What is Grimdark?
What defines a grimdark novel or story is still a grey area. However, there are certain genre characteristics people have come to expect. These include war-torn worlds, grim stories and more than a touch of gallows humour. Probably the most talked about ‘tell’ of a grimdark novel are the characters themselves.
Characters in grimdark fiction often have skewed moral compasses. They make choices that can have disastrous consequences for themselves and others around them. Likewise, we’ve all done the wrong thing or made the wrong decision at some point. Having characters that do the same helps us relate to them. A bit of grey is just being human. ‘We may not want every character in every book to be a morally grey, irredeemable, torturing tortured fuckwad,’ writes Abercrombie. ‘But some shades of grey, or even black, in some parts of a genre is a healthy thing.’
Time and time again, readers talk about characters that stayed with them long after they finished a book. Characters who surprised everybody with their capacity for good, like Jaime Lannister or Inquisitor Glotka. Characters who mastered the art of combining suffering with sarcasm, like Tyrion Lannister or Locke Lamora. Even characters who turned these conventions on their heads, like affable barbarian Logen Ninefingers who, whenever things looked bleak, would morph into the psychotic Bloody Nine. In a series of blogs discussing the genre, Australian author J. Michael Melican wrote, ‘I want characters who are flawed, who make mistakes, who do things I would never do, who suffer in ways I hope never to suffer. If it serves the story, put those guys through the wringer.’
Grimdark fantasy is by no means a new thing; it’s been around and enjoyed for thousands of years. Stories told to Ancient Greek audiences were filled with anti-heroes, tragedy and injustices. Antigone by Sophocles tells the story of a young woman who is the product of an incestuous relationship and dies fighting for her beliefs. Over two thousand years later, Shakespearian tragedies Hamlet and Macbeth became famous for their themes of murder, misery and magic, and are still immensely popular today.
Reading tastes aren’t static. Genres go in and out of fashion and it was just a matter of time before popular fantasy once again explored the darker side of the human psyche. ‘The truth is fantasy is rarely about the world as it was,’ writes Abercrombie. ‘Gritty fantasy is a reaction to and a counterbalancing of a style of fantasy in which life is clean, meaningful, and straightforward.’
Who is Grimdark?
There have been many debates about who qualifies as a grimdark author. Glen Cook pioneered no holds barred Military fantasy with his series, The Black Company, which spans nine novels (plus one spin off novel) and is considered essential reading for those interested in grimdark fantasy. George R. R. Martin’s A Song of Ice and Fire series and the massively popular TV adaptation A Game of Thrones catapulted blood-soaked fantasy into the public eye, with other big names in the genre—Joe Abercrombie, Mark Lawrence and Scott Lynch—pushing the battle lines ever forwards.
In an effort to find out what the public really thought, Mark Lawrence hunted around for information on Reddit and whipped up a Venn diagram. The diagram depicted authors mentioned as grimdark, with some surprise entries in Marquis de Sade, Joss Whedon and Lemony Snicket. It’s easy to see why they’d all be considered gritty enough to fall under the umbrella of grimdark. Despite being a fantasy series for children, Daniel Handler (writing as his titular character Lemony Snicket) conjures up some pretty dark scenarios for his young orphaned protagonists. Conversely, some of the authors that fell into both brackets (grimdark and not grimdark), included George R. R. Martin, Joe Abercrombie, Stephen King and Glenn Cook.
Public Opinion
Grimdark is still a controversial topic. Certain authors have been criticised for taking advantage of the genre’s attitude towards graphic violence, racism and misogyny, with critics suggesting that each new generation of authors tries to outdo the other in terms of shock value. In a feature article for A Dribble of Ink, author Elizabeth Bear wrote, ‘The least self-reflective of the grimdark seems to me to be a little too busy wallowing in splatter and gratuitousness—violence, betrayal, rapine, raping, pillaging, cannibalism, torture … as if those things were an end to themselves.’
