Ah, literature.
One of the finest artistic mediums we have.
Imagine, if you will, stepping into the imagination of a brilliant mind and exploring the inner machinations of their thoughts in the form of prose, whether that prose be shaped into a story or structured as an academic work.
What brilliant minds await to be explored! Herodotus, Shakespeare, Tolkien, Homer, Carlyle, Plato, etc., etc.
But is that what I spend most of my time reading?
Nope!!
I’ve been hooked on LitRPGs lately, and I’m having a blast.
Now that you’ve pictured wandering through the mind of a genius, I want you to instead picture wandering through a dark forest where a large wolf attacks you, you defeat it, and a notification appears in your vision letting you know you leveled up and are now strong enough to take on more wolves. Or, better yet, a bigger wolf.
Pretty soon, you find yourself opposing the gods themselves.
Cool, huh?
I’m a firm believer that stories just made because they’re fun have plenty of value. Maybe not as much value as something that will last longer, like wisdom or knowledge, but they are still valuable.
In fact, it’s worth at least $470 million.
Where did this number come from?
The worldwide gross from the theatrical run of Godzilla vs. Kong, a movie no one has any delusions of having any more appeal than a WWE match.
And I love it.
Actually, comparing Godzilla movies is a really good way of looking at the difference between high literature and popcorn fiction, so I’m going to start with that, then I’m going to compare fantasy stories like The Lord of the Rings to modern LitRPGs.
Everyone knows the famous giant lizard that terrorized Japan for decades before moving on to America in 2014, and now is busy splitting his time between both countries.
But when most people think of Godzilla, they either think of the big CGI fights of the Warner Bros. movies that are fun and goofy, or they think of a dude walking around in a rubber suit and throwing toy cars at the camera.
It’s almost like the many sequels of the original Godzilla diluted the original concept so much that people forgot what he originally represented.
And what was it that he represented?
Let me tell you a story to show you.
I wanted my family to watch the original Godzilla from 1954 because I thought it was a fantastic movie, and I believed they’d enjoy it as well. This is a stretch, since they don’t usually enjoy watching movies that aren’t in English. But they agreed to give it a shot.
While Godzilla was on his rampage, we all laughed at how goofy everything looked. The guy in the rubber suit walked around clumsily. Godzilla’s eyes looked funny. Dramatic shots of cars getting knocked aside were basically just toys falling over with overly-dramatic music to match. It was funny, and even I was laughing.
Then we got to the aftermath of the rampage, where we saw the wounded and the dead. We saw the destruction of the city Godzilla had targeted. We saw how it affected the main characters and different families. The entire room, which was filled with laughter a moment ago, was dead silent as the realization set in.
This was Hiroshima and Nagasaki.
Godzilla was the representation of nuclear weapons of mass destruction, and the film was Japan’s commentary on the weapons. See, Godzilla didn’t just attack unprovoked. Japan essentially poked the sleeping giant, and then he attacked, leaving Japan in ruins and demanding a sacrificial move to neutralize the threat.
Sound familiar?
This wasn’t just an old, goofy monster movie. It’s a representation of how 50s Japan felt about the tragedy that struck their nation and ended World War II.
The original 1954 Godzilla stands among other films in the franchise that use the monster to say something important. Namely, Shin Godzilla in response to the Japanese government’s slow handling of the Tohoku earthquake in 2011, and Godzilla: Minus One, which discusses grief, survivor’s guilt, the value of life, and PTSD.
Are some of these movies objectively better than others?
Yes.
But I like both the serious Godzilla movies and the ones that are just made to watch San Francisco go boom.
Why do I still enjoy the fun ones when the serious ones exist?
The answer is in the question: it’s because they’re fun.
If all of our stories were allegories or commentaries or what-have-you on some disaster or another, then stories would get kinda annoying after a while.
Not boring, mind you. But I would get pretty exhausted with all of the heavy-hitting flicks, and I’m sure you would as well. There’s nothing wrong with them, but I can only handle so much emotional weight at once. Plus, if everyone is trying to make an emotional heavy-hitter, then stories won’t be fun anymore.
