I have been thinking about what I value. One thing that has come to mind again and again is a sense of completeness in media, as opposed to a sense of sprawling openness which invites elaboration. This opposition comes from a gut reaction, so I suppose in order to explain myself I’ll have to define what I mean by completeness, and why I oppose it to this other thing.
This came about because I was thinking about the first two books in the Gormenghast trilogy, by Mervyn Peake, which are very much of a piece. To me, this story seems so self contained and complete. The two books, often classified as fantasy by virtue of their taking place in a landscape that is seemingly set nowhere at all, and never explained, operate according to an internal logic that is so enveloping and intricate that it makes the experience of reading almost disorienting. But to experience this world does not feel like a brush with fantasy ‘worldbuilding’. Although there are strange systems at play, we are not fully invited into how and why these systems work/are present. Although the landscape with the immense, crumbling castle at its heart feels more vivid than the settings of most fantasy novels I’ve read, the author's refusal to explain what is is doing there forces the reader away from the edges of the strange world and into the narrative. The narrative feeds the setting, and the setting feeds the narrative — we are forced to mine the strangeness of the world for thematic resonances and motifs that will give the narrative meaning In this way, it feels like it has more in common with gothic literature, or even classical tragedy, than worldbuilding (worldbuilt?) fantasy: its themes weave back and forth through setting and plot, creating a sense of narrative richness that is immensely satisfying. This is what I mean by completeness: Titus Groan and Gormenghast tell an immersive and compelling story in a way that foregrounds Mervyn Peake’s craft. The book is fun to read because of the density and creativity of its storytelling-through-setting. Its narrative strategies are elaborately constructed, very effective, and very apparent.
When I reached the final pages of Gormenghast, I had that feeling of wistfulness that comes after finishing a wonderful book. The story was over; there would be no more engaging with that world and its narrative strategies. As a reader, my relationship with the book was simple and hierarchical: the book tells me the story, I play the game, and when I finish, it’s over (although I get to take its images and themes into my life). I am rather powerless here. That’s fine with me.
To my mind, the kind of reader I am describing above differs from the kind of reader who is thrilled by worldbuilding. Worldbuilding is often extra-narrative and extra-thematic. It situates the reader as a kind of explorer in an open world. Readers who like worldbuilding often like long, sprawling series. When I think of worldbuilding, I think of Brandon Sanderson, who meticulously details elements of his world with the aim of building not a story, not really, but a multiverse. We know almost nothing about the economics of Gormenghast castle. We know quite a lot about the economics of the world of the Stormlight Archive.
The reason that I find this kind of story less satisfying than stories that feel more ‘complete’ is because this kind of story benefits from the de-prioritization of craft. The landscape is by necessity a-thematic — it has a weak connection to the book’s narrative, because it must generate any number of other narratives. This is interesting, because this is the kind of thing that invites fandom, and fan work. The thin, clumsy style of The Way of Kings has not stopped readers from producing so much fanfic, so much art. In fact, I would argue that it probably supports this tendency. Compare Mervyn Peake’s style, which is tyrannical in its idiosyncrasy.
I think the implications of this are that one type of prevalent contemporary reader is the kind of reader that values the worldbuilding experience — something more interactive. This produces more ‘open’ texts on the market which, to me, lack that feeling of completeness. Is a singular work of achievement in narrative fiction better than a vibrant community of fans that produces its own art and writing? I’m not really sure. But it all makes me feel a little bit wistful about the novel, as if that possibility is closing for good.
Very well said! Are you familiar with the 2010s 'worldbuilding' blog war? Started with an M. John Harrison post iirc.