But fans argue that grimdark is simply fantasy with heavy doses of reality thrown in and it’s this that makes for compelling reading. Scottish author and journalist Robert Low spelled it out when he posted a pro-grimdark comment on Abercrombie’s wall, saying, ‘no grit, no pearl’. Philip Witvliet, a book reviewer and lover of gritty fantasy wrote, ‘I don't believe that authors who write grimdark set out to use shock for its own sake. In reading these disturbing scenes, I am able to experience some emotions I would not otherwise … I think that experiencing some pain and discomfort helps me be a stronger person, better to empathize with those around me.’
In the end it comes down to personal taste and what puts some readers off will create fans in others. But no matter what your feelings are towards gritty fantasy, it looks like grimdark is here to stay and we here at Grimdark Magazine couldn’t be happier—bring on the grit! [GdM]
The Neutral
WRITTEN BY MIKE GELPIN
TRANSLATED BY ANATOLY BELILOVKSY
The bus straddles the runway a hundred yards from the terminal. I cross the runway toward it, toward the four barrels aimed straight at me through broken windows. The front door is open, and I peer in. Two dozen eyes, wide open in shock, stare back: all women and children. The only men alive are the ones holding the AK-47's.
‘Who's in charge here?’ I ask. ‘Come on out. Let's talk.’
From the darkness of the vehicle a huge unshaven man emerges to stand on the bus step in front of me. His hairy hands fidget like an errant schoolboy's, and an ugly scar twitches across his left cheek. He throws his rifle behind his back, steps off the bus and crowds close to me, our bellies practically touching each other. I watch his face relax a fraction, though his sweat still reeks of curdled fear.
For him, my shadow is the safest bit of real estate anywhere in the world. I am his shield and his safe conduct. I am a Neutral—an ambassador, indispensable and untouchable. I can be killed, of course; but the killer won't live long after. The Brotherhood guarantees I will be avenged. To harm a Neutral is to draw a death sentence. Whoever does so—criminals, terrorists, policemen or decorated army generals—the Enforcers will find them and gun them down alike, wherever they hide. I maintain absolute impartiality, my only purpose is to bring this standoff to a bloodless end. Both sides know this.
‘We need an airplane,’ the unshaven man informs me. ‘An airplane with a pilot and a full tank of fuel to get us to Venezuela. Plus ammunition, hand grenades and food. And half a million dollars.’
‘Fine,’ I reply. ‘Let the hostages go. The trade is authorized.’
In Venezuela, I collect the Brotherhood's cut, standard twenty percent.
Late at night I refuel in a small bar in downtown Caracas, pumping as much alcohol on board as I can convince my body to hold. These four robbed a bank, shot two cops and a young girl clerk behind the window. Then they killed the bus driver and with my help held up the authorities for another half a million. If not for me, and for the Brotherhood I represent, the cops would have their heads. And they would have had the heads of the four dozen mothers and children.
I keep on drinking till memories recede; they keep their distance for a while but then, as usual, the past intrudes upon the present, and I see faces I struggle to forget. Ten years ago, Ellen and Kate took a plane home. A gang of hijackers had different ideas: reroute to Yemen and set free a dozen guerrillas locked up in five different countries. They didn't get what they wanted, and I didn't get my family back. The plane fell into the Bay of Biscay and I became a widower—a childless one.
I joined the Neutral Brotherhood two months after that.
***
I cross the yard and enter the school building. In the hallway just beyond the door lies a dead girl, barely twelve years old. D
own the hallway is a dead boy, about the same age.
‘Here.’ A gun-holding silhouette appears at the gym door. ‘Hey, Neutral! Over here!’
I step into the gym and stumble over another body, a woman in a jumpsuit, probably a teacher. Twenty children huddle together in the remote corner guarded by two armed men. Two more gunmen sprawl on the mats, smoking: weed, judging from the smell.
‘Listen, Neutral, we need a speedboat with a full tank, enough to get to Haiti,’ says the red-eyed man with dilated pupils and shaking hands. ‘Plus three hundred thousand bucks in twenty-dollar bills. And a navigator.’
