Putting Place Names in their Proper Frames

Wizened issues Average a calling with a slew of fanciful place namesWhenever I see fanciful or imaginative place names, real or fictional, my first instinct is not, “Ooh, how neat!” It’s more along the lines of, “What were they smoking when they named that?”

I live in a city called Mesa. Literally “table,” because it sits on a plateau. Nearby land features include South Mountain (to the south), Red Mountain (guess what color!), and the Salt River, which runs through salt banks on the Fort Apache Reservation.

The Salt is fed by the Black and White Rivers, which come from the White Mountains to the north. (Where it snows. Surprise.) We also have the Verde River and the ever exotic Gila River (pronounced “hee-lah”), but don’t get too excited. They translate to “green” and “salty,” respectively.

The most imaginatively named land features in the area? Those would probably be Camelback Mountain, which looks roughly camel-shaped from the side, and a range to the east called the Superstitions. But these are, of course, part of that vast and intuitively named North American system, the Rocky Mountains.

(Spoiler alert: you can find many rocks therein.)

Place Names: A Fine Art

One might contend that this stark realism in naming is a feature of desert living, but it’s not. Place names across the world break down in a similar manner.

The British Isles sport a number of “feature” names that, thanks to language change, no longer appear as mundane as they once were. Consider the following elements:

  • “dun” = hill
  • “fen” = swamp
  • “-more” = moor
  • “-kirk” = church
  • “avon” = river
  • “-lea”/”-ly” = meadow
  • “thorp”/”throp” = village
  • “-ford” = river crossing
  • “way” = road
  • “strat” = street

When you start combining these with each other and with other elements, the resulting names have a classical, established sense to them. And then you realize that the River Avon is literally the River River, a “dunhill” is a hill-hill, and the high-sounding Fenmore can only denote an exceptionally boggy bog.

Even the poetic Stratford-upon-Avon breaks down into “street-river-crossing-upon-river.” And suddenly it’s not so poetic anymore.

This convention holds true for other languages as well. The infamous Llanfairpwllgwyngyll in Wales translates (reportedly) to “the parish of St. Mary in the hollow of the white hazel.”

Meanwhile, the New Zealand landmark of Taumatawhakatangi­hangakoauauotamatea­turipukakapikimaunga­horonukupokaiwhen­uakitanatahu might intimidate the casual reader, but it only means, “The summit where Tamatea, the man with the big knees, the slider, climber of mountains, the land-swallower who travelled about, played his nose flute to his loved one.” (Thanks, Wikipedia.)

Which is why, when I see fantasy book maps with mountain ranges called the Jagged Spine or the Teeth of Hecate or whatever, it rings false. From what I can tell, settlers across cultures have arrived in new areas, looked around, and said something along the lines of, “Hey, this forest is pretty black. Let’s call it the Black Forest.”

Semantic Bleaching at its Finest

Many place names carry an otherworldly, fanciful sense because their meaning is not readily accessible to the average speaker. Foreign wording or language change swathes the landmark in a layer of mystery. Places named for their founders or in honor of other notable figures further establish that esoteric feel, because more and more often, proper names exist separate from their original definitions.

This chasm between word and meaning introduces uniqueness and wonder, but it can also give the impression that place names are arbitrary.

Typically, they’re not.

Now, this isn’t to say that the run-of-the-mill fantasy author should put away their scrabble tiles and take a more conventional route to naming their landmarks. Rather, when the darts are thrown and the seemingly random letters assemble into a slick-sounding country, the questions that follow might be, “How came this name in the history of my world? What is its root? What does it mean?”

And the answer doesn’t need a lot of window dressing. In the end, there’s nothing wrong with a place called “Red River” or “Castle View.” On the contrary, that simple detail can lend authenticity in a world where the unfamiliar reigns.

My two cents. (Of course.)

And Suddenly, a Book Release: Namesake

I know I’m supposed to do something grandiose for a book release, but my anxiety is already through the roof. So, I’ve pulled the trigger and I’m moving on. Namesake is now available on Amazon.com.

This is your courtesy notice, haha.

