Escalation in novels BAD; What You Should Do Instead

 Hello!

Now that I have your attention, I'll finish my sentence: Escalation in a novel is BAD when it is simply for the purpose of escalation; what you should do instead is fulfillment and variation. Escalation for its own sake is boring, because it's just more of the same. A battle against 1d8 wolves is fundamentally the same as 1d6 wolves (Just ask Ginny Di in her video about making encounters not suck. That video has great advice). I'll layout the issue with escalation and then provide some examples from anime, movies and tabletop games of how to resolve this. 

You should only escalate your story if it leads to the advancement of a plot or the completion of a character's goal. Escalation for the sake of escalation is actually a narrow way to write, which locks you into a particular narrative arc. 

For instance, it's great if you want to write a tournament style story.  With each victory, the protagonist climbs to a higher rank, and therefore each opponent should be a tougher challenge than the last. How else did the opponent last this long in the tournament? But if your protagonist is just wandering around a countryside, how are you going to escalate that? Make each area coincidently more dangerous than the last? You might find it difficult to hype up each new random opponent outside the structure of a tournament.

(Did you realize I was talking about Pokemon?) 

I remember a class, way back in Elementary School, when our teacher had us read this "story". It was about a kid eating a cookie. Then he ate a bigger cookie and then a much bigger cookie and then an even BIGGER cookie. Then she asked us if that was a fun story. I think it had to do with vocabulary, you know, using words like "giant", "huge" and "titanic" instead of repeatedly using "big", but it works for the case of escalation in novels as well. 

That story is escalation in its simplest form. It's about the kid eating cookies, and it escalates by him eating bigger cookies.  Does the escalation make that story better? No. 

What if the story began with his goal of eating the world's biggest cookie, as part of some "break the record" sort of ambition, and this had some great personal significance to him? Then the escalation serves a purpose. Eating that bigger cookie is a step on the road to the fulfilment of a goal, which can serve as a narrative arc. 

Or what if, instead of just cookies, the story included other deserts, like pie, which would require tableware to eat without getting messy, or ice cream in a hot area, so he would have to eat it quickly and risk a brain freeze. Doesn't that sound more interesting than a kid eating progressively bigger cookies? 

In the famous manga and anime, Dragon Ball Z, we find an example escalation that can get boring as well as an example of how variation can mitigate this. 

The Namek saga is infamous for being very long, and its climactic battle with Frieza even more so. This can be seen as a simple case of escalation: battling through Frieza's minions from weakest to strongest and then Frieza himself, who goes through a series of transformation that reveal more of his true power. Very little actually happens plot-wise or character-wise. 
(Personal aside - I really like Dragon Ball Z. I watched it every afternoon on Toonami after school. I watched the original Dragon Ball, G-T and Super.) 

There is one particular area of this very long arc that is different, and that is the battle with the Ginyu Force. These are Frieza's Elite, and they have some variation to them. Guldo, for instance, is the weakest of the bunch. In fact, Krillin and Gohan outclass him in terms of straightforward combat power. However, Guldo has more than straight-forward combat power. He can read minds and freeze time. He is very unusual in this regard, and that makes his battle different in nature. He is like a palate cleanser in that regard, because his teammates are more straightforward. Then we get to Captain Ginyu himself. He is a body-snatcher. He can force someone to switch bodies with him, which he does when he starts to lose. He'll even deliberately injury himself before doing so to handicap his opponent. Again, this is a variation that makes him more difficult to defeat than simply beating him into submission. 

Another example of variation comes from Yu Yu Hakusho. 

In the aftermath of the Dark Tournament arc, the protagonist, Yusuke, has become the tournament's champion. He won by overpowering this tall, imposing brute of a fighter. You might think that his next opponent would be stronger, more powerful, and more of a threat, right? No. The very next group is actually weaker than him, but they have particular abilities that bypass simple power: causing paralysis by stepping on the target's shadow, creating a field where certain actions are forbidden and supernaturally restricted, or like in the Dragon Ball Z example, mind-reading. These requires Yusuke and his friends to think in ways other than "punch the bad guy really hard". This is deliberate on the part of Yusuke's mentor, who feared he would stagnate otherwise.

These are old shows. It's not a novel technique. Yet, in the aftermath of the MCU's Avengers: Infinity War and End Game, a youtuber posted a video saying what a terrible precedent it set for cinema. Viewers would be impossible to please, they said, because they would keep demanding escalation: more heroes, bigger stakes, more, more, more. But no. That wasn't the case. The very next MCU movie was Ant-Man and the Wasp, which was very (pardon the pun) small scale. Two heroes trying to save one person by finding them in the (to be laconic) wilderness, that's it.

Finally, Dungeons and Dragons. This classic tabletop roleplaying game shows what I mean by avoiding escalation for fulfillment and variation. 

High-level play doesn't happen much. Players seldom reach level 20, the highest level in fifth edition, and when they do, they seldom stay there long. This is because it gets boring. Their characters have likely completed their character arcs by then. The story of the campaign might be over. Furthermore, many Dungeon Masters just throw tougher monsters at them as a way of escalating the challenge. This runs into what is called the "Chunky Kobold Problem". 

A kobold is one of the weakest monsters: small, fragile and weak. A Tarrasque is one of the most powerful: big, tough and strong.  Yet, fighting the latter is fundamentally the same as the former. It just takes longer. If used for the simple purpose of escalation, then the Tarrasque is just a big and chunky kobold. 

Enter the infamous "Tucker's Kobolds". These little guys come from a short story where they are shown to terrify high level players with their creative tactics and refusal to fight directly and openly. They are not stated to be any more powerful than standard kobolds, but they lean heavily into the Kobold lore of being master trap makers. By using a variety of tactics, they can force player-characters much more powerful than them to think creatively as well. Suddenly, fighting kobolds is a multi-faceted event. It's not about more kobolds or more powerful kobolds or any sort of escalation. It's about what these particular kobolds can do and why the players are willing to mess with them. 

As for the Tarrasque, the Dungeon Dudes present many fine uses for this creature that avoid making it a big and chunky kobold. 

(Another personal aside: The Dungeon Dudes are awesome. They have so many videos on so many aspects of the game. Really deep and creative stuff, and their advice is system agnostic. You can even use it for novel writing). 