‘No problem,’ I assure him. ‘It's a deal. Let the hostages go. The boat is on its way, I'll navigate.’
We walk outside, the rest straggling behind us. Once out in the sun, his grin widens as he takes a deep breath of air. Free air, as long as supplies last.
***
I come back the next day, grab a litre of whiskey and lock myself in my hotel room. Those five broke out of jail. Shot the guards first and the kids in a nearby school later. Neutrals aren't allowed to show emotions on the job, but off duty anything goes. I light a cigarette, belt down another shot, and close my eyes. This is what I do, I remind myself. My job is to be neutral, absolutely, totally and unconditionally neutral.
For the first nine years, I held the lowest rank: I worked as an Executioner, dispatching to the great hereafter those marked for death by the Brotherhood. Few Executioners live long enough to be promoted, but I did, collecting a dozen violators in process. Now I am a Neutral. My life is a guarantee of the safety of both the kidnappers and the hostages. Those who break a promise to the Brotherhood sign their death sentence. The Brotherhood never forgives and the Executioners never give up.
Neutrals don't have to carry weapons any more, but most of us do, just the same. My little backup Beretta in its ankle holster is no match for any of the weapons I've faced so far, but its weight in the ankle holster is a welcome reassurance.
The other comfort Neutrals enjoy is the option to retire. I am not ready for retirement, not just yet. Not as long as I can make a difference.
***
After two hours of bouncing in an ancient all-terrain clunker, we reach the destination. My blindfold comes off, revealing a burly man wearing oversized sunglasses between his creased forehead and a carved-in frown.
‘Come out, Neutral,’ he says as he holds the door.
I step out of the jeep and squint at the landscape. I see three dilapidated straw huts elbowing each other in a small clearing amidst the jungle. I see a boy in khaki shorts who crawls out from one of them and runs toward us.
Under my arm I hold the bag with two hundred thousand dollars in cash—a buyout for the girl the men kidnapped three weeks ago. First, they demanded a hundred thousand, but when the family supplied the money, perhaps more quickly than was prudent, the gang sent them back her pinky and doubled their ransom.
More thugs crawl out of the huts, eight in total. They call themselves the Forces of Liberty or some such bullshit, but I see nothing in their faces to suggest fanaticism or obsession; some faces are blank, some smirking, one with what looks like a petulant pout. The khaki-clad boy, a rivulet of drool running down his chin, whispers something to the burly man. The man turns suddenly and snaps a vicious blow to the boy's face. The boy almost topples over, but doesn't let out a sound. Neither do I. I don't really give a damn.
The man turns to me.
‘Sorry, bro,’ he says. ‘The deal's off.’
‘The deal's on,’ I reply. ‘I've got the money, you've got the girl. Where's the girl?’
‘Dude, like I said, the deal's cancelled,’ the man says. ‘Don't worry, you'll get the Brotherhood's payment anyway. Forty thousand green ones, as promised.’
‘What's the problem?’ I ask.
‘It's like this,’ the man says, ‘the boys are alone in the woods, they haven't seen a female for months.’ He pauses; his scowl does not change. It has not changed since I had seen him: a scowl of annoyance with life's petty disappointments. ‘So, you know,’ he continues, ‘they overdid it a bit.’
‘Where is she?’ In my heart a suspicion rises. ‘Show me the girl!’
‘My boys are gonna take you right back, bro,’ he says.
‘You don't get it, you moron?’ I step close to him, belly to belly. ‘Show me the girl. Now!’
‘Easy, bro, easy,’ the man backs down. ‘Okay, I'll take you, no problem.’
He heads into a hut and I follow.
The girl is sprawled on the floor, dead. The ragged remains of her dress barely cover her small skinny body. Her face is a mask forever twisted in agony and terror. My knees tremble and I have to hold on to the wall to keep from hitting the floor next to her. Instead I stand there wishing I could still cry. She is about as old as Kate was, then. The last time I saw her.
I am a Neutral. And as long as I'm alive, so are those who tortured her. As long as I'm alive.