Tell me, do you scroll through a vast array of stunning pictures when you scroll through your phone, each taken by a master photographer, or do you look through low-quality, low-resolution memes that make you laugh? I know my answer (and maybe I’m exposing myself here, but I doubt it).
Now, about that LitRPG phase I’m going through right now. What’s that about?
Actually, to start out, what is LitRPG?
Well, it’s the fastest-growing literary style in the history of literature since the novel; I can tell you that much.
LitRPG stands for literary role-playing game. It’s a work of fiction that takes place in a game or a game-like world. For instance, you could write a fantasy story with a complex magic system that you then have to explain to your readers, which ends up taking way more time than you expected, and you wind up writing a 200,000-word novel.
Or, you could just give your character spell slots and access to certain spells since he’s only level one, and increase the amount of spell slots he has and the spells he has access to as he continues to work and grow and level up. Suddenly, the book is much easier to read and much less work on your end, and it’s still just as good since the magic system follows hard and fast rules, but you didn’t have to spend endless amounts of chapters giving exposition.
Why?
Because you just used the D&D magic system that your readers are likely already familiar with to an extent.
Let’s compare this to The Lord of the Rings.
Now, I’m not saying The Lord of the Rings is bad. It is one of my favorite literary works ever, nonfiction included.
But it is slow. There’s no getting around that. It meanders, there are chapters upon chapters of characters simply delivering exposition, and it takes a very long time for anyone to get anywhere.
Now, when I want to enjoy a fun fantasy story, I don’t usually turn to Tolkien. If I wanted to read 20th-century pseudo-mythology, then yes, I would absolutely turn to Tolkien. The Silmarillion, The Lord of the Rings, and Unfinished Tales are genuinely incredible works that I absolutely love.
But for something fun to just get my mind off of things and have a good time, I’m probably going to read LitRPG. They use rules I’m familiar with (I play video games), focus on being fun and cool, and don’t worry about being more than what they are.
It’s like comic books. They’re just a good time.
(Although there are comic books that are more akin to high literature, such as Watchmen, which I strongly dislike for various reasons.)
The point of this article isn’t to say that popcorn fiction is better than high literature. This is definitely not the case.
But I am saying that they’re both important.
Here’s the truth: I’m going to read more popcorn fiction than I am high literature. Why? Because popcorn fiction is faster and easier to get through. It’s designed that way so that readers can buy more and more and more and more and…
But I’m going to get more long-term value out of high literature.
To better illustrate the differences between the two, I’m reading through The Histories by Herodotus. As I’m reading it, I’m taking a ton of notes and reading through it slowly and methodically to learn as much as I can from it. I’m also reading through Seth Ring’s Nova Terra series, usually when I’m on break at work, whether that work is my job or writing.
Now, no offense to my guy Ring, I’m not going to be taking a lot of notes or highlighting passages in Nova Terra. I’m there to watch Thorn smash monsters into oblivion with his enormous fists and level up. Why? Because I need to get my mind off things sometimes, and I think it’s really fun.
But is fun enough? Is that really a purpose for fiction? Can that be enough value?
Yes. Definitely. And provably. How is it provable? If $470 million isn’t enough proof for you, then I don’t know what to tell you.
So, enjoy fun books. And enjoy high literature. They’re both great, and they’re both needed.
Thank you so much for reading!!
I’m so sorry for not being super active lately. I’ve been busy with a lot of work, and I keep forgetting to work on Substack Notes. That’s my fault.
But the good news is that Killstream 3 has been progressing smoothly, so that’s a pretty good tradeoff, I think.
Still, I will be doing my best to be more active on here since I wouldn’t be writing if there was no one to write to, and I love you guys very much and would like to interact with you more.
Anyhow, thanks for sticking with me. Ravengard has been really fun, and I hope you’ve been enjoying it. If you have no idea what I’m talking about, you can check it out here.
To read some cool and awesome books for yourself, I have plenty on Amazon to enjoy.
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