Villains: without them, there would be no heroes.

But where do villains come from? What causes a person or a being to go down that dark path? And do they realize what they’ve become?

I once read that a villain is the hero of his or her own story. I’m not sure if that is true for every villain. After all, some villains know they are bad and they don’t care. But there are others who think they are the good guys. I then realized that in the broad scope of things, you could break villains down into three categories: the good, the bad, and the ugly. So let’s start with the good villain.

The Good

These are the villains who believe they are saving the world. Or they believe that the end justifies the means.

I’ve been watching Daredevil over the last week and a great example of this type of villain is Wilson Fisk (aka Kingpin). The writers for Daredevil have done an excellent job creating a sympathetic—even likable villain—in Fisk. He wants to save Hell’s Kitchen, the neighborhood he grew up in. And when his back-story is revealed, you understand where he is coming from.

But what Fisk doesn’t seem to realize (but the viewer does) is that he is going about it all wrong. You can’t work with bad guys and expect a good outcome. You can’t murder and manipulate and expect people to be fine with that. As one character pointed out during an episode, Fisk is going to have to choose who he is: dark or light. But he can’t be both.

Another villain who believed he was saving the universe is Jacen Solo. In the Star Wars EU, Jacen Solo is the son of Han and Leia and twin brother of Jaina. As an adult, he begins to have force visions of the future where galactic war breaks out. In order to prevent this, Jacen goes further and further down the dark-side until he becomes a Sith himself. He never recognizes what he is doing—or who he is hurting— in order to save the universe. To him, the end justified the means.

The Bad

However, not every villain sees himself as good. There are those who have been hurt so bad that they don’t care who they hurt back. Or they believe they are better than everyone else. And some just want to see the world burn.

Loki is what I would call an elitist villain. He sees himself above everyone else.

Loki: “I’ve come too far for anything else. I am Loki, of Asgard and I am burdened with glorious purpose…”
Nick Fury: “We have no quarrel with your people.”
Loki: “An ant has no quarrel with a boot.”

(The Avengers, 2012)

Loki gives no thought to the humans of Earth because compared to him, they are nothing—just ants.

My own villain from Heir of Hope—Valin, one of the Shadonae—is also an elitist. A being with the power to twist a person’s mind and reality, he can control anyone he touches. When he was younger he left his people behind to find his way in the world. He discovered quickly that most humans are suspicious of anyone with power. When they found out Valin was different, they tried to kill him. This flamed a hatred inside Valin’s heart toward mankind. That, coupled with his superior abilities, caused Valin to believe he is above humans and there is little reason for them to exist. They are only pests to be eradicated or consumed.

And we all know The Joker from The Dark Knight. He has no delusions that he is a good guy (he has other delusions, but not that one). He thrives on chaos and violence and his only ambition is to smile and watch the world burn.

The Ugly

Lastly, we have those villains who are more disgusting than scary. The best example of this is Jabba the Hutt from Star Wars: Return of the Jedi. I don’t know anyone who is scared of Jabba. However, he is definitely ugly and worthy of this category.

Conclusion

Villains, just like heroes, evolve to become who they are in the story. For some it is a drive to see things changed for the better, but at the cost of lives and even themselves. For other villains, a deep hurt drives them to hurt others. Then there are those who believe they are better than anyone else. And finally those who are rotten to their very core, and may even look like it on the outside.

Villains are a necessary evil (yes, I went there). They give us a glimpse of what could happen if the hero makes the wrong choice. They can even be a warning to us, showing us our own dark potential. Good, bad, or ugly, villains will always be a part of great stories.

So who is your favorite villain? What kind of villain is he or she? In what category would you place him or her?

I’ve heard from any number of pastors that the Greek in which the New Testament was originally written had three words for love: eros, phileo, and agape. In short, the first specifies romantic love, the second brotherly love, and the third Godly love.

