Okay. I've cut this response into two sections. Let's see what this first half provokes from you.
I’m going to start with the notion of intent.
We spoke in relative depth last Thursday about some of the archetypes in fantasy: Mongol-like hordes of horse warriors with their curved blades and composite bows who come invading (or don’t, and have to be found) from the East; barbarians and their one, defiant ‘Noble Savage’, who come down to the centre from the north. Deserts in the south or southeast; and the sophisticate western society that often simply tries to reflect the wonders and flaws of America and/or Europe. Funny how Meso-America and South America and their wonderful jungle mythologies rarely get mentioned.
We spoke about the probability of a reader going into a story with an expectation of some kind of overlying patriarchal society coursing through the story; and we spoke race, colour, and ethnicity as factors that determine things in stories similar to how they do in life, such as racism, opportunities or the lack thereof.
Ultimately, aye, a reader will enter a story with expectations.
Let’s squash those expectations like bugs underfoot.
I firmly believe that as long as the changes (or, rather, alternatives) that we want to present in our story can feel as though they are part of the cause and effect of our created world, and we can relate those alternatives to our human readers by maintaining both humans as characters in our story and the fundamental qualities of humans, such as, most importantly, compassion, empathy, obsessiveness, to name a few…then we can set the bar as high as we like.
I think one way we could begin immediately stretching our wings of resistance is by rejecting the quintessential medieval setting. Let’s do some research! There are hundreds of different cultures that have come and gone; if we’re going to draw influence, why not push towards something that hasn’t been done a thousand times? Peter V Brett’s fantasy series, as an example of him flexing his muscles, doesn’t include a single sword; it’s just not a weapon in his world. There are spears, axes, bows and crossbows, halberds. (There are knives, but if you have problems with that, then take it up with him.) But in itself, it’s a quite a big decision to make when you consider how many fantasy stories have named swords that are either ancient or magical or both.
Rather than medieval, we could look at the Romans, or the Greeks, or Byzantium; we could push further East. Make the Ancient East our focal point.
But even then, all we need take is cultural tidbits; societal expectations. We could dip our hands into all the variant cultural baskets and see how many different ingredients we have in hand, and then modify them to create something that might become a part of a people’s civilization.
A quote that’s useful to bear in mind when worldbuilding:
Approach world-building from geology upward. From there, slap on layers of geography, history, anthropology and archaeology, biology and so on. Start with maps, because maps help direct on how to create the cultures and civilizations on those maps (coast versus inland, traders versus introverted, closed cultures, mobile versus sedentary, lowland versus highland, hill-tribes versus plain-tribes; forest-dwellers versus river-farers, old versus new, stagnant versus innovative, rigid versus egalitarian, and so on). Once you have a general idea of all that, you can start layering the land's back history -- what came before, and what came before that, and what drifted down and to what extent did that knowledge become twisted? Bear in mind that ecosystems evolve as well: a very early culture that deforested its environment and, say, introduced goats into the landscape, will ultimately lead to an arid, rocky, denuded setting for the present culture (think Middle East, Greece, parts of Italy and Spain). You want the landscape to be as protean as the cultures living on it, just working on a slower pace of change.
With said quote in mind, we’re in complete control. Suddenly our POV characters, however many, are immediately, for you and me, not necessarily white; not necessarily a hulking straight male; not necessarily humble and heroic and honest.
If we make clear in our opening pages, scenes, chapter, whatever, that part of our mission is to dismantle the expectations a reader might bring to our story, then we’re giving ourselves room to think about the other things that people can be concerned with. Off the top of my head: needs, desires, fears, motivations, attitudes, secrets, scars, memories, loves, weaknesses.
If all we do is draw upon struggles created by real world discrimination then there’s an argument that we’re drawing upon suffering to create art, now that can be justified if we empower the victims into overcoming the discriminators…but that sense of overcoming the odds is as common a trope/plot point as any out there because people often organically back themselves into a creative corner by falling back into the problems of the real world and not something they’ve invented.
So, all as Point One, I suppose, intent. The potential before us of doing something original. That excites me.
Point two: Religion
There’s always the road of avoiding it completely, but I don’t see the point. Religion in a very broad sense can be considered as the relationship between a person/couple/cult/society/civilization with everything else around it. Think of how many different gods civilizations such as the Greeks had. Gods of beer and wine; gods of agriculture; of the seasons; of rain; of disease; healing; life; death; fire; war; peace; drama; music; stone; the sea. There’s a vast labyrinth of exploration that could be experienced through the concept of a character’s relationship with as little as one or two of those gods. What sort of questions can we associate? Why is it that a person prays to a being they’ve never seen nor truly heard, for calm seas, or for their newborn to live long and prosperously? Is it very simply and inchoately a fear of the unknown? Well, I doubt it. Otherwise a lot of theorising in the last few thousand years was for fuck all.
