Embracing Darkness III - How Levity and Moments of Quiet Enhance Darker Fiction

Overreliance on bleak and depressing story beats makes for reading and writing that suffocates, especially in dark fantasy. The subgenre needs the breathing room moments of levity and quiet provide.

“Embracing Darkness” is an ongoing series of essays detailing my thoughts on the current state of dark fantasy as a subsect of genre fiction. In this series I attempt to identify both common mistakes which tend to drive readers away, and many of the core elements and themes which have helped some of the most beloved stories in the genre endure. If you’d like to read the other essays in this series, you may do so via the links below.

• Finding the Source of Dark Fantasy's Strength

• Why Heroism and Virtue in Dark Fantasy is Desired, not Dull

• On Pacing and Timing in the Narrative

• Why Dark Fantasy?

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It’s been some time since I last wrote on my preferred genre of fiction. Seems as though I’m trapped in a four month cycle of ideas striking me in regards to the positives and the pitfalls of dark fantasy stories. My first Embracing Darkness essay was written all the way back in June of last year. The second came roughly four months later in October. Now we’ve reached the end of February, 2025, another roughly four month span since my last essay on the subject, and we’re returning to it once more. Funny how that works out, isn’t it?

Speaking of funny things, that’s going to be one of the subjects of today’s essay - humor, levity, and light heartedness. Seems strange, doesn’t it? After all, dark fantasy is widely known as a subgenre that’s filled to bursting with bleak and depressing stories devoid of hope and suffocating in their nihilistic grimness. I’ve gone over some of the reasons behind this perception in my previous essays, as well as some of the reasons why that perception doesn’t line up with the reality of what the best within the subgenre has to offer, so I shan’t be taking up the paddle to further beat upon that already dead horse this time around. However, we will once again be examining some of the common pitfalls for writers within the genre, as well as the necessary tools and techniques we can use to avoid them.

And what exactly are the pitfalls and tools in question? As mentioned in the previous paragraph, the genre of dark fantasy has a reputation of being rife with stories that lean far too heavily on its darker elements. Previously I discussed the tendency that many inexperienced writers have to mistake the trappings of dark fantasy as the core elements that give its greatest stories their strengths. Aspects common to it such as body horror, violence and gore, and explicit sex are frequently taken by the less savvy lovers of these types of stories as being their ends, as opposed to one of the means by which the more skillful authors within the subgenre amplify the core strengths, messages, and ideals present within their stories.

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Writers who mistake the trappings as being the point of the genre are most often the ones who end up producing the sort of schlocky and shallow shock fantasy that has a tendency to turn readers away in droves. This is, at least to my mind, the largest hurdle the genre faces in terms of its reputation. When overutilized, these shocking elements lose the sort of strength they need to remain provocative within the confines of their stories, reducing them to a sort of immature shock-jockery that’s lacking in significant meaning or lasting impact. This isn’t to say there is no place for these sorts of stories or that no enjoyment can be had from them. It is to say that the continued oversaturation of dark fantasy stories featuring this misaligned focus is doing a severe disservice to the genre, though.

This isn’t the only common misalignment of goals seen within my preferred genre, either. Alongside the shock schlock accusations, the most common criticism I see levied against dark fantasy stories is their tendency to be overwhelmingly bleak, dour, grim, and depressing. Again, I’ve touched on this problem in my previous essays. This particular issue ties in very closely with my original assertion that the most beloved and lasting stories within the genre are those which carry with them an undercurrent of hopefulness, which I personally believe to be the secret strength that helps to make said stories as beloved and lasting as they are.

The Misuse of Depression and Tragedy

Just as with the accusations of shock schlock, the accusations that dark fantasy stories have a tendency to be oppressively depressing by default didn’t spawn from nothing and nowhere. These negative views on the genre came about because there are myriad examples of stories that do lean far too heavily on dark and depressing subjects. One story which I can look to as a potential example of this is the final tale written by Mark Twain, the posthumously published novel The Mysterious Stranger, which I wrote a brief review of last summer. While its status as a fantasy story is certainly debatable, given the amount of supernatural events which take place within it thanks to the coming of the angel Satan - who claims he is not the traditional Satan, but the nephew of the fallen angel¹ - I believe that a safe argument can be made for that distinction.

