How the Witcher Books Subvert Epic Fantasy
Andrzej Sapkowski's novels and short stories defy the conventions that usually govern epic fantasy narratives.
By this point, you’re probably at least heard of The Witcher, the enormously popular fantasy TV series streaming on Netflix. After all, its second season premiered to significantly better reviews than its first one, and it has subsequently become on of the streamer’s most popular offerings. Largely jettisoning the fractured temporal structure of the first season, it follows the intertwined fates of the taciturn and cynical Witcher, Geralt, his adopted daughter Ciri, and his love interest (and tortured sorceress) Yennefer of Vengerberg, as they all contend with a world that grows more and more dangerous and sinister with every passing day. And, as was the case with the first season, the second subverted many of the expectations that viewers have come to expect of the genre of epic fantasy.
What viewers might not know, however, is that such subversion is very much a part of the original novels by Andrzej Sapkowski, particularly in the five books that comprise “The Witcher Saga” proper: Blood of Elves, Time of Contempt, Baptism of Fire, The Tower of the Swallow, and The Lady of the Lake. While Geralt’s world-weariness and general skepticism about humanity’s goodness were already in evidence in the two earlier short story collections--The Last Wish and Sword of Destiny--in the quintet of novels it really comes into the foreground.
To begin with, there’s Geralt himself. Though in some ways he fits the mold of the traditional epic hero--setting out on quests to save maidens, slaying monsters, protecting the weak--the novels repeatedly demonstrate that he doesn’t do so as part of some grand quest with cosmological consequences. Instead, he does it because he’s paid to do it, in doing so becoming something of a hero of the gig economy). Though he does have his own moral code that he lives by, it’s clear that he doesn’t really have very high expectations of other people and, indeed, time and again throughout the novels, his faith in the goodness of others is shown, with some exceptions, to be woefully misguided if not downright foolish. This reaches its apogee in the standalone novel Season of Storms, when it’s revealed that many of the monsters that the Witchers have so long pursued and slain are the creations of a renegade group of sorcerers. Even Geralt finds this to be a bit hard to stomach, especially since it calls his entire sense of purpose, indeed his very existence, into question.
It’s only when Geralt’s fate intersects with the princess Ciri that he seems to find some larger purpose than just being a monster hunter for hire. It’s important to point out that even here he doesn’t really care about anything except for Ciri herself. He has no use for the prophecies and manipulations and political schemes of either men or Elves; all he cares about is making sure that she’s safe.
Of course, it turns out that Ciri is quite capable of looking after herself. After her homeland is conquered by the armies of Nilfgaard, she desperately tries to escape and reunite with Geralt, with whom she has been bound by destiny. As the series unfolds, she quickly becomes ensnared in plots vastly larger than herself, especially once it becomes clear that she is part of a bloodline that is pivotal to the plans of many, including the vengeful Elves.
Ciri, however, is more like Geralt than might appear at first glance. Like him, she is fiercely independent and resourceful and, like him, she doesn’t see the point of these larger conflicts. Much of the story revolves around her attempts to gain some little bit of happiness for herself, despite the fact that everyone seems to want something from her. She is, like her mentor and protector, an unwilling epic hero, a far cry from the other young people who so often set out on quests in this genre. Frodo or Harry Potter she is not.
It’s in the very end of the final novel, The Lady of the Lake, that the entire saga’s undermining of fantasy becomes most apparent. Given the extent to which the novels have pointed out her vital importance in the plans of both humans and Elves, one would expect Ciri to fulfill her destiny, as is almost always the case in epic fantasy. That’s not at all what happens. Instead, she simply rides into the future with her new companion, Galahad. It’s a freeing moment, one in which she is, at long last, unencumbered by the expectations of others, content to simply find her own future. On one level, the final scene of The Lady of the Lake satisfies, in that it allows Ciri to finally set the terms of her own life. On another, it also leaves the broader questions that the series has raised--among them an all-encompassing and world-altering climate catastrophe--unresolved.
Geralt and Ciri, then, subvert what we’ve come to expect of the genre of epic fantasy. Far from embracing their roles or evincing much concern for the wider world, these two characters remain focused on their own desires, and each of them gets to have their own (quasi) happy ending. There might be something a little cynical about such an approach to fantasy, but Sapkowski reminds us that, in a dark world, even the most moral hero can and must seize what happiness they can, even if that means that the world burns around them.