Namesake book release

The Book Release Saga: What Took So Long?

One of the many issues that I battled last year involved determining where my writing was going and whether it was time to throw in the towel and move on. I love to write, but I’m not a responsible author.

(See the above casual book release for a reference point to that statement.)

The publishing world is flooded with hard-working people who seem to have clear goals and ambitions. I.e., the exact opposite of me. It’s easy, on reading their experiences or advice, to feel like I have no clue what I’m doing, that I’m only pretending, that I don’t belong in this industry, that I’m doing everything wrong, and that everything is futile anyway.

And when that happens, my anxiety disorder flares and claws its way up my throat from my stomach, and I unplug from life for a couple of days. NBD.

In late April, I went to lunch with a dear friend, Tamara Passey, who graciously discussed her first-hand experience as an indie author. During our conversation, she asked me what my goals were.

And I confessed that I didn’t have any, other than to write really, ridiculously well. (I’m working on it, guys. I totally am.)

Among other encouragements, Tamara gave me permission to make temporal goals. And she provided me with the framework for how to set up an imprint.

So I did.

And that’s what took so long.

Eulalia Skye Press

Eulalia Skye logoYou might notice, going forward, this handy little sigil in or on my books. I may or may not start switching titles over. I may or may not open those titles up for wider distribution.

I may or may not commit to half a dozen things, but here’s what I have done:

  1. I registered an imprint. It took me about a month and a ton of brainstorming to settle on a name. I love that it is oddly quirky and that it plays with fantasy elements while still having a sense of grounded-ness to it. Somehow, random as “Eulalia Skye” is, it fits my writing.
  2. I bought a block of ISBNs. This commits me to this industry for a few years yet, mostly because it wasn’t a block of 10. With seven books out, I’d blow through those without batting an eyelash. (Yes, I have 100 ISBNs. I’ve used 2 so far for Namesake. Only 98 more to go. Breathe, Kate.)
  3. I registered with the Library of Congress. Namesake has an LCCN. It’s listed on the print-edition copyright page and everything.

There have been a million other tiny processes and procedures. Each has been a personal battle, because in many ways I feel like I’m stepping down a path blindfolded.

But I’m doing what I can to move forward. One… terrifying… step… at a time. And, theoretically, the next book shouldn’t take nearly as long on the publishing side.

(Theoretically. Ha.)

Last Hurrah

If you’ve read this far, thank you. I have been blessed by so many who have given encouragement when they didn’t even realize I needed it. (And many of whom may not have known they were giving it.)

You guys are awesome and inspirational. When I grow up, I wanna be like you.

Cover Reveal and Summary: Namesake

At long last, a cover reveal!

But first!

Good things come to those who wait, but better things come to those who work. I have spent the past few months in what I affectionately call “cover hell.” Consequently, I’ve avoided places like the internet in general and my own website in particular where I might have to account to others for my dealings. I here apologize. It is a character flaw that I’m likely to embrace to my grave.

And now, to the eye candy!

Cover Reveal:

cover reveal: Namesake by Kate Stradling

 

Summary: Namesake by Kate Stradling

“Who needs magic in an age of electricity? I can flip the switch on the wall with the best of them.”

Anjeni Sigourna bears the name of a legendary goddess, but her resemblance to that honored figure ends there. Eighteen and jaded, she has cultivated sarcasm instead of the elusive magic everyone expects her to possess. Such mystic power lacks purpose in her modern world.

But when an adverse encounter with the Eternity Gate lands her in an alien realm, magic marks the boundary between life and certain death. Anjeni alone holds the keys to saving an ancient people from a savage enemy. Her bitterness notwithstanding, now she must create a legend instead of living in its shadow.

Best of Intentions

“Cover hell” consisted of a multitude of ideas with middling-to-poor execution. None of them made it past the drafting stage until I stumbled on this one, and then it went through four different builds (including a first, quick run in PSE where the program shut down when I tried to print, and I hadn’t saved so I lost everything, hahaha). A last-minute rework on that epic fireball sealed the deal this afternoon. I am in love.

(For now.)