While well written and engaging in an admittedly eerie manner, The Mysterious Stranger is most certainly among Twain’s bleakest stories. A tale which questions the very nature of life and posits a grimly existentialist answer, it most certainly ranks as one of the most depressing novels I’ve read in my life. Yet with how questionable claiming it as a fantasy story can be, a more contemporary example may be in order.

Fortunately, I have one of those at hand as well in the form of Shadow of the Conqueror, the first novel written by Shadiversity’s own Shad Brooks. I will admit, after reading this novel in 2023, it wasn’t long at all before I’d entirely forgotten I’d read it. Much of its story failed to stick with me, and that’s really due to the fact that much of the story simply isn’t very memorable. Shad’s writing has been pretty thoroughly picked apart by a number of detractors, and from what little I do recall of my experience reading it, they were right to do so.

Shadow of the Conqueror presents a story that, for one thing, commits many of the sins regarding too heavy a focus on the trappings of dark fantasy. The main character, Daylen, is a former warlord and dictator who’s committed heinous crimes across his life. From razing cities to slaughtering dissidents to using his status as a means to force young women into sleeping with him, (yes, he effectively raped a good many women in this way) he’s viewed by the people in the story as one of the most reprehensibly evil men alive. However, in his old age he’s given a second chance, a quest for redemption, and he ends receiving a newfound power and youth that’s been given by a mysterious supernatural force known as the Light. It’s all really quite convenient, especially since he’s able to figure out unconventional ways of using this power on a whim, but that’s besides the point of this essay.

There are two things which chiefly define Daylen. One is how he chooses to use this new power on his quest for redemption. This is one of the choices which leans into Shad’s slip into focusing too much on dark fantasy trappings. In an effort to make amends for his past crimes, Daylen attempts to use his powers to save innocents from wicked individuals. Thing is, he does this with extreme violence that often results in the criminals being brutally maimed or pulverized into shredded meat, and leaves their victims even more terrified of Daylen than the people trying to rob, abuse, or yet again, rape them. Yes, rape is unfortunately a recurring element in Shadow of the Conqueror that is horribly utilized.

The other aspect is Daylen’s self hatred and depression. The narrative of Shadow of the Conqueror sees fit to remind us constantly of how prideful, angry, spiteful, self-loathing, and thoroughly depressed Daylen is. His chance at redemption isn’t seen as a hopeful thing for him at all, but rather a continuation of the “punishment” of living with the reality of his crimes. You see, despite being the single most hated person in the world, Daylen was somehow able to disappear at a time when his rule led to a mass uprising forming against him. He slunk off to some rural part of the world and, somehow, managed not to be recognized by anybody.

Living in this self imposed exile until he was an old and withered man, we come into the story at a time where he’s determined to throw himself off the edge of the floating continent he lives on. This suicide attempt is meant to end his lifelong “punishment” of living alone as a curmudgeonly engineer in a comfortable rural town with only his guilt to keep him company. The Light has other plans for him, though, and not only prevents him from dying, but returns his youth to him and gives him his newfound powers. Naturally, being the absurd sort of character he is, Daylen takes this as the Light demanding he endure more of his so-called “punishment” and find ways to act in service of its inscrutable will.

As an aside, for a story that I’d forgotten so much about, it’s rather amusing to me how quickly so much of it came back as I began writing about it. Getting back on track, though, the problems with Daylen’s constant depression and irritability are made clear very quickly. Shad’s goal with Daylen is quite clear to me - present a guilt ridden and nuanced protagonist with a very dark past who’s been given a chance at redeeming himself. Taken as a base model, this is an idea with fantastic potential to produce an excellent dark fantasy protagonist. Unfortunately, what we get in Shadow of the Conqueror fails to live up to that potential because the story’s key elements are off balance. The focus of Daylen’s story should have been to seek redemption and make amends for the atrocities he committed in his past.

Now attempts are made to put him on this path within the narrative, but they often end up taking a back seat to the moments where Daylen backslides. This results in a colossal number of scenes where he leans heavily into his pride, his guilt, and his brutality. These become so common that they hamper any sense of growth we might see in him. As a result, when the time comes that he’s given the opportunity to prove he’s changed and finally accept the people’s judgement for his past actions, the end results come across as unearned and unbelievable.

