Interviews & Essays
Explorations Interview with Mercedes Lackey
Paul Goat Allen: Mercedes, how did you initially come up with the concept of the Five Hundred Kingdoms, a vast realm practically oozing enchantment that has an endless wellspring of story lines?
Mercedes Lackey: I love fairy tales, for one thing. I had all the various Andrew Lang "Color" Fairy Tale books as a kid and actually repurchased them as an adult. Aside from the folkloric foundations of fairy tales, the political and historical reflections in them are fascinating. Better heads than mine have researched all of this, of course, and there are a lot of books on that subject. What occurred to me, when I was looking for a different kind of magic system to use for the new book I was doing for the Luna line, was the idea of the Tradition as a force to make stories go in a particular direction. The first thing I thought of was "Cinderella" -- and all the ways that particular fairy tale could go wrong. That implied there had to be an intelligent force to counter the Tradition, and the Fairy Godmothers were the obvious candidates for that.
PGA: One Good Knight, like
The Fairy Godmother, takes popular folklore and myth and turns it on its head with delightful twists. How much fun did you have writing these books, and what was your fascination with the myths -- the Greek legend of Princess Andromeda chained to the sea cliff and the medieval fable of Sir George and the Dragon -- featured in
One Good Knight?
ML: These books are enormous fun to write. I get to poke some lighthearted fun at things like unicorns, I get to indulge in far more romance than I usually can put in the high fantasy I write. It's pretty obvious that the fable of George and the Dragon derives from the Greek myth of Andromeda; one of those numerous cases of Christianization of an existing story, so it made sense to combine them. I thought the idea of the all-girl army was pretty fun, and the image of the "sacrificed" girls protecting "their" dragons was one of the first images that popped into my mind when I considered using those stories. I think what tends to make me select particular tales and myths may be not only their romantic potential but also whether or not they lend themselves to comedic moments. For the next two I go rather further afield -- to Japanese and Russian folktales for the third book, and to Finnish tales for the fourth.
PGA: There's such a strong underlying romantic element in your novels -- the partnership of Mercedes Lackey and Luna Books seems like a match made in heaven. The 2004 publication of
The Fairy Godmother actually launched the imprint. How did this partnership come about, and where do you see it going?
ML: Before Luna was going to launch, I was approached by Harlequin to participate in an anthology of four magical/romance novellas to be called
Charmed Destinies. I thought the project sounded like fun and agreed to it right away. I guess this was kind of my audition, actually! Next thing I knew the negotiations were going on for
The Fairy Godmother. We didn't know what the book would be at that point, but the wheels started spinning, and I decided I wanted a project that had potential to go explore a lot of different story lines. You know, just in case they wanted more! I hope this is going to be a very happy "marriage" for all of us. I've always wanted to get more deeply involved in the romance field, and I hope that romance readers will give these a try. I already know my fantasy readers are enjoying them from the letters I've gotten.
PGA: Can you give your fans a little teaser about
Fortune's Fool, the next tale of the Five Hundred Kingdoms?
ML: I'm combining the Russian folktales of the Sea-King's Daughter -- which is like
The Little Mermaid, only with a happier outcome -- with the legend of Sadko, who is another one of those "wise fools" from Russian folktales. The Katschei will make a reappearance on his home ground, there will be a touch of Japanese myth, and a reappearance of some old friends from
One Good Knight. Now, because I'm not slavishly following the folktales, the Sea King's Daughter is not the pretty, passive girl-on-the-beach. She's her father's secret agent! She investigates and solves problems where the sea and land meet.
PGA: Non-sequitur question here: Of all your novels, is there any one work that stands out as your most satisfying achievement? Which one book are you most proud of?
ML: Now, that is a hard one... I tend to like all of the things I work on for different reasons. And of course, once a book is in print, I then go, "Oh gee, I wish I had done this or that a little better." I think maybe the most exciting to work on lately was Joust and its sequels because of the exotic setting and being able to use what I know about raptor behavior to craft the dragons. The most fun are definitely the Five Hundred Kingdoms books. And the Elemental Masters series is really interesting, since I am doing a lot of turn-of-the-century research there. I guess I tend to look forward rather than back; I tend not to be entirely satisfied with what I have done in the past and try to do better on the next project.
PGA: Thanks for your time, Mercedes, and congratulations again on another great novel.
Read an Excerpt
Princess Andromeda stood on the very edge of a ledge three-quarters of the way up the cliff above the Royal Palace of her mother, Queen Cassiopeia of Acadia, holding out her arms to the wind. The same wind flattened her tunic against her body, and sent strands of her hair flying about her face as they escaped from the knot at the back of her neck. She raised her face to the sun, closing her eyes.
