poem. Neither do the fantastical beings (fairies, dwarves, giants), nor the accumulation of wonders.
The entirely imaginary characters live in an imaginary Europe, straddling Brittany, Scotland, and England, linked to King Arthur and the Knights of the Round Table. As we see, they are set in locations considered “exotic” for the time and place of its creation (late 15th century Castille), which again distinguishes this story from Don Quixote, which is set in La Mancha, and whose beloved Dulcinea lives in a specific town, El Toboso, which can still be visited today. In Amadís, however, the characters are valiant knights or virtuous ladies, but all embody the Platonic ideal of the early Spanish Renaissance, that live in places that really don’t exist and have never existed, as they are “modified” versions of the real world. The resemblance to modern epic fantasy literature is evident.
Or, to put it another way: the author of Amadís took a series of knights and ladies who embody an ideal (based on real knights and ladies who, in real life, wouldn’t have been so perfect) and placed them in an imaginary realm where their exploits take place (also based on others that the author had likely heard about). Does this mean that in 15th-century Spain there were fairies, giants, monsters, etc.? Obviously not. But we could say that this story in particular is a kind of “urban or modern fantasy” for the time, which helped to extol the qualities of human beings that were considered most important then (honor, justice, the defense of the vulnerable, love, etc.). Real figures are used as a starting point to transcend that specific moment and place them in a “setting” that has nothing to do with reality, even though it may be inspired by it.
This literary significance extended throughout Europe, having several French, English and even German “fanfiction” stories based on Amadís. Even C.S. Lewis considered this as “among his “own favourite reading” and that he had an “early & lasting love of Oriana.” Not surprisingly, it was 16th century women the more interested in these stories of chivalry, bravery, real love, and great deeds. No reasonable woman, wants a boring, coward and stupid husband. Women who married abroad (into Italian, French or Portuguese noblemen) introduced other people to Amadís and were the best “literary agents” for his stories. The mix between Arthurian legends and Spanish past and stories was very appealing to these cultivated early 16th century women.
Something similar occurs with 19th-century fairy tales: Perrault or the Brothers Grimm, whose stories have been “distorted” by certain entities to make them much more “gentle,” had that same educational intention (exemplary stories) for the reader. In Spain, we can cite the Fables of Samaniego and those of Iriarte, who clashed for years in the 18th century in a manner similar to that of Góngora and Quevedo did in the Golden Century (17th century), for supremacy in this literary genre. In any case, they all had the same purpose: they tried to educate children in such a way that, as Chesterton said:
The aim was for children, faced with extreme situations (for example, the children in Hansel and Gretel), to learn that it was possible to defeat the wicked witch and, therefore, for happiness to return to their lives. But even in this, the personal experiences of the Brothers Grimm, for example, influenced them: having been badly mistreated by their stepmother, they turned women who fit that description into perpetual villains (Snow White, Cinderella, etc.).
And here we arrive at the heart of the matter: what none of them did was give the reader a discourse on morality, an essayistic determination of optimal forms of behavior, or a philosophical disquisition on the immortality of the crab’s soul. The approach was to tell a story and then, at most, add a moral, an idea whose earliest examples can be found in the parables of the Gospels: Christ tells the story of the Good Samaritan to illustrate a proper behavior, but he doesn’t insult or criticize those who didn’t behave as the protagonist did. Simply put, from the actions of both sides, one can infer that one behaved correctly, while others did not. In no case is the reader considered mentally deficient: they will draw their own conclusions from what they read, without the author having to guide them.
Tolkien never explicitly states, “Children/People, be like Samwise Gamgee.” Instead, he places this character in a series of situations that, by the end of the story, make it easier to say, rather than “I want to have a friend like Sam,” to say “I want to be like Sam” in relation to my own friends.
3. Conclusion: Tolkien vs. Martin and the practical application of the difference between myth/legend and history.
Personally, I believe that, from a literary perspective, this is the fundamental difference between Tolkien and Martin. Tolkien draws from the entire Nordic and Anglo-Saxon tradition of fireside tales, which is essentially the same society from which the Brothers Grimm’s fairy tales originated, albeit a century apart. The ethical, philosophical, and theological dimensions of Tolkien’s work are unparalleled in any other modern fantasy work. And this isn’t because I particularly like him, but because his understanding of Middle-earth was so important and profound that he even considered the contemporary world to be the Seventh Age, a time when magic no longer exists and is not remembered—and that’s why, theoretically, we wouldn’t remember the Age of the Lamps, although that’s better, because that way we don’t remember Ungoliant, undoubtedly one of the most terrifying characters in world literature, as the “No Light”—:
In a 1958 letter, Tolkien speculated that the Ages continued to flow ever more rapidly, placing the contemporary world at the end of the Sixth or in the Seventh Age, with the fall of Sauron dating back some 6,000 years.
Tolkien hated allegory and himself rejected the idea that Middle-earth was a stand-in for Europe during the World Wars: his idea was to construct a mythology unique to England, a mythology that had been lost due to various invasions, foreign influences, and the passage of time. However, this does not mean that there are no elements clearly inspired by the author’s own experience: for example, Frodo’s symptoms, especially from the middle of The Two Towers onward, are very similar to the well-known post-traumatic stress disorder that Tolkien had experienced in the World War, not only personally, but also in other individuals with whom he fought, many of whom never returned home.
