In my spare time I’ve attempted to write my own fantasy novel, going through at least five different iterations at last count. Sometimes I don’t like the direction it’s taking, and sometimes unforeseen circumstances guide my hand. Most recently my laptop contracted a most virulent virus, one that foiled my firewalls and spat in the face of my pathetic security. I was forced to wipe the hard drive and in doing so lose what was to become the novel that sent my riches skyrocketing. A lesson to us all in backing up important files.

Distraught, I nonetheless saw this as an opportunity to take stock of my ideas and cut the chaff. Of course, I kept the fundamental concepts the same: A barbarian invasion headed by a brilliant but unambitious tactician, the monopolization of magic by a shady wizard and his private army, an empire rapid spiral into destruction by its own need for conquest. Various political motivations and a touch of tragic romance.

And Marcus, a man with a big magic sword.

This last part has nagged at my brain recently. Where does this fit into the narrative? What purpose does it serve? How can I shoe-horn this comparatively simple trope into my complex world? And most importantly, why do I feel so compelled to do so?

The answer is simple. Every fantasy novel worth the name has a big magic sword, from The Sword in the Stone to Harry Potter. It can turn a scrawny little boy into a fierce warrior. It’s the only weapon that can kill the evil warlock. Occasionally, it may have its own personality. In the end, however, it boils down to being the only plot device that will save the hero in his greatest time of need. That’s no ignorance of fantasy heroines I might add, it seems to always be the man who holds the big magic sword. You know what’s coming.

Anyone with a basic knowledge of the delightful Sigmund Freud will immediately point to the man’s dream interpretation practices and how (in his opinion) our dreams are more often than not metaphors for our deepest sexual desires. It is here that we move on to the phallic imagery we see in fantasy novels. If a man fights off his enemies with a sword every time he goes to sleep, Freud would compare to this to the man’s sexual prowess, fending off other men to claim the maiden’s (ahem) gratitude. By having the biggest, most magical sword in the land our hero is showing his dominance as an alpha male, his bravery and sheer manliness. Hegemonic masculinity at its finest. The man’s sword is his penis, but you’ve probably guessed that by now.

This (oh god) extends far beyond swords as well. Let’s take a look at the typical wizardly type of character: wise, old, bearded and frail. His staff? A gnarled old piece of wood that is mostly useless in a fight, and certainly can’t stand up to the shining beacon of masculinity that is the big magic sword. Our wizard is long past his glory days as the sexually active alpha male, forced to bow to the younger, fitter swordsman. However, what does he have that the swordsman doesn’t? Magic, or at least the magic in his mind and not in his sword. As an old man the humble wizard is wise and experienced, hence the beard. He acts as a mentor to the younger man, teaching him exactly what the sword does and how to use it. Like the father giving his son ‘the sex talk’, but a lot less awkward.

Let’s look at a few examples. Recently I’ve been hammering my way through Steven Erikson’s Malazan Book of the Fallen series (a great read) and by the eighth book the amount of big magic swords is beginning to get quite ridiculous. These swords all have different properties, however, giving me a great opportunity to delve deep into the phallic imagery they represent:

The Sword of Wingmanship: Karsa Orlong, a ferocious yet socially inept giant carries a stone sword containing the souls of his dead friends around. They speak to him when he’s alone and offer him advice in any given situation. In other words, they act as his wingmen.

The Sword of dating ugly chicks: Rhulad Sengar’s sword turns the moody teenager into an unkillable emperor. Every time he’s struck down in battle he’ll die and come straight back again, stronger than ever. Like a man gaining sexual experience by dating the ugly girls first, Rhulad climbs the ladder of studmanship on the backs (or any position he likes) of others.

The Sword of high sex drive: Anomander Rake carries the immense burden of a sword that hungers for souls. He must kill to assuage this great need. Really, this one’s too easy.

Interestingly, only Rhulad reveals the insecurities of carrying a big magical sword. He’s terrified of what others think of him, whether they fear him or laugh behind his back. I believe the big magic sword acts as a form of overcompensation, but Rhulad is one of only a few characters in any series to really embody that idea. That’s what drew me to him as a tragically interesting character. The big magic sword makes him stronger as a warrior, but weaker as a person. His story is an inversion of the cliché.

As for my own novel, perhaps Marcus can lay the sword on the ground, have a nice chat with the wizard and work out his problems without it. Perhaps he and I have held onto this trope for far too long, and need to let go in order to bring me my riches. Or perhaps we both need to see a therapist.

Damn you Freud.