I was just reading an essay by David Hewson on his blog. Mister Hewson has some interesting points relating to violence, and I suggest a quick read.

He basically puts forth the notion that goodies fight baddies in a must-fight manner. It’s the kind of reluctant violence we learn to accept these days in a politically correct world. Though, as he mentions, some few people still cling to the “old ways”. Such as Mister Tarantino, who I would like to point out isn’t technically a writer for the sense of this article, but there you go.

While there wasn’t much wrong with Inglorious Basterds as such, it wasn’t really filling me with the fun factor. Not enough fun. Not as much guns as Where Eagles Dare. Or the Dirty Dozen. Or something equally fun. Though it did have the soundtrack from Kelly’s Heroes, and that’s a good thing. My digressing, however, isn’t. So I’ll stop now.

Basically, what I’m trying to say is, I think Mister Hewson is wrong.

How much violence does the novel need? Well, it very much depends on the novel. As I’m a hack, and not a good writer at all, I take my view from a reader’s view for this one, and will say I greatly enjoy a good thumping. Or stabbing. Or swishing with the sword. It feels . . . refreshing. Refreshing in a world gone politically correct where every hero has been watered down to the point that only the bad guys are interesting any more. It used to be the heroes were larger than life, bounding into the action with mighty weapons and mightier yellings. These days they whimper and scurry for cover while the badguys bound and roar. It’s all gone backwards, and I do think the current attitude to violence is to blame.

We wrap ourselves up in cotton wool, and try too hard not to offend anyone, that we squeeze all the edginess out of a good book. I recently wrote about a series I greatly enjoyed, the Edge series by George G. Gilman. Now there’s a man who knew his violence and how to use it. Yet, the books weren’t nasty or anything as dismal as that. That would have made it awfully boring, and the whole thing would’ve gotten old. Faster than the character could draw his gun.

No, the violence was balanced by something more important to the story – character. I think violence is often highlighted by critics as an excuse not to delve deeply into something, as though simply by using violence the writer disregards any right to have themselves taken seriously. Poor Conan – how we miss thee. Character is what drives violence. Not plot. Not even the writer’s opinions on violence. It is the character – what would THEY do to get what they want, or achieve their goals?

I’d like to see more books actually answering that question. Recently a few more have begun to try, and I think that’s a good thing. Bringing back some good old violence into the realms of fantasy is a good thing. It’s a savage age. If you don’t want to use violence, why give your hero a magic sword? Some rather smart samurai, I believe, once claimed a sword is a work of art which is only ever complete when it’s killing. I think that’s true of human nature. We’re a violent breed, no matter how much we suppress it with soft fuzzy television. I happen to think a lot of people attracted to fantasy in the first place like to be confronted with a world in which people are forced to depend on their own skills to both react to and initiate violence is necessary to survival and the achievement of the basic goal of the novel – to pretty much kill the baddie. I’m very much annoyed by the odd book which has your main character driven to quest after quest to find the doomsday weapons to kill the badguy, only to have the badguy slip on a banana peel and accidently kill himself on his own dagger. It’s very stupid the lengths some writers go to remain politically correct in this field and, as a reader, I could nearly scream.

Tad Williams, for example, wrote this monstrous four-parter series (the third book is often split into two – a trend Mister RR Martin is being forced into, providing he does end up writing the next part to his split volume, of course…), which avoided the confrontational moments by having the hero hit his head on something just before the action began. He’d wake up in the next chapter, and somebody else would tell him what he missed. I actually read all of them, thinking the final confrontation would have to be HUGE to make up for the fact that his hero couldn’t stop walking into walls, overhanging tree limbs, and pretty much his own fist. Unfortunately, in the final confrontation, his hero runs into a door and is knocked unconscious, waking to have someone else tell him the evil has, finally, been vanquished. Hooray.

Political correctness is getting me down. It’s giving me false hope and forcing me to read large chunky books for no pay-off. The characters are feeling very embarrassed. They wander along with a book chunky sword and never learn how to use it. Swords are not for tickling with. Except in very strange nightclubs where everyone is dressed in leather and gimp masks.

I hope, then, not too many people read Mister Hewson’s essay and take it to heart.

Thank Crom we have writers like Mister Abercrombie, though. That’s all I can say.