Luke Aylen is a relatively new author on the fantasy scene. His first book, The Mirror and the Mountain, introduced readers to the magical world of Presadia, in turmoil and anarchy after a rebellion against its king. In the new sequel, The Forgotten Palace, an unlikely hero is born. Antimony, the ‘tall dwarf’ is thrown into the front line of a battle for Presadia’s very future. In this piece, Aylen, who alongside writing is training to become a vicar, discusses the religious symbolism in fantasy and the elusive search for truth through the medium of fiction.

It really irks me when people discount fantasy or sci-fi as a lowbrow form of literature. People tend to make a big assumption when it comes to fantasy or myth. They assume that because it didn’t historically happen – because it’s fiction – it, therefore, isn’t true. This is a pretty recent development. It’s our post-Enlightenment way of thinking. Everything must be measurable, rational, and scientific. Unless it’s non-fiction fact, it cannot contain truth.

That’s not been the case for most of human history. Historically human beings have always resorted to allegory and symbolism. We can patronisingly look back at past cultures and disdainfully judge them as primitive or stupid, but I wonder if they might in turn look back and pity us for how narrow our way of looking at the world is.

I believe truth is not contained to scientific fact and analytical data. There is truth beyond fact. Fact alone cannot articulate the deeper truths that we all seek for. That’s not to say facts aren’t true or important, but no amount of biological chemistry can truly explain love, joy or despair. Historical critical analysis of archaeology and ancient texts can’t fully answer my questions about my own place in human history. Even with our psychiatric sciences and enlightened thinking, our world is filled with confused souls grasping after the very essence of identity and what it means to be human.

Not all hope has been lost, however. Like fragments of lore or anachronistic remnants that point to a world more mysterious and enticing than our own, some perception that there is deeper truth to life lives on. In the west it lives on, I believe, primarily in fantasy fiction and religion.

There’s been a strong tradition of weaving the two together. In my own religion, Christianity, there is a rich heritage. CS Lewis (right) and JRR Tolkien will forever sit among the masters of fantasy. They were Oxford dons, highly intelligent and had all the mediums of their day at their disposal to explore and expound their understanding of truth. They chose talking animals and hobbits.

But the fantasy genre goes right back to the start of Christianity. Although some would still argue for a literal scientific understanding of the very first chapters of the Bible, it’s fairly widely accepted nowadays that the Genesis creation accounts are a work of allegory – fantasy – written to answer questions not of how the universe was made scientifically, but rather who made it? What is our place within it? What is the meaning to life? Where is our identity found? Whether you believe its answers or not, the genre allowed for this ancient text to explore truth in a way that goes deeper than historical events.

Perhaps all this is why I feel drawn to fantasy and art. It speaks to a deeper level in me. Long before I was ‘religious’ I devoured fantasy and sci-fi books. To begin with it was the imagination and freedom of a world not limited by our own narrow experience. As I grew up, I saw how this freedom allowed authors to not just create fantastic places and situations, but to free us of the constraints of our narrow perspectives and societal assumptions to ask questions we would otherwise be blind to. Why do we accept this system? Is life really just about X or Y? What is ‘goodness’? In fantasy we enter into not only into other worlds, but into other world views.

My writing process has been somewhat similar. I’d be lying if I said it was all about a desire to communicate profound and intellectual truths. I’m not sure I’m that clever! A big motivation is a simple love of magical characters, dramatic wildernesses, and exciting action.

Writing has made me so aware of how much my worldview affects my stories. We don’t just write from our heads, we write from our souls. I’ve become more attuned to it in other authors too. People can’t help but write something of themselves, their understanding of truth, or the values they hold into their books.

My first book, The Mirror and the Mountain, drew on values and themes from my faith. Bravery was explored through the lens of the integrity and perseverance of two children lost in the chaotic and troubled Kingdom of Presadia and the sacrifice and cost required to change the world. My latest book, The Forgotten Palace, is more subtly connected to faith, but was formed whilst thinking about themes of identity, value, brokenness and grace. One of the reasons I love using fantasy to explore this is that it’s not preachy or judgemental. If you know it’s there, it’s easy to find the Christian symbolism, but if that’s not your cup of tea you can simply enjoy a good story. I think of fantasy as an invitation to enter into a world, try on a different way of viewing things and then close the book, deciding whether or not you agreed.

Some people might think that writing with a faith motive in my work is dangerous or a form of proselytising. It’s not at all. It’s just me writing as me. If I could be accused of brainwashing, then every author would need to be, for all writers come with a set of assumptions and beliefs that are implicit in their work. The reader, or even the author, may be unaware of the agenda, but it’s always there in every book.

Books are about empathy. They immerse us in and help us to understand a different outlook. We step away from our presumptions for a few pages to consider if there is more to reality than we might think. We put all the ‘truths’ that we take for granted aside, being willing to accept the fantastic and magical, but also to accept, for a time, a different set of truths. I love children reading my books. But I don’t want them to just read mine. They need to read widely. We all do! Empathy grows the greater our breadth of reading.

I hazard a guess that’s one of the best chances we have, as limited human beings, to come close to grasping that elusive thing we call truth. It’s there, but if we assume we have it all already, we fool ourselves. Diving into the truths of others might bring us closer to discerning what real, objective truth actually is.

The Forgotten Palace can be ordered here on Amazon.co.uk