I think I'm ready to retire. Yes. It's time.
I bend as if to tie my shoe, retrieve my gun from its ankle holster. The men step back, their eyes wide in confusion. I raise the weapon to point at my temple.
‘No!’ the man hollers, lunging forward. ‘Don't!’
I pull the tri— [GdM]
Mike Gelpin (author) is well-known in Russophone Science Fiction; his first English translation appeared in the first issue of nautil.us, in 2013.
Anatoly Belilovsky (translator), a SFWA and Codex Writers member, has original fiction published in NATURE, UFO I, Ideomancer, Daily SF, Andromeda Spaceways and other markets, as well as a translation in F&SF. His bibliography may be found at loldoc.net.
An Interview With Joe Abercrombie
GDM
[GdM]: Thank you for what you do for the genre. You’ve helped shape it into what it is today and provided hours of grimdark brilliance to so many of our lives. For Logen, Curnden, Ferro, Ardee, and so many more, we’re grateful.
[JA]: Ta. It still remains slightly surprising to me that there are people all over the world reading and enjoying stuff that I made up in the middle of the night for my own amusement, and I am deeply grateful for it.
[GdM]: What does ‘Grimdark’ mean to you?
[JA]: There’s far from a single agreed-upon definition, is there? At one time it felt as if grimdark was always used as a pejorative, to describe things that were laughably over-dark, violent and cynical to no real purpose but the titillation of the audience, as in, ‘I hate that stuff. It’s so grimdark’. Of course there’s a big element of subjectivity in there, because one person’s splatterporn is another’s incisive investigation of the costs of violence, and often what people consider “good” in one way or another gets excluded. These days, though, the term seems to have been reclaimed, at least by some people, and applied to a whole range of different work in a much less negative light, really just to describe a style of dark, violent, gritty fantasy in what I guess you might call a GRRM-esque mold. So what grimdark means really does depend on who’s talking.
[GdM]: What interests and excites you the most about the sub-genre?
[JA]: If we’re talking dark, gritty, cynical, unpredictable fantasy, often with a big streak of dark humour in the mix, I guess that’s the way I chose to write because I’d read a lot of commercial fantasy growing up that seemed to be the exact opposite of those things: light, fluffy, predictable, serious verging on the pompous, and I felt the need for a different approach to the material. Of course there are as many different approaches to fantasy as there are writers, and you certainly wouldn’t want every book you read (or perhaps even write) to be unremittingly dark and cynical. But I think the recent proliferation of gritty work has definitely broadened the range and variety of what’s out there, and brought readers into fantasy, or back into fantasy, who are perhaps pleased to find the genre isn’t as predictable as they’d thought.
[GdM]: If you couldn’t write—due to say some horrendous torture in a Ghurkish prison
leaving you finger and tongue-less—which grimdark author would hold your customer loyalty and why?
[JA]: In a way I’m reluctant to label any particular writer grimdark because you can rarely get agreement on who belongs in that bin or not. But when it comes to gritty fantasy, probably I will surprise no one by saying that GRRM’s Song of Ice and Fire was a big influence on me when I first read it back in the 90s. I thought I knew exactly what to expect, and got some of the biggest and most satisfying surprises I’ve ever had from a book. That demonstrated to me that you could indeed do something edgy, dangerous, gritty, dark and unpredictable while very much still writing something that was recognisably core epic fantasy. It was a big inspiration as far as trying to write myself went.
[GdM]: How important is humour to you and the sub-genre?
[JA]: It’s hugely important to me. A strong sense of humour is often the thing that really makes me connect to writing, that makes the voice distinctive and the characters come alive. For all his many admirable qualities as a writer, Tolkien wasn’t really much of a humourist, and I think in imitating him very closely a lot of the epic fantasy of the 80s became somewhat ponderous, self-regarding, even pompous, or it became out and out slapstick. I try to aim for something between the two, where there’s a wit to the characters, a distinctive sense of humour, even in the grimmest of situations. You can’t have shadows without light, after all...
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