Fantasy doesn’t need defending. It is one of the great cultural forms at the moment, all-pervading, ubiquitous. Maybe even the dominant form of writing just now, in line with the bookseller’s joke that contemporary publishing divides into A: romantasy and B: everything else.
But it might need explaining a little bit, for those who don’t get its pleasures; who still see it as wish-fulfilment, or as a low form that literary fiction gets to look down upon or direct a puzzled tolerance towards. As a writer of literary fiction who has borrowed and rejoiced in fantasy tropes for years, and has now himself written an out-and-out fantasy, I’m beyond embarrassment. I’ve been reading and loving fantasy all my life, and for me its best creators stand comfortably alongside the greats of any genre. And yet, I’m still encountering a faint sense that there is something to be accounted for in writing fantasy. That I ought to have reasons for wanting to do that thing with the dragons, no matter how culturally pervasive it is.