Namesake is schedule for release in August, providing everything goes well. And by that, I mean my files are uploaded and under review. If the physical proof looks good, I’ll hit “Approve” and let you all know.

In the meantime, you can read excerpts from the book over on my critique group’s site, Novel Three: here and here.

Stay tuned!

The Official Un-obligatory Project Update

2017 project title plate: Namesake

I finally finished my experimental manuscript. I’ve battled this beast for over a year, and my brain wanted it done a long time ago, so the last stretch took a lot out of me. I typed “The End” on April 4, exported the text to Word, and closed the Scrivener project file.

And I haven’t opened it again.

Gleefully.

I’ve learned enough of my writing patterns to expect a creative depression to hit me after I finish a draft. The focus required in that end-game sequence of tying all my plot elements together really jacks up my everyday life. I forget how to live outside of my craft, and when the project closes and I have to come back into the real world, I experience a loss of purpose and become despondent for a spell.

Not so this time around.

The Boondoggle Project

When I started into Namesake, I didn’t think much of it. I had jotted the idea down almost a decade ago. I even sketched out some scenes, gave some characters names, and outlined a couple of major events. But I did it almost flippantly. The concept seemed too predictable and the conflicts too trite, so I hadn’t considered further development a good use of my time.

I can’t remember why I picked it up again. I think the throes of real-life drama made me want something brain-candy-ish to experiment with. It was an escape. I changed the POV from 3rd Limited Omniscient to 1st Lyric Present and made my protagonist a sarcastic little punk. I wasn’t going to do anything with it, so why shouldn’t I play?

The plot merited a novella, a quick there-and-back-again adventure where my bitter protag could get some perspective knocked into her. For kicks, and because I wasn’t working on anything serious, I brought it to my critique group.

And that’s where I ran into trouble.

The Questionable Joys of Critique

Critique groups are awesome. They make you accountable for your work and help you refine your craft. And sometimes—sometimes—when you phone in a brain-candy draft, they demand that you get your act together and develop it properly.

I didn’t want to. Rachel and Jill insisted. When I told them last summer that I was five chapters away from the end, they looked at each other in alarm and said, “No you’re not.”

I balked. They lectured. I revised characters and scenes and villains and plot points and lived in dread of that weekly meeting.

(Sometimes accountability really bites, y’know?)

But the process refined me. I had to take my craft seriously instead of flouncing through self-indulgent mediocrity.

And the end-result? This story is wayyyyy better than I ever expected it to be. Color me pleasantly surprised.

 The Moral

My grandfather used to say, “If it’s worth doing, it’s worth doing right,” but in the literary world, “right” can be subjective. The road from Mediocre to Fantabulous requires slogging through a lot of hard work. It definitely helps to have course checks along the way.

(And yes, “Mediocre” and “Fantabulous” are both subjective as well.)

Further Reading

Curious about Namesake? I’ve posted a couple of excerpts over on my critique group’s site, Novel Three:

From Chapter 1, here.

From Chapter 6, here.

Look for the book sometime this summer. If I get my act together, I should announce more specific dates soon.

Dangerous Artifacts and the Characters Who Love Them

Average has a gift for neutralizing dangerous artifacts.
When it comes to dangerous artifacts in a fictional setting, every writer faces at least two dilemmas:

  1. Why does everyone want this thing?
  2. Why is the main character the most appropriate to deal with it?

(I mean, you can ignore those two issues, but then you end up with a confirmed MacGuffin and a contrived plot. If that’s your cup o’ tea, more power to you.)

Issue #1: The Cause for Desire

The obsession with dangerous artifacts usually boils down to one word: power. “Dangerous artifacts” are dangerous because they grant or disrupt power and thereby throw off the balance of the universe. Consider:

  • The One Ring (LOTR)
  • The Elder Wand (HP)
  • The Amulet of Samarkand (Stroud’s Bartimaeus Trilogy)
  • The Orb of Aldur (Eddings’s Belgariad)
  • The Godstone (Carson’s Fire and Thorns)
  • Every dragon egg and enchanted sword across the fantasy spectrum

Each is a singular item that amplifies its user into a new class of abilities. Hence, the bad guys want the power, and the good guys (generally) want to keep it hidden. Or, either side might want to destroy it, depending on how its powers affect them.