One of the many ways they suggest running a Tarrasque is to introduce it EARLY in the story, when the player characters have absolutely no chance of defeating it outright. It is not a mere monster but a force of nature; you don't defeat it, you survive it. Gaining strength, developing powers, finding special magic weapons, all these are driven by the goal of ultimately defeating this ultimate monster. Thus, rather than some novelty to throw at high-level players who need something tough to beat down, it is instead the fulfillment of a narrative arc and the climax of a campaign. 

...This is long. It's a bigger topic than I expected. I might write another post on a specific aspect later on. 

Brian Wilkerson is an independent novelist, freelance book reviewer, and writing advice blogger. He studied at the University of Minnesota and came away with bachelor's degrees in English Literature and History (Classical Mediterranean Period concentration).

His fantasy series, Journey to Chaos, is currently available on Amazon as an ebook or paperback.

New book up! Catalyst for Glorious Change!

Appeal of an Overpowered Protagonist - Part 5 - I Swore an Oath

Welcome back to this series. It's been a while. Now that I'm doing book reviews by request only, you can expect more posts like this one, about the craft of writing itself. 

Here I explain the appeal of a protagonist being "overpowered". That is, possessing overwhelming ability that would supposedly remove all conflict and tension from a story, and why an author would want to do this intentionally. There can be many reasons for this, as the index at the bottom of the post will show. 

Today's topic is "I Swore an Oath". 

A character may possess outstanding ability in a field that enables them to conquer any threat and overcome any challenge, but they refrain from doing so because of an oath they made. This shifts the tension from "can they resolve conflict X at all" to "can they resolve conflict X without breaking their oath"? 

This enables the author to present the character as something other than an underdog and still show them struggling. It also provides context for a deeper conflict than "defeat the bad guy". It brings up questions such as "is this victory more important than the oath", which naturally has a different discourse depending on the context. Cheating in a sports tournament after promising to play fair would be different than a duel to the death, and this is without considering the results of such a contest. The sports tournament could involve prize money needed for a loved one's medical bill, for instance, and the duel to the death could be a matter of slighted pride.

For the purpose of illustration, I will reference Ruroruni Kenshin. This is a classic anime from the 90s, long before the isekai genre rolled in. I watched this every day on Toonami. Good times. 

Anyway, the central character here, Kenshin Himura is a superlative swordsman. He has killed so many people during a recent war that he became known as "Hitokiri Battosai", in other words, the man-slaying master assassin. With his ability to kill basically anyone he wanted, he helped win that war and overthrow an oppressive government. Then he watched his benefactors become the new oppressors. This, plus other personal tragedies, have led him to swear an oath to never kill anyone ever again. 

At the start of the story, he vastly outclasses every opponent faces. The first time the audience sees him fight, the fight ends in his favor very quickly. His first notable opponent, Sanosuke Sagara , is so notable for being able to endure more than one hit (in fact, it took a flurry of hits to bring him down). It is not until later in the story, when Kenshin fights Saito, that he is truly challenged when fighting seriously. Is this boring? Not at all. 

This is because the tension of these fights is never "will Kenshin defeat the villain".  Defeating the villain is, in fact, a secondary concern. What he actually wants to do is protect others, typically his circle of friends at the Kamiya Kasshin-ryu dojo. The tension lies on how he can do this without breaking his oath. 

That first villain I mentioned, Kenshin broke the fingers of his left hand to prevent him from holding a sword (the guy already had the thumb of his right hand broken by someone else). As for Sanosuke, Kenshin wore him down and then befriended him. A third instance, late in the story, after the fight with Saito, is crippling an opponent by exploiting a physical weakness through clever dodging. When he can't do this, and thus feels pressured into reaching for a lethal solution, that's when the tension gets really high. 

What I refer to is the conflict with Udo Jin-e, Kenshin's fellow man-slayer from the recent war. When he clashes with Kenshin, the result is the opposite of what the audience has become used to. It is Kenshin who is overwhelmed, and Jin-E is disappointed. 

Jin-E doesn't want to fight the weak. That's not why he has continued to be a man-slayer in the years since the war's conclusion. He knows that Kenshin is holding back, and so he provokes Kenshin into taking him seriously. He kidnaps Kaoru Kamiya, Kenshin's love interest in the main narrative, to force a second and more serious confrontation, and when that proves insufficient, he subjects her to a hypnotic technique that paralyzes her lungs. If Kenshin does NOT kill Jin-E, then Kaoru will suffocate. 

This is the highest point of tension for the series thus far, and still, it is NOT about whether Kenshin will defeat Jin-e. The way the author has constructed the series and this particular event, it is clear that Kenshin will definitely win if he fights seriously. He knows it, Kaoru knows it, and Jin-E himself knows it. All three of them also know that fighting seriously will break Kenshin's oath, which will have terrible consequences for him personally. 

The question then shifts from the straight-forward and simple "can Kenshin defeat Jin-E" to the more complex and interesting "what is more important to Kenshin? His mental wellbeing/his metaphoric soul, or Kaoru's life?"  The resolution to this scenario is likewise a matter more complicated than a simple defeat. 

All of what I have written is exclusively about the fight scenes in isolation. None of the above includes the context of the setting: the Meiji Restoration, the anti-sword law, western influence etc. The series has no need to position Kenshin an underdog in any given fight. It doesn't need to spawn incrementally stronger enemies to maintain narrative tension. It can produce all the tension it needs while allowing Kenshin to be a master swordsman, and all because of the oath. 

Index of the Appeal of Overpowered Characters series:

 The Appeal of Overpowered Characters - Part 1 - No Need for an Underdog

 The Appeal of Overpowered Characters - Part 2 - The Meaning of the Fight

The Appeal of an Overpowered Protagonist - Part 3: What is Gained

The Appeal of an Overpowered Protagonist -  Part 4: Super Combat Power does not Create

Brian Wilkerson is an independent novelist, freelance book reviewer, and writing advice blogger. He studied at the University of Minnesota and came away with bachelor's degrees in English Literature and History (Classical Mediterranean Period concentration).

His fantasy series, Journey to Chaos, is currently available on Amazon as an ebook or paperback.

New book up! Catalyst for Glorious Change!

Novels have layers (writing tip)

As a wise ogre once said, "ogres are like onions". This is not because they make people cry nor because they turn brown if you leave them in the sun too long. It is because they have layers. There is more to them than the surface, and there is still more to them just one thing underneath that surface. The same is true for novels. 