I wish I had wings--I used to dream about flying when I was little. It would be so glorious to simply step off this rock and fly, to escape the dreariness of being a Princess, with the din of "musts" and "must-nots," day in and day out, from governesses, tutors, her mother's ladies and, of course, her mother.
Especially the "must-nots."
There was an almighty number of "must-nots." You mustn't laugh too loudly. You mustn't speak your opinion unless it's asked for. You mustn't talk to anyone below the rank of noble, unless it's to give an order. You mustn't be seen reading in public. You mustn't frown in public. You mustn't smile at anyone below the rank of a noble, and you mustn't smile at any young men, ever. You mustn't let anyone call you "Andie," nor refer to yourself by that name. You mustn't be seen moving at anything other than a graceful walk...the list was endless. It seemed that all she ever heard was what she shouldn't be doing. No one ever told her what she could do--aside from look decorative, wearing the serenely stupid gaze of a statue. No one ever came to her and said, "Princess, there is a task you and you alone can perform." One "must" along those lines would have been countered with a hundred distasteful "must-nots"--but one never came.
Surelythat had never been her mother's lot. Cassiopeia had begun her life as Crown Princess and then Queen with responsibilities. In no small part because her husband, at least according to gossip, had been so good at avoiding them. That was why the old King, Andie's grandfather, had handpicked her out of the daughters of his nobles. He had wanted a girl with ambition, since his own son clearly had none, and a girl who would see that things got done.
Who ever would be foolish enough to envy the lot of a Princess with all of that hanging over their head? Nothing but restrictions without responsibilities. I'm less free than a slave, and not allowed to do anything that has any meaning to it.
She took a deep breath of the sea-scented air, and sighed it out again. At least her mother was not going to be plaguing her with one of her unannounced inspections this afternoon, inspections that inevitably ended in well-mannered murmurings of disappointment and the appointment of a new governess. Queen Cassiopeia was holding a very, very private audience with the Captains of the Acadian Merchant Fleet, followed by another with the foreign merchants who plied Acadian waters, and the meetings were expected to last all day and well into the night. Trade was the lifeblood of Acadia. Without trade, this Kingdom would probably die. Anything that threatened trade and the taxes it brought in, threatened Acadia as surely as an army. Despite her mother's being asked, begged, by her daughter to be allowed to attend, Andie had been told to "run along." Under any other circumstances, she would have been happy about the freedom from her governess's supervision and the opportunity to get out in fresh air and to make a raid on the library. But being treated like a child put a bitter taste on the treat.
She pushed at the stiff wires crossing the bridge of her nose, part of a contrivance called "oculars," making sure they were firmly on her face, then curled the wires of the side-pieces securely around the backs of her ears. They were a bit of a nuisance, but she loved them, because without them, she'd be half blind. The Royal Guard's own Magician had made them for her when he'd realized, watching her try to hold a book right up against her tiny nose as a child, that she was terribly nearsighted. He'd been pleased enough to do so, though the Queen had been less than happy the first time she saw her daughter scampering about with the wire-and-glass-lenses contraption perched on her face. "It's unnatural!" she had complained. "It looks like a cheap mask! What need has a Princess to see clearly, anyway?"
She had finally given in only when it was made demonstrably clear that Andie's never-ending series of bruising falls came to an abrupt end once she could see where she was going.
Not that her mother cared if I fell, except that all the bruises were an embarrassment to her. Andie sighed again. I can never please her, no matter what I do, so I wish she'd just get used to that and make use of what I actually can do.
Queen Cassiopeia wanted a pink-and-white, sugarplum Princess, a lovely daughter who as a child would have been all frills and giggles, big blue eyes and golden curls, and as an adult (or nearly, anyway) would be the younger image of herself, immaculately groomed, impeccably gowned, graceful, lovely-- not to mention quiet, pliant, uncomplaining and unthinking. A marriage pawn, who wouldn't argue about anything, or ask awkward questions, or want to do anything except to look as beautiful as possible. There had been nibbles of marriages over the years, but nothing ever came of them. Cassiopeia had enough ambition for two; she didn't see the need of it in her daughter.
Andie gave herself a mental slap. Maybe not unthinking. But--certainly more obedient than Andie was. And assuredly much prettier, much neater and much more concerned with her personal appearance than Andie could ever bring herself to be. So far as her mother was concerned, looks were one more weapon in the arsenal of a determined woman.
