People generally have a difficult time comprehending my love of literature; once they manage to overcome that particular quirk in my personality, they commonly wonder why I am so attracted to high fantasy.
It isn’t that high fantasy is an unpopular genre — the influx of dystopian novels in recent years that incorporate fantastical elements have made it quite the rage among children, teens and adults. It’s more my utter indifference to most other genres when I am presented with the opportunity to immerse myself in fantasy.
In a way, it’s inexplicable to me — the beauty of the worldbuilding done by the author, the chance to roam fantastical settings and come into contact with characters penned out so thoroughly they might be alive.
It’s a form of escapism, just like binge-watching Netflix shows or coloring intricate designs; for what it’s worth, the joy of this escapism is so great that it consistently overweighs any guilt I might feel about needing to take so many breaths away from reality.
Fantasy is to reality as yin is to yang; in my world, both are opposite and essential and the promise of fantasy is what allows me to keep myself tethered to reality. It’s a compromise with myself, a sort of consolation secret that I can clutch to me when times are rough. Because, if we’re all being real and honest, how many of us can boldly affirm that life has never been rough?
How many of us can stand up and loudly proclaim that all they have known of life are beds of roses, and that grief, anger, frustration, envy and hatred and alien, unintelligible emotions to them? I would be willing to bet nearly no one could truthfully claim that.
When I spend my time surfing Goodreads to scour the high fantasy books I find most appealing or spend hours browsing library shelves to search for that special book that calls to me, I don’t consider it weird or a waste of time.
That time I spend leads to some of the happiest moments of my life because I know that the mere thought of being able to run my fingers over the spine of that book and inhaling the dust from between its covers, is enough to tide me through whatever life may choose to test me with in my life.