Death is a topic commonly explored in fantasy fiction and, for many, is a shining example of the penultimate stake a character can face. While it can be among some of the most effective, pivotal, or devastating events in fiction, if handled poorly, can undermine the emotional impact and translate as blase.

The consequences determine the impact impact.

Death is among the most significant of events that can happen to a character. Self-sacrifice for a noble cause being among the pinnacle acts of heroism – an action which is absolute.

In fantasy in particular, death is often a very real threat, and a very plausible outcome. So when a writer is faced with the death or “killing off” of a character, the more meanigful the death, the more of an impact it has on the reader, and often: the more meaningful the life of that character can be in hindsight (and the more meaningful the character was in life, the more severe the death will be).

Take Boromir, for example. Hopefully with the popularity of the Lord of the Rings movies this one will be easily recalled.

Boromir, after first trying to manipulate then threaten Frodo for the Ring of Power, struggles internally with his actions, regretting having lost control of himself in the presence of the One Ring. When Pip and Merry are imperiled shortly afterward during the attack of the uruk-hai, Boromir lends himself to their rescue. Even as he is pierced by arrows, he fights despite mortal wounds in the hopes of protecting them but is only alive long enough to see their capture. Thankfully, he holds on long enough to have words with Aragorn when he is finally found. As he lays there during his dying breaths, Boromir himself feels as though he’s failed: first for betraying Frodo, and second for failing Pip and Merry. What he does not and cannot see is what his actions have stirred for readers (and viewers): that he was killed in defence of the friends he thought he failed (Pip and Merry), and in his last words honours Aragorn as his King (a role he denied the “ranger” from the start). That moment is so pivotal and so profound, you can’t help but get tears in your eyes. J. R. R. Tolkien beautifully stacked so many layers into that death, it is, to me, one of the most memorable, meaningful character deaths.

Another of the most stirring character deaths is that of Dobby from the Harry Potter series. Dobby, who once served the Malfoys, took it upon himself to look out for Harry despite personal risk. Harry eventually tricks Mr. Malfoy into freeing Dobby with a carefully placed sock, but even as a free elf, Dobby means to serve Harry for being such a good friend. The irony is that Dobby is the pretty spectacular friend. He sought Harry out; he gave him hints and clues and warnings to protect him, as covert as they may have been, and in the end, Dobby saves Harry and his friends from Bellatrix and the Death Eaters. It’s not until they have Disapparated to safety that he becomes painfully aware of the knife that Disapparated with them.

His death was devastating. He represented so much hope, so much playfulness, so much brilliant magic and friendship and loyalty and he was killed after successfully taking his friends to safety. I bawled like a baby when I read it, and I bawled even more when I saw it in Deathly Hallows: Part 1.

The Overuse and Abuse of Death

But then there are authors and stories that play with death like it’s a dead-end relationship they keep getting reeled back into, or worse, the one-way ticket becomes a two-way street.

Now, don’t get me wrong: the authors and works I’m about to discuss are both brilliant and prolific and I’m a huge fan of both, but I’m not without my pet peeves.

George R. R. Martin (you had to see this coming) is famous for killing everyone you ever loved. K, an exaggeration, but still an example of over-use of death. When Eddard Stark met his demise it had power – real power – in that death. But then… the habit starts to form and you just start to assume that everyone’s going to die, it’s just a matter of how and when.

It lessens the impact when you start to assume that they’re all going to die.

But Martin can at least let the dead lay…

I have read nearly every novel in the Legend of Drizzt series, and as much as I love all those characters, as much as I wish Regis, and Catti-brie, and Bruenor and Thibbledorf were my friends in real life, I also know that dark elves live a lot longer than all of them. R. A. Salvatore, however, (and dude, I LOVE these books, but he…) needs to let go. When Bruenor came back from the dead after his heroic sacrifice to slay the dragon in Streams of Silver, there were enough legitimate excuses to believe in the magic of it, and it was exciting because of how he very nearly died. Even Wulfgar’s return from the Abyss was plausible because it was more of a capture than a physical death anyways… But then there was Catti-brie’s depressing fade into nobody-really-knows-for-sure, and then Salvatore decided to pick up the story far into the future. Not only was Enteri, Drizzt’s nemesis “reincarnated” into the new times, but, sure enough, Catti-brie, Regis, and Bruenor were soon to follow after some sadly difficult to believe “otherworldy” adventures. Perhaps if Drizzt had spent less time being overly-introverted (a quality I share, so not harshing on introverts) and more time actually having new adventures, perhaps the plot could have carried on. Because, sadly, I was actually more disappointed by the reincarnations than I was of their deaths. The series could have started fresh with a new cast of characters, a new adventure/challenge/conquest… but no. He was living the past over again in the future and that’s when it was hard to care. At that point, death was meaningless.

It was not a one-off, turning-point-in-the-plot nor even a fate to be apprehensive of for the character’s sake. It was merely a state of being, and it had lost all significance. The ne’er-to-return fate-to-be-leery-of had no consequence at all. It was like having a whole deck of “Get Out of Jail Free” cards. Once you can come back over the Great Divide with memories of your past lives fully intact, there’s no real danger anymore.

The TV show, Supernatural, is also guilty of overusing the concept of resurrection. I have honestly lost track of how many times the brothers were resurrected in one fashion or another, but I suppose when a series gets renewed for that many seasons, there’s only so much you can do. It’s just unfortunate that it also lost all consequence of death. Once you’re on your third or more resurrection, they start to lose impact.

When Death is a Doorway

After reading Sabriel by Garth Nix, it proposed a rather different approach… One which, at the beginning, felt anti-climactic but as the plot drew on was just as significant. Following the journey of a necromancer out to save her father (and inevitably the kingdom, of course), Sabriel is able to step into Precincts of Death and return to Life, rescuing trapped souls and reuniting them with their bodies, or ushering foul spirits to a Final Death. While it (like Princess Bride, come to think of it) has multiple layers in Death, there is still an absolute, and a clear knowledge for the reader that a Final Death is the real deal. There is still danger because we know that if she loses her footing in the River that runs through the Nine Gates into Death, or is endangered by a foul Free Spirit, there is a very real danger of which there is no coming back from.

So even in spite of cliché and near-genocides in fantasy fiction, it is when death remains a genuine threat that it retains its severity, and sacredness. Without that ultimate of fates, what else can rival that fear? What else can impose true consequence to failures or dangers?

I hate to be such a party-pooper about it, but I love that feeling of white-knuckling through life and death drama. I love the anguish and the fear of what happens if that character fails. But to have that apprehension, there needs to be a known and real consequence.

Perhaps for some, losing love could be worse than death. I’d be curious to know what other stakes could rival it.