" A lot of the time, when we think about the past, there’s a slightly smug patronizing attitude that kicks in. We know so much more than our ancestors did. We make it a joke: can you believe that in Tang dynasty China they thought that ghosts of soldiers, if they weren’t buried, would live in some limbo forever, floating above the battlefield in their unburied bodies?

There’s always the risk, or the reality, of that slight pulling back, for the modern reader, from connecting with or understanding the past. We always have this space between the foolishness, from our point of view, of what they thought of the world, and the correctness of our understanding of it.

What the fantastic lets me do, along with the other things that we’ve discussed, is make the world be as my characters believe it to be. When I do that, when I make the reader understand it, the reader is there, the ghosts are there above that battlefield. They’re actually there. You read a book that takes that matter-of-factly. That’s one of the definitions of magic realism, by the way: the world is presented as the characters believe it to be, without any sense that the worldview is quaint.

The strength of this, for me, is enormous, because it removes that smugness from the reader who’s willing to go there, to be immersed in it. You accept the way the world is, the way the characters do, because that’s what you’ve got. That’s one of the things the fantastic gives me.

Or, I’ll put it differently. Anything that’s given to me is given to the reader. Any strength for the writer, from form, from craft, from technique, becomes a strength for the reader, because we’re in this together. "

― Guy Gavriel Kay