And then there’s that one poor sap who stumbles across it unwittingly.

Issue #2: “Why Me?”

When a dangerous artifact lies at the center of a crisis, the story inevitably needs someone to deal with it.

Enter the Chosen One.

I’ve encountered a lot of critique lately about how books—and fantasy epics in particular—keep focusing on this motif of a Chosen One. The snarkier critics point to it almost with a sneer.

“Oh, look! Another story about a Chosen One! How original!”

While I agree that the motif can be too heavy-handed, stories by their very nature must center on unique individuals. Protagonists have to measure up to their conflicts, or else they’d get eliminated in the first three chapters. And then what was the point?

(Or you can take away the conflict, but then we’re left wandering the hills with Wordsworth. Again, what’s the point?)

In a sense, every protagonist is a Chosen One, because the author chooses to tell their story.

So, answer #1 to the question of “Why this protagonist?” is simply “Because it had to be someone.”

A pretty crummy answer by itself. Which is why there must be something more.

That Certain Je Ne Sais Quoi

Some characters merit their Chosen One status because they are literally chosen by God, prophecy, or the villain himself to rise up against the conflict:

  • Princess Lucero-Elisa de Riqueza (chosen by God)
  • Taran of Caer Dallben (chosen by prophecy)
  • Harry Potter (chosen by prophecy and/or Voldemort)

Others merit it because of their heritage, lineage, or inborn talent:

  • Frodo Baggins (mild-mannered hobbit = less susceptible to the Ring)
  • Arthur Pendragon (son of Uther Pendragon and Igraine, daughter of a Welsh king)
  • Nathanial/John Mandrake (natural-born magician with all the advantages therein)

In some rare cases, the protagonist appears to assume their role by happenstance, but beware that condition. “Chance” almost always ties into fate.

Accept it. Embrace it. Enjoy it.

A Final Observation on Dangerous Artifacts

While jewelry and weapons receive favored status, the truly innovative artifacts fall outside these categories. For example, Lloyd Alexander’s black cauldron grants its owner the means to an immortal army and his oracular pig allows glimpses into the future. They’re both brilliant artifacts, because no one expects anything so grand from cookware and livestock.

(And yes, h/t to the Mabinogion for that innovation. Source material matters, my friends.)

Verisimilitude: A Most Essential Plot Element

Average and Nerdly discuss the newest plot element
NOTE: In case anyone’s forgotten my generic characters’ names, “Totally” refers to “Totally Everyguy,” Average’s male counterpart. (I add this note because my own mother said, “Wait, who?” Hahaha. I’m sure he would do wonders with this latest plot element.)

The Science of a Good Plot Element

So, it’s been at least 15 years since I studied any of the natural sciences. I had CP Chem in high school and a semester of Physical Science in college that included a chemistry unit. I don’t remember a ton about them (because that was half a lifetime ago, y’know), but one thing that did impress me was the solid truth of the periodic table.

Like, “These are the elements, and because of how atoms work, these elements are set in stone.”

(We’re not getting into isotopes or any of that complicated stuff, m’kay?)

The result is that any time I come across a fictional work where characters utter something akin to “This is a non-earth element,” my BS detector pings off the chart.

Because, as far as I understand, the periodic table has defined every possible element in existence, with the exception of a handful of man-made elements appended at the end. And all of those are extremely unstable and thus unlikely to exist anywhere outside the laboratory in which they are (briefly) created.

Am I wrong? Maybe I’m wrong. If so, my apologies. (And please leave an explanation for why I’m wrong in the comments. References much appreciated.)

It’s Not “Just a Story”

The realms of fiction exist to take us beyond the natural world. Even so, they have to follow natural laws or else they destroy verisimilitude.

