One of the most interesting things I’ve learned writing epic fantasy novels is realizing just how deeply people apply their own worldview on things. So that if something doesn’t “match,” it feels off.
I write from the perspective of someone who grew up, and is still surrounded, by a culture that emphasizes getting along and harmony with each other (especially family members). We don’t like conflict. Which doesn’t mean we don’t have conflict–we have a lot of it. Lots and lots and lots. Something about Spanish influence has resulted in Filipinos being one of the most emotional Asian cultures out there.
So even if outwardly we’re supposed to display that stereotypical Asian propriety, respect, etc., we’re also conditioned to have–and maybe search for–this complexity in relationships in order to express our feelings on just about everyone and every situation imaginable. Even outside traditional naming practices, some Filipinos love to use all sorts of names to express relationships–you can have a “Mommy-Lola” for a grandmother who is functioning as a parent to her grandkids, a “Tita-Mommy” for the same thing with an aunt, etc. In our family, all my aunts and uncles on my mom’s side are Mama and Papa. I call my cousin “brother” within conversations and that’s understood to refer to our relationship of being raised as siblings. My kids call him Papa; he calls them his niece and nephew. From an outsider’s perspective, it’s all “incorrect,” but it defines our relationship and we’re happy this way.
So I like to say that if many Western stories is about the hero’s journey, many Filipino stories revolve around relationship reconciliation. (In general), Western stories are about killing the bad guys and getting the reward; Filipino stories are about finding your place in the world in relation to the people in your life.
My stories attempt to bridge the culture I’ve grown up with to the medium of storytelling I enjoy the most. That’s why I tend to start them with this tangled mess… all these relationships rife with conflict, all these characters who don’t quite fit into the tropes they resemble. People make mistakes–and are not villified for them immediately. Even as I follow typical Western plots and structures, I want to maintain the focus on these people exploring how they fit in the grand scheme of things.
And so I start with a lot of questions, none of which are supposed to be answered cleanly. I love exploring those angles, finding those little nooks and crannies in characters’ relationships and the way they view the world based on the people they’re standing with. It’s something I’ve noticed in revisions in my Bitch Queen epic fantasy books… as they progress, so does Talyien’s perception of the world. After having finished Book 3, going back to the previous books is amazing.
The problem is that when you apply a completely Western viewpoint on some of these situations, you end up answering these questions before the narrative does. It’d be like an algorithm applying generalized assumptions based on the input they’ve been provided about how humans are: “Aggressive, rude, creepy = bad guy.” And that’s where I run into trouble. As I’m telling these stories, things get in the way; I have to go back and make sure some of these things are pulled into the spotlight more, or explained more, to bypass some readers’ natural compulsion to explain the story based on their experiences in the past.
It’s really hard. When I get feedback about certain situations, I often have to go back from a cultural perspective. What are you missing that I’m not? What’s obvious to me, and isn’t to you? As the author, I think it’s on me to explain my story better, but the process is often this painful disentangling of what I know of the world versus how others see it. It’s a little bit like taking a scalpel and going through my own brain, to pull things out so I can examine them.
I also compare these reactions to my husband, who is usually the first beta-reader of my epic fantasy books, to see where things align. It’s interesting, for example, that he’s sympathized with characters that are universally hated by others. Not because he agrees with them, but because he actually sees the little things they do that contribute to their overall character, as opposed to categorizing them based on broad assumptions. We’ve had long conversations about the motivations and actions of many of the characters in my books, and it’s always interesting how different the focus is when I talk about the same thing to friends who don’t share the culture.
For instance, my husband immediately sees how the actions of certain characters is influenced by how they view their relationships to other characters. That constant “What would people think?” that’s ingrained in our heads, and has us weighing every action for the overall harmony of our social groups. “Does this action bring shame to our family? To my mother? To my father? If I do X, what would that say about [my people]?” We’ve been taught that what people say and do is not necessarily a reflection of how they feel. So it’s a given that we’re waiting for a story to peel back every character’s layer, until we’re down to the beating heart of it.
In the West, people are used to saying what they feel. The Western perspective is very focused on the individual, and puts the individual first before others. My cultural upbringing is the complete opposite: others come first, and you only think of yourself last (if at all). Even if the goal is the same–say, we’re talking about compassion, kindness, and doing what’s right–the pathways are completely different. Neither is better than the other; my stories have one foot in each camp, and attempt to look at it from both perspectives. In my epic fantasy books, there are villains, but they’re not necessarily “bad.” And there are heroes, but they’re not necessarily “good.” And when people say they don’t know how to think of my characters halfway through the story… that’s okay. You’re not supposed to know yet; maybe you’re never supposed to know at all. Maybe it’s about the journey, not the destination.
