HK Arnold

I have an awe-filled fascination with power. I've been on the underside of power systems for most of my life. They've crushed me, shaped me, reshaped and shattered me again. And yet, every time I can't help but step back, awestruck as I watch the cycle run again. Where fantasy exposes power through spectacle, burst of magic and wonder and overwhelming force, the power systems in our lives often linger beneath the surface. They hide in a guise of the mundane, of routine and comfort, stability and reason. I like to think I've grown enough that the systems don't destroy me anymore. More likely, I've been compressed enough that, even while I'm under them, my core parts are simply revealed rather than crushed. I get a sort of ironic amusement out of watching the process now. It brings me joy seeing the cogs turn, grind and jolt and try their hardest to wear me down. That little glimmer of ‘oh' that glances across the faces of those cranking the wheels is my favourite thing. Like the glimpse of spider legs beneath the rock you were about to snatch. There's a certain amount of anonymity I like to cultivate. Even public facing, in entertainment and media, I do it. Just always filtering, I suppose. Part of the mechanisms that keep me whole in the middle. I don't like to reveal my gender, especially. I want to exist somewhere without my identity filtering how I'm received. But I'll do some revealing here, for the sake of full understanding. I grew up in a rural, ‘stagnant water sitting in the u-bend of a sink' town. And I grew up very religious. Super tiny religious school, no worldly music, bible clutching and preaching to the degens in the back of the bus. The most quaint part of this is the same expectations came from two pressing systems; be a quiet and well-behaved girl. Both u-bend water towns and devout religious circles expect and adore these behaviours. My parents were the first divorce in this community. The scandal. The social ostracism was quietly devastating. Not only a huge personal adjustment, but also a crushing press from my tiny, religious school and the u-bend waste water network. There were lots of other things, looking back. A boy started calling me ‘it' after I rejected him, I was dissuaded from gaming because it wasn't for me, steered away from loud cars, discouraged for talking and texting weird (I realised I used words people often didn't know - too much reading, I guess). Most notably, I was told off for correcting my teacher (this was a ‘class lesson', from my first male teacher - big deal in my little school). I learned some cultures value saving face over teaching facts - the anecdotal vehicle for this ‘don't correct teachers' lesson. The slow grind of self, to fit into the social systems and never stop the wheels. I learned to keep my thoughts to myself. Unfortunately, thoughts are an expression of self. But that's not really a problem. Stagnant pools love blank slates. So do strict religious doctrines. Makes for easy assimilation - an easier assimilation than stagnant pools assimilating blank slates, I'd wager. Later I experienced power in its most intimate form. Not the grind and crush of the systems I'd grown used to, but the kind that seeps inside and turns you to slop, and reshapes you into something wholly unrecognisable and never fully solid. Always ready to be washed away and formed again. Of course, understanding often requires grinding away the layers. Sometimes, we learn best by first destroying. Like a baby smacking over block towers, a child kicking down sandcastles, or now, picking things apart to examine meaning. But being fascinated doesn't come until after reformation. When you restack the blocks, rebuild the sandcastles, and reread the whole once more. I never got that post abuse anger. So many people get angry. I've seen it, I know those with it. Just, rage. Just, big black mess. I do get annoyed when I go back to my hometown, whiff the old sink u-bend. But I don't get the huge surge of rage. I just see the mechanisms, clunking away, churning and grinding and swallowing the dust. The people are miserable, those cranking the wheels and those underneath. How can I be angry? They're rotting from the inside, clinging to the sink, and I'm doused in spring water. But I can't let it go either. Someone needs to flush the u-bend, to dump a tub of bicarb soda down the drain and drench it in vinegar. I need to reveal it. I need to watch the froth and hiss of these systems, exposed and understood from the inside out. I need you to see the grotesque nature of it. Not just the big powers, the crush of community or government, but the individuals caught up in the gears. The quiet insults, the little corrections, the redirections. The slow stagnation. I need you to understand why those underneath sometimes curl up and do not move. It's a hard thing to watch. But things like gods make it easier. Things like dragons, the size of cities, are easier to understand than watching someone ground down beneath the weight of a spouse who calls them fat once a week, until they stop eating but don't leave. Of course you'd huddle in a ditch when a dragon flies over town. If you ran out into the middle of the street to tell him to take him scaly terror elsewhere you'd probably die alone out there. Things like monarchies encroaching on village life, and average days deforming into fae realms, and elves snubbing… well, everyone, and powerful mages being wiped out, are all palatable facades. It's hard reading about governments monitoring bodily autonomy, kids growing into adults who can barely make enough money to eat, people outright ostracising groups of people, and women being told it's dangerous to read smut. Yes, I equated powerful mage genocide to smut fear mongering. That's the power of fantasy framing. I love fantasy. I love the power and flexibility of it, the escape and the revelation. Fantasy allows me to dismantle power, to isolate the mechanisms and reveal each twisting grind. Once you've seen it frothing and exposed, understanding is inescapable. At worst, fantasy entertains. At best, it strips back systems of power to reveal their core.