I’m not a Greek scholar and I certainly didn’t do an exhaustive search of the New Testament, but I could only find examples of the use of phileo and agape. No use of eros, although I suspect if Song of Solomon had been written in Greek, eros would have appeared frequently.

About phileo, Vine’s Dictionary says,

Phileo more nearly represents “tender affection.” It conveys the thought of cherishing the object above all else, of manifesting an affection characterized by constancy, from the motive of the highest veneration.

Then there is agape which seems to show up most often. Again from Vine’s:

“Agape and agapao are used in the NT
(a) to describe the attitude of God toward His Son, Jhn 17:26; the human race, generally, Jhn 3:16; Rom 5:8; and to such as believe on the Lord Jesus Christ, particularly, Jhn 14:21;

(b) to convey His will to His children concerning their attitude one toward another, Jhn 13:34, and toward all men, 1Th 3:12; 1Cr 16:14; 2Pe 1:7;

(c) to express the essential nature of God, 1Jo 4:8 . . .

It is an unselfish “love,” ready to serve.

Much of fiction, to the dismay of some and the delight of others, incorporates romance, or eros. Even Harry Potter managed a little teen romance. In Christian speculative fiction the male-female love relationship is a factor in such books as Patrick Carr’s The Staff & The Sword Trilogy, Karen Hancock’s The Legend Of The Guardian-King tetralogy, Donita Paul’s DragonKeeper Chronicles, and Anne Elisabeth Stengl’s Tales Of Goldstone Wood series.

Classic fantasist J. R. R. Tolkien insinuated romance in The Lord Of The Rings in several places. Éowyn, the niece of King Théoden, believed herself in love with Aragorn, but he was betrothed to Arwen who he later married. When Éowyn, wounded in the battle for Gondor, was recovering in the House of Healing, she did fall in love with Faramir.

Brotherly love also shows up frequently in speculative literature. Again Harry Potter serves as an example, incorporating this kind of familial, devoted loyalty, one character for another, in Harry’s relationship with Ron and Hermione. Classic fantasy is replete with examples of phileo. Bilbo experienced this emotional response to the twelve dwarfs in The Hobbit—not at first, but increasingly so. Frodo felt the same affection for Bilbo, for Sam, for Gandalf, for Aragorn.

Agape in fiction isn’t as easy to identify. Perhaps this is the heart attitude Gimli felt for Galadriel, the Lady of Lothlórien in The Lord Of The Rings and what Reepicheep felt for King Caspian in The Voyage Of The Dawn Treader. Aslan in the Narnia series, of course, would seem like the most likely example of agape. Certainly by his actions he demonstrated the kind of love that serves others, but I’m hard pressed to think of any lines or scenes in which he expressed love for those he watched over.

In the end, I’m wondering if contemporary speculative fiction, including Christian speculative fiction, hasn’t paid more attention to eros—to romantic relationships—than to the other types of love. Because conflict is such an important component in fiction, have we infused the relationships of our characters with the seeds of betrayal or deceit or anger instead of loyalty and devotion and faithfulness? I mean, where is the tension in a loyal subject behaving loyally?

Tolkien, of course, found a way to create just such tension when he depicted Samwise Gamgee’s relationship with Frodo. Consequently, Sam may be the most loved character of the trilogy. Frodo we like and understand and respect, but Sam induces a warm fondness as well as admiration.

Could it be that our current Christian speculative fiction has focused so much on the kind of love the world recognizes that we are neglecting the kind of love the Bible extols?

I’m curious what you think.

Also what books have you read that include romantic love? Brotherly love? A love reminiscent of Christ’s love for the Church?

And if you’d like to read more on the subject of love in speculative fiction, I recommend a series of Spec Faith posts published in 2011 by then columnist Fred Warren: Speculative Love, Part 1, Part 2, and Part 3.

After the digital information revolution, you’d think the world would have a better handle on living, but reading the news reveals a grim truth. Knowledge can’t save us.

In an era where the very fabric of morality stretches thin, our souls cry out for sanity. Give us truth to light the path, and in a thirsty land, rain from heaven. Help us to escape.

