the reason The Magicians is so good is because it has legitimately relatable characters
From the root of the whole story being a very young millennial (allllllllllmost Gen Z) obsessed with the Fillory books, and having a hard time growing up and dealing with the real world as well as very real mental illness and feelings of isolation because he doesn’t fit in, it’s relatable.
Us young millennial and older gen z young adults have that same experience with the Narnia books, books that continue to have lasting similarities to the Fillory story.
But even more then that, The Magicians is about found families (specifically at college), people with good and bad parents, those who are affluent and poor, straight gay and everything in between, people who have nothing to connect them outside of their field of study coming together and forming a group that spans worlds, timelines, and species.
From the level of dumbassery, to the way they speak, so the half nihilist, half optimist outlook they all seem to have on life, they are all wholly relatable.
I would argue it’s one of the best shows on television, if not the best representation I’ve ever seen.
what’s your blorbo show? the show that has so few characters who AREN’T your blorbos that the characters who aren’t don’t even count. The show where you’re spending most of your watching time going “there they are! the specialest person in the world!”? I’ll start, mines Merlin
I’m reading The Magicians, after watching some of the show, and I can’t believe Quentin is even more of an incel. 50 pages in and all he’s done is complain about Julia not loving him, complain about not being happy despite having everything, and complain about not having a shot with the paramedic\Jane Chatwin.
I liked show Quentin, but I’m actively rooting against this little book turd.
Detailed view of panel 1 featuring a romantic encounter between King Kinesis and intrepid reporter Q. Coldwater from the Brakebills Gazette. Q found himself in a dangerous situation at the mercy of Glow Girl (a name she absolutely hates, preferring Phosphor but it just doesn’t trip off the tongue in quite the same way). Glow Girl was about to obliterate the city of Brakebills with a ball of lightning when King Kinesis and the Cryo Queen came to stop her. Of course Q. got in the way and Glow Girl sent him flying off the roof. King Kinesis rushed down to save him but in a shocking twist, Q’s latent shapeshifting power manifested at the last minute and he sprouted wings in time to float into the King’s arms for a kiss. Meanwhile the Cryo Queen is cleaning up the mess, as usual, and Glow Girl doesn’t stand a chance against her. Honestly, she should really change her name to High King Cryo.
Detailed view