Note: This interview first appeared in Lightspeed Magazine, and was conducted by Moshe Siegel.

The argument between Tiger and Crane in your story “As The Wheel Turns” centers on how best to upkeep the Wen-Min Empire, which on the surface sounds a noble goal: maintaining civilization. Yet these two Founders thrive on carnage and misery, sowing both among their people. What do you think that portrays about their true motives for holding together the society they founded? Is this perhaps a statement about empires in general?

I’m an innate pessimist, and tend to think that most noble goals can only remain so in principle: carnage and misery form a very large part of how things come to fruition—not only in the maintaining of empires, but also for things that might seem noble, like self-defence or even the attainment of freedom and equality. The French Revolution aimed to free the masses from the tyranny of the kings, and yet ended as a particularly messy and bloody episode. Likewise, the Khmer Rouge in Cambodia committed one of the worst genocides in Asia, and yet their goals, on paper, sound wonderful: to make the country into a modern, egalitarian society and free peasants from oppression.

Mankind being what they are, much of human history is written in blood and atrocity, and the noblest of goals very often mask raw self-interest, or community interests (including, among others, nationalism, religion, tribal interests . . .).

Much of your writing involves far-flung regions and alternative history. Does “As the Wheel Turns” shadow or draw influence from any real-world mythologies or cultures?

Much of my writing draws on Chinese and Vietnamese cultures—because my mother is Vietnamese and much of my education was in the Confucian tradition. “As the Wheel Turns” draws on Chinese mythology and philosophy, though in a very simplified, bastardised version (the arguments between Tiger and Crane echo questions that Chinese philosophers asked themselves during the Warring States period, and the Lady is drawn from Meng Po, the goddess who purges the souls of the dead before they reincarnate).

There is an air of fatalism surrounding Tiger and Crane: The Lady, for example, advises Dai-Yu to choose between them and have done, because (ironically), “There is no choice.” Tortoise defies the will of fate (and dwindles away to nothing) by making no choice at all, whereas Dai-Yu eventually realizes that, in this case, the choice itself is illusory. Where do you stand? Do you think fate guides us, or is it merely a philosophical concept, with potential both for exploitation and inspiration?

Ha, I don’t have such a clear-cut, absolutist answer! But I do believe that, at some points in life, people will have no choice, or illusory choices—not through any fault of their own or lack of care, but simply because things are the way they are. For me, a large part of life (and one that I think genre too often ignores) is that we often have to bow down to necessity, to hunker down and endure rather than cling on to the illusion that we can affect what happens.

That said, it’s also a very neat concept to explore through stories.

Is Tortoise just as sadistic as his brothers, for burdening a mortal child with the choice he himself could not make—knowing full well the lifetimes of suffering involved in the choosing? Or, is the crucible of time (as lived by Dai-Yu; as written in our histories) the only way to come to a full reckoning of civilization’s best shot at survival?

For me, this is very much a case of things working out better than intended (which, I suppose, makes a particular ironic statement about fate . . .). The way I saw it in the story, the only thing that separated Tortoise from his brothers was his refusal to play the “game”—my intention was that he’d run away from his responsibilities and passed them on to his child without realising the consequences of this act (in the beginning, I don’t think he even envisioned that this would lock Daiyu in a circle of reincarnations without forgetfulness; then his behaviour became more blamable, because he saw but didn’t act).

Daiyu is definitely able to make her decision because she’s been through history, and has seen that the arguments between Tiger and Crane are purely theoretical, the work of philosophers who have never experienced either history or the human condition. But I don’t think it was part of Tortoise’s plans so much as something Daiyu worked out for herself with the weight of her experiences . . .

Is there anything you can share with us about your upcoming (or current) projects?

I’m currently working on an urban fantasy set in contemporary Paris, where dynasties of magicians have been at war for centuries. It’s set from the point of view of a Vietnamese-French character who is unwillingly dragged into the latest flare-up and deals with the magic and history of the city in what I hope is an original take. Otherwise, I’m working on short fiction as usual: I have a story forthcoming in Athena Andreadis’s feminist space opera anthology The Other Half of the Sky.