Reading separates us from the cares of a troubled world. It informs our lives and influences our thinking. On deep levels, it changes us. Speculative fiction engages our imaginations and draws us into landscapes of the mind. Here delightful creatures dwell but also monsters, the worst and the best of us.

The best epic fantasy novels take us on a voyage of the heart toward a treasure trove of self-discovery. Although fantastic, these tales brim with the stuff of life. When Samwise Gamgee in J.R.R. Tolkien’s The Hobbit, refuses to abandon Frodo and accompanies him all the way to Mordor, we learn about self-sacrifice. When Frodo becomes ill and Sam proclaims that while he can’t carry the ring, he can carry Frodo, we understand something about love.

DawnSinger, my epic fantasy novel, evokes medieval Europe in the 13^th century, a time when chivalry reigned. The story pits Shae, a spirited princess, and Kai, her sworn guardian, against their own desires. At stake is the greater good of Elderland, a divided land in need of a Savior. As the story unfolds, Shae and Kai must choose whether to accept the call to an impossible quest. Failure will cost them everything, but so also will victory. Sometimes, as the book’s tagline declares, victory comes only through surrender.

The idea of honor at all costs speaks to with me, but how would epic fantasy readers respond? I have to admit to being a little nervous about launching a story with honor as its main theme into a world where clarity of mind and self-sacrifice seem in short supply. Interestingly, writing this novel required me to exercise these same characteristics.

Sometimes a story takes hold of an author and demands to be written, no matter what, and that was the case with this book. I thought my novel would find readers, but I wasn’t prepared for overwhelmingly favorable reactions. I can only conclude that the medieval concept of honor resounds within the human spirit still. To illustrate this point, here are some comments from reviewers:

“Ms. Voigt used her story to show, in a way, the foes we face, the heroes we can be, and the adventures we can make of our own lives.”¹

“The author’s use of life’s paradoxes is integral to the story. Serving rather than being served, surrendering to Lof Yuel [God] in order to gain victory, and commitment to the journey despite the hard times, to name a few. ²

What does it mean to live life as a quest adventure, to serve rather than be served, to surrender to God? This is what Christians are called to do. Coming to grips with this reality truly changed my life. DawnSinger and Wayfarer, the first two books in the Tales of Faeraven epic fantasy series, exist because I answered my calling to write novels. I’m just putting the finishing touches on Sojourner, book three in the series and plan to write DawnKing, book four, this year. I won’t say the way is always clear or the path easy, but the journey is always worthwhile.

Honor is not dead. It lives on in you and me. Have you found your own path? I hope so, because the world is in need of the hero that only you can be.

As a rule, it is easy, when one dislikes a book, to see why. Obvious, even. So it was an interesting experience to get about three-quarters through Storm Siren and try to figure out why I was just waiting for the book to change. True, the section I had been reading was less than action-packed, but I have never needed action to be interested in a book. Those chapters of Storm Siren explored the characters and their world, all in beautifully written prose, and I felt I should have enjoyed it more than I did.

What dimmed my enjoyment, I finally decided, was the romance and angst, dosed out too generously for my tastes. I never doubted the novel’s craftsmanship, even when the content made me restless for something more. This left me thinking of something I realized some time ago: There is a difference between a good book and a book I liked.

We who judge books – as reviewers or simply as readers – need the discernment, and perhaps the humility, to distinguish between honest judgment and our personal predilections. We all have our natural tastes, and it’s human to mistake our innate liking for an inherent superiority. But in fiction, as in everything, there are higher standards than our own tastes.

To know how well a book succeeds, we have to understand what it was meant to be. Once I read a historical novel about Jane Austen that was, at times, rather too slow, but I found it hard to fault the author. A novel like with that, with any fidelity to history, can involve only so much excitement. If the author had decided to write a novel in which Jane Austen was an undercover French spy during the Napoleonic Wars, and her works were actually written by Francis Bacon – well, that would have been more exciting. I might have even liked it more. But it would not have been a historical novel.