Verisimilitude: The semblance of truth. The term indicates the degree to which a work creates the appearance of the truth. (Harmon & Holman, A Handbook to Literature, p. 538)

This oh-so-useful term doesn’t apply only to realistic fiction. For me, it’s a defining feature that separates good writing from bad across the spectrum of literature. This “semblance of truth” allows us to slip into the story, to feel alongside the characters, to agonize over plot twists and rejoice at happily ever afters.

When it breaks, we jolt out of that fictional world, and we’re generally none too happy about it. (This ties back to the unspoken Author-Audience Contract. We want a story to fool us, but without verisimilitude, it can’t.)

Verisimilitude is a tricky beast. It allows the same person to accept Tolkien’s mithril wholesale while they give the squinty side-eye to Doc Brown’s flux capacitor. In the Star Wars franchise, it simultaneously invokes the adoration of millions and the scorn of physics teachers everywhere.

(Or maybe it was only my physics teacher. My class once got a lecture on the properties of outer space thanks to someone mentioning Star Wars.)

It is, in short, subjective according to an individual’s understanding of Truth.

Fantasy at an Advantage

When it comes to verisimilitude, the fantasy genre holds a distinct advantage: the reader comes to the story with their sense of realism already disengaged.

No one fact-checks J.K. Rowling on the existence of magic. Nor do they chide C. S. Lewis on the implausibility of an inter-dimentional portal at the back of a wardrobe. A plot element need not be anchored in reality to resonate truth. It need only resonate truth within its fictional domain.

Because fantasy storylines exist outside of the normal, explainable world, many patterns of truth fall instead to characters, relationships, and personal growth.

But this doesn’t let a fantasy writer off the hook when it comes to rules. If Harry Potter suddenly created a portal to another dimension by playing a song on a flute, for example, the reader would likely object. (The HP universe requires wands for working magic, and Harry’s more of a jock than a musician. Not that he couldn’t be both, but he isn’t.)

Those who write fantasy engage in a boatload of world-building for this very reason. If they skip this step and change rules to accommodate their plot, they’ll undermine the story’s verisimilitude.

And this goes double for the author who writes in a “real world” setting. If that’s your bread and butter, beware the errant plot element.

Ultimately, you see, all fiction is fantasy. Some is simply more upfront about it.

***

Citation: Harmon, William and Holman, C. Hugh. A Handbook to Literature, 8th Ed., Upper Saddle River, NJ: Prentice Hall, 2000.

Plot Devices and Other Narrative Thickeners

Average Everygirl #94

We’ve all been there. One minute you’re minding your own business, and the next, a dangerous and coveted plot device tumbles into your hands. And then it’s off to Mt. Doom or Alderaan or the Marshes of Morva to figure out just what to do with the blasted thing.

Much to your chagrin.

The Inherent Joys of Plot Devices

But everyone loves plot devices, and for good reason. Without them, literature would consist entirely of people remarking on their surroundings while they aimlessly wander the countryside.

Also known as the Collected Works of William Wordsworth.

(Sorry, not sorry.)

Plot devices come in many shapes and sizes. They trigger the story arc and drive it forward. The best of them hold the key to solving everything. They are the bread and butter of every writer worth his snuff.

(Yes, I’m giving you the side-eye, Wordsworth. You know what you did.)

But, of course, not all plot devices are created equal.

The Dreaded MacGuffin

Although Alfred Hitchcock gets credit for the term (spelled “MacGuffin” or “McGuffin,” depending on your preference), the concept of the MacGuffin existed before he put that term to use. It refers to an object that everybody in the story wants but that has no special attribute beyond that.

Classic examples abound.

  • The Golden Fleece? MacGuffin
  • Helen of Troy? MacGuffin
  • The Holy Grail? MacGuffin

All of these items have the same draw for those who seek them: “There’s this thing, see? And everyone’s after it, but we’re going to get it.”

*cue prematurely triumphant laughter*

MacGuffins typically cause more trouble than they’re worth, and they have no real benefits beyond some vague blessing or prestige that comes with ownership. Thus their narrative value lies only in how well they can drive an interesting plot.

(I’d give first place in this category to Helen of Troy, but the Apple of Discord is the instigating MacGuffin there. I mean, really? “Look, I need that piece of gold produce. Everyone knows that imitation-fruit trophies are the highest authority in determining one’s worth and value.”)