Recently, I read a Facebook post where the Original Poster shared something from another novelist. This novelist was reacting to a review that they had read and were commenting on. The reviewer remarked that the story they read sounded like the author made it up as they went along. The novelist in the shared post wrote something along the lines of "I hate to break it to you but...." with laughing emoj, signifying that, yes, stories tend to be made up as the author goes along. Someone replying to this post, that someone shared, about a novelist remarking on a review for a story written by yet another novelist expressed skepticism.

 (Yes, this Facebook post also has layers! ^_~)

Surely, this commentor on Facebook said, stories are not written as the author goes along. Surely, the author has some plan going in. Surely, they know what they are doing. 

Well....Sometimes we do and sometimes we don't.  The creative process can be messy. 

 Please allow me to break it down for you. 

Draft # 0 - make everything up as you go.

Draft # 1 -  read over what you wrote and try to make sense of it. 

Draft # 2 - tie everything together, remove and add where necessary.

Draft# 3 - check for consistency of foreshadowing, build-up, resolution, etc.

Draft # 4 - repeat, creating new drafts as necessary. 

To go into more detail...

Draft # 0. Yes, I'm starting the count at zero. This is because, in my experience at least, the initial draft is a mess. It might not even be a complete draft, but a sequence of scenes held together by embryonic themes and casual notes. This is because it is the first time that the author's idea for the story comes out into words. For it is one thing to see an idea in one's head and have it play out in the gestalt of thoughts and ideas and images, and quite another to translate that into a linear sequence of words. 
Things can happen in that translation:
Story developments take place as the plot unfolds.
Characters develop as the author gets to know them more personally.
Questions of tone and atmosphere must be answered, because the background of the author's mind can no longer support the scenes on (digital) paper. 

An author such as Neil Gaiman, in a commercial for his MasterClass Art of Storytelling class, compared writing a story to driving through fog. One only sees what is closest. The novelist is writing the scene, because they only see that scene and what was written immediately before that scene. They don't see what comes after or before. 

In this way, they are making it up as they go. Indeed, in the same commercial, Neil Gaiman says that the second draft is about making it appear as though you knew what you were doing all along. 

( Link for the curious -  Neil Gaiman Teaches the Art of Storytelling (masterclass.com). This is not an affiliate link or anything like that. It's just so you know I'm not making this up.)

Draft #1

This is the first "official" draft because it is the first draft that is complete, at least in the most technical sense. The author takes stock of what they wrote, what happens, when, and why, and attempts to get a sense of the whole. They fill in the notes they left in Draft # 0. The novel is still rough, but it is now more than a glorified outline. 

Draft # 2

This is where the author can tie the scenes together. They have a complete story, and they have a sense of it as both a whole and as a sequence of parts. This is where they can bring it all together. They remove scenes, add scenes, re-write scenes as necessary. This is where the novel starts to resemble what the eventual reader will see.

Draft # 3

Now that the story is technically complete, the author has a sense of its parts and unity, and has tied them together, they can go deeper. They can refine what they have made thus far. Adding foreshadowing to point the way to the next events, they create a path for the eventual reader to follow. Foreshadowing is the greatest illusion of planning-it-out-ahead-of-time. Because the reader sees something in Scene A hinting at or building to Scene H, they think the author planned that out ahead of time. No, not necessarily. That is the process of revision, the luxury of going forwards and then backwards.  Indeed, only in foreshadowing between stories published separately does this luxury not exist. 

Draft #4 

Repeat as necessary. There is beta-reading in this process, which creates another layer as the author considers the feedback and incorporates it into a new draft. The author might discover some critical error in need of correcting or discover some opportunity to better tell the story they want. They might even decide that some other angle is more interesting or effective than the one they were pursuing. All of these create more layers. These layers are not evident in the final version. Only the polished surface is seen by the eventual reader. 

I'm not saying that all authors follow the above process. This is not to say that outlines never happen. I can only speak to my own experience, and, in my experience, there is a lot more revision than pre-planning. It is a layered experience. 

Brian Wilkerson is an independent novelist, freelance book reviewer, and writing advice blogger. He studied at the University of Minnesota and came away with bachelor's degrees in English Literature and History (Classical Mediterranean Period concentration).

His fantasy series, Journey to Chaos, is currently available on Amazon as an ebook or paperback.

Surprising Readers is Easy but Not Always Wise

"I saw that coming. That story is so predictable". 

This is often a derogatory statement. I read reviews for books, movies, tv shows etc. and I rarely fail to find complaints of this nature (typically in speculative fiction, but that is another topic). Whatever medium it was in, the perceived flaw is lack of originality. The story's theme was tired, the plot elements over-used, seen it before a million times, etc. Rarely do I find complaints that the plot was non-sensical.

In this way, a surprising twist or a shock to readers is seen as originality. The failure to do this is lacking originality, tantamount to regurgitating a previous story. If there is nothing new, nothing fresh, nothing unexpected, then there is supposedly nothing worth seeing. It is seen as a critical flaw. If only the writer(s) did something surprising...

I understand this sentiment. If one experiences enough stories, then one starts to see patterns. One spots common elements. These are properly called "Tropes". Learning enough tropes enables one to make predictions, and thus feel as though they have already experienced the story. This can lead to disappointment. On Tvtropes, this feeling is called "Tvtrope Will Ruin Your Life", because it diminishes the pleasure of the story. 

Certainly, surprise is part of a story's appeal, but it is a narrow slice of it. What these criticisms miss is that surprising a reader is actually an easy thing to do. It is just not always a wise thing to do. 

All a writer has to do to surprise a reader is do something unexpected. That is, to do something that goes against a reader's expectations. Now, all readers are different because they have different experiences, so all readers do not have the same expectations. However, their expectations of a particular genre are likely to be the same.

Some examples -  (These have most likely happened in one story of another -  Zeroth Law of Trope Examples)

If you have a Medieval Fantasy setting with a Quest narrative, then readers expect lots of traveling and monster fighting. Perhaps a dungeon dive or two. Something unexpected would be to have the climatic shown down with the Evil Overlord take place as a literal cooking duel. 

If you have a realistic fiction murder mystery taking place in modern day, then readers expect a list of clues, presentation of multiple suspects, and then a summation at the end, where the culprit is revealed. Something unexpected would be for the culprit to be fingered mid-way through, and the rest of the story to be a long discussion about the appeal of woolen undergarments. 

If you have a romantic comedy that takes place in an outer space/futuristic setting, then readers expect romantic moments between the two leads, silly hi-jinks about their courtship, a Third Act Break-Up and then a happy wedding at the end. Something unexpected would be a talking octopus appearing out of nowhere and telling the leads that they are the reincarnations of gods who are needed to fight evil in another world; no wedding, no comedy, just a bunch of high action monster-slaying that is not resolved at the end. 

