World Building

Posted on 21 September 2009

Ah, world building.  Perhaps one of the greatest challenges of speculative fiction above normal fiction is the increased need to build a world from scratch.  Not only must one create this world just so that the story can take place, but they must also create a world that lives and breathes on the page.  But, how much is enough, and how much is too much?

Gene Wolfe has said of world building that you must know where the bones are in your garden, refering to a story about the bones of an elephant that had been found in a Vatican garden and the story behind how they got there.  Robert Jordan was well known for his descriptive flourish, and Tolkien as well.  There is a problem with knowing where the bones are, though.

For one, it can detract from the story if you are not careful.  Not every descriptive detail given about a world has to advance the plot, but it does have to advance the story.  A description is meant to explain the nature of what it describes, so knowing that a person has opulent taste and giving a vivid picture of it can be useful.  Knowing that the spear-carrier prefers the broad-headed spears to the narrower spears might not as much.  Heck, I’m a fan of Robert Jordan, but sometimes I just have to think: “I don’t care what kind of imaginary trees are sitting around without leaves.”

On the reverse, though, and quite obviously, not adding “unneeded flourish” can leave a book dull and flat.  There are more plots and interests than just the primary plot, and I often find myself wanting to learn about the cultures and histories of the fabricated societies just as much as I want to know “what happens next”.  This is especially useful when passages advance both.  Of course, that sometimes makes for a certain theme of story.  The best plots for mixing in history and society are usually mystery or political.  Action/Adventure type stories are a little harder on that respect.  Not that it can’t be done, just that it’s a little harder.

So, my personal theory?  Have around four to five times more detail in your notes than you need on the page.  Know where every last one of those durn elephants are buried, but realize that you don’t have to tell them in the story.  Think of it as giving directions.  You might know six different ways to get someplace and every landmark on the way, but you only need–dare I say want–to give a single route and enough additional landmarks to make sure they feel comfortable with where they are.  The reader should feel the same about the story: they are comfortable with where they are without feeling overburdened.