As with any trope, the application governs its merit. “MacGuffin” is more of a fun term than a derogatory one. Some MacGuffins are superfluous, but others are downright essential.

The Cellini Venus in How to Steal a Million (1966), for example, does nothing and is literally worth nothing, but it makes for a superbly entertaining plot.

Heist and mystery story lines frequently rely on MacGuffins to spur their heroes. You don’t expect a box of jewels or a priceless Van Gogh to have properties beyond “expensive” and “coveted.”

Quests and epics, on the other hand, can wade into forbidden territory. Long story short, if you introduce an artifact into your fantasy adventure, it better do something more than look pretty.

Further MacGuffin Reading

For more examples of MacGuffins, TvTropes.org provides an extensive list, including dozens of trope variations. Do you have a favorite? Leave it in the comments!

The Gift That Keeps On Giving

Dear Readers, I come bearing gifts.

Well, just one gift, actually. And I made it myself, and it’s not a cat sweater.

It is a writing tool extraordinaire (if I do say so myself), dedicated to my dear friend Jen and offered to all. I’ve worked on this thing off and on since May, and there’s a backstory that inspired it, but in the interest of brevity (too late), I’ll let the graphic speak for itself.

May you enjoy it, but never put it to practical use.

Merry Christmas, everyone!

DISCLAIMER #1: I do not write modern romance. This is satire, and any resemblance to any existing modern romance heroine or tag line is purely coincidental. (That sometimes happens when you’re playing with clichés, haha.)

DISCLAIMER #2: This graphic is BIG, and I am not tech-savvy. I muddled over the best way to present it but decided just to toss it up on this post. Good luck. (Protip: Click on the picture to get at the larger version, Mom. It should open in a new screen.)

DISCLAIMER #3: I do have a PDF version, if anyone is silly enough to want a physical copy of this. Sized for A2 paper. (Closest American equivalent is 18″ x 24″.) It cost me $20 to get a draft copy, but the result was delightful. Uhh… leave a comment if you’re interested?

 

‘Tis the Season

catsweater_scaled

I wrote this whole long post about my 2016 NaNoWriMo experience, but I let it sit for a day and then decided that I didn’t like it. So, I offer you this silly tidbit instead, along with my apologies for my twisted sense of humor.

My brother’s family is doing homemade Christmas gifts this year. I think that’s a lovely endeavor, but it does require advanced planning, and you can probably guess what sort of gifts I might give if I had to make them myself.

(My artisanal cat sweater would be very tasteful, mind you. Not that I would recommend tasting it.)

Whatever your traditions this holiday season, may you feel the love of God in your life and reflect that love upon others. A little kindness goes a long way.

Literary Influences: Tower of God by SIU

Confession: In the grand scheme of media—print, film, and digital—I actively follow only one series. I used to follow many, but over the years they’ve all gotten the boot, except this One. It must be something extraordinary, right?

Oh yes, my friends, it is.

Tower of God is a Korean webtoon written and illustrated by SIU (a pseudonym that stands for “Slave In Utero,” which is strikingly macabre). It chronicles the adventures of a motley collection of characters as they ascend a sprawling tower in pursuit of ultimate glory.

What, you say?

I came across this webtoon circa 2010 (probably 4-6 months after it started its current incarnation), and I’ve been hooked ever since.

How can you not love such an epic title plate?

How can you not love such an epic title plate?

What Makes This Series Great

#1: The Characters

We’ll start with the main trifecta, Bam, Khun, and Rak.

The Twenty-Fifth Bam (aka Bam, black turtle, et al.): our innocent, enigmatic hero has no clue how the tower works because he has spent most of his life in darkness and isolation. He’s an irregular irregular: although he opens the tower doors himself instead of being chosen to climb, he doesn’t have the monster-like strength or skills of the other irregulars that have forced their way in. Except that he sometimes does, which is superb fun.

Favorite Bam moment: all of ’em. I freaking love this kid.

