How To Write Witty Fantasy (and how not to)

Writting witty fantasy is often a function of the author's voice, but there are ways to do, and not to do it

Wit can bring humor and sharpness to writing that is a joy to read. Some of the literary greats attained their spot in large part because of their wit — Shakespeare, Oscar Wilde, Mark Twain, Terry Pratchett.

So what is wit, how can one use it, and what is the wrong way to use it?

What is Wit?

The definition of wit, according to Merriam-Webster, is:

the ability to relate seemingly disparate things so as to illuminate or amuse, or

• talent for banter or persiflage, or

• a witty utterance or exchange, or

• clever or apt humor, or

• astuteness of perception or judgment

A quote by Terry Pratchett illustrates this nicely:

“The trouble with having an open mind, of course, is that people will insist on coming along and trying to put things in it.”

This is both clever humor and using seemingly disparate things to evoke humor. It is also an astute perception.

As we explore this, you'll find that the wittiest lines tend to fit multiple of the definitions.

How does this line accomplish wit? Firstly:

“The trouble with having an open mind…”

This sets expectations. We are talking about people who are open to new ideas, and given “trouble”, perhaps too open. A non-witty follow-up would have been:

“…is you might too easily believe new ideas.”

This follow-up is both lacking in insight, and not witty, as it says most of what we might have already figured from the first part. Instead:

“…people will insist on coming along and trying to put things in it.”

The first thing this does is evoke humor by subverting our expectation of how the word open was going to be used. We intuitively understood him to mean accepting, but “put things in it” abruptly switches its usage to physical.

However, it is insightful too. My poor substitute is a lackluster restating of the original thought, but “people will insist” implies a little more — there are those out there actively looking to convince you of things, and they might not all be good.

So, armed with our knowledge of what wit is:

How To Write Wit in Fantasy

Fantasy gives us a rich tapestry of norms to pull from, and from that there are many surface-level subversions we can make. Remember, the best wit may also make a deeper point, but even just the subversion can evoke humor.

Here are some examples, see if you can imagine a subversion to each that evokes wit:

The knight was a large man, wielding a broadsword in one hand in his youth — …

“How is lady Pole?” … “…her ladyship is very well, exceedingly well.” …

Time wore on, but it seemed to have little effect on Mr. Baggins. At ninety, he was much the same as fifty. At ninety-nine…

Think of how you can continue each sentence such that at minimum, it subverts the direction the reader thought you would go. If possible, have it also give insight, reveal character, or drive story.

The first example is pure trope-ish fantasy; you may have even seen a variant of it out in the wild. To continue it with wit:

The knight was a large man, wielding a broadsword in one hand in his youth — the size had since migrated to his gut.

The subversion here is that “large”, in combination with “wielding a broadsword in one hand” gives the impression the size descriptor discusses his muscles. We flip this by revealing it’s his girth we are depicting.

This second example I pulled from Jonathan Strange and Mr. Norrell, and while this would work in most genres, I wanted to use this as an example of voice, which is in most cases what wit is going to manifest as:

“How is lady Pole?” … “…her ladyship is very well, exceedingly well.” …

Which demonstrates the sad poverty of the English language, for her ladyship was a great deal more than well.

This only grows funnier as our modern-day dialect diverges further from the answer. “Exceedingly well” is an excellent state of being; furthest from our mind is the thought that the description is so poor it should slander the entire English language.

It also begins doing more — as I said, the best wit drives plot, character, something. My first, made-up example was rather flat; this one causes us to wonder “well just how well can she possibly be doing?”

The final example:

Time wore on, but it seemed to have little effect on Mr. Baggins. At ninety, he was much the same as fifty. At ninety-nine…

they began to call him well-preserved; but unchanged would have been nearer the mark.

What would our examples be without Tolkien. Here again we subvert expectations a little. If someone was ageing well, “just as young as ____” or “At ninety-nine he was spry and gardening like a Hobbit half his age”.