Where else can we go with religion? Abstract nouns such as devotion, faith, marriage, confession, sin. (We could easily create our own set of lexical terms through exploring linking synonyms, if we wanted to wander from the traditional words.) Fanaticism. Holy wars. Theocracies. The effects that faith might have on a relationship between two people or members of a cult…if suddenly their faith is shattered, or strengthened. Religion is above all else, I think, a very useful mechanism for characterisation, theme, and plot.
With gods would then inevitably come the question of mythology. Potential ways of using the ‘story within a story’ to develop our fantasy world’s histories, ancestries, and those pesky gods I just mentioned.
These could lead to further revelations in terms of characterisation. And we could delve into creation myths: how one people believe the world came to be; how another group believe things happened: what effect is created when two different peoples are divided because of such fundamental beliefs?
Living conditions. This, as a topic, is something I’m often curious about when I read fantasy or watch fantasy. King’s Landing is absolutely nowhere near, in the TV show, as grimy and filthy as it should be. Think about all of the shit, piss, and vomit of the poorer people. Where does it go? Even the nobles' sewer system just feeds into the local river and the nearby, fishermen-plied sea. What do they eat when they can’t get good food? What does this food do to their bodies? What happens if it rains for 10 days and they can’t dry their clothes, what happens to their immune system? Litter, rodents, the dead and dying, all of these things would surely exist in greater numbers in a big city that is so rich in poor people. What would, exploring the POV of a very poor, lower-class character, reveal about faith, or a nobility, or compassion, or sharing, after a life of suffering like that?
With such poor hygiene, what new things could our writing uncover in terms of description? Writing descriptively is, of course, about enriching a reader’s impression of something. Smell, taste, sight, sound, touch. The more visceral the better; and it never has to be anything necessarily ‘Grimdark’.
To stick with this sense of realism through aspects such as hygiene, we could look at other elements of cause and effect. What would an ill-forged blade cause in a fight? A shield with splinters all around the handle. An armour buckle that comes loose underneath the shoulder. There are countless examples of these things happening in real world history. Military leaders who have died because their horse reared when crossing a river at the sudden appearance of a snake, and the leader fell from the horse and drowned. Or when Harold got shot in the eye from a seemingly stray-ish arrow.
I like gritty. I like a sense of realism. Of things going wrong and characters having to deal with consequences. Of their paths being diverted. We’ve spoken about how good GRRM is at that. Things like learning and knowing when a character’s side quest can be explained in a short paragraph, and when it requires a 3-page scene to develop plot or character.
With that sense of realism, we could look at the dichotomy of heroic versus unheroic and what an unheroic protagonist might be like. Unheroic characters are scattered through modern fantasy because they add dimension to people, making them more real. It’s great ground to keep striking; but I’m of a mind that it doesn’t need to be the mocking, Abercrombie kind of unheroic. At least not from beginning to end.
Another idea I’m curious about is the idea of writing a story through using ‘secondary characters’ as the POV hosts. Characters who become well-realised in the story and are very much the characters we care for most and are most well-developed in terms of their features, traits, history, growth, etc., but who aren’t necessarily the most powerful, earth-shattering characters. The idea, to elaborate, of keeping the most powerful gods/magic-users/etc. shrouded, to an extent, in some mystery. A human protagonist is never going to learn everything about their world, after all.
Unreliable narrators and philosophical monologues could also be useful mechanisms of developing character and plot and dramatic irony. When one character thinks something but we the writers, and our readers, know that this character is wrong in their thinking or presumption, and that another character knows the truth or the answer. And as an extension to this notion, the idea of our characters being people who think. Who think a lot. Unlike Abercrombie, as you spotted, let’s have our characters reveal things during their POV. If we didn’t want a particular thing revealed for a while, well, suddenly that character might be difficult to get hold of for 80 pages. If a character is on a quest that threatens their life, aren’t they going to be fucking obsessive about that thing? I would say so. I want them to give thought to their actions; to consider the consequences and rewards (those that they have the mental capacity to consider, anyway; nobody is ever objective enough to see everything both good and bad.) of those actions. How will their actions tie into their relationship with another character and what will that mean and how does that make our POV character feel? Are they anxious? Excited?