No reader would expect that. It would definitely surprise them. This is because it goes against their expectation of the genre.

This is because all entries in a genre are likely to be the same. That is what makes them a genre. Tvtropes even has a page called "From Clones to Genre", which documents the birth of genres, because if you get enough similar works together then you get a genre. There is a self-aware teen slasher' subgenre, seriously, there is. 

No one can say that those three examples are NOT original.  I had to wrack my brain to find something that I hadn't seen before. I haven't seen everything, and the Zeroth Law of Trope Examples is a thing, but I'm pretty sure those examples are not common. 

But are they any good? Maybe, probably not, but maybe. It would take a masterclass of storytelling to pull that off.  A lot of foreshadowing would be necessary to make sense of such a story.  If a new element or story direction comes out of nowhere, then the reader would call foul, right? The story wouldn't make any sense if its tone/genre/etc. changed without any warning. That is something TvTropes calls Shocking Swerve. So, the writer needs to add plenty of build-up and foreshadowing so the surprising and original development makes sense. 

Yet any foreshadowing would tip the reader off, and therefore it would not be surprising.  Therefore, not original, right?

No, it would be original. Maybe. Zeroth Law of Trope Example. Someone has probably done that before, at some point, somewhere. But it would totally be original to a large group of people. But again, would it be any good? 

If someone sits down to read a Medieval Fantasy setting with a Quest narrative, then do they want to see the hero and villain settle things by preparing meals in a kitchen?

If someone sits down to read a realistic fiction murder mystery taking place in modern day, then do they want an Author Tract about the appeal of woolen undergarments?

If someone sits down to read a romantic comedy that takes place in an outer space/futuristic setting, then do they want a mid-story twist into a fantasy isekai? 

Again, maybe. Some people like being surprised. I imagine this includes the reviewers that I mentioned at the start of this post. If someone reviews stories professionally, then they probably see so many stories so often that Tvtropes Will Ruin Your Life kicks in for them and so they seek novelty. But not everyone seeks novelty. Even those seeking novelty would likely prefer a story that makes sense, even if it is not as "original" as they would like. 

If you surprise readers with originality so much that you confuse them, then what have you gained? An upset reader. That is the worst outcome. An upset reader is likely to stop reading and then mock you on social media. Originality is not originality if it causes confusion. It's just a mess. Even if it isn't a mess, does that make it any good? 

Again, maybe. I've said that a lot in this post, because it is an opinion, and opinions vary. Your Mileage May Vary, as we say on Tvtropes. I'm sure there is a group that puts a premium on "originality", even if the resulting story doesn't make as much sense as a more conventional story. Nonsense Poetry is also a genre. Unless you're writing that genre, it would be better to avoid confusing readers. 

That means foreshadowing. It means uses tropes. It means forming a path that your reader might be able to guess. It means crafting a story that your reader will enjoy even if they ARE able to guess. Because you create anticipation, wetting the reader's appetite, and deliver a satisfying fulfillment of that anticipation. 

In my experience, that can be more difficult than surprising a reader. To surprise, you just have to do something unexpected, which is like pulling something out of nowhere. It is easy. To build and fulfill anticipation, you have to actually build something. That requires wisdom. In this way, Surprising Readers is Easy but Not Always Wise.

Brian Wilkerson is an independent novelist, freelance book reviewer, and writing advice blogger. He studied at the University of Minnesota and came away with bachelor's degrees in English Literature and History (Classical Mediterranean Period concentration).

His fantasy series, Journey to Chaos, is currently available on Amazon as an ebook or paperback.

The Appeal of an Overpowered Protagonist - Part 4: Super Combat Power does not Create

 Welcome back!

This is part #4 in The Appeal of an Overpowered Protagonist series. 

 The first three are about shifting the tension in conflict away from outcomes. The tension can instead be the content of the conflict, the meaning of fights, and what is to be gained through the use of overpowered status. The third one segues into this fourth topic. This is something that literally cannot be done alone, and thus no single character, no matter how overpowered, can accomplish it alone. 

Building a nation. 

The illustrative example today is That Time I Got Reincarnated as a Slime. For those who don't know, the title refers to the human, Satoru Mikami, who is reincarnated as the slime monster, Rimuru Tempest. He starts the story as a small slime alone in a cave, feeling disoriented and directionless. Things happen, and he finds himself the leader of a small tribe of goblins. Then, by convincing the wolf monsters threatening them to surrender, he unwittingly lays the foundation for a great nation of monsters, the Jura-Tempest Federation. 

Now, Rimuru is overpowered from the very start. His reincarnation bonus alone grants him various damage immunities, highly useful skills, and the means to grow stronger and acquire abilities by imitating and/or eating other creatures. Then he acquires the name "Rimuru", which is a big deal for monsters in this verse. Monsters typically don't have names, instead going by nicknames or descriptions. To be given a name is to be given power, and the more powerful the one bestowing the name, the more power given to the named. Rimuru is named by a legendary storm dragon, so the bonus he gets is great indeed. 

This is not limited to combat power either. He gains ability for various utility magic and crafting skills.  He is not a one-trick pony, capable of only fighting. 

Is Rimuru overpowered? Totally. The fights he enters usually end quickly in his favor, and his skillset enables him to solve problems that vex other characters.  This doesn't ruin the story. 

On the contrary, it enhances the story, because this is a story about nation-building. Now, if this was a story about Rimuru wandering around and challenging people to fights or conquering nations instead of building one, that might be a different situation. In this one, all of his abilities are inadequate for his true goal.

Rimuru sees the cluster of huts and hovels that is the goblin' village and decides to improve their standard of living. Having little else to do with his new life, this becomes his purpose.  He seeks to create a modern city-state for his subjects and build positive relations with other nations.  This is the narrative thrust of the series. Yes, there are a lot of fights, and quests, and other activities, but the development of this nation is the focus. In fact, a lot of the fighting is triggered by the growth of the nation, as others take notice and seek to investigate it or exploit it as suits their own purpose. 

Rimuru works with his citizens to literally build the city from huts into houses. He goes to other towns and other nations, seeking supplies and people with trade skills. He invites other monsters to migrate to the new town, which is called "Tempest". The nation is built by everyone working together, using their respective talents. Rimuru doesn't do everything himself, far from it. 

