TL;DR – It made me angry but it also made me think.
Todorov’s Introduction à la littérature fantastique (better known in English as The Fantastic) - often (though somewhat inaccurately) described as the first important academic work on fantasy fiction - was published in 1970. At this time, ‘Fantasy’ (capital F) was more-or-less established as a self-conscious genre of fiction. This concurrence has led to a great deal of confusion, as Todorov is actually taking up a definition of the ‘fantastique’ that he finds in the Russian philosopher Vladimir Solovyov and he is seeking to describe a narrow set of works of (primarily) 19th century literary fiction – including James’ Turn of the Screw – which are characterised by the reader’s hesitation concerning the true nature of the events described – put crassly, are they real (marvellous) or aren’t they (uncanny). For Todorov, works such as Tolkien’s Lord of the Rings are not fantastic but simply marvellous and are therefore not especially interesting to him and certainly not the focus of his study. All in all, Todorov’s work is just a reflection of the European academy at the time he was writing – pretentious, detached, obscure.
Over ten years later, toward the end of 1981, we have the publication of Jackson’s Fantasy: The Literature of Subversion. By this time, ‘Fantasy’ is not only established but commercially successful; if you walk into almost any bookshop at this time, it’s going to have a shelf dedicated to the genre and front-facing displays will likely feature best-sellers like Terry Brooks’ Sword of Shannara and Stephen R. Donaldson’s Chronicles of Thomas Covenant. Across the United States and Europe, cinemas are displaying posters for the soon-to-be-released Conan the Barbarian, featuring a muscle-bound Arnold Schwarzenegger holding aloft a shining sword. Surely, now, this book will be a proper academic study of ‘Fantasy’…?
Well, yes and no. But the yes is somehow more depressing than the no.
In an important concession, Jackson begins by speaking of an umbrella ‘fantasy’ which is “a literary mode from which a number of related genres emerge”. And under this umbrella we do find those works that publishers and booksellers were marketing as ‘Fantasy’, but also many other works beside. And, in a classic Todorovian move, we are told that it is the other works – written by a motley crew of everyone from (I kid you not) Dickens to Kafka - that are in some sense more ‘authentic’ and, therefore, more deserving of our critical attention.
So far, so boring. But there’s actually something much more sinister going on with Jackson. Where Todorov’s guiding vision was an effete liberal elitism, Jackson’s is unambiguously radical. Her stated goal is to “point to the possibility of undoing many texts” with the hope of bringing about “real social transformation”. And this shows, quite clearly, that she is not arguing in good faith. Her aim is to negate texts which she sees as impeding social change, and therefore her critical apparatus is subordinated to her political ambitions - she openly admits that she is unconcerned with what people might enjoy, she is concerned with what's conducive to progress.
From the outset, she makes clear who her enemies are, whose texts are to be “undone”: Tolkien, Lewis, T.H. White, and all other “modern fabulists [who] look back to a lost moral and social hierarchy, which their fantasies attempt to recapture and revivify”, as well as anyone – e.g. W.H. Auden – who promotes the “nostalgic, humanistic vision” that provides legitimacy to these reactionary “fabulists”. You might consider The Lord of the Rings to be a mere “pleasure-giving object” but Jackson is here to ensure you understand what’s really “going on under the cover of this pleasure” which, it turns out, involves not only a longing for the "chauvinistic" and "totalitarian" but also a full-blown “death wish”.
And, really, this could be the end of my review. As a dedicated reactionary fabulist, I presumably don’t need to hang around while Jackson decides exactly which lamp post I’m to be strung up from once the revolution starts and she and her comrades can help me realise my desire for death. One star. Half a star. No stars. Do not recommend.
And yet, wait around I did. And I must admit that, despite herself, Jackson managed to earn three stars (earn? wages?! WAGE-SLAVERY etc.) for three important insights that I intend to appropriate faster than a Bolshevik in a Minsk metal factory.
First – Fantasy is a “literature of desire” that deals with “unconscious material” and is therefore properly studied with reference to psychoanalysis. As a convicted Freudian, albeit of the bourgeois variety, I didn’t need much encouragement to bring Sigmund to the party, but I was particularly tickled by Jackson’s definition of fantasy as “a range of different works which have similar structural characteristics and which seem to be generated by similar unconscious desires. Through their particular manifestations of desire, they can be associated together.” Fantasy as the "literature of desire" par excellence is V.G. and the question as to the analysis of desire(s) remains open, despite Jackson’s attempts to close it with her rather crude assertions about death wishes and so on.
Second – Literary fantasies share many similarities with dreams and can be understood with reference to Freud’s insights concerning dream-work. Jackson makes this remark almost as an aside, and then doesn’t do much with it, since for her Freud’s later work – particularly on the notion of the ‘uncanny’ - is the lynchpin on which the psychoanalytic study of fantasy must turn. But accepting this insight, all of Freud’s key concepts and insights from his study of dreams become available to help us understand fantasy: wish-fulfilment, residues, condensation, displacement, symbols etc. etc.
Third – ‘Good’ literary fantasy lives and breathes in the dynamic tension between the mimetic (representation of reality) and the marvellous (presentation of unreality). The more readily a text can make us believe in those elements it brings over from the ‘real’ world, the more intriguing and affecting will be those elements that appear ‘unreal’ (magic, monsters etc.). And perhaps this is just another way of saying that a good fantasy writer is a good writer simpliciter, but I think there’s more to it than that.
All in all, this was a deeply frustrating book. I came away with a profound personal dislike for its author, who strikes me as the last person on earth you’d want to invite on a date to see Schwarzenegger play Conan. But I also came away with several intriguing ideas and, despite everything, this probably will be a book I’ll return to and reference in future.