What is the appeal of epic fantasy? Why do so many writers–or you yourself–write it? Why do you think readers/viewers love it so much?

I am a bit embarrassed, because I don’t write a lot of epic fantasy, though I do enjoy reading it… For me, a lot of the appeal of epic fantasy has to do with the large stakes. It’s not that I like large stakes per se, but rather that the scope of the story enables me, as a reader, to discover an entire universe, or at least a large subset of it, as well as meet a diverse range of characters that make this universe come alive. One other trait of epic fantasy which contributes to its appeal (and which I am less fond of), is a tendency to sharpen divisions between good and evil to create sweeping narratives–this has undeniable appeal, though at times it can be a bit simplistic.

What are some of your favorite examples of epic fantasy (in any media*), and what makes them your favorites?

My favourite epic fantasy remains Ursula Le Guin’s Earthsea tales: it does the expected things (worldbuilding, large stakes, solid character-building and numinous magic) extremely well, but it also does two more unexpected things that lift it above the rest of the genre. The first is that, like a lot of Le Guin’s fantasy, it has a tremendous depiction of ordinary life in Earthsea, of quiet scenes in which the characters rest and share a moment of respite–and thus afford us a bitingly realistic glimpse of what it is truly like to live in the Archipelago when the fate of the world doesn’t hang in the balance. The other is that, for all that it starts as a very male-and action-dominated fantasy, Earthsea shifts radically in its final volumes, establishing women as characters in their own rights, and developing a strong elegiac meditation on the nature of death and immortality.

Note: This interview first appeared in Lightspeed Magazine, and was conducted by Theodore Quester.

Your story, “Mother of all Russiya,” features a strong historical element, and a great sense of place. Did this require a lot of research? Did you travel to the region at all? Is this something that comes before or after the story idea?

“Travel to the region”—don’t I wish!

There is a tremendous amount of world-building here—do you make use of it in other stories?

Whereas the research was for this story specifically, one can’t help but collect things for other projects along the way. I’m sure bits of it will show up in future novels.

What drew you to this subject?

A few years ago, I was looking up some other things about that period in Russia and happened upon a brief biography of Olga. She lived an amazing life. In the one portion of it told in “Mother of All Russiya,” there’s treachery, murder, intrigue, rebellious vassals, a nation in the making, and a smart and ruthless woman who will do anything to protect her son—what’s not to love about a story like that?

Was this a difficult story to write?

The difficulty was in trying to make the time and place more real—all this happened more than a thousand years ago, and in a part of the world that we don’t usually learn much about. Set a story in Ancient Rome or 12th Century England, and the reader will most likely have a mental file of background information; medieval Kiev is pretty much a mystery. So I got to put my history B.A. from Scripps College to good use (not the Scripps in La Jolla, the one in Claremont; we don’t do fish!).

What else do you have coming down the pipeline?

Right now I’m working on the third book of the “Glass Thorns” series. In March, I did a West Coast book tour for the first volume, Touchstone, and had a terrific time. Writing these books is huge fun; the characters are unlike anybody I’ve ever done before.

What are some of your favorite examples of epic fantasy (in any media), and what makes them your favorites?

Mad Men. No, really. Mad Men.

Fascinating characters, a world in sometimes violent upheaval, bizarre social and sexual mores (not to mention interior design), deaths, back-stabbings, politics, and wizards who perform enchantments (with widely distributed printed spells and even more widely distributed visual spells for which one must possess a special magical box) to convince people that things they don’t want and don’t need and can’t afford are in fact things they can’t possibly live without.

Oh, and really nifty costuming.

Tell us a bit about your story, “Homecoming.” What’s it about?

“Homecoming” tells the tale of how the first settlers ventured into the Rain Wilds. It explains how they came to be there, and why they settled and built homes in such an inhospitable place. Chronologically, it is the very first story that takes place in the realm of the Elderlings.

What was the genesis of the story–what was the inspiration for it, or what prompted you to write it?