Fighting is something he does when necessary, and he has a wide range of acceptable outcomes (he once bribed an opponent too powerful to fight into declaring a draw by giving them honey). He also has powerful subordinates (who do not lose fights simply to hype up his opponents), and a "bestie for restie" who is leagues more powerful than he is. 

Diplomacy is also something he does, and he prefers this to fighting. Notably, he doesn't have any special abilities that help him there, but he does have subordinates more eloquent than he himself (Shuna) that can assist him and also allied rulers who can give him pointers (Gazel Dwargo). 

Crafting is something he can do very well, but primarily by making duplicates of things someone with actual skill already made. To make new things, he relies on Kaijin and the other dwarves working under Kaijin. 

Research is another thing he could do, but others can do better. Vesta is the one innovating for the Jura-Tempest Federation. 

Of course, the nation-building takes place over the course of several adventures.  It is not a singular process of building roads and houses in every episode / chapter.  These adventures include the oni attack, the rampage of the Orc Lord's army, catching the notice of genuine Demon Lords, and outright invasion. Building the nation is the outcome of many events, but it is the single thread uniting all of them. The focus of the protagonist of this story is the well-being of this nation and the people under his care. 

The people under his care are not invincible; not helpless but not invincible either. His nation can get wrecked. This is what Rimiru worries about. He himself may be essentially unkillable, but his survival is not in question. The survival and development of his nation is what is in question. The story is about how he answers that question.

(Hint: The answer is never as simple as "beat up everyone")

Click here to read Part 3: What is Gained 

Brian Wilkerson is an independent novelist, freelance book reviewer, and writing advice blogger. He studied at the University of Minnesota and came away with bachelor's degrees in English Literature and History (Classical Mediterranean Period concentration).

His fantasy series, Journey to Chaos, is currently available on Amazon as an ebook or paperback.

The Appeal of an Overpowered Protagonist - Part 3: What is Gained

Last time, I discussed the potential of an overpowered hero in a Shōnen fighting show. The example I used to illustrate this potential was One Punch Man.  Yes, even in such a show where the main action is superheroes fighting monsters, there can still be meaningful conflict and excitement when the protagonist is physically invincible and can defeat any opponent in just one punch. 

Even now, I can hear objections. Saitama is apathetic. He doesn't desire anything other than a worthy opponent. "No Game No Life" doesn't count either, because the gamer siblings are motivated (at least in part) by having fun with games and seeking a rematch with the One True God, Tet. The actual troubles of the world of Dishboard don't bother them (at least not as much as other characters, such as Stephanie).  What if an author wants to write a story about a protagonist who has goals? Surely the protagonist can't be overpowered then, right?

Nope, I have two examples for that situation. Now that I think about it, I actually have three or four. I'll stick with one for now.  It is "The Irregular at Magic High School", and features Tatsuya Shiba.

Tatsuya Shiba lives a world of modern magic, that is, where magic has been codified into something scientific (which is different from Ancient Magic, but that is neither here nor there). Those that study magic professionally are known as Magical Technicians, or simply "Magicians". Tatsuya Shiba is among the most powerful of these magicians. I'm not sure of the exact rankings, but I think that he and his sister, Miyuki, rank in the top five for the entire world. And he is still in high school. 

Now, I know what you're thinking. Isn't Tatsuya a Course Two Student, someone who is considered less capable than other students? Doesn't the story make a big deal about this? Regardless of how he fares in combat, doesn't this mean the story is treating him like an underdog? 

Yes, that is part of what makes Tatsuya work as a protagonist despite being overpowered. What Tatsuya seeks to achieve is not something that can be accomplished through combat. He wants to ensure Miyuki is happy and he wants the world at large to recognize magicians as more than wet-ware weapons. Though he can vaporize people from a distance without effort or restriction (than I know of, at least), that isn't going to accomplish his goals no matter times he does it. Though he has poor relations with his family, fighting them in open combat isn't going to gain him anything. 

(Disclaimer: I'm over-simplifying this for the sake of brevity. Tatsuya's mental state and his family situation are a lot more complicated than I'm making them sound here, and he definitely isn't gung-ho about these goals, or really any goals, at the start of the series. But he is ALWAYS presented as a magic technology geek). 

That is the kind of world that Tatsuya lives in and that is the kind of world that the author wants to write about. Tatsuya can be overpowered because it serves the actual interest of the author. 

From what I've read, the author of "The Irregular at Magic High School" is not interested in writing combat scenes, but in dialogues and intrigue. From what I've seen personally, the author is also interested in a hard magic system and in world building. There is a lot more space devoted to the magic system's theory,  the school set-up, and the general magician society, than to combat or displays of magical power. There is a section about public transportation that has nothing to do with the first book's plot. Yes, really. I found it interesting. 

The first arc, the one that focuses most heavily on the "Course Two Student" idea, is supposed to be an allegorical critique of a certain school systems, which prioritize certain strengths in students while ignoring others, and the stigma this places on those students. Tatsuya and Miyuki Shiba serve the purpose of illustrating this distinction between Course One and Course Two. 

Tatsuya is a Course Two Student, yet he excels in many areas, which enables him to outshine students who are theoretically superior to him by supposedly objective measures. Miyuki is a Course One Student, and she is indeed a talented individual, but she constantly seeks to promote her older brother, because she knows that his strengths are valuable and that he is a better magician than her by other standards. Tatsuya being overpowered helps drive this point home. The message isn't "less-talented students can still excel if they try hard", because Tatsuya isn't less talented or hard-working etc. than his sister; the message is (phrased more politely), "this sort of school system is bonk because it stigmatizes talented students". 

Tatsuya may be overpowered, but he gains nothing from shoving his power in everyone's faces. That will not make his sister happy (though I imagine she would take a certain perverse glee in watching her brother's detractors eat crow). Showing off his superlative combat ability would only reinforce the notion of magicians-as-weapons, which he dislikes. The path towards his goal goes through different means. 

Wow, this is getting long. I could discuss the next three arcs, but I will stick to just the Nine Schools Competition arc. 

The Nine Schools Competition is exactly what it says on the tin, a competition between the nine magic schools. Tatsuya is not a competitor in this arc (save one specific exception). He is support staff. He uses technical engineering skills to assist the actual competitors from his school. This is another way that a character can be overpowered but still serve the narrative. Tatsuya's skill as a magic engineer is such that he can fine-tune a competitor's gear to bring out their full potential. The author likes their hard magic system, so this is a big deal for the story, but it is still up to the competitor to win or lose. 