I take it for granted that many books have succeeded admirably in becoming the sort of thing I don’t like. I avoid those genres where I expect to find them. Even in the sort of books I enjoy, elements I dislike inevitably surface, and sometimes I criticize. But as time goes on, I realize more and more how subjective these things can be, and how vital the difference between subjective and objective criticism is.

A lack of logic in the plot, a lack of believability in the dialogue, a lack of motivation in the characters – these are objective criticisms, and come far nearer to the question of whether a book is good or bad. It’s only subjective to say that a book had too much romance; all that really means is that it had more romance than I liked. There is no objective measurement of how much is too much.

I don’t mean to discourage subjective criticism. It can be very interesting, and it’s especially useful in reviews; it helps people to determine if the book in question is something they would like. But it should be recognized for what it is, and given its proper weight. A book’s quality is not measured by how much it appeals to us personally.

This article was written for the CSFF blog tour of Storm Siren, for which I read and reviewed the novel, and it has been cross-posted to my blog.

Gillian Adams is no stranger to Speculative Faith. She’s posted here as a guest more than once, most recently in March when she wrote “Melding Music and Magic.” And yet, I suspect few of us would say we actually know Gillian.

I first “met” her in 2010 when she joined the Christian Science Fiction and Fantasy Blog Tour. I quickly learned that she made astute observations about speculative fiction, and I looked forward to her CSFF posts with eagerness. As is true of a number of CSFF members, Gillian is also a writer, and happily, she has joined the ranks of the published.

Texas born and bred, Gillian’s writing journey started when she was quite young. As the baby of her family, she emulated her older sister who “was always writing something.” Soon she fell in love with the physical act of writing. She penned her first story when she was seven. Because of her homeschooling experience, she also read extensively and ended up writing dozens of stories. Yet the real catalyst that moved her to become a serious writer was her participation in NaNoWriMo when she was seventeen.

Her love for speculative fiction also began when she was young. Before she had read a novel on her own, her father read aloud The Lord of the Rings to her and her siblings. She was hooked. Throughout her growing up years she enjoyed a steady diet of Tolkien, Lewis, and fairy tales.

A year after participating in NaNoWriMo, Gillian decided to pursue publication. Along the way, she encountered a number of encouraging incidents mingled with a number of bumps in the road. She submitted her work to a small publisher who requested the full manuscript, then contracted her to publish her novel. The next step, however, involved editing. Gillian received extensive edits which opened her eyes to places she needed to improve. After working through another revision, she turned in her manuscript, only to have the publisher pull the contract. She began to question her ability. All the while, though, she was studying, writing, learning, and honing her craft.

Last fall her fantasy novel, Orphan’s Song, book one of the Songkeeper Chronicles, released from Enclave Publishing. Gillian is busy working on book two and on promoting Out of Darkness Rising, a novella that released March 15.

When Gillian is not writing, she works at a Christian youth camp, managing their equine program. She’s also a member of a volunteer fire department and participates in western skits in which she enjoys playing the bad guy (and falling off her horse in the end when she is inevitable “shot dead”).

While writing is a great part of who Gillian is and what she does, she identifies chiefly as a sinner who had been washed in the blood of Jesus Christ and saved by God’s grace. Because her relationship with God through Christ is central to her life, she makes it central to her writing as well. As she likes to say, she write to the echoes of eternity.

But what does “echoes of eternity” mean, you ask? Well, the name refers to her goal in writing fantasy. Folks often dismiss fantasy as shallow, escapist, swords and dragons nonsense, to which Gillian replies “Boggswoggle!” (If you’re not sure what that means, read her novel Orphan’s Song!)

The beauty and glory of fantasy is the ability to take truth and reflect it in a different way, to ask questions and inspire thought, to leave the reader longing for something greater. Like a glimpse of a star in the bottom of a well, fantasy serves as a reflection of some of the highest truths and deepest longings of mankind.