More importantly, at least where this essay is concerned, the heavy focus on the grim and bleak mindset of Daylen result in his portions of the story becoming a slog to read. Admittedly, Shadow of the Conqueror isn’t the worst example I’ve seen of this since breaks to other characters and moments where the story focuses on the hard magic system do split up those more dour scenes. The problem is that these moments don’t do much at all to alleviate the exhausting weight of those scenes when we inevitably return to them. Despite the breaks we get, the volume of dives into Daylen’s dark moods remains a force which suffocates the story each time they come up.

As this essay isn’t meant to be a review of Shadow of the Conqueror, I think it best to cease talking about the issues within that specific book and pivot to the main thrust of this section - how the misuse of emotional elements like tragedy, depression, and grief often lead to the aforementioned suffocation of a narrative. It’s probably safe to say that all of us have experienced dark times in our lives. Failed relationships, abusive relationships, the deaths of loved ones untimely or otherwise, lack of fulfillment in our day to day lives, general loneliness, or whatever else you might think of are all elements which can and do contribute to times where our lives can feel rather bleak. How severely these moments impact each of us can and will vary from person to person, but excluding a few extreme edge cases, the painful and lingering emotions that come from situations like these are universal to the human experience.

We know what it’s like to feel bogged down by the weight of melancholy. Grief, stress, and lingering sadness are things most of us have experienced at some point in our lives. At its best, dark fantasy stands out from other fantasy subgenres in how it highlights these heavier emotions and the subjects that lead to them in a way that enriches their stories. Handled properly, they can provide reading experiences that are highly emotionally resonant, lending extra weight to the conflicts and struggles experienced by the characters.

Many writers struggle with balancing these parts of the story. As with anything, too much of a single ingredient can sour the experience. Of course, there is a place for deeply depressing stories, particularly when they’re able to use those dark emotions to amplify a powerful core message. People aren’t likely to say the likes of 1984 is the sort of story where you should expect a happy ending, but plenty of stories as or more bleak than that are considered some of the greatest ever written.

The difficulty comes when those heavy feelings are constant within a story. This is particularly true for stories which have entertainment as one of their central goals, which I would argue is true of most dark fantasy stories. Presenting an endless barrage of depressing scenes goes counter to that aim. No one - well, no one who’s reasonable - wants to feel depressed all the time. By that same logic, there are very few people who will want to read fantasy stories that aim to present that same feeling.

Thus do we beg the question of how to avoid this imbalance. One of the methods was already mentioned in my first essay: ensuring you present a noticeable sense of hope in your story. As long as it’s not too heavily bogged down by darker themes and trappings, a sense of hope can go a long way toward making a grim and depressing fantasy tale more palatable, even if you end it in a tragic manner. That being said, it’s very easy to overuse these elements, especially in tales meant to be tragic and/or gritty. Fortunately, we have some very useful tools and techniques at hand to alleviate this potential problem.

Lightening the Emotional Load

Balancing the various elements in our stories is an idea I’ve continually returned to in this series, and for good reason. A narrative that presents its constituent parts in a well balanced manner stands a much greater chance of resonating with readers in a lasting way. Allegorically speaking, writing isn’t unlike cooking a fine meal in this respect. Learning how to properly pair mains and sides, how to correctly portion them, the right way to prepare, season, and so on are all necessary for creating delicious and memorable eating experiences. Proper balancing is the key.

So how is it, then, that we can balance out the dark elements of dark fantasy stories? What literary counterweights do we have at our disposal to achieve this? And how do we ensure we’re not moving too far in the opposite direction?

I’ve had these questions have been rattling around in the back of my mind over the last few weeks. Admittedly, they’re not questions which I actively ask myself as I’m writing. I’ve noted in the past that while I only recently took the steps needed to finally self publish my first book, I’ve been at the writing game for over a quarter century. A lot of these notions are instinctual to me at this point, ingrained knowledge which I often don’t need to actively consider as I’m crafting a narrative.

What changed? Why is it, then, that questions which aren’t usually conscious considerations for me these days suddenly sprang back to mind? I’ll show you.

It's nice that Gaiur gets some closure. She's been in a lot of pain for a long time.

It's too bad that the dress wasn't enough of a disguise, but at least the person who found her only wanted to thank her.

I can't wait until you publish these tales in a paperback, which I can buy and add to my library.

Dark fantasy is like a brooding storm cloud; without a silver lining there isn't much point. What a beautiful and invigorating way to allow a grim story time to breathe, and give the actors a moment's respite.

