Real Magic

When I go to book fairs and author events, I am repeatedly amazed at how popular the fantasy genre has become.  To be honest, I’m not a fan.  I prefer reality.  Some readers might raise a dubious eyebrow and suggest The Spirit Keeper is not without magic, but I would reply that any “magic” in TSK is in the eye of the beholder, not the book.

From what I can see, the real world is filled with phenomena that seems magical because we don’t understand what’s going on, but, upon closer examination, the basic laws of the physical universe always apply. The fact that sparks shoot up from a fire when a certain person approaches may seem magical until you realize that person tossed a handful of fat-soaked sawdust into the fire as he approached.  The fact that someone dreams about something that really happens seems supernatural until you realize our brains are always processing details of reality we don’t notice, and when it puts those things together in a dream and the dream seems to come true, the “magic” is in our interpretation, not the phenomenon itself.

I’m not saying there is no magic in this world.  On the contrary, the real world I live in is filled with magic, layer upon layer upon mind-boggling layer.  Right here, right now, I am surrounded by creatures who wear their skeletons on the outside of their bodies and go into stasis for 17 years (locusts), I am surrounded by plants that use chemical weapons to alter my behavior (poison ivy), and I am surrounded by tiny little dinosaurs that fly thousands of miles from the jungles of South America to the cozy comfort of my back yard, where they weave little houses out of grass and my dog’s fur and lay eggs the size of Skittles (hummingbirds).  In the real world, wonders never cease.

Because the real world is so filled with jaw-dropping wonders, I simply don’t have time to read about someone else’s wild fantasy world.  What does some entirely fictitious universe have to do with me, especially when my universe is layered with infinitely many other universes, each and every one of which seems pretty magical to me?  Rather than bury my brain in someone else’s fantasy, I’d rather look out my window and watch the trees dancing, their leaves shivering before the affectionate fondling of some massive invisible force (the wind).  It’s truly magical . . .