Cassiopeia never spent less than two hours in the hands of her maidservants before first appearing outside of her rooms. Andie could barely tolerate having the maid comb her hair and put it up, and she insisted on bathing herself, without all the oils and perfumes her mother seemed to think were necessary. Cassiopeia went through as many as six gowns before choosing one for the day, and it was always something so elaborate it took at least two maids to help her into it. Andie threw on whichever of her tunics the maid gave her, and if forced into a gown, made it the simplest draped column of fabric with cords confining it at her waist. Cassiopeia wore enough jewelry to finance an expedition to Qin for the most ordinary of days. Andie never wore any ornaments but a hair-clasp.
Cassiopeia had a lush figure that caused poets and minstrels from Kingdoms hundreds of leagues away to come write songs about her, and a face that had inspired fifty sculptors. Andie's figure was straight up and down and no gown could disguise that fact, and as for her face--well, as her mother often sighed, who would look past the lenses that took up half of it?
So how could the Queen ever be anything but disappointed in her daughter?
Andie had long since resigned herself to this, burying the hurt a little deeper each time Cassiopeia made some unconsidered remark. At least there was one area she could achieve success in--anything intellectual. And the Queen did seem to take some small pleasure in that, though she might bemoan the fact that Andie's nose was almost always in a book. The trouble was, she didn't seem to think that all of this study had any useful applications.
Even though I've quoted her facts and figures about Acadia until I've run out of breath. Every time she was going to have an important audience or meeting and I was able to find out about it, I did all the research on the subject anyone could ask for. Today at breakfast, Andie had detailed the revenues on import-taxes, given her historical background on inter-merchant disputes...but she might just as well have been telling her Godmother tales. The Queen just said, "How interesting, dear," as if she wasn't even listening.
She probably wasn't listening, actually. She probably thinks I'm just reciting my lessons for her. Once Cassiopeia had realized that her daughter was not going to develop into a miniature copy of herself, she'd left Andie's upbringing to nurses and governesses, who mostly passed in and out of Andie's life without making much impact, for none of them had lasted very long. Not because Andie was a difficult child, but because even when they were competent, and a shocking number were not, the competent ones sooner or later ran afoul of the Queen and were replaced. The incompetent, of course, were soon found out and sacked.
Not that it had ever mattered. The ones she'd had as a child, when it might have made her unhappy to lose a nurse she had become fond of, had, one and all, been rather horrible. Horrible in different ways, but still horrible. Some had been strict to the point of cruelty, some had been careless to the point of danger, some had been neglectful, or had scolded and criticized until Andie was in tears.
If it hadn't been for her loyal Guardsmen and Guards-women, she would have spent a lonely and very miserable childhood. But they had been everything that the nurses should have been and never were. The same set of Six had been standing watch over her safety since she was an infant, and when nursemaids were asleep, or drunk, or in the bed of their noble lovers, or lording it over the lesser servants, or off flirting with stable boys, the Guards were the ones who saw that she drank her milk, wiped her tears when she fell, and told her stories at bedtime.
Just as well that I wasn't the sort of child to get into serious trouble. They never had to get me out of anything difficult.
Not that she was spoiled. The nursemaids had strict orders from the Queen on that particular subject, and no few of them had taken great glee in loading Andie down with punitive punishments at every opportunity until she was as much of a model of correct and polite behavior as anyone would have asked. And her Six had too many children of their own to put up with nonsense from her.
From that faithful set of six Guards, she learned to know every member of the Guard assigned to the Palace as soon as her curiosity led her out of the nursery, Guard in tow. If she hadn't, she'd never have gotten her oculars.
Now she was something of a mascot for the entire Palace Regiment, and she did her best to help them whenever and wherever she could. Not that any of them had ever permitted the slightest slip so that the Queen learned of the peculiar attachment.
If Cassiopeia ever found out, she'd banish the lot of them to some awful assignments at prisons or remote Guard-posts, and put Andie in the care of even more horrible governesses.
One day soon, though, her faithful Six would be retired; Demetre and Leodipes were getting very gray, and the rest weren't much younger. It was only the fact that duty in the Inner Palace was largely a sinecure that kept them active. She dreaded thinking of that day, hoping their replacements would be guards she liked.
Andie looked down at the Palace and the city below it; from here, just below the lookout point for the Sea-Watch, it looked exactly like the model in the Great Library. The city of Ethanos was deceptively peaceful from here, its people reduced to little colored dots moving along the white streets, the striped awnings and banners too distant to show their stains and tatters, and none of its glorious, brawling untidiness evident from this height.
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