Bittercon: It's so Magical to be Homeless! The Romance of Urban Fantasy

[intertext]

This is really a lot of open questions and food for thought than a fully developed thesis. It just struck me, in my - admittedly somewhat limited - experience of urban fantasy, that the "urban" in "urban" seemed to reflect a somewhat limited and romanticized view of the "street."

Just to put my thoughts into a context here, my exposure to urban fantasy rests mostly on Charles De Lint, most of whose works I have read, Emma Bull, Will Shetterly and Neil Gaiman, whose Neverwhere I include in the genre. I would, or could, also include Justine Larbalestier's "Magic" trilogy and there are one or two others that I have forgotten. Amongst Emma Bull's work, I have read and enjoyed both War for the Oaks and her and Will Shetterly's Borderland novels, and my comments and questions here relate to all of those.

Anyway, it seemed that among these works, there is a common sympathy for and interest in the marginal, the scruffy, the downtrodden. Not that this group is in any way undeserving of sympathy or interest, but it struck me that these works definitely downplay the disadvantages of life among the disadvantaged and - yes - romanticize life for the homeless and the income-deprived. What I wonder is, is this some intrinsic part of a greater literary tradition? Are the authors riffing on folk-tales, whose heroes, if not princesses, tend to be clever thieves, disadvantaged or displaced innocents and so on? In some ways, what I'm asking is whether in fact this is the opposite side of the "Fantasy of Manners" coin - Fantasy of Bohemian Manners?

Neil Gaiman's Neverwhere is the only somewhat anomalous example - its hero, if I remember, is an average guy who gets lost in a strange alternate or parallel world. And as far as that goes, I guess it's not really "about" magic or fantasy in an every-day urban setting. Does anyone write about magic among the stockbrokers? Or ER, except with magic?

Anyway - that's my pitch. Any thoughts?

Comments

[intertext.livejournal.com]

Yes - those are very good points, thank you! The notion of the characters or situations being a metaphor for real life is of course important.

I think, though, that one way I see these novels "romanticizing" real poverty or social distress is that the protagonists rarely seem to have much difficulty getting by (or surviving for that matter). When they do get part time jobs these jobs are always in a bookstore or a funky cafe, which in real life are probably not that easy to get. If they live in a squat they might be robbed but not badly assaulted or raped - that is somewhat unlikely, too, sad to say. It seems to me that someone reading De Lint or the Borderland books might think it would be cool to be a street person. However, the message that we should be more tolerant and considerate is of course very important.

[superfoo.livejournal.com]

Yes - when social distresses are romanticized it's bothersome, for all the reasons you mentioned.

The message of tolerance and understanding, however, is paramount, and I will bring up Deerskin again. For people who have not experienced the horror of abuse, this book can really illuminate the distress (to put it lightly) that abuse victims can feel. It also shows that escape from a situation and healing are both lengthy processes, and the permanent change of the main character shows that once terrible things happen, people are changed. Physical transformation (the visual "rags to riches" or "old hag" to "smokin' sexpot") are important as well - they visually mark a character's purpose, or landmark their journey. Such as when the main character of Deerskin's (I can't remember her name right now) hair changes colour after she experiences trauma.

[asakiyume.livejournal.com]

That hair change thing is a common trope--another time you see it is in the 1960s-era Chinese opera-ballet "The White-haired Girl" (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_White_Haired_Girl)--or Valjean in Les Miserables--his hair goes white overnight.

[superfoo.livejournal.com]

That's fascinating to me, as it's a real life phenomenon, and a recognizable mark of trauma. Usually heroes have the "physical" markings to distinguish them as totally awesome, but the fading of hair marks something all together more sinister, and in Real Life often makes people uncomfortable. I say this because I knew a boy who had a shock of white hair, and I always wondered what caused it, but it was one of those "taboo" things to ask. I was also talking about X-Men in another comment, and the character of Rogue has a shock of white hair due to trauma.

[asakiyume.livejournal.com]

When I went to get the link for "The White-haired Girl," I saw, tangentially, that doctors say that when we have the experience of people's hair going white overnight or in a short time, what's really happening is that they've lost a lot of their colored hair, so that the white hairs show more--so it's actually more sudden hair loss than color change (they point out that a strand of hair can't change color down its length).

