A tale of fantasy is something to be swallowed as completely and willingly as my daughter swallowed that rainbow. That is why the expert chefs of fantasy use only the truest ingredients, straight from the muses' kitchen, whether they are dealing with character, place, voice, or the guiding ideas that lend weight to their tales. Such writers combine those elements in original, unforgettable ways, to be sure-but the ingredients always come first. If any of them seem false, the whole story will fail. And if all of them seem true, both individually and together, the story can achieve a convincing narrative structure, a believable hero, and even a lasting spiritual depth.
Some tales are more true on some levels, less on others.
But the greatest are true on all three levels at once-and within each level, they are true in each of their fundamental ingredients. If we have been cast ashore on a strange coastline, we need to smell the briny breeze, hear the screech of gulls overhead, and feel the coarse sand between our toes. If we have awakened in a deep forest, we must catch the scent of resins on the air, see the shafting light through the boughs, hear a squirrel scampering up a cedar and feel the flakes of bark drop on our hair. In achieving sensual truth, the most essential ingredients often come in the form of details. I am grateful for the fact that, long before I ever tried my hand at fantasy, I was a nature writer.