System of a World
In science fiction and (particularly) fantasy, how much does a writer have to know about the world they write about? The reader might not know about the system of magic, but what if the writer doesn’t either?
I know a lot of writers starting out are told to think about, and in many cases carefully map out, the “system of a world” before writing about said world. Or at the very least, after an initial fit of inspiration, to revise the story by coming to terms with what the system of the world is. Then, a writer can give the appearance of consistency to events that happen, even when things appear to be happening “inconsistently” by the protagonist or other characters. Rest assured that there is a reason for, say, a magical event appearing out-of-step with the world; from this perspective, chaos is always misunderstood or cleverly hidden order.
And generally this is good advice to give to a starting writer; structural underpinnings of a natural or unnatural world are of course important. But I don’t think it’s universal advice. (Right, what is?)
I think also that this advice can, if followed too closely and unimaginatively to the letter, lead to a story in which the end becomes a manifestation of the system rather than the story: a “Doctor Strange vs. Captain Marvel” kind of ending. (That’s the term Jonathan Lethem used at Clarion, at least.) That is, blue bolts of energy vs. yellow bolts of energy shooting out at each other. (This is a metaphor. Well, most of the time.) At this point, there’s often the attempt to take a stab at characterization after the system has been revealed in all its glory, or to use the system itself as a metaphor for what has happened to the characters.
But the toothpaste is out of the tube.
There is a veil for the reader as to what they do and do not know. But what if the writer has that same veil? What happens? And how much control does a writer have over her or his own story anyway? I like to fool myself in that regard at times. It’s fun to feel authorly at times. But that in itself is an illusion at some point in the creative process. That is to say, going back through decision-making processes, there is some origin point where I can’t say I have any control of how I formulate an image, a scene, etc. And at what point does it become “created”? When I first realize it’s there or when it’s put to the page?
Not that this is a “solution” to all of this, and your mileage will definitely vary, but I rarely take notes on world-building issues. The most I’ve done with my most recent novel that I’m working on (the river one), is write out different statements, snippets of dialogue, things that strike me (“124. letter edged with a black border”, “81. World Hittite Radio”). For this project, the characters are pretty much in a haze and nonsensical things are happening all around them. I’m trying be in that haze the best I can. That haze is my “research.”
Finally, all of this is upended by writers like Borges, who wrote stories that were about the system. But he was a writer who certainly didn’t have any qualms to tell the reader that he, the author himself, really didn’t know much.
