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I’ve read a fair amount of fantasy in my day, enough to understand that the genre is split into sub-categories and sub-sub-sub-categories that look as different next to each other as a Western novel and a psychological thriller. The fact that Robert Jordan’s classic (if formulaic) Wheel of Time high fantasy series shares shelf space with Francesca Lia Block’s fractured, whimsical stories of fairies in L.A. boggles my mind.
Actually, what really boggles my mind is the fact that libraries and bookshelves continue to insist on combining science fiction and fantasy, as though they weren’t fundamentally opposite from each other, but that’s another story for another day.
What I’ve been thinking about lately, though, is the tissue paper barrier separating fantasy and magical realism. Some people, in fact, don’t think there’s any real distinction between the two at all (Terry Pratchett called magical realism a “polite way of saying you write fantasy”). I think there is a difference, though, and, just as importantly, a reasonably clear way to tell:
1. What is the character’s reaction to the magical event? In a fantasy novel, the introduction of a magical element is cause for immediate wonder or alarm. In magical realism, characters will take magic at face value, or treat it with no more emotion than something that is possible in the ‘real’ world.
2. Does the magical element seem to be a symbol? Magical realism often uses the supernatural in almost a poetic way–in one story I read, white moths flew out of the mouth of a dead grandmother when the granddaughter finished washing the body. In fantasy, for the most part, a dragon is a dragon.
Note: It is, of course, always possible to find metaphorical meaning in fantasy novels as well. The Harry Potter books alone have sparked countless interpretations. The distinction for me is that fantasy’s magic metaphors are often extremely clear (Aslan=Jesus) or extremely general (discovery of magic=discovery of self/coming of age), whereas magical realism often has moments that are both subtler and more precise (like the moths in the story I mentioned).
3. What does the magical element do for the plot? In fantasy, the magic is the catalyst to the plot, its lifeblood. Magical events or characters are inextricably tied to the story. In magical realism, you could theoretically strip the magic out and have a functioning story. Magic deepens and enriches certain moments, but doesn’t usually drive the plot forward.
So there you have it! These rules aren’t completely set in stone–I’m sure plenty of people can come up with exceptions–but these three guidelines can give you a pretty good sense of what you are reading.
Jessica Jonas 
Hm. I guess my project is magical realism then. Learned something new:D Great post on how to distinguish between the two^^,
I’m not sure if those distinctions quite cut it, though. You could easily argue, for example, that in a fantasy world where magic is as common place as matches or laptops characters will take magic at face value. It will be as natural to them to use it as it is for us to press a button on the remote, or get in an elevator.
I’d suggest that a more nuanced distinction would be to say that most magic realism places the setting in our world, but shakes us out of our complacency with absurd and improbable events (usually fantastical in nature), until the fantastic seems normal, and the normal seems inverted and wrong. In this sense, the authors use the fantastical to criticize the banal reality we’re used to.
In the short story “A Very Old Man With Enormous Wings”, (I found a version here: http://salvoblue.homestead.com/wings.html ) for example, it’s not the fact that Pelayo finds an angel that makes the story so unreal and uncomfortable, but rather the very human thing that Pelayo and the rest of the village do with his find.
In fantasy, the magic is the catalyst to the plot, its lifeblood.
I’d also argue that it’s a poor fantasy book that wouldn’t be able to stand on its own two feet without magic. If spells are more important than the characters and their relationships and struggles, well, it’s not a book that will age well.
You make some good points! I love your nuanced definition of magical realism. It’s a slippery genre to define (clearly), and it’s been a struggle for me to isolate the distinctions in tone and weight that separate it from fantasy. Thanks for linking to the story, also. I loved it.
You’re right that in many fantasy novels, a lot of characters are already familiar with magic. There’s usually at least one main character who’s new to it, though (Harry Potter, David Eddings’s Belgariad, etc.), or comes across a different kind of magic they need to learn (any novel with ‘elemental’ or ‘wild’ magic, etc.). To me, that primary character’s perspective of magic as something new sets the tone for the book.