Gillian doesn’t believe, however that these echoes of eternity must be stories with overt elements of faith. However, she does feel that “the truly great stories are those that, transparently or subtly, reflect the Greatest Story. Stories that encourage, strengthen, and inspire longing. Stories that echo eternity. Those are the stories that stay with you. The stories that really matter.”

Sources: Go Teen Writer
Of battles, dragons, and swords of adamant
Homeschooled Authors
Echoes of Eternity
Speculative Faith

There are a lot of hungry readers out there. Readers who crave stories that sock ’em in the gut, blow their minds, and leave them gasping for breath, but also stand on Biblical truths and point towards redemption. They want books that are hardcore with a message that is hardcore. Books that challenge them to the point of being uncomfortable, books that shine a light into the dark corners of this sinful world and man’s sinful soul.

If you are one of these readers, you are probably starving.

It’s hard to find books that are openly Christian but are also gritty and “real.” There is nothing wrong with the Western romances or gentle young adult fantasies that line the shelves of Christian bookstores, but for hordes of readers, these books aren’t enough. If you’re like me, you want books that make your eyes grow wide as you say, “Whoa…what did I just read?” Books can be an escape from reality, but they can also be a magnifying glass that focuses on the deeper, darker emotions and issues that grip our world. I don’t like the feeling that a book is pandering to its readers; I like to be challenged, pushed to the brink of what I can handle, then pushed just a little bit more.

Christians, and Christian books, should not revel in sin, but that does not mean it should be reduced or diluted. It’s a nasty, ugly world out there sometimes, yet the power of God’s grace can pierce through any darkness. These stories, intense and harrowing, need to be told to glorify God as art and to elucidate His truths.

This is what The Crossover Alliance plans to do. Created a few years ago by speculative fiction author David Alderman, The Crossover Alliance was originally a forum where readers and writers of edgy Christian speculative fiction could congregate. As the murmurings grew to an uproar, David, along with myself and a few other writers and readers, decided that the time was right to give the Christian book world a channel to tell its edgiest, most ferocious stories. There were too many readers lamenting the lack of gritty content in Christian stories, and there were too many writers of edgy Christian speculative fiction that had to either tone down their books or self-publish.

Of course, there are already several Christian publishers that release books leaning towards the edgier side. Yet it still seems like there is a fear of being labeled too dark, too violent, perhaps even blasphemous. At The Crossover Alliance, we believe there is no Biblical standard for how many swear words a story can have, or how descriptive sexual situations can be, or what would be an acceptable body count. We just know that if a story is based on solid Biblical principles and does not glorify the sinful elements it contains, it deserves to be told.

The Crossover Alliance plans to open its doors this summer. Please visit TheCrossoverAlliance.com to read our mission statement, submission guidelines, and just to get a feel for who we are and what we want to accomplish. We just launched a Kickstarter campaign to fund our first year’s catalogue, so please consider support this adventure.

The decision to transform The Crossover Alliance from an online community into a full-fledged publisher wasn’t made lightly. We spent a lot of time deliberating and praying, and we all felt led to go forward with this. And we’re not going to be timid about it, either. We’re going full-throttle with this endeavor, and we already have several authors and titles ready to go when the gates open. There will be some resistance to what we’re doing, but we’re ready for the challenge. We’re not doing this to be rebels or ruffle feathers or throw firecrackers under the pews. We just want to serve the readers and writers who feel marginalized by mainstream Christian publishers. If you feel this way too, you’re not alone, and we hope you’ll join our alliance.

For more information:

• TheCrossoverAlliance.com
• On Facebook: The Crossover Alliance
• On Twitter: @Crossoverally
• Our Kickstarter campaign

Lovable cardboard people just need Jesus? If only it were so simple.

Christians, we need to repent of a sneaky little sin. It’s this: We like to justify pretty much any wrong—from lame movies and shoddy storytelling, to bad nonfiction books and false teaching—by saying, “Oh, but it’s for evangelism. We just want more people to know Jesus.”

