Swordspoint; or, What Exactly Is Fantasy, Anyway?

I don’t care if this book came out twenty years ago. I’m reviewing it now. So there.

It was Neil Gaiman’s blog that first mentioned Ellen Kushner’s Swordspoint: A Melodrama of Manners to me; of course, after I had bought it with the intention of reading it, you know, sometime, everyone and their mother seemed to be suddenly recommending it.

For me, Swordspoint is one of those books that it takes a long time to get into, but, once you’re there, you’re there. As I was reading it, I found that, once I’d started, I wanted to keep going; but, if I put the book down for a moment or two to work on something else, I was reluctant to pick it back up. For the first hundred pages or so, the main characters, Richard and Alec, didn’t appeal to me. Worse, I kept getting confused: Lord Whatsisname is married to Lady Who-the-Hell, but the man in power is So-and-so who’s actually Duke of Where-now? And one man is in love with that guy, but that guy himself prefers that woman, who actually is having an affair with the other man… A large part of this had to do with the British-style nobles, to whom the narrator and characters might refer by their Christian names, their hereditary titles, or their political position at any point. I must here admit to not being fond of plots of political intrigue; I am neither subtle nor patient, and, while the culmination of a series of machinations interests me, the machinations themselves rarely do.

However, when the plot started (Alec gets kidnapped; er, poop hits the fan), I suddenly couldn’t tear myself away from the action. Kushner seems to be one of the few writers who can write about secret identities that aren’t SEKRIT IDNENTIEISE!!!!ONE!!!! It is clear from the beginning that Alec must have some connection to at least one of the other characters we have met; the eventual revelation of that connection is neither an overly dramatic and implausible deus ex machina (he’s the Chosen One and True Heir to the throne! All Richard’s problems are solved!) nor disappointing and unforseeable (he’s the fifth cousin of the uncle of the godmother of a character we’ve never met! Surprise!). Further, Kushner develops a believable, adult romance that doesn’t substitute Twu Wuv’s Kiss, steamy sex scenes, or clichéd soap opera intrigues for actual character development and exploration. (This, perhaps, is why Richard and Alec were so difficult to like at first. Like real people, one must first get to know them before one understands what the heck they’re all about; like real people, they sometimes do and say pretty awful things). Even better, this is a romantic relationship between two men that quietly does away with any rigid classifications of sexual orientation or a big DUMBLDOOR IS TEH GAY fanfare: no way could anyone imagine, even in the most extreme circumstances, the words “I wish I knew how to quit you” coming out of either Richard or Alec’s mouth, and thank G-d for that.

Kushner does spend time cultivating plots that ultimately seem to fizzle out; I was disappointed not to know what happened with Michael Godwin personally, rather than politically. Since much of the first half of the book revolves around him instead of our protagonists, I was expecting a more detailed ending for him. I finished the book before I realized that the scene in which I had seen him last was, in fact, the last scene in which I’d get to see him. His story does thematically reinforce the main plot – I guess I was hoping it might have more than thematic pertinence, is all.

Also, while I enjoyed Swordspoint, I’m not entirely sure why it’s classified as a fantasy. It does take place in an alternate universe, but not in one where the laws of physics seem any different than our own; its history and culture, certainly, deviate substantially from ours, but it isn’t difficult to imagine the circumstances that might have led to their formation. A movie like Wag the Dog or a television series like The West Wing isn’t classified as fantasy just because it proposes a fake contemporary political environment; neither is a work that invents a fake town with its own fake culture, citizens, and geography. So why is a fake history somehow more fantastic?

Maybe the reader’s expectation of accuracy has something to do with it. Reading a strictly historical novel, I’d be annoyed to find them using the wrong kind of oil lamp or wearing clothing that was only fashionable in the next decade. By not specifying a real place or time, Kushner signals that she isn’t interested in recreating the details of a particular era but its atmosphere. Springfield and Mayberry don’t actually exist as they’re portrayed on TV, but they imply a truthful reflection of the average conditions of a real slice of the USA during the twentieth century. I guess labelling a novel “fantasy” is the equivalent to slapping it with a big old disclaimer: “HEY! I MADE SOME STUFF UP, AND I’M NOT PRETENDING IT’S BASED ON REALITY!”

In any case, Swordspoint is a unique novel. It didn’t move me in the same way my favourite stories do, nor did I fall in love with the writing style, but I still find myself wanting to leaf through it again to pick up the points I missed. And the academic in me loves details like the almost-London-public-theatre Richard and Alec attend and the realistic portrayal of how difficult it is to learn even the posture of swordfighting. And, yeah, I guess I’d like to know what happens to Richard and Alec. Luckily, the Toronto Public Library informs me that the sequel, The Privilege of the Sword (published in 2003), is “In Transit”. Egggggg-cellent…

My sister and I are also in transit.

PS. Today, I made up a word for one of my novels that turned out to be a real, if uncommon, word when I googled it. And it means pretty much what I’d made it up to mean. Aw, I love Greek and Latin!