Technically, this was my second submission to the TRIAPA APA, but my first was basically a shorter version of the about page here, so this is really my first submission with original content.
Narrative Filigree in S&S
Chechov’s Gun is a narrative principle that says every element in a story must be relevant, and irrelevant elements must be removed. I agree with this to a point, removing unnecessary detail to keep the story readable is important, but “irrelevant” elements done correctly can add scale and life to a vague, static world.
Expansive worlds with detailed histories, rich cultures, and strange peoples are common in fantasy literature. These elements add enormous immersion potential for readers, drawing them in and creating the desire to know more about these strange places. But what if the author does not have time to build a detailed world, is limited by word count, or is simply content to let the world grow organically as they write?
By using a literary element known as Narrative Filigree, writers can create a grand sense of scale and a dynamic living world when limited by space, constrained by time, or with no pre-determination. Narrative filigree refers to vague details that hint at something more but are seemingly irrelevant to the scene at hand or story as a whole. These elements offer the reader a vague hint at a larger, living world while leaving them to wonder about the details.
In the following example taken from the story Turjan of Miir by Jack Vance, we see a variety of these elements within a single descriptive sentence, hinting at a world rich with cultures. Outside of this line, at least within this specific story, these referenced peoples and places are never mentioned again, but still leave the world much richer in their wake.
"Here was a Melantine Bargeman, here a warrior of Valdaran's Green Legion, here another of ancient times wearing one of the old helmets. In a little cleared space a garlanded courtesan of the Kauchique littoral danced the dance of the Fourteen Silken Movements to the music of flutes. In the shadow of a balcony a girl barbarian of East Almery embraced a man blackened and in leather harness as a Self and of the forest."
Where does one even start? What is a “Self”, what is significant about “old helmets”, who is the Green Legion, and what about the Fourteen Silken Movements?
Taken from the same story, we have a scene where the protagonist is very alone, looking out from his tower at a world that is not as simple or static as we might think.
"The night was wearing on. A blue light wavered in the forest. Turjan watched for a moment, then at last squared himself and uttered the Call to the Violent Cloud."
Clearly someone or something is up to something in the middle of the forest at night. Why and what are they doing?
Are these elements added out of necessity or by design? Likely both I would guess, but what I do know is that I very much enjoy seeing these elements in stories and will not complain about “irrelevant elements” in my reading.
Short Story - The Crumbling Keep
The cloaked man stepped to the edge of the causeway. Far below, what seemed like leagues, a stone loosed by his foot descended toward the brackish water. The causeway and its keep were located within a valley surrounded by soaring mountains. A combination of falling snow and ash combined with low gray clouds obscured the surrounding peaks. After long seconds, the falling stone broke the oily surface of the water causing a gigantic serpentine form to break the surface in a swirl.
A creak brought the man's attention to a series of gibbets hanging over the edge of the causeway from a massive chain running its full length connected by towers. In some cases, all that was left of an ancient cage was a short length of rusted chain swaying in the wind. The cage and its occupant having fallen to the decrepit moat eons ago. In others, scraps of cloth blowing in the wind and bleached bones were all that remained. Within these one could find elongated skulls, saber toothed fangs, and large reptilian claws alongside humanoid skulls and a variety of other unidentified bones.
The wooden door at the end of the causeway was swollen with moisture, but still solid with reinforced iron bandings. The heavy doors opened at a touch from the intruder, squealing loudly on protesting hinges. From within, warm musty air turned to fog in the cold air. Behind the door a decaying tapestry hung on a stone wall, with corridors leading to each side. The man stepped across the threshold and oil lanterns attached to the wall burst into flame as the ancient door squealed to a close behind him.
The man proceeded down the right passage. As he walked, lanterns in front of him lit, and those behind faded back to darkness. Shortly the passage turned again to the left, and in the distance a cavernous room could be made out in the gloom. At intervals in the passage were suits of rusted iron, more moldering tapestries, and everywhere was the telltale sign of vermin.
Lights flared as he approached the chamber. Along either side of the rectangular room were rows of floor to ceiling windows, partially covered by decaying curtains and fully obscured by a thick coat of dust, providing minimal light from the gray overcast. A series of stone pillars lined either side of the main walkway, leading up to a central dais upon which the silhouette of a figure could be seen sitting.
No movement was made as he approached and lanterns bathed the figure in light. What could be seen could hardly be called a man. Skin was stretched against bone and open sores and weeping wounds could be seen where the rotten robes no longer covered his body. What he sat upon was once a glorious throne, but it had long ago ceased to resemble anything but rotten fabric and decaying wood.
“What are you doing in my keep?” The skeletal voice growled, “and how did you get through the door?”
“The door, like the rest of the keep, no longer responds to your command,” the robed man responded calmly.
“This keep is mine, I earned it…” He hissed, hatred clear in his voice.
“You did, but no more. Your time here is over.”
“Is that it then? You have come to replace me?” The figure straightened to a more upright position, grimacing with the movement. “My followers are legion!” As he spoke, a large painting along one wall brightened as colors once faded returned…
A robed man stands atop a stepped pyramid, a severed head in one hand and a staff in the other, as hordes of people cheer. At the base lie piles of decapitated corpses, while along both sides lines of men and women walk in chains.
“Your followers are scattered…” the robed man replied.
“Impossible, millions have been made to kneel before me!” Another painting on the other side of the room bloomed into focus.
Ranks of men and women kneel in formation, surrounded by armed soldiers. In the distance, hills could be seen, upon which hundreds of figures are shown impaled on upturned spikes.
“They no longer kneel…”
“Men uncounted have carried my name on their lips as they charged into battle. They did it before, and they will do so again!” Behind the throne, a third large portrait came into focus.
A great host, glinting with armor and carrying flags, charges across a battlefield to meet their enemy.
“Those battles have long ago been lost…”
Finally, despair covered the seated figure's face. “This cannot be… I was to rule here, forever…”
“You sit, in a broken body, upon a rotten throne, within a crumbling keep. Your age is past...”
…
The heavy wooden doors closed quietly behind the robed man as he faded into the veil of snow and ash. The only sound left behind was a pitiful whimper and the creak of a new iron gibbet, swaying in the wind. In the distance, a hulking silhouette manifested in the snow and ash, approaching the newly empty keep.