In many of our movies and novels, we’re making up shallow and sentimental “people” so we can more easily “get them to know Jesus.” And in real life, the habit gets even worse.

But until the last few weeks (you can just imagine what national-level thing helped bring this about) I had not often considered the connection between sentimental and unrealistic characters in Christian fiction, and what happens when we treat the fiction as if it’s real.

Perhaps in fiction this is easier to spot. No matter the genre, no matter the publisher, I’ve spotted examples of flagrantly shallow non-Christian characters who simply don’t act like real people I have met. In real life, non-Christians are ordinary people who think they are just fine, don’t care for biblical faith (or think they have it already), and would just as soon dodge any Christian’s attempt to have a heart-to-heart, actual come-to-Jesus moment.

Sometimes suffering people already know they need Jesus …

But some evangelical fiction shows another picture. You would think that either all non-Christians are nasty villains, or else poor troubled people who can’t accept the concept of a loving God because they somehow already know how bad they’ve been. For example:

Charis wanted to cry. Did Michael really mean it? Was he really saying there was a good God who loved everyone in the world — everyone, including her? But he could not mean that, she thought. After all, she was not important, beautiful, wealthy, or special. No one could love her after all the bad things she had done. Not even God.

— Original dialogue, based on that of a Christian contemporary/speculative novel [edit: which at the time I’d recently read]¹

Make no mistake. Many non-Christians are clearly suffering and troubled and open about it. They surely would respond to Christians who show them a helping hand. They might want to inquire more about faith. God does love them and wants us to be sensitive to their needs.

… But some men can’t be reasoned or negotiated with. Some men want to watch the world burn.

But it’s absurd for our fiction to suggest that these are the only kinds of non-Christians we’ll ever meet. It’s the Christian-fiction equivalent of a reversed redshirt: instead of dying early just to show how drastic the danger is, the made-up non-Christian exists just to show how wonderful Jesus is. But what if we only see Jesus helping or saving characters who already know they’re a mess and are already open to Him, for His convenience and the plot’s? That makes the story boring and redundant and ridiculous. That also shows that Jesus and the gospel will work exclusively in a G-rated, cleaned-up, pre-treated made-up world.

That, of course, is not the world we live in. Nor is it the nature of every real non-Christian.

Sure, some of our non-Christian neighbors may already know they’re a mess and they need Jesus. Some of them would open right up if we showed them love. And even the ones who outwardly embrace sin might give Christianity a second thought if Christians stopped acting all separatist—not only from the sin but the person—and showing them rejection.

But if we decide that these are the only types of real non-Christians we encounter, and that the only thing we need to do is act more loving, we are living inside a bubble. We’re making up a non-Christian character who’s as fake as any figure in a shallow Christian novel. We’re wishing that all the non-Christians we meet would conform to this caricature. And we wish just as hard that now we only need to show them more love than those bad Christians have.

This is the soft bigotry of low expectations. Hey, if all we need to do is out-holy the bad Christians, what happens to the standard of holiness from the Spirit in us?²

This is sentimentalism. Yes, all non-Christians are broken and suffering under the weight of sin. But few already recognize this truth. Many of them love their sin and cannot get enough of it. You know your own temptations to sin (oh, glorious, amazing sin!) that make you feel bad after you’ve done it? Imagine that, only with little to none of that bad feeling.

This is self-deception. Jesus constantly warned that people would hate Christians. He did not give disclaimers like, “And when they do, know that it’s your own fault.” Sometimes we do bring persecution “on ourselves.” And sometimes we view as persecution things that are not persecution (cf., angry social-network comments). But Jesus did not tell His people only to look constantly to ourselves and determine what we’ve done to have it coming. That’s legalism talking. Or, if we instead blame Those Other Bad Christians, it’s self-righteousness.

