Inspired by The Awakening: The Alliance of Ten by Lorraine Miller
When we hear epic fantasy, we tend to picture massive battles, ancient prophecies, and heroes commanding elemental forces to redeem the world. And The Awakening: The Alliance of Ten decidedly fulfills all that and more. But what makes this story unique is that it doesn’t shy away from something frequently neglected in heroic tales: humor.
Yes, in the storm-battered shores, tainted ruins, and dark sorcerers, Lorraine Miller threads in flashes of true comedy, instances that are not only welcome but necessary.
Consider, for example, Sienna’s running gags as the rebel with a gift for trouble. Her glitter-infused sword polish joke on serious Thorne could have wrecked a grave scene. It is, instead, a gasp of relief, a flash reminding even warriors that they can laugh. The prank itself is small, a glimmer of glitter in a dark universe, but its effect is great. It is humor in the face of looming conflicts, a method by which characters, and readers too, can catch their breath amidst tension.
Or look at the moment when the Alliance confronts Grumble, a dour bridge troll who charges riddles instead of tolls. What might have been a simple (and probably brutal) confrontation is transformed into a farce. Yali, not yet in control of his abilities, bumbles the question, Elara provides him with gentle prods, and Grumble curses their “meddling cleverness.” It is a delightful exchange that reiterates the value of brains over brawn.
But the apex of comedic perfection is perhaps the rubber chicken. Sienna once more introduces Thorne to a “magic sword,” which is revealed to be a rubbery fowl joke. Instead of exploding in fury, Thorne, usually the epitome of stoic intensity, grins in a rare smile. And that instant, we witness the true magic of comedy: its potential to humanize, to bond, and to mend wounds that no swords can heal.
Humor in The Awakening is never employed to deflate the stakes. Instead, it enhances them. The grimmer the situation, the more essential the humor. This comedy provides narrative balm, fixing and connecting the characters in ways that no war plan ever could. They make us remember that even heroes are human (or druids or monks or chatty squirrels), and that vulnerability is not only in tragedy, it is also in common laughter.
Fantasy tales tend to focus on courage, strength, and fate. But Lorraine Miller teaches us that there is a place for humor at the roundtable, too. It creates friendship, dispels tension, and makes the victories all the more sweeter.
Because when you are battling shadow sorcerers and trekking through enchanted woods, sometimes what you really need is not so much a magic sword, it is a rubber chicken, a dumb joke, or a prank that has everyone in stitches. In those times, heroism is not necessarily about saving the world. It is about reminding yourself why the world is worth saving.