It’s a soup of all the sorts of things I’ve always loved in tales: ancient and mysterious abandoned cities, pioneering folk, disgrace turned to triumph, and people taking skills in one area and employing them in another.

Was this story a particularly challenging one to write? If so, how?

It was easy. I loved writing this story. It was so much fun to write that it’s probably immoral for me to get money for doing it. But, too late now, you already cut that check!

Most authors say all their stories are personal. If that’s true for you, in what way was this story personal to you?

The heroine is the sort of character I admire. She steps out of the place she has been put in all her life, and carves a new niche for herself as life demands of her. Personal, as in reflecting my own life? Not so much, I don’t think. But I really enjoyed writing her. She is a friend I would like to have.

What kind of research did you have to do for the story?

As I was returning to a setting I had used before, I had done most of my research already. I enjoyed creating plants and creatures for this sort of a ecological setting, and visualizing the geological events that had created it.

What is the appeal of epic fantasy? Why do so many writers–or you yourself–write it? Why do you think readers/viewers love it so much?

Sometimes it feels like our lives are all too little to matter. In good epic fantasy, we discover that all great changes begin with small acts, be they acts of heroism or selfishness. One man can make a difference in the great big world. And that, I think, is what moves us in epic tales.

What are some of your favorite examples of epic fantasy (in any media), and what makes them your favorites?

Lord of the Rings. It still speaks to me as strongly as it did when I first read it. Dune, I know, is SF, and yet it has that sweep of story that carries me away. And one of my old favorites would be She by H. Rider Haggard!

Tell us a bit about your story, “The Narcomancer.” What’s it about?

“The Narcomancer” is set in the world of the Dreaming Moon–a secondary world blatantly modeled on our own, although this world’s cosmology is heavily influenced by the presence of an enormous, brightly-colored “moon” (really a gas giant) in the sky. The story focuses on the land of Gujaareh, a nation that resembles ancient Egypt in many ways. In Gujaareh, peace is the only law–and anything which disrupts peace (e.g., violence, pain, selfishness, disorderly behavior) is viewed as a sickness that must be healed. There’s a special cadre of priests who deal with every disruption to the peace… sometimes by killing the person causing it.

Cet is one of these priests. When he learns of an unusual band of brigands threatening a small isolated village, he travels there and puts everything–his soul, his body, his sanity–on the line to reestablish the Goddess’ peace.

What was the genesis of the story­ what was the inspiration for it, or what prompted you to write it?

I got smacked between the eyes a few years back with a mental image of a man sneaking into someone’s room to kill them–not out of cruelty, and not for money or political gain, but as a solemn religious duty. The Dreamblood, a duology of novels set in this universe (published recently by Orbit Books) grew out of this idea. “The Narcomancer” was a proof-of-concept story for that universe–something I do when I’m working out a new secondary world, trying to figure out how all its parts fit together. I don’t always publish or finish those stories, but I hadn’t expected to have so much fun writing it! So I decided to share Cet and Ginnem and Namsut with the world.

Was this story a particularly challenging one to write? If so, how?

It kind of wrote itself, actually! I do wish I’d done more research before I wrote Ginnem, the male Sister. I’d intended for Ginnem to be a trans woman, but I worried that it wouldn’t seem plausible for a bronze-age society to so readily accept a person with male organs who identifies as female. But if I’d done my research, I would’ve realized many ancient societies did just fine with transgender issues; it’s our modern society that’s hinky about it. So instead Ginnem is a transvestite–identifying as male, “performing” a female role because that’s what he has to do to belong to the Sisters. Still gotta do some learning in that area.

What kind of research did you have to do for the story?

I did years’ worth of research into ancient Egypt to try and figure out what daily life was like. But since the story wasn’t set on actual Earth, I also just made a lot of stuff up.

What are some of your favorite examples of epic fantasy (in any media), and what makes them your favorites?

Offhand:

The Wraeththu series, by Storm Constantine: it’s delightfully weird and hauntingly written, and shows what can happen when a fantasist takes her hand to what is traditionally science fiction material (e.g. the next evolution of humanity, post-apocalypse).