This does not help us love like Jesus. If you spend your whole life expecting and training and encouraging others to show love to someone who is already lovable—because they just need to see a more-loving Christian and then they’ll respond warmly?—you’re doomed to be disillusioned. The real challenge is far worse: You as a Christian are supposed to go up against people who hate you no matter what, and want to control you or even kill you, and still love them.³

And ultimately, this can become a false gospel. I can’t tell you the number of times I’ve heard this cliché: Jesus ate with tax collectors and sinners, so it’s okay to participate in a questionable activity.⁴

Except the relevant texts⁵ specify that Jesus had ordinary dinners with folks. He was not participating in the tax collectors’ Banquet to Commemorate Extortion or the prostitutes’ Festival for Financially Lucrative Fornication.

Except Jesus’s point in visiting with them was not to subvert God’s law, but made-up laws.

Except Jesus’s point was to show that the people need a great Physician, and that they must repent⁶ and believe the gospel and be part of the Kingdom.⁷

In Christian fiction as in real life, what if our gospel does not include repentance and faith? What if we kinda assume someone else will be “bad cop,” who takes care of the hellfire and repentance parts, so that we can be the “good cop” and only talk about the mercy and love parts? What if we skip over the dark and gritty bits in the name of “evangelism”? Then we are indeed “evangelizing.” But what we’re sharing is a made-up gospel, to made-up non-Christian characters, ultimately about a made-up Jesus who never did and does not exist.

This chance should make us reboot our reality. It should also reboot our favorite fiction. For what happens when our fiction characters behave more like real people instead of like sentimental pictures copied from shallow megachurch sermon anecdotes? The story gets better. The plot gets thicker. The themes get meatier. The pace quickens. And best of all, the Hero who beats the enemy—or better, befriends the enemy!—becomes far more awesome.

Culture wars seem endemic in all societies so disagreements and opposing factions should be a natural part of speculative fiction world-building. In western society today we see gender wars, moral issue wars (abortion, same-sex marriage), and increasingly, religious rights wars. Connected with those is the political power struggle and the influence of the media in framing the issues.

Are speculative fiction writers creating worlds that reflect these types of societal struggles?

J. R. R. Tolkien’s fantasy world is the gold standard of speculative fiction for so many reasons, but not the least of which is his portrayal of culture wars, starting with The Hobbit. Elves were distrustful of men but also had issues with other elves; dwarfs were distrustful of both men and elves, but a group also splintered from other dwarfs; and men were hardly in harmony with one another.

The culture wars continued in The Lord Of The Rings. Hobbits viewed hobbits in certain areas with suspicion; elves from one wood had little to do with elves from another wood; men of Rohan and men of Gondor went their separate ways; and even the antagonists had conflict, with Saruman plotting to usurp Sauron.

The point is, Tolkien gave his people groups things about which they disagreed. He gave them histories that included past offenses which caused grudges or prejudices. All dwarfs, for instance, did not see eye to eye. Some determined to return to the Mines of Moria and try to re-establish the glory days of that dwarf kingdom. Others feared such an attempt (rightly so, as it turned out).

The orcs, of course, display the greatest cultural conflict. Some are loyal to Saruman and others to Sauron. Some act from their own greed or fear while others do so to better their own standing with those in authority over them.

Karen Hancock created culture wars in her Legend Of The Guardian King tetralogy. The issue dividing society was religion.

Patrick Carr also created a world with various internal conflicts in his The Staff & Sword Trilogy. While religion played a part in the internal struggles, the greater issue was power. He also utilized past offenses that separated or isolated people groups from one another.

Jill Williamson used culture wars as the basis of her Safe Lands Trilogy. Initially the conflict seems to be those in the Safe Lands versus those from outside villages, but soon the basic dissatisfaction of a faction of Safe Landers surfaces. The culture wars take various directions but the main conflict revolves around those working to provide versus those living to consume.

Michelle L. Levigne created cultural conflict in her science fantasy Azuli Eyes, The Chorillan Cycle Book 1. A group of Gen’gineers—genetic terrorists—provide overt conflict, but there is also growing prejudice against families whose children succumb to the mysterious plague attacking a select number of adolescents.