That being said, in my personal experience, I know of someone whose hair seemed to go white very suddenly--it was because she had cancer, lost her hair to chemotherapy, and then it grew back in all white, though she was only 40 or so. And I had a friend whose father lost his hair suddenly (but when it grew back, it didn't grow back white).

[pdlloyd.livejournal.com]

Deerskin is a remarkable book, written by an extraordinarily perceptive and talented author.

[intertext.livejournal.com]

It is one of my absolute favourite novels, evah - hence the userpic :) And Robin McKinley is one of my fave authors.

[dichroic.livejournal.com]

True in a lot of cases, though I think de Lint did get better about it (on the other hand a lot of his Newford books blend together, which makes it hard to give you a specific example).

But one good counterexample is Neverwhere - no one (unless entirely desperate) would want to run away to become a rat person! Ont the other hand the characters in London Beneath who are doing well are the ones who are not homeless, like Door.

[pdlloyd.livejournal.com]

I agree that there is some romanticisation of poverty and homelessness in many works of urban fantasy, but I'm not sure that they will lead anyone to embrace homelessness. In general, I dismiss arguments that reading or watching something will cause others to do it, in large part because I believe that those who act on such impulses generally have other issues going on. Young people who run away from home, for instance, are often running away from abusive situations. For them, the streets, no matter how awful, may seem the better option. But, hopefully, if they're reading stories like de Lint's, they'll also notice that there are other options than the streets, that there are people and organizations who, like the Grasso street angle, want to help them.

[superfoo.livejournal.com]

A great example of the "runaway" theme turned on it's head is Garth Nix's Shade's Children. It deftly discusses issues not only of trauma, death, and those pesky coming-of-age hormones, but also explores TONS of other issues in a disturbing way. It's one of my favorite books, with "heroes" who are a far cry from perfect, indeed a far cry from adults, and there is very little romanticising - I suppose that's kind of an oxymoron considering it's sf, and has a romantic element to it. Although written for young adults, there are scenes in that book that will stay with me forever.

[pdlloyd.livejournal.com]

Another example of fantasy in an urban setting is Tim Powers' Fault Lines trilogy, which I've just finished reading. While his work is so unique as to practically defy categorization, I think his use of myth and magic in an urban setting justifies mention.

**spoiler alert**
In one of these books, when a young boy, Koot Hoomie Pargana, known unfortunately as Kootie, breaks a revered statue and runs away from home, he unintentionally sets off a chain of events that has him running for his life, with no home to return to; his parents have been gruesomely murdered, as Kootie discovered when he tried to return home after one night on his own, and now the murderer wants Kootie, too. During his adventures, he encounters a panhandler who lives out of his car and takes Kootie under his wing in large part because Kootie's presence means his panhandling will be more effective. He uses Kootie, but is not abusive of him. However, when he discovers that there is a reward out for Kootie's return, he immediately wants to cash in, even though Kootie has told him his life will be in danger if he is turned in.

Nothing about this scenario comes across to me as romanticization of the homeless setting. Kootie's erstwhile protector is not vicious, but he is a drug addict and his only real loyalty is to himself. Kootie is frightened, battered (beaten up by other kids, bleeding from a wond that won't heal), hungry, desperate, knows he's being used and willing to be used just to stay alive, traumatized by having seen his parents' dead bodies, and having strange experiences of a mystical nature that he doesn't understand.

Another interesting aspect of these novels is Powers' depiction of ghosts. In this world, ghosts that stay tied to this world can begin to become solid, by eating bits of trash, pebbles, and other things lying around. As they accrete substance, they grow to look like homeless people and are, by and large, the only depiction of the anonymous homeless one finds in these books. By depicting the homeless in this way, as pathetic and ineffectual ghosts who exist by eating trash, Powers makes, I think, a point about how we view the homeless in the Real World, as worthless nothings who are little more than trash. I should point out that I probably would never have made this connection without this discussion. I think the connection, while vivid, is actually done quite subtly.

[superfoo.livejournal.com]

The depiction of Ghosts sounds really neat! It reminds me of "no face" from Spirited Away when he eats all the people and becomes progressively more ill and "evil".