How to Use Identity and Vulnerability to Write Psychologically Realistic Characters in Fantasy Fiction
A myth I hear tossed about, usually by people who haven’t put in much thought, is that it’s fine for characters to act “unrealistic” in a fantasy novel, because fantasy is already about unrealistic things, like dragons and magic and so on. This is, of course, hogwash; all stories are about people, and people, be they wizards, super-powered, or even non-human, act like people. That is due to the simple fact that all stories are written by people, by human beings.
(Giving Voice to the Wilderness as a Writer.)
Perhaps one day we will meet aliens (there goes my sci-fi side) who write truly strange stories, but for now, I recommend embracing the humanity of your human and inhuman characters alike, and the psychological richness therein. And psychological complexity in fantasy need not be limited to grimdark “realistic” fantasy like A Song of Ice and Fire. Even Tolkien, with his black-and-white morality and epic tone, wrote psychologically complex characters, whose actions were informed both by their traumas and their positionality within their society.
One method for creating psychologically complex characters is to understand their weaknesses, or areas of vulnerability, aspects of their life they feel uneasy about, uncertain of, or even frightened by. Characters might then act in ways to avoid triggering their fears, or to cover up or hide their vulnerabilities; there are a wide range of coping strategies that might influence how they think, act, or interact with other characters.
A good place to start is to study our character’s position in society, and how they see themselves. In any world, ours or a fantastical alternate, people will have diverse and divergent experiences and perspectives. A noble is going to have a different view of the world than a peasant, a native of a land may be treated very differently than someone who has recently immigrated, or colonized.
Has your character had an easy go of it? Or have they faced systemic struggles? Do they see the structure of society (be that kingdom, republic, or anarcho-syndicalist commune) as something good and worth protecting, something to be survived, or something to be overthrown? And if they do struggle with their place in society, how do they psychologically process that struggle and the traumas they have faced? In a healthy manner, or by some combination of avoidance, denial, and/or projection?
For example, in my novel The Sightless City, one of my protagonists, Sylvaine, is a Ferral. Ferrals are a species of befurred, clawed folk who are looked down upon and treated with dismissive condescension by the human majority. Sylvaine has been called a “beast” her whole life and has internalized this trauma. Instead of directly resisting, fighting against prejudice, she has instead tried to prove herself the exception, to make herself immune from the vitriol society throws at her, and that she so often throws at herself.
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She seeks to become an engineer; the one thing Ferrals can never be, a way to prove to herself that she is not a beast. Her failure and ensuing desperation is what makes her susceptible to the corruptive influence of the villainous tycoon Lazarus Roache, who promises to give her the powers of an engineer, and more importantly, an identity free from the discrimination and self-hate that comes with being a Ferral.
Alternatively, there may be a specific event or trauma that has shaped a character’s psyche. Marcel, my other protagonist, as middle-class and fully human, never faced Sylvaine’s struggles. Instead, his trauma comes from his experience in war, having lost friends, his leg, and his innocence after being forced to commit acts that could be viewed as war crimes. In response, he has gripped tight to a narrative that he was a hero, that his actions were not only justified, but necessary and noble. He seeks refuge in ideology, in stories of simple good-vs-evil, with him and his country as the heroes, and those killed by his actions as simple unredeemable villains. To even consider other possibilities is to throw into question his whole identity, and so this remains his weakness, his vulnerability, that transform his good intentions into questionable, sometimes tragic outcomes.
In both instances, if my characters had more nuanced understanding of their past and identity they could become more healthy and resilient people, but flawed characters are interesting, and moreover, flaws give character room to grow across a novel. You can see similar struggles, growth, or failure to grow in other great fantasy novels. For example, in Jonathan Stroud’s Bartimaeus Trilogy, readers learn that Bartimeaus’s bitter, snarky attitude is a result from his trauma being forced to serve human, and much narrative tension comes from the often dashed hopes that he will find freedom, and that his master, Nathanial, will grow to be a magician who rejects this cruel system, instead of perpetuating it. Many of China Miévilles best novels, such as the Bas-Lag Series follow flawed characters, whose mistakes and foibles push the plot along, and even more optimistic fantasy, such as Ursula Le Guin’s A Wizard of Earthsea chose to make its antagonists metaphorical (or literal!) reflections of the protagonists personal moral and psychological struggles.
(11 J.R.R. Tolkien Quotes for Writers.)
So find that vulnerability in your own characters, and see how they struggle with it. Do they deny it, create new identities or grasp onto ideological narratives to soothe their conscience? Or perhaps they project their flaws onto others, or instead become emotionally distant. Overcoming these flaws can be just as enthralling a journey as any quest to defeat an evil overload or destroy an accursed piece of jewelry. Though of course, there’s no reason you can’t do both.
This process of character growth need not be linear. Have characters fail to improve, or improve and then revert, have them lash out because of their struggles. Let one character’s internal difficulties affect their relationship to others. In real life, people don’t always process these challenging emotions in a healthy manner, and there’s no reason they would have to in a fantasy world either.
Sylvaine may be seeking what are essentially magical powers, in the engineering art of the “knack,” but her desire for an identity in which she can feel secure in is not in any way fantastical. Marcel may be working under a different political schema than we are used to, but his choice to embrace a narrow ideology to avoid hard questions about his past is also something that could be transposed into our world.
In short, fantasy stories are at their core, still stories about people, and even if the details of a character’s personal trauma involve dragons or magic wands, the way they will process or fail to process it remains the same as in non-genre fiction.