It's like Tatsuya is a support party member in an RPG that can only cast amazing buff spells on the party. He may be why First High wins their bouts, but he is not the one winning. The classmates he supports are the ones winning. This way, Tatsuya can be amazing while sharing the spotlight, and the author can further support the theme from the first arc. 

Tatsuya can, and does, win basically every fight he enters, but he doesn't enter fights without a reason. He's not a blood knight, like Saitama, and he doesn't treat conflict as a game to enjoy, like Blank, the gamer siblings. It's all about what is gained through the action he takes (again, oversimplifying a LOT. The full details behind Tatsuya's motivations are spoilers). There is no single action he can take that will achieve his goal or solve his problems, and certainly not without creating more problems. 

This is what makes Tatsuya the right protagonist for this story. He enables the author to write about what they want to write about: dialogues, intrigue, the hard magic system, etc. If combat comes up, and it does, then Tatsuya can end it quickly and the plot can move on. 

I would write about how Tatsuya doesn't end EVERY combat scene, and the other characters aren't helpless, but this post is too long already. 

Click here to read Part 4 Super Combat Power does not Create

Click here to read Part 2: The Meaning of the Fight

Brian Wilkerson is an independent novelist, freelance book reviewer, and writing advice blogger. He studied at the University of Minnesota and came away with bachelor's degrees in English Literature and History (Classical Mediterranean Period concentration).

His fantasy series, Journey to Chaos, is currently available on Amazon as an ebook or paperback.

The Appeal of Overpowered Characters - Part 2 - The Meaning of the Fight

 The Appeal of Overpowered Characters - Part 2. The Meaning of the Fight

Last time, I talked about Appeal of an Overpowered Character, starting with the supposed "problem" of an overpowered character in regard to drama and tension, and then moving into the topic of the protagonist as an underdog. I used the series "No Game No Life" as an example of how to use a nominal underdog to create tense and exciting conflict by making the conflict itself the objective instead of the outcome. 

Now you might cry foul at this example.  "No Game No Life" is the exception, you might say. It focuses on literal games that supernaturally force the players to rely on non-violent means.  What if I want to write a story about life-or-death fights between heroes and villains. Surely, I need to use an underdog here, right?

Not necessarily. This is my next example, "One-Punch Man".

  "One-Punch Man" is a superhero story that stars one such superhero, Saitama. He was an ordinary human who gained super-powers by training really hard for several years. Now he is so strong that he can defeat any enemy in just one punch. And that's not all. He is also invulnerable (only getting hurt when it would be funny) and so fast he can't be seen. All this is when he is not even trying hard. 

The series opens with the introduction of a villain and Saitama reducing them to paste with a single punch, who deplores the fact that he ended the fight so quickly. You see, Saitama is what Tvtropes calls a Blood Knight, he enjoys fighting for its own sake, and he calls himself "a hero for fun". By the time the main narrative starts, Saitama has become so strong that no one can challenge him, and so the fights no longer thrill him. 

Unlike "No Game No Life", Saitama's fights are always quick, and his tactics are rarely more creative than "punch it, once". How then, is the narrative compelling? What is the appeal of the fights? 

First of all, it's funny to see a villain hype themselves up only to get splattered in one-punch. For me at least, that didn't get old even after two seasons. Second, Saitama has to find the right person to punch. He doesn't want to fight minions all day; he's only a hero for fun, after all, and that is not fun. Third is the broader context of the fight. 

It is always about more than just the fight. 

This is a series that can have the protagonist say, in the first episode, "having overwhelming power is... pretty boring", and not be boring itself. 

There is always more going on than some singular villain showing up and saying, "I will rule/destroy the world". So, the solution to the conflict is always more complicated than "punch the guy". The first episode has a couple of these to establish the setting and the story's tone, and that's it. Starting with the House of Evolution arc, villains come in groups, and their respective evil plans have to be figured out. Then Saitama can punch them out or help other heroes do so.

Yes, Saitama lives in a superhero society. Being a "hero" can be a profession, and these "heroes" have many different motives. Fame, science experiments, revenge, genuine heroism. Saitama only fights for fun, so he has many foils. The narrative compares him to people like Mumen Rider, a totally normal human with a truly heroic spirit, and to Genos, a cyborg driven by revenge, or the Tank Top brothers, several of whom have a bad case of Tall Poppy Syndrome. How these heroes react to someone like Saitama, who is better than them at defeating villains, and what the civilians think of a "hero for fun" is just as much a part of the series as defeating the villains.

Finally, there is what Saitama himself thinks about heroes and his own heroics. He says that he is just a "hero for fun" and he is always bored because no one can challenge him. He is enduring an existential crisis, because his dream was to become the strongest hero and, now that he is, he struggles with motivation. It is a dramatic character arc in an overall comedic series. 

In this way, the author crafts a story where the protagonist is overpowered/invincible, but can still create exciting fights, meaningful conflict and interesting character development. A character like Saitama can be played for comedy and drama as needed, and fights can end as soon as he shows up. 

There are also conventional fights with other heroes who are not invincible. The invulnerability of Saitama highlights the fragility of these heroes, and so their reason for being heroes is also highlighted. Saitama isn't always around to back them up. No matter how quickly a protagonist can defeat a villain, if they aren't present, it doesn't matter. These fights are all the more tense for it, and the fights do not always end with Saitama showing up to save them either. 

Having an overpowered protagonist doesn't necessarily make everyone else useless. There are other perfectly competent heroes who can defeat monsters, save lives, and otherwise do heroic stuff. Saitama's existence doesn't make them obsolete. Indeed, Saitama's overpoweredness actually inspires some heroes to reach greater heights, like Saitama's own disciple, Genos. 

Having overwhelming power may be pretty boring, but a story about such a character need not be. Keep Saitama's example in mind and you can indeed write an exciting story about an overpowered protagonist.

Click here to read Part 1 - No Need for an Underdog

Click here to read Part 3 - What is Gained

 Brian Wilkerson is an independent novelist, freelance book reviewer, and writing advice blogger. He studied at the University of Minnesota and came away with bachelor's degrees in English Literature and History (Classical Mediterranean Period concentration).

His fantasy series, Journey to Chaos, is currently available on Amazon as an ebook or paperback.

The Appeal of OverPowered Characters - Part 1 - No Need for an Underdog.

Authors out there, you should consider using an overpowered character as your protagonist. 