A good story should always have downtime for the characters. Sleeping, eating, reading, dreaming, and cooking all add depth to the story. Springjacks being a rabbit the size of a lynx. Very descriptive. And Marten thinking about Gauir all day.

This shows humanity.

The above quotes are comments which I received from

Joseph L. Wiess

and

Lesley Cain

on a couple chapters of my ongoing serialized novel, The Jarl’s Son. Which, for those unawares, is also the sequel to my recently published novella, In the Giant’s Shadow. The uploads they were shared on are chapters 8-1, 8-2, and the most recent at the time of this writing, 13-1. As you might expect, each of these segments of the story featured moments of downtime where the characters are either able to process what they’ve been going through, or are given the chance to work and focus on things somewhat removed from their primary struggles.

I can’t understate the importance of moments like this in heavier stories. These are places where the story slows down, the tension is released, and both the characters, the readers, and yes, us writers as well, are given requisite breathing room to relax our minds and become immersed in a portion of the story where the stakes and stress appear to be reduced. I say “appear to be” because these moments of release are often used as stepping stones to begin a new crescendo of rising tension.

There are numerous ways in which one can approach these moments of release. In some cases they involve one or more of the characters taking time to process the hardships which they’ve endured. These moments often still carry a hefty emotional weight with them, but they do so in a manner that’s far less taxing on the readers. This is because such moments tend to be quiet and contemplative. Rather than an instance of intense emotional reaction, such as a character grieving over the sudden death of a loved one for example, these quieter moments pair similarly heavy subjects with moments of contemplation that effectively act as a valve to release much of the tension that helps cause the bleak, the dour, and the depressing aspects of a story feel constricting.

Contemplative moments of this sort are quite helpful for balancing out the darker emotions in such stories, but they do have a downside. Since their goal is to show a character processing these feelings and ideas, and as such exist to also help the reader do the same, sole use of this method may lead to rapid diminishing returns. This is especially true when such scenes are handled poorly, as this can lead characters who feel like wet blankets as contemplation shifts into a feeling of constant bemoaning.

Fortunately this isn’t the only option at our disposal. Quiet moments of just about any sort are especially useful for giving your readers that sense of breathing room. From working on mundane tasks like cleaning, preparing meals, or setting up camp; to simply sitting around a campfire to quietly think or carry on a conversation; indulging in a horseback ride; or even something like gardening; there’s all sorts of scenarios, tasks, and simple moments of quiet that we can lead our characters to which allows them to relax and feel more human. This then lets story’s tension to ease, and the reader gets that much needed mental break from the heavy emotional strain placed throughout the rest of the story.

Scenes like these can serve a number of purposes in addition to giving your audience some breathing room within the story, but I find there are two specific goals which are most frequently paired alongside: character progression and plot progression. Naturally it’s also possible to progress all of these in tension releasing downtime scenes, but character progression is the more common of these pairings because scenes like these are practically tailor made to invite us to delve into the minds and hearts of our characters. They provide us with moments where we can explore their thoughts and feelings, engage with tasks that they like or dislike, carry on banter and conversation, and so on.

Whatever form with which you approach the moments where you let your story breathe, it’s important that you not let them detract from the rest of the story. Don’t force them to happen. Find places where these scenes fit in naturally. If for whatever reason you can’t, try to set one up that can be worked into the story in a manner that fits comfortably. And should that happen to fail, too, don’t fret. There are other ways for us to balance the darkness of dark fantasy with something a little bit lighter.

Let There Be Laughs

I want to be clear from the outset here, I am not suggesting you turn your dark fantasy stories into dark comedies unless that specifically lines up with your vision. What I am suggesting is we work with a highly useful tool mentioned right in the title: a touch of levity.

Humor is an immensely powerful tool for cutting down on the heavy nature of darker stories. Returning to the cooking analogy, it’s comparable to how something acidic can cut down the heaviness of a rich and fatty meal, like squirting some fresh lemon juice over a piece of buttery fish. And much the same as too much rich fat can make a meal too heavy, too much acid - or too much humor, in our case, can also throw off the balance of your story.

In my experience, the trick to bringing the right amount of levity into a darker story is to use a light touch. How much is actually needed to give the correct amount of brightness in a dark story will depend on the story in question. Sometimes you may find that you need more than you use, but far more often than not it’s best to use humor sparingly. Go too heavy and you risk running into the same problem that later MCU films hit, where the formulaic demand for jokes would undermine scenes that could and should have been far more impactful. Remember, it’s easy to add a little more of something if you need it. It’s much harder to try and take it out once it’s in.