The Coldfire trilogy, by C. S. Friedman: there’s a magnificent buddy story here, sandwiched within some of the most fascinating worldbuilding I’ve ever read. Friedman also plays with science fictional concepts, but at its core this is a quest novel–one of the few that have ever worked for me.

Tales from the Flat Earth, by Tanith Lee: This woman builds myths like an archetypal engineer. So imaginative and beautiful.

The Dark Tower series, by Stephen King: I love how he just goes, “Yeah, OK, it’s a fantasy in the most romantic poetic tradition, but why can’t it have psychotic robot bullet trains in it? I’m gonna put in some psychotic robot bullet trains.”

The Dragon Age games, by Bioware: They could’ve just stuck with stock fantasy game material–Europeanish guys with swords killing things. Instead they included women and brown people with swords, and they made killing things a side note. The core story is politics: building coalitions or failing to do so, and the consequences.

The Digital Devil Saga games, by Atlus: Atlus is the Stephen King of Japanese RPGs. “Yeah, OK, it’s a story with demons and magic. Why can’t we throw in postapocalyptic Hindu AIs? We’re gonna throw in some post-apocalyptic Hindu AIs.”

The Epic of Gilgamesh, by somebody in ancient Sumeria: It rambles a little, with Gilgamesh having lots of sex and pissing off goddesses and whatnot, but there’s an amazing bildungsroman and buddy story at the core of this that keeps me riveted.

Elfquest, by Wendy and Richard Pini: Beautifully drawn, equal parts uplifting and horrifying, with characters who will remain immortal in your imagination. I also love how it utterly defies the standard fantasy treatment of elves as ethereal, simplistic creatures; Pini’s elves are people, warts and all.

Tell us a bit about your story, “The Mad Apprentice.” What’s it about?

“The Mad Apprentice” is the true telling of a disaster that led to the Guild banning higher magic–or “black magic” as it came to be known. As happens so often with historical events, details were forgotten or misremembered, witnesses killed and records lost or deliberately destroyed. In the sequel to the Black Magician Trilogy, The Ambassador’s Mission, one of the magicians attempts to sort out truth from the mistakes and lies but is only partially successful. Only the reader, though this story, will know the full truth.

What was the genesis of the story–what was the inspiration for it, or what prompted you to write it?

At first it was just a piece of world building for the Black Magician Trilogy, a story to explain why black magic was banned and later prove the revelation that the Guild had once taught and valued it. Yet the idea that one mere apprentice could threaten an entire guild of them had a lot of potential as a tale in itself, so when I received two requests for a story relating to that trilogy–one a short and the other a novella–I decided to see if I could write it in two lengths. The shorter version was not accepted (I suspect because it was a bit too grim for that magazine’s audience) but the novella version, which I prefer, was published in Jack Dann and Jonathan Strahan’s Legends of Australian Fantasy anthology [and subsequently, in Epic --ed.].

Was this story a particularly challenging one to write? If so, how?

All stories throw unique challenges at you and this was no exception. The technical one was making it fit into an already created world, magic system and the stories that I had written–and was yet to write–about them. The greatest challenge was conveying Tagin’s madness. I knew it would be difficult to get thoughts and reasoning to seem plausible to a reader without over-explaining his mental state and reasons for it. Part of the impact of his actions comes from not knowing what is going on in his head, too. So I chose his sister’s point of view. However, that made it a much more painful story to write.

Most authors say all their stories are personal. If that’s true for you, in what way was this story personal to you?

I’ve known someone with a few of the problems Tagin has, thought not all and definitely not the violent extremes.

What kind of research did you have to do for the story?

Since the story is set in a world I’ve already created, most of the research was already done. Though I do seem to be in a constant state of researching what I’ve already written!

What is the appeal of epic fantasy? Why do so many writers–or you yourself–write it? Why do you think readers/viewers love it so much?

