Lev Grossman interview: Fantasy is the language of the unconscious, the dreams

Grossman takes a nuanced approach, blending magical elements with the complexities of real-life struggles and existential questioning. Coldwater is a character with flaws: Grossman’s intentional departure from the typical hero archetype allows for a realistic portrayal of the challenges that come with newfound powers. While magic offers an escape for the characters, it doesn’t automatically solve their problems. Grossman presents a world where the pursuit of power and the desire for something beyond reality can have profound and sometimes negative effects on the characters.

The former book critic and technology writer at Time magazine (2002-2016) has also written a children’s book, The Silver Arrow (2020) and the screenplay for the sci-fi romantic comedy, The Map of Tiny Perfect Things (2021), based on his short story. Earlier this month, Grossman revealed the cover of his much-awaited forthcoming novel, The Bright Sword, which draws on the legend of King Arthur, who is deeply embedded in Western mythology and folklore.

First recorded in Geoffrey Monmouth’s History of the Kings of Britain (circa 1136), Arthur is depicted as a noble and just king. Passed down through various literary works, including Sir Thomas Malory’s Le Morte d’Arthur (1485), his legend is steeped in key elements such as the magical sword Excalibur, the Lady of the Lake, the wizard Merlin, and the quest for the Holy Grail. In this interview to The Federal, Grossman talks about giving a contemporary twist to the Arthurian legend, the evolution of the fantasy genre, and much more. Excerpts from the interview:

The Bright Sword releases in July 2024. What was the genesis for the novel that aims to present King Arthur for the current moment?

I used to think there was nothing left to say about King Arthur. But lately I’d been thinking how I hadn’t seen a version of him that really resonated with the shape of the world as it was in the new millennium. The last great version of him that I’d read (this is in 2015) was Bernard Cornwell’s The Winter King, which was back in 1995. Then I started thinking about how T.H. White had written about Arthur’s childhood, which no one had really done before, and it made me think about the other end of his story, the world after he died — the world without Arthur, where the centre is gone and chaos reigned. That resonated.

Can you talk about some specific aspects of Arthur’s character that you felt was particularly important to emphasize in the context of the present day, the ones that you found most compelling to explore?

Arthur’s a tricky character in some ways, because the major versions of the story don’t give him very much to do. He’s not a knight errant, he’s a king, and he’s so good at it that he vanquishes all his enemies relatively early in his reign. Then he sits quietly at the Round Table for a few decades, till fate finally catches up with him. I needed to find internal action and conflict that’s going on inside him while he appears relatively idle. Also someone asked me once at a party, why was Arthur such a good king anyway? Was he just smarter than other people? And I realized, yes, he probably was very intelligent. He would’ve had to be.

The novel marks a transition for you as a writer in the sense that it’s going to be something different from the intricate world-building of The Magicians. In what ways do you see The Bright Sword as a departure from everything that you have written before?

Many, many ways. The Magicians was really about a small group of people figuring out who they were and what their lives were about. The beauty of Arthur is that it keeps these personal stories but pulls in much bigger ones too, stories about history and memory and God and kingship and parents and children. I had never worked on that scale before.

The Magicians trilogy, a deconstruction of traditional fantasy tropes, has been noted for its unique take on the Bildungsroman genre; Quentin Coldwater’s journey is both transformative and tumultuous. How do you perceive the role of bildungsroman in modern literature, especially the novels coming out of America?

I may not be smart enough to answer this question, but if I had to answer it I would say that writers, and readers, are no longer satisfied with the Bildungsroman as a set piece about adolescent narcissism — or put more kindly, interior conflicts — of the Catcher in the Rye variety. I’ve written one of those myself, and it’s pretty unsatisfying! The wider world —in the form of history and immigration and colonialism and inequality and technology and climate disaster — is pushing its way into the story.

In The Magicians trilogy, you explore the intersection of fantasy and reality. How do you look at the genre of fantasy literature today? Who are some contemporary writers whose works you can point us to?

It’s definitely evolving. There was a time when it was unconventional to have a character like Eliot in The Magicians, whose sexuality is fluid, in a fantasy novel. Now that’s not such a surprise anymore. There’s incredible diversity now, including voices that in some cases in the past probably wouldn’t have been represented, and they’re creating incredible new forms. I’m thinking of writers like Nicola Griffith, Nnedi Okorafor, Naseem Jamnia, Madeline Miller, Victor LaValle … it’s almost silly to name a few, there are so many, but there, I did. Fantasy has gotten bigger, it’s not just about good and evil and pretty landscapes, it turns a powerful lens on inequality, cultural difference, sexuality, mental health problems, racism, history, and more things we haven’t thought of yet. And I’m enjoying the boom in romantic fantasy too. Don’t sleep on Fourth Wing (a new adult fantasy novel by Rebecca Yarros, which was released this year, it is the first book in the Empyrean series).

The Magician’s Land marked the conclusion of Coldwater’s journey. How do you work on concluding a series, especially one that has garnered a devoted fanbase, and what considerations guide your decision-making in bringing a story to an end?

The story tells me when it’s done. When the characters aren’t going to change anymore, when they’ve become who they’re supposed to be, that feels like the end of the story to me. I can’t force it to go any further.

The concept of magic in your works is portrayed with tremendous nuance. How do you approach its portrayal in your writing, and what does it symbolise for you personally?

It really has to come out of the world and the tradition you’re writing in. For example, the magic in The Bright Sword comes out of the insular Celtic world, which we really don’t know much about, but we know it was an almost animistic world where every mountain and river had a spirit, and doing magic often meant transacting with those spirits. Asking them for favours. As for what it means to me personally … I never think about it. It spoils it somehow. My therapist used to offer to tell me what my books were about, but I wouldn’t let him. It’s a feeling, that’s all.

Your novels explore the psychological aspects of characters, especially their struggles with identity and self-discovery. How do you balance the fantastical elements with the exploration of human psychology, and why is this intersection important to you?

They play off each other in wonderful ways. Fantasy is really the language of the unconscious, the language of dreams, the unconscious, deeply buried stuff. So when you bring it into the same world as carefully drawn characters, with proper feelings and conflicts, you have the two elements playing the same story alongside each other, at the same time, but in different registers, conscious and unconscious. I find that wonderful.

The exploration of power dynamics and the consequences of wielding power is also a recurring theme in your novels. How do you use your narrative to comment on societal structures and power struggles?

I try not to comment directly. I think novels generally aren’t meant to comment, they’re more supposed to approach the world with curiosity, and then prompt us to question the societal structures we’re living in. We’re already telling ourselves a story about what’s happening in the world, but no one story captures all of it. I find that novels point out the bits that are being left out.

How do your various roles — as a journalist, literary critic, and fiction writer — inform and influence each other, and how do you see the intersection of journalism and fiction in shaping the cultural discourse in America?

Journalism is, increasingly, about storytelling, just as much as writing fiction is. In the case of journalism it means picking and choosing among the available facts to make them fit a particular story, and give a particular interpretation, to what’s happening in the world, and then hold that up as the truth. I’m not pointing fingers, I know this because I’ve done it for a living. And the more journalism becomes about selling ads, and capturing attention, the more this will be the case. Fiction, oddly, is more and more given the job of critiquing storytelling, and showing how stories can mislead us, and exclude certain facts and points of view — that comes up in The Bright Sword a lot. It’s a dirty job, but somebody’s got to do it.