I’m curious which fantasy novels would survive the loss of magic. I’d think even The Once and Future King would be just a story of a boy who doesn’t know who he is without Merlin and his magic to teach him to be a king.
In sense, the magic elements in lasting fantasy (and by “lasting”, I suppose I mean the ones that have a layer of meaning beyond adventure/escapism) are made to create an a priori condition that would otherwise have given the reader trouble. In Lord of the Rings, though Tolkien originally wrote it as just a quest tale, people see a struggle between good and evil, between the corruption of power and the struggles of an unlikely underdog. This kind of story could be shifted into today’s setting, or another genre (we have Ayn Rand’s Atlas Shrugged, 1984, and plenty of Lit Fiction discussing power vs individual), but the trouble those books run into often is that they need to explain how the evil came to be.
In that sense, fantasy just is. Magic just is. It’s a great tool for paranormal romance writers, for example–why are these two unlikely people in bed all of a sudden? Well, they’re soulmates! In fantasy–why is the villain so terrible? Why, he was corrupted by the evil magic of the chaotic god of Grawgorock!
A good writer will stop well before it becomes a crippling crutch, though. Used just enough and it’s a great tool for isolating what the author wants to focus on in fantasy and scifi. Ursula Le Guin is a great example of a writer who uses her science fiction stories to examine how people behave, their psychology, and their humanity.
Okay, I swear that reply had a point!
I definitely agree that a successful author won’t use magic as a crutch. I do think it’s possible to have a story that depends on fantasy where the magic still isn’t a crutch, though–like LoTR. Middle Earth uses magic as the primary vehicle for power, so if you were to strip magic out entirely, the driving force of the books would be gone. You’d have to come up with another symbol or vehicle for power before the story would work (such as the governmental structures in 1984, Brave New World, Ayn Rand’s works, and so on). The characters, relationships and themes of the book still carry the work, though. No one could accuse Tolkien of using the genre as a crutch.
In the Marquez story you sent me, however, you could theoretically take the wings out altogether, leaving a story of the discovery of a strange, bedraggled man who came out of nowhere and the way the village who found him treated him. It would be a far poorer story, no question, but you wouldn’t have to recast major plot elements in order to maintain the primary conflict of the story.
You seem to read many of the same authors I do, by the way. Just out of curiosity, have you read Bradbury? I’d be interested in how you categorize his work, since I often feel he’s largely miscategorized.
I’m not following your comparison–for me, the fact that the old man was largely accepted to be an “angel” drives the story a lot more than Sauron’s ability to hoard magic. After all, if the old man were not an angel, the entire story (and its criticism of human nature and organized religion) would fall apart at the seams! But I can very easily imagine Sauron as a world magnate, or controlling the world’s reserves of oil, or owning a technological empire, and having power through those vehicles. Elves, dwarves, and other magical entities could easily be reworked as factions struggling against Tech-Sauron (or Napoleon-Sauron) and his dark, charismatic power. After all, LotR has quite often been cited as a metaphor for any of these socio-political scenarios.
And all comparisons aside, I think on a closer look at both stories, the way they are written is integral to their appeal and their strength.
Bradbury. Good question. I think I’d pansy out and leave him on the “speculative fiction” shelf. For me, he’s too “Lit fic” to rest comfortably with the genres, and the stories take themselves too seriously for it too. In a sense, he reminds me like a less creepy/intense version of Harlan Ellison. (Bradbury fans, don’t hurt me.)
Full disclosure: I haven’t read much of Bradbury, though.
I think where we’re differing is that I’m seeing a magic as being more deeply entrenched when the story’s world relies on it to explain why things work the way they do, and less so when it’s introduced into a relatively normal world to highlight an aspect of a character or moment that goes beyond the ordinary.
“…all comparisons aside, I think on a closer look at both stories, the way they are written is integral to their appeal and their strength.”
Hear, hear. I am, above all specifics of genre or plot, a sucker for style, and there is a lot of amazing stuff out there. You’ve given me a lot of great points to think about, and I will definitely be checking out The Canary Review!
If the style is delicious, I’ll forgive most anything in a book!
Also, check email? Nudgenudge.