Different people are attracted by different aspects of epic fantasy, and I suspect that’s why it has such broad appeal. For me, it’s like being an explorer of a new planet while experiencing what it’s like being another person–with crazy stuff that can’t exist like magic enhancing and complicating the situation. I love that fantasy is so diverse, so full of potential to stretch the imagination in new ways. I hate to admit it, but this has made me a very “disloyal” reader. Even when I like an author’s work I often don’t get around to reading more than one series or books, because I always want to see what interesting new things the next author has done, and the next, and the next…

What are some of your favorite examples of epic fantasy (in any media), and what makes them your favorites?

The Lord of the Rings, of course, and Ursula Le Guin’s Earthsea trilogy. I still have a soft spot for Edding’s Belgariad, because it reset the parameters of fantasy at that time to include an easily read, humorous style of writing. Guy Gavriel Kay’s books are wonderful, and the ones I give to people trying fantasy who are used to a more literary style of writing, and then I follow them up with Robin Hobb’s The Farseer Trilogy. Great examples of fantasy by Australians are Garth Nix’s Old Kingdom series, and Glenda Larke’s Isles of Glory trilogy. More recent books that wowed me are N.K. Jemisin’s The Inheritance Trilogy and Alison Goodman’s Eon duology.

And in film, you can’t go past the old classic Ladyhawke as an example of how a good fantasy story still works even without a big, modern special effects budget.

Tell us a bit about your story, “Otherling.” What’s it about?

“Otherling” is set in a chilly Nordic realm where the people are dependent on the weather and the seasons for survival. Their bard has the task of passing on the ancient Songs each season in order to help the people make good choices about their co-existence with nature–whether it’s safe to fish, how large a catch to take, when to go hunting, what to set away in store and so on. However, the choice of a new bard comes at a shockingly high price, and when that choice is not made correctly, dark days can ensue for the whole community.

What was the genesis of the story–what was the inspiration for it, or what prompted you to write it?

I wrote “Otherling” when I was researching Viking lore for a novel called Wolfskin, based on the first Norse voyage to Orkney, a group of islands off the north coast of Britain. I had been immersed in the Icelandic sagas, with their extremes of nature and of human behaviour, and as well as visiting Orkney I went to the Faroe Islands, which are halfway between Norway and Iceland. The story grew from all that Nordic angst and darkness.

Was this story a particularly challenging one to write? If so, how?

Getting the ending right was indeed challenging–it was a case of needing to reveal just enough and not too much. I did a lot of brainstorming before reaching what I hope is a perfect ending for the story.

Most authors say all their stories are personal. If that’s true for you, in what way was this story personal to you?

I’m of Celtic descent, and my spiritual path is druidry. Central to our philosophy is respect and responsibility for the natural world and an understanding of our place in it; also a recognition of the power of storytelling to teach and to heal. “Otherling” is about what can happen when the balance between man and the rest of nature is lost, and when people grow deaf to wisdom built up over generations. It’s not only a fantasy story set in a challenging invented world, it’s also about us and the world we live in.

What kind of research did you have to do for the story?

The research was already done as I’d been reading intensively about Norse culture in the time of the Vikings and following in their footsteps (maybe that should be following in their wake.) The setting of “Otherling” is not exactly ancient Norway or Iceland or the Faroes, but that research definitely made its mark on the story.

What is the appeal of epic fantasy? Why do so many writers–or you yourself–write it? Why do you think readers/viewers love it so much?

I’d encapsulate this as ‘high themes and heroic journeys’, the same qualities that make mythology an essential part of human development. This kind of story encourages us to aspire to better things. Only, unlike a lot of mythology in which the characters are archetypes, the best epic fantasy provides both a grand and complex story and empathetic, nuanced characters whose journeys the reader can really share.

What are some of your favorite examples of epic fantasy (in any media), and what makes them your favorites?

The Lord of the Rings (both Tolkien’s books and Peter Jackson’s films.) It’s a classic, with a heroic story and a meticulously created world. Jacqueline Carey’s Kushiel’s Legacy series: an inventive saga set in a wonderfully detailed alternative renaissance Europe, with a cast of unforgettable characters. Marion Zimmer Bradley’s The Mists of Avalon: feminist takes on traditional stories are more common these days, but when this novel was first published its left-of-field approach to the Arthurian legend was pretty radical.