Well-preserved and unchanged though, they’re a bit…uncanny. Negative. And this hints at plot, it foreshadows a bit. What do you mean he was unchanged? Why is it that such a description is more accurate than well-preserved?

We learn eventually of the Ring, and that cements the wit and effectiveness of the phrasing.

How Not To Write Wit in Fantasy

Wit is subjective at some level, humor always is. But there are a few things, especially in fantasy, that sacrifice the reason anyone would bother reading your book, for a cheap joke or two.

Here is what to watch out for:

• Self-aware humor undermines stakes

• Jokes — real, punchline jokes — wreck drama

  • Anachronisms are jarring

• Random subscribe buttons in the middle

Self-aware humor

Modern fantasy is especially guilty of the second, but I think the first mistake is the most immediate killer, should you put it in your book.

If you describe the raw elements of fantasy, it may sound a little silly. Lord of the Rings could be: “A pointy-hat wizard takes some small country folk (who sometimes are proud of their feet) on a grand journey, and they kill an evil dark lord by throwing his jewelry in a volcano.”

Do not apologize, wink at the reader, or in any way acquiesce to this pressure. LOTR is arguably the best fantasy series / book of all time; if it’s possible to make that sound silly, you’ll never write something that you also couldn’t describe sarcastically.

An example:

Sir Galewin squared up against the necromancer, ancient runes blazing on his sword. That’s what ancient runes did when facing the final villain.

If you want to write a whole book like this, call it satire and job well done. However, if you read a scene and think to yourself, “ah that seems a bit cringe and dramatic”.

No it’s not. On the surface, glowing runes on the sword may seem funny, but under the surface (if the story is done right) that sword and those runes only exist because the protagonist fought many hard battles, made many tough personal choices, and bravely put his life on the line for his friends to finally get here.

It’s not “glowing rune sword v cloaked Bad Guy™ ”, it’s “scared boy who has faced the trauma of never being loved, and now battles his former mentor and only father figure who he realizes was manipulating him”.

Punchlines instead of throughlines

The way is shut. It was made by those who are Dead, and the Dead keep it, until the time comes. The way is shut.

Legolas: They seem rather serious, maybe like we should let them keep it Aragorn.

On the surface, one obvious mistake is we know Legolas would never say this. But even if you had a character that would, consider what you need the scene to deliver.

Consider the throughline.

Lord of the Rings is rich in themes of bravery and sacrifice. Anyone at all on this journey, saying something like this, demolishes the power of a story about friends as close as brothers willing to risk death to support each other.

I’ll briefly mention Fourth Wing, take a gander at this dialogue:

“…Even the diagonal scar that bisects his left eyebrow…only makes him hotter. Flaming hot. Scorching hot. Gets-you-into-trouble-and-you-like-it-level hot.”

If we define fantasy by whether or not it’s got magic and dragons and set on earth, then…well I guess Fourth Wing could be fantasy.

I hold that this line one its own would have you convinced this was a YA rom-com, and like Ursula K. Le Guin says (paraphrased), fantasy, if it’s real, cannot have its wings so easily clipped.

The wit and humor of that phrasing is present — it is certainly funny how attractive she seems to find Xaden — but it sacrifices tone and gravity to do so.

Note that I find her writing and story to be perfectly fine if that’s what you want; I’m simply arguing that those methods achieve Fourth Wing, not Lord of the Rings.

Anachronisms are jarring

We know already that using anachronisms are not good form, here I mean the phrasing in and of itself needs to be interrogated. Consider:

“I am worried, though.”

“They cannot breach the wall.”

“And if they do, and the legions of Crushers and Brutes swarm in?”

“Give me a shout; I’ll come show you how battle it done.”

Again, I simply made this little section up, so it leaves much to be desired on multiple fronts, but, “Give me a shout” is what I want to direct your attention to.

That’s actually just a drop-in replacement for “give me a call”, which before telephones and the like, was not something people said.

You may find many such little phrases in your writing; I find this to be the most often accidental form of attempted wit or cleverness in my writing that robs it of the gravity it could have otherwise.

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