Fantasy is any Time. Fantasy is medieval kingdoms or wizarding boarding schools or ancient pantheons among men or urban sport cars crashing through a magical countryside. It does not have the pretense of era-boundaries.
Fantasy is magical.
Fantasy is thematic.
Thematic magic illustrates intangible morality (what if Power was a Ring?), it enables symbolic conflict (Expelliarmus or Avada Kedavra?), and it delves into philosophy (“If you had the chance to change your fate, would you?”).
Fantasy has taught me to view the world with sympathetic eyes. Could that sullen girl, always glaring, be a princess forced from her kingdom? Could that loud and obnoxious boy, always seeking attention, be a minstrel who hides his pain behind a smile? Could that flirtatious person, always seeking romance, have been forced into this personality by a primeval society that makes them believe it is their duty to act in such a way?
Fantasy is fun.
Fantasy is absurd.
Fantasy is ridiculous.
I want to ride fire-breathing dragons. I want to turn my enemies into ferrets. I want to wear a tasseled cloak and soar through misty nights. I want to speak friend, and enter. I want to believe the world was named because Adam said, “Well, here we are”. I want to live in the fun, the absurd, and the ridiculous. I want to, because I need to escape.
Fantasy is anywhere. Fantasy is frozen tundras or grass-danced hills or volcanic wastelands among ash heaps or mysterious jungles teeming with supernatural forces. It does not have the boundaries of reality’s science.
Fantasy is horrifying
Fantasy is scary
Fantasy is dark
I don’t want to catch myself considering, even for a moment, if I would create a Horcrux. I don’t want to admit that my obsessions might have caused a two-sided personality to emerge within me. I don’t want to catch myself hoping for the villain’s success simply because he’s charismatic. I don’t want to read about the death of good people. I don’t want to think about the evil parts of me. I don’t want to admit that horrors, fears, and darkness plague reality as well as fiction. Yet I need fantasy, because I want to learn.
Fantasy is any Thing. Fantasy is pure unicorns or riddle-prone dragons or elephants! but bigger! with two more tusks! or Rodents-Of-Unusual-Size? I don’t think they exist. It may not be scientific, but it is extraordinary.
Fantasy has taught me to approach the world with an adventurer’s mind. A long night of homework is no different for me than it is for Kvothe- it’s the stepping stone to get where I want to be. A boring shift at my job does not define my life just like the years Aragorn spent wandering the Shire-outskirts did not define his. Eowyn broke rules, Hermione never changed, and Lucy’s faith saw her through to the end. I can do the same.
Fantasy is heroic.
Fantasy is a story.
Heroic stories- stories about good, evil, and everything in between; stories about internal dialogues manifested in outward conflicts; stories about people but with the masks of reality torn apart- are meaningful.
Fantasy is anyone. Fantasy is Chosen Ones and dark-cloaked rangers and oppressed women turned warriors and all of the intricacies and complexities of the human soul described through elves, dwarves, fairies, mermaids, orcs, nobility, orphans, and dragons and so much more. It is Extraordinary manifested with no hindering pretense.