Like the story of Gilgamesh, some fantasies - to use the word very broadly - are tragic. One of the most enduring fantasies in the English language is the story of King Arthur, which is a profound tragedy. But the kind of contemporary literature we generally understand to be fantasy is, almost always, of this other kind. The Harry Potter books are eucatastrophic in the sense Tolkien means, just as The Master and Marguerita is: despite bitter struggle and loss, despite encroaching, inevitable darkness, Harry emerges from each book with a new understanding of himself, a glimpse, however fleeting and evanescent, of joy. And with that glimpse comes the knowledge that he can only know truly what happiness is once he understands fully what it means to be sad. The kind of emotional catharsis fantasy can provide is a more profound human need than mere escapism. It may be the most fleeting of experiences, but it does indeed provide a glimpse of possibility, and it is moving because it is a possibility which in fact exists within our own realities. If fantasy isn't true, it is also, most certainly, not a lie.

I find Gillian Rose's comments on philosophy in her extraordinary book Love's Work very apposite to fantasy (and we all know it's entirely possible that philosophy is, of all pursuits, the most fantastic). Of philosophy, she says: "philosophy, ancient and modern, is born out of the condition of sadness. ... Earthly, human sadness is the divine comedy - the ineluctable discrepancy between our worthy intentions and the ever-surprising outcomes of our actions". She then goes on to say something which suggests, I think, one of the real and serious arguments for the necessity of fantasy:

The decision by the intellectuals that reason itself has ruined modern life, and should be dethroned and banned in the name of its silenced others, is comparable to the decision to stop small children, girls and boys, from playing with guns, pugnacious video games, or any violent toys. This brutally sincere, enlightened probity, which thinks it will stop war and aggression, in effect aggravates this propensity. This decision evinces loss of trust in the way that play (fairy stories, terrifying films) teaches the difference between fantasy and actuality. The child who is able to explore that border will feel safe in experiencing violent, inner emotional conflict, and will acquire compassion for other people. The child who is locked away from aggressive environment and play will be left terrified and paralysed by its emotions, unable to release or face them, for they may destroy the world and him or herself. The censor aggravates the syndrome she seeks to alleviate; she seeks to rub out in others the border which has been effaced within herself.

Rose is defending reason; and it allows me to make the point, a point that Tolkien also makes, that fantasy, for all its mystery and magic, is not irrational, not the stuff of delirium or dream. Like poetry, it depends on, and in fact requires, a sure sense of rationality. Without a clear perception of the real world, fantasy of the kind I am describing is not possible.

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