When I first started writing novels, what was it, twenty years ago now? (My how time flies), I read up on novel-writing advice. I sought it everywhere and I gathered it together. Something I saw a lot was "don't make the characters too powerful", and the similar refrain of "give your characters flaws".  A character, particularly a protagonist, had to be weak, or at least weaker than their enemies. They had to be the underdog. 

The general idea was that if a character was too powerful, then the story wouldn't have any tension. The character would resolve all problems with their over-poweredness.  No tension =  no drama, which supposedly also equals "bad story". Without exception, this advice said, a story with an overpowered protagonist was supposed to be bad. I believed it at the time. I don't anymore. 

 It's not bad advice, but with all writing tips, there are exceptions.

What if you don't want to write an underdog story? What if your goal isn't writing a story fueled by the question "will the protagonist triumph"? It is very possible to do that. Even with a modicum of genre savvy, one can predict that "yes, the protagonist will triumph", even if the situation seems hopeless. Why, I recall watching Mighty Ducks 2 with my class during middle school, and right at the climatic moment, when the gaming-winning move takes place, one of my classmates sarcastically said, "Oh, I thought Iceland was going to win". It was a real buzz kill. I imagine he thought himself clever, but no, he wasn't. The climatic moment was well-crafted from a narrative and thematic perspective, but totally predictable.  

Authors out there, you don't have to struggle with that dilemma. There is no strict need to balance the seesaw of "Oh, this protagonist is so weak and overwhelmed, there's no way they will triumph but, yeah, they totally will, somehow".  It's a thin wire to walk. You either have to build the story around setting up the character as an underdog while also setting up their path to victory in a believable way or choose a failure ending and all that implies (bitter-sweet or tragedy). 

 I will illustrate the exceptions with specific series that I believe best serve to help illustrate. 

To start things off, No Game No Life. This is a light novel series staring a pair of human siblings, Sora and Shiro, who are collectively known as " " (in other words "Blank").  The world they live in operates on the premise of Duels Decide Everything. The One True God of this world (who is also the God of Games) decreed that all violence was forbidden, and therefore disputes would be resolved through games. This is enforced via Supernaturally Binding Contract. Sora and Shiro are the best gamers, and the series is not shy about reminding the reader about their motto, "Blank doesn't lose." 

This is a story with tension. There is a LOT of tension, but the driving question is never, "will Sora and Shiro win". That is because the answer is obviously, "yes, they will". The question is HOW will they do it. That is a much more interesting question. It gets readers involved in the middle parts of the story, which basically IS the story itself. If all the reader cares about is the ending, then the potential of the beginning and middle is never fully realized.  (Incidentally, I wrote a different blog post about this years ago ---> LINK)

(Full disclosure - Technically, the gamer siblings ARE underdogs, because their opponents have supernatural advantages, but the narrative doesn't seriously entertain the idea that they will lose. In fact, Sora gives a speech that is summarized as "The weak are the strongest".)

Authors out there, don't you want to write a story that grips readers with every page? For the event on that page itself to engage their full attention? Not as a percussor to an ending, but the progression to have value and meaning. That is what No Game No Life is all about. One can guess that Sora and Shiro will win, but not the moves they make to get that win. 

That is the appeal of the story. Yes, the protagonist "Blank" will win. The gamer siblings approach every game with the mindset that they will win, and they do. Yet every game is thrilling. 

The author doesn't have to worry about maintaining the illusion that the gamer siblings might lose. The time, energy and words that would otherwise have been devoted to that instead go into the amazing tactics, the funny running gags, the fascinating world-building, and other things far more interesting than protestations of their dire situation. Side characters might worry about their chances, but Sora and Shiro do not, and so the overall narration does not.  

My original idea was to include all the examples in one post, but this one is already too long. I will cover the others in other posts. I can think of four examples right now, so this might be a 5-part series. That would be a first for me. 

Look forward to it!

Update: Part 2 is ready. Click to read The Meaning of the Fight

 Brian Wilkerson is an independent novelist, freelance book reviewer, and writing advice blogger. He studied at the University of Minnesota and came away with bachelor's degrees in English Literature and History (Classical Mediterranean Period concentration).

His fantasy series, Journey to Chaos, is currently available on Amazon as an ebook or paperback.

A Magical Medieval Society - Western Europe - Second Edition

As a novelist of the fantasy genre, as well as a Dungeons and Dragons dungeon master, I often want to create a medieval European fantasy world. I seek to delve into its details and bring it to life. Not just as a backdrop for an adventure, but to create a fully realized simulation of reality. This book helps me do that, both in a novel and in a campaign setting for a tabletop roleplaying game.

This book lays out how to generate manors, medieval towns, and keeps. It provides rules for creating settings at the scale of kingdoms, villages, and everything in between; both generalized methods and more detailed methods. With a little bit of time and math, a novelist or game master can work out how many people are in a given area, how many of them are spellcasters, how much food they raise, how much land is under cultivation, etc. That is useful, but this book is more than just a collection of generators.

It lays out, in general terms, how the medieval system commonly known as "feudalism" works, both historically and how things like D&D-style magic fit into such a system. It gives a brief description of concepts like vassalage, land=power, the medieval idea of "justice", and how non-modern systems of commodity exchange function. Again, this is in general terms. The author mentions that there are many variations of these customs and things changed over time, because the concept of "Medieval Europe" encompasses over a dozen nations over a thousand or so year period (the medieval idea of "nationhood" is also touched on).

When the author says this is a book for creating a medieval society that is not restricted to real life medieval history, that is a true statement. At no point does real life history influence a section, nor does a real life country stand as a substitute. What is present here are common structures, practices, customs etc. that can create the flavor of a generalized medieval European culture without adapting any particular country's history. The author even mentions which parts of medieval society would be influenced by modern ideas, such as gender equality, and advises the novelist/GM in question to consider the implications of such for their fictional country's history.

The book also has sections for building organizations. Guilds, manor staff and armies are laid out in detail. There are tables for generating them, such as how much to pay for a particular kind of soldier, and how much food a given soldier of a given race needs to consume. There are explanations of how guilds function, and certain rules used by historical guilds to govern themselves. From the baker's guild to the royal court, this book provides novelists and game masters a template to work from, thus reducing their research and prep time. 

Finally, spread throughout the chapters, are considerations about how magic as presented in D&D would influence a medieval world. For the most part, not much. Magic can be one more resource a lord can tax to add to their wealth or prepare for war. Wizards can be one more trade guild among many. Clerics possessing divine magic isn't going to stop them from getting into theological disputes with each other, nor from insisting to non-clerics that their god is the only one deserving of worship.  Admittedly, that is kind-of depressing. 