In this video, Tolkien states explicitly that, when it comes to world-building, he “doesn’t believe there’s a single recipe for any given moment.” In other words, it’s the author who must choose how and in what way to construct that world so that their readers perceive it as vividly as the author himself remembers it. I draw attention to his statement that humans can only “sub-create,” not create, and its connection to the very concept of Melkor-Morgoth in The Silmarillion.
Martin has a different, much more “modern” view of society and human behavior: power, sex, and money control people, and the good guys usually die because they’re basically fools, or even more foolish than those who know how to wield them… although these latter ones eventually meet their demise too (Lord Stark and Littlefinger, or Meñique in Spanish, are good examples). Does that negate his literary mastery? No, I may find Stendhal’s Le Rouge et le Noir magnificent, but also incredibly tedious: I read it in French many years ago and wouldn’t read it again, something I have done, for example, with War and Peace (I don’t know Russian, so I’ve always read it in Spanish).
And I say “modern” because every empire of Antiquity was based on these same premises. I recommend everyone read a commendable book about a figure unknown in the West, Empress Wu, about the Chinese Empress Wu Zetian (it’s not very long) – available here in English. Then you can tell me what this lady has to envy about Cersei Lannister, who I think was much less evil (and she’s hardly an example...) than her, because the former was real and the latter “only” came from the pen of an eminent writer.
Therefore, Tolkien’s genius lies in his ability to adapt such diverse elements as his Catholicism, his disdain for progress at the expense of nature, humanity’s anxiety about mortality and the finiteness of life, post-traumatic stress disorder, and the idea that Evil sometimes only needs deception to triumph (Annatar, the Lord of Wishes), into an imaginary fantasy world. He does this by weaving a story that blends the Finnish Kalevala, ancient Anglo-Saxon legends, and his own ideas about government (a mixture of anarchy and Catholic good governance), populating it with a host of characters not found in history.
Martin’s approach is to take a series of real events (primarily the English Wars of the Roses, between the supporters of the Tudors and the Lancasters (Lannisters?), with episodes as terrible as the Princes in the Tower) and place them in an imaginary world (Westeros). It’s very possible that the story is never finished, because he’s killed off more characters than necessary and already resorted to resurrecting a character with Jon Snow. Repeating that would be distasteful. Of course, in the war in question there was no Red Witch (Melisandre) and no one was resurrected, but that’s precisely what makes Martin’s story not historical but fantastical.
So, what’s the best solution? There isn’t one, in theory, but in practice, each writer can decide what they want to say and how, and then seek inspiration wherever it suits them best. There are as many mythologies as there are civilizations and even kingdoms: Hittites, Babylonians, Egyptians, Persians, Indians, Chinese, Koreans, Japanese, Incas, Aztecs, Anglo-Saxons, Celts, Iberians, Gauls, Romans, Etruscans, etc., all had (or have) their myths, and any of them can serve as inspiration (please, don’t copy; be better than the artificial intelligence that you’re a person, use “the little gray cells” that Poirot talked about) for your story.
Whatever you choose, write it and do it as best you can, guiding the reader to see what you have in mind, without treating them like complete idiots and respecting them as the person they are. You don’t have to follow Tolkien or Martin 100%: after all, they were the ones who innovated. Now it’s up to the rest of us, without thinking we’re them, obviously: we may never reach that level, but just begin writing, right?
Special thanks to In Deep Geek and Wizards and Warriors for their Game of Thrones videos, which explained the plot and background to me without me having to read the books. I read The Lord of the Rings in its entirety in English throughout one Christmas holidays (I didn’t sleep much, but I couldn’t help myself), but I couldn’t finish A Song of Ice and Fire Part 1: I was so angry when Lord Stark (the only decent one there is!) “disappears” that I decided to read other books instead.
But their videos on both series are highly recommended (they’re in English): they have tons of them, so you won’t get bored. Their videos on these stories can help you understand the plot, the literary techniques, and how the authors connect the different stories within each world better than many literature courses. By focusing on explaining what happens, without ulterior motives, they highlight the ideas presented in the books even more. They sometimes comment on the differences between these stories and the films or series that have been made about them, highlighting the lore that underlies each one. There are traditions or ideas that may not be clearly revealed in the texts, but which those who study the lore of these stories can uncover.
It’s also important to mention other YouTubers (social media is only bad when it’s misused) who do research and analysis on these topics, which I believe is essential: Sommer’s mythology playlist (Spanish), the Ardamedia channel (Spanish), Tolkien Talk (Portuguese), El aquelarre de Dany (about Harry Potter) (Spanish), Fantasía Literaria (Spanish), etc. I’m leaving out many, but I don’t think this is the place. If you’d like, I can make a list on a separate page, in case anyone wants to check it out or look for something specific of their particular interest.
Also, regarding history, I’ll mention Bellumartis military history (Spanish), La espada de la Vega (about fencing - Spanish), Rose Bennet (Spanish), and the very entertaining El Escocés Gamer channel (Spanish), which focuses mainly on medieval history with a humorous approach.