How does one best utilize moments of levity in dark fantasy, though? There’s a few workable options here. Depending on how fantastical your world is, you could pepper in moments of absurdity that play into the darker elements of your world, adding the occasional touch of dark comedy to the tale. Trickster fairies screwing with your heroes in minorly malicious ways like altering what they see or shrinking them in size. You could also have lesser villains toying with their victims in a comical fashion, such as a scene in Baldur’s Gate III where a troop of goblins captured a gnome and tied him to one of the blades of a windmill. While still dark, brief moments of levity like this can make the more depressing moments of a story feel less suffocating.

Let’s say you don’t want to infuse a touch of dark comedy into the story, though. You want those darker elements to be treated with the utmost seriousness, or maybe that sprinkle of dark comedy just isn’t your style. What can be done then?

One easy way to work in tension relieving levity would be to integrate it into one of your downtime scenes. If you’ve got a scene in a tavern, for example, you could fill it with moments of lighthearted drunken carousing. Celebrations and festivals are also great ways to add moments of downtime that not only bring fun, merriment, and levity, but can also serve the purpose of further enriching your world, making it feel more believable and alive. Scenes of witty banter between two or more of your characters can also serve to ease tension, add levity, and make the interpersonal connections between your cast more believable, leading to further investment on the part of your readers.

Another option is the one which is my personal preference: a companion foil. Foils are a type of character that is meant to contrast another character within the story, usually your main character. Foils can fill the roles of villains or allies, but regardless of which role they take on, they’ll have attributes which act as an inverse mirror to the character they’re meant to contrast.

I make use of just such a character in my novella, In the Giant’s Shadow, for this exact reason. Since that story is a dark fantasy mystery that puts the main character, Gaiur, into a situation she doesn’t fully understand, I needed to balance her situation with a character who was more knowledgeable about what was happening to her. Not only that, I also needed someone who would act counter to her dour, no-nonsense demeanor and generally curt way of speaking. Enter Renald, a dream guide who takes the form of a chatty arctic fox that speaks like a posh British smarty-pants and has a tendency to overexplain things.

By pairing up these contrasting characters and making them allies to one another, I was able to move the story along in a way that helped to gradually expand Gaiur’s understanding of her situation and that readers found relatable. Additionally, the sprinklings of levity born from her interactions with Renald made the heavier aspects of that story easier to digest, while keeping that humor light ensured I wasn’t sacrificing the sense of danger and urgency I needed the story to have. Thus those darker and heavier elements I needed remained sufficiently impactful for the type of story I was trying to tell.

Ultimately, how useful any of these tools will be and how often you’ll need to use them will depend on what your goals are for your story. If you want to write a dark fantasy story that delves deeply into heavier themes and subjects, then you’ll likely make less use of these than those stories which have a stronger focus on plot and action, let’s say. However much you choose to use them, I would strongly suggest you not eschew them entirely. To do so can make the weight of your story feel oppressive to your readers. While a select few may accept or even enjoy that, they would be the exception to the rule.

Many people misunderstand the incredible capacity for inspiration the dark fantasy subgenre has, often focusing in on the edgy and provocative trappings or the depressing nihilism of a “no true heroes” kind of story. How wonderful it would be to see the true strength of dark fantasy, that central thread of hope, come to the fore. How inspiring it would be to regularly see the finest acts of heroism showcased by contrasting the deeds and values of those heroes against the colossal darkness which they face. We can make it happen, too, if we put our focus in the correct places and make good use of the tools and techniques we have in our repertoires. Whether they end in victory or tragedy, I’d like to see the day come where we see the very best of dark fantasy stories regularly put on offer.

Maybe someday.

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My first novella, In the Giant’s Shadow, is available for purchase! Lured to the sleepy farming community of Jötungatt by a mysterious white raven, Gaiur the Valdunite soon finds herself caught in a strange conspiracy of ritual murder and very real nightmares.

Purchase it in hardback, paperback, or digital on Amazon now:

• Hardcover

• Paperback

• Digital

  

1. Whether or not The Mysterious Stranger’s Satan is the actual devil or an unfortunately named relative as he states is a subject of some debate.