Khun Aguero Agnes (aka Mr. Khun, blue turtle, A.A., et al.): crafty, cunning, and self-serving, Khun sabotaged his own sister and raided his father’s treasure trove before starting his journey up the tower. He’s determined to win in every situation he encounters, and he’s not above using shady means. In fact, “shady means” is his preferred method.

Favorite Khun moment: pretty much any time he takes control, but his first appearance in Season 2 makes me giddy with joy every time I read it. He owns that ridiculous outfit like no one else could.

Rak Wraithraiser (aka Rak, crocodile, et al.): a giant reptilian warrior who hunts those with strength so he can fight them and get stronger. Rak is, delightfully, the comic relief. He refers to everyone else as “turtles,” and has quite the collection of specific names. He is the “leader” of the Bam/Khun/Rak trifecta (although Khun is usually the orchestrator).

Favorite Rak moment: “This turtle is his wife.” I’m not even going to explain. Imma just leave it at that.

On the powerful, confident female side of the character spectrum, we have the following:

Ha Yuri Jahad: a high-ranker and a princess of the tower’s ruler, Jahad. Yuri encounters Bam on the bottom floor just after he enters, and she ensures that he gets a fair shot at his initial challenge.

Favorite Yuri moment: Her foot-to-the-face greeting makes for a dynamic first entrance; her battle on the Hell Train is pretty epic too.

Androssi Jahad: another princess of Jahad, Androssi enters the Floor of Test at roughly the same time Bam does. Her status makes her a pop-culture icon as she progresses upward.  (Note: she’s “Endorsi Jahad” in the official English translations; I have a soft spot for the fan-translated “Androssi.”)

Favorite Androssi moment: She’s referred to as a “tank” on more than one occasion, and it makes me laugh because she looks like a delicate girl but she’ll legit mess you up.

Hwa Ryun: a one-eyed, redheaded guide; or, well, she doesn’t start off one-eyed, but there’s this incident, and she pretty much rocks her eyepatch in the aftermath.

Favorite Hwa Ryun moment: “Pig, pig, pig, pig, pig, pig, pig, pig, pig.”

Describing all the other great characters would balloon this post to an easy 10K words. Each has their own personality and traits, and as they become more familiar, they become more beloved.

With one exception. There is one character that pretty much every last fan of this series wants to die in a horrible, grisly, face-mangling death. But disclosing who it is would be such a massive spoiler that it would destroy half the fun. Ha ha.

(Like, it takes some serious talent to create someone so universally and violently despised. I’d hate for you to miss out on any of that joy.)

#2: The Themes

Friendship. Loyalty. Ingenuity. Betrayal.

So much betrayal.

And yet, alongside that betrayal run the dual themes of forgiveness and redemption. Characters must constantly choose between honor and self-interest, but even those who make the selfish choice have innate value, and they are worthy of redemption.

(Except the Unnamed Hated One, I mean. Every rule has its exception.)

At some point in the series, I realized that I approach each new chapter with my heart in my hands. Every gut-wrenching cliffhanger sets my brain a-frenzy. And yet, like a masochist, I keep returning.

The good guys don’t always win. Sometimes they suffer horrible, devastating setbacks. They weather physical and mental anguish. They fall in with the bad guys for a season.

And that, ultimately, is why I list Tower of God as a “literary influence.” Right now, it’s my benchmark for high stakes and reader engagement. It makes me ask, “Am I letting my characters suffer enough? What if I twisted my plots just a little bit more?”

It’s wonderful, this literary trauma.

Some Caveats

If you start this series, I will warn you:

  1. The beginning art is a bit shaky. Cut those early chapters some slack, though, because the later visuals are phenomenal.
  2. The plot can feel nebulous. It gets clearer as you go, but in some respects, its nebulousness is a plus, because it makes for some exhilarating revelations.
  3. The text has a lot of grammatical errors. But it was originally written in Korean. Any of us not blessed to read Hangul are lucky for what we get. (Seriously, if you get hung up on the grammar, this series will be wasted on you. Just let it slide.)

As of last Monday, Tower of God is 300 episodes long, with the next one soon to drop. You can find its official English translation HERE.

Enjoy!

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