Losers Losing
There’s a line I once heard about noir fiction that stuck with me: “It’s just losers losing.”
And honestly? That sums up how I feel about most so-called “dark fantasy.”
You know the kind: grim settings, grim people, grim decisions… followed by more grimness. Nobody changes, nobody gets better, and the only moral seems to be “don’t get your hopes up.”
It’s not that I haven’t tried to enjoy it. I’ve made several passes at Steven Erikson’s Malazan series, and I can see why people love it. The worldbuilding is vast, the writing is thoughtful, the ambition is obvious. But I always get bogged down. The characters are dark. The story is darker. And there’s no relief.
I don’t mind characters with shadows. I like complex, conflicted people. But I need a reason to walk into the night with them. A lantern in the mist. A destination. A chance for someone, anyone, to come through the fire changed, and still standing.
Because that’s the kind of story I write. And it’s the kind of story I want to read.
What Is Dark Fantasy, Really?
We toss the term around a lot, but let’s define it.
Dark fantasy isn’t just a fantasy story with violence, or scary monsters, or characters with tragic backstories. Those show up in all kinds of fantasy, including mine.
Dark fantasy, as I understand it, is about tone. It’s the idea that hope is foolish. That good choices are irrelevant. That characters are bound to repeat their mistakes, because that’s just who they are.
Sometimes it gets confused with “hardboiled,” which isn’t quite fair. A hardboiled hero wears the disguise of cynicism to survive, but usually underneath it all, they’re trying to do the right thing. Noir, and dark fantasy, often suggests that even that is pointless.
There’s no out. Just another bad day, followed by worse.
But What About…?
Yes, I liked The Witcher series. At least the Henry Cavill years (don’t get me started). Despite the gritty setting and grumpy exteriors, the story itself isn’t hopeless. Geralt and the others consistently choose to do the right thing, sometimes in spite of their instincts. They change. They grow. They even manage to do some good in the world.
That’s not dark fantasy. That’s characters who’ve been through the wringer and still make the better call.
Game of Thrones, on the other hand… I stuck with the whole series. And I have never been so thoroughly disappointed by an ending. Not because it was tragic. I can live with tragedy. But because it felt unearned, unkind, and frankly, pointless.
And maybe that’s the real dividing line: does the story earn its ending? Does it give you something at the end of all that suffering? Or is it just misery on repeat?
Why Is Dark Fantasy Having a Moment?
This is the part I genuinely don’t get.
We’re living in a time that’s already steeped in uncertainty, anxiety, and division. You’d think we’d all be grabbing for stories with hope in their core, where the small people can change the world, where kindness matters, where redemption is still possible.
That’s what hooked me on Star Wars at 14. Luke wasn’t born special. He chose. He fought. He made a difference. That mattered.
And yet, the fantasy shelves are packed with grimdark tales, where good is irrelevant and happy endings are rare. Why?
Maybe readers find catharsis in watching characters suffer more than they are. Maybe watching people make bad choices and pay for them feels, in some twisted way, satisfying. Maybe it’s a form of genre justice, the idea that certain people were always doomed, and the story simply follows through.
Or maybe some folks just like a big helping of gloom with their dragons.
I don’t know. But I do know this: I want stories where people can change. Where redemption isn’t a punchline. Where the shadows serve the light, not swallow it.
I Don’t Write Sweetness and Light
Let’s be clear. I don’t write feel-good fluff. My characters have dark histories and deep flaws. Some of them wear that hardboiled shell like armor. Some of them have gone through hell, and yes, some of them don’t come out again.
But the ones who can make it, do. And they earn it.
Even my retelling of the King Arthur myth (under a different pen name) managed to find a spark of hope in the ashes. Because tragedy, when it’s done right, can still be beautiful. It can still lift you up.
So What Do You Get Out of Dark Fantasy?
Maybe you read dark fantasy and love it. Maybe it gives you something I’ve missed. If so, I’d honestly like to know what that is. What does the bleakness do for you? Is it comfort? Escape? Just aesthetics?
Because for me, I’ll always be rooting for the redemption arc. I’ll always be following the character who makes a different choice, even when it costs them. Especially when it costs them.
And I’ll keep writing stories where the light might be flickering, but it’s never, ever out.
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