Cultural conflict may seem easier to create in science fiction. Writers can capitalize on issues of today by extrapolating from them to create an “advanced” form of that same concept.

But fantasies need the same kind of cultural wars if a world is to seem realistic. What would gender wars look like in the world of an epic fantasy? What would be the moral issues that divide society? What would be the religions or religious practices that tear a society apart?

Without a doubt, culture wars ought to be a part of speculative fiction if the world-building authentically reflects society as we know it.

What books have you read that depict culture wars? What is at the center of those battles that divide a society? If you’re a writer, how have you used cultural conflict in your story?

Editorial Note: Mary Weber is the author of the Storm Siren Trilogy, a young adult fantasy published by Thomas Nelson. Her debut novel Storm Siren released last August and the second in the series, Siren’s Fury, is due out in June.

In a world at war, a slave girl’s lethal curse could become one kingdom’s weapon of salvation. If the curse—and the girl—can be controlled.

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Okay . . . so I’m going to confess right off the bat that while I’ve been a mom for 15 years, a youth pastor for 8, and a writer for almost 9, I’ve only been published for 7 months (a wonderfully amazing adventure, yes! And admittedly slightly less terrifying than showing up to one’s prom in a speedo). Meaning I’m a bit new at this whole writing blog-posts-that-sound-like-I-actually-know-anything about anything. (In fact, let’s just clear the air and say that I don’t.)

However, I was thinking to maybe address one of the comments that most often comes my way when people discover I’m a writer of the fantasy persuasion. Which is: “Ooh, you write fantasy? How do you invent your own world with creatures and such?”

(Slight interruption here to say that the only-slightly-MORE-often-voiced comment is, “Huh. You look a lot fancier in your online pictures.” This is usually combined with a glance at my frizzed hair that looks like Chewbacca kissed a taser. But whatevs. Ahem.)

Anyhow, the creation of a fantasy world is a fantastic question – and one that, three books in, I’m still trying to figure out how to go about answering smartly. Because if you’re anything like me—TIME is an issue.

Thus, inevitably my world and character building happens in the midst of running this cute ewok and his sisters to school.

And also while I’m at work.

With teens.

And more awesome teens.

Before I head back home to sit at my desk. But just then these two start crowing outside my window reminding me they need food (meet Lord Voldemort and Draewulf).

Then somehow it’s suddenly evening time, and I’m reading to child number 3.

Or chatting with Wolverine (my husband) about that one time someone really DID wear a speedo to prom.

Before curling up for a few quiet minutes to delve into other people’s made-up characters and worlds.

So that . . . admittedly, by the end of the day when I sit back down to think about books and people and writing . . . there’s often not much left to give to the page.

At least until the characters I know in real life (my pokemon-loving kid, ewok boy, the teens, and more teens, and Wolverine) force their way out of my soul to settle themselves into the stories. As if they’ve been waiting there all along, whispering, “Well, hello there. Long time no see! What book are we writing today?”

Thus, with that in mind . . .

I guess my answer to the creating fantasy question is—I’m not sure I ever do. I think rather it’s the characters I already know who help write it. And in doing so, they help to shape and create me. :0)
~ M

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BIO: MARY WEBER is a ridiculously uncoordinated girl plotting to take over make-believe worlds through books, handstands, and imaginary throwing knives. Her recently released debut, STORM SIREN (Thomas Nelson, HarperCollins), was endorsed by New York Times bestselling authors Jay Asher and Marissa Meyer and touted to fans of Game of Thrones and the Lunar Chronicles by School Library Journal Teen. In her spare time, she feeds unicorns, sings 80’s hairband songs to her three muggle children, and ogles her husband who looks strikingly like Wolverine. They live in California, which is perfect for stalking L.A. bands, Joss Whedon, and the ocean. You can geek out with her on FACEBOOK: Mary Weber, Author, TWITTER: @mchristineweber, and INSTAGRAM: @maryweberauthor.