However, this is only for a low-magic setting. The author assumes a low magic setting, where even low-level spell casters are few in number, and the secrets of both Arcane magic and Divine magic are closely guarded and regulated secrets. The author admits this is to keep the scale of the societal alterations manageable. 

In the book, the author states that a moderate or high-level magic setting would cause so many changes to the medieval European world that the scale of it becomes mind-boggling. Thus, it would be difficult to state in brief. Indeed, many of the considerations of the influence D&D style magic has on historical medieval Europe are short. They are limited to small scale instances like, "most building teams probably have at least one person who knows the Feather-Fall spell", or something like "any king who can manage it likely has an abjuration wizard in his bodyguard". 

This is understandable. A full consideration of the effects of D&D style magic on a historical medieval Europe would be very long, like one volume per aspect of the society. Then there's the possibility that the GM/novelist using this book doesn't use D&D-style magic, which would then limit the book's usability. So, the author's desire to be small scale and general in the interest of staying concise is totally understandable. 

Trickster Eric Novels gives an A+

Click here for my next book review:  The Isolator - Realization of Absolute Solitude. manga volume 1

Click here for my previous book review:  So I'm a Spider So What - light novel volume 5

Brian Wilkerson is a independent novelist, freelance book reviewer, and writing advice blogger. He studied at the University of Minnesota and came away with bachelor degrees in English Literature and History (Classical Mediterranean Period concentration).

His fantasy series, Journey to Chaos, is currently available on Amazon as an ebook or paperback.

Dungeon of the Mad Mage (D&D adventure module) (read for fun)

I wanted to learn how to build dungeons and stock with them encounters. I do not just mean monsters to fight or traps to avoid but a full adventure. So I looked to the professionals of the "world's greatest roleplaying game" and picked up the mega-dungeon known as Undermountain. 

This is a review for "Dungeon of the Mad Mage".

Wow, this module is versatile. The flexibility written into this mega-dungeon is amazing. I was expecting something that was a one-size-fits all sort of thing. You know, something like the modules that Adventure's League DMs run: the players arrive for X reason, and then Y happens. Let the players react and then tell them to do Z. This book isn't written like that at all. In fact, it is so flexible it is less of a pre-written adventure and more like a pre-written setting that includes set-piece events for a DM to use or adapt for their own adventure. 

For instance, the first chapter provides adventure hooks for the party but acknowledges that players can have their own reasons for entering Undermountain. The players aren't locked into a particular quest or storyline. A DM could make up their own reason. This is an easy thing to do. I found myself coming up with several hooks for venturing to particular levels; hooks that didn't have anything to do with the specific adventure suggested but just the setting provided. 

The same chapter has this sidebar listing off possible motivations for Halaster Blackcloak, the Mad Mage himself, to tolerate the adventurers intruding in his lair. There are six in total, and they can change whenever the DM wants without explanation. As the book says, "he is the Mad Mage, after all". So the DM could make up some totally bonkers motivation, and that would be totally legit. If they don't want to include him, then they can leave Halaster in the background. 

The dungeon levels themselves are flexible. Each level map is created with tunnels that lead off the established area. These are marked as "tunnel leads to expanded dungeon".  So the DM can add rooms and events if they want, or they can pretend those tunnels don't exist and treat the area as a solid wall.

 A list of wandering monsters is often provided that the DM can include if they want to shake up an existing room. Even if a player has read this book, they can still be surprised by these wandering creatures, or who may or may not appear. 

Finally, while each level is written with its own storyline, the book acknowledge multiple ways that the players could resolve it, or even ignore it. This is tacit encouragement for the DM to tweak things to fit their own narrative. I see the levels more as "template settings" than hard-coded adventures. Indeed, one doesn't even have to use them for Undermountain.

Each level is designed to work within Undermountain. Of course, it is, because they are included in this book. However, they can take place elsewhere. A little tweaking of lore or re-flavoring of certain factions or items, and any given level can be its own stand-alone adventure. For example, there is no reason why Dweomercore, the school for evil mages, has to be inside Undermountain. It could be some isolated mansion in the woods, or part of an urban city with either a public reputation or secret existence. 

I do not mean that this flexibility is nothing but options. There is a concrete path to walk if you choose to walk it. A DM can run this adventure exactly as it is, no changes necessary, and it would still be a complete adventure. There are storylines, individual events, monster encounters, and treasures of all kinds already provided. 

Each level of the dungeon is supposed to be balanced to the party's level, and there's even a in-universe mechanic to prevent players from going to levels they may not be ready for (if the DM wants to use it). The experience gained from each level will help the party level up and be ready for the next one. As for being balanced treasure-wise, that is something I want to address.

I don't really understand the value of the wealth-per-level thing. It sounds too rigid for storytelling. Why should the same dungeon contain more or less treasure for parties of different levels? It sounds like game-ism for the sake of game-ism. The treasure found in Undermountain makes a great deal of sense with its story.

The majority of the treasure found here is from other people who have set up shop in Undermountain. The bandits, the Drow Houses, the Hobgoblin army, other adventuring parties (living or dead, but mostly dead) etc. are the ones with the treasure. This is because the player's party is not the first to go into Undermountain. Heck, the main entrance to Level One is basically a tourist attraction in the Yawning Portal tavern. Lots of adventurers have gone in and searched for loot. So the book mentions empty treasure chests, already-looted vaults, and other signs of previous adventuring parties. There is STILL treasure to be found, but it is going to be on deeper levels, in better hiding places, etc. I find this a fantastic thematic device.

The artwork and maps and all that stuff look good too. I just don't want to go into detail about it. Rest assured that flipping between the map and the descriptions of the rooms keyed to the map is an easy thing to do. I did just that when I was reading through the book to get a sense for how the level was laid out. 

As a dungeon master, my reaction to reading even the first several levels was, "I want to play through this with someone."

Trickster Eric Novels gives Dungeon of the Mad Mage an A+

Click here for my next book review:  So I'm a Spider, So What? (light novel 2)

Click here for my previous book review: Pendragon's Heir (book 1)

Brian Wilkerson is a independent novelist, freelance book reviewer, and writing advice blogger. He studied at the University of Minnesota and came away with bachelor degrees in English Literature and History (Classical Mediterranean Period concentration).

His fantasy series, Journey to Chaos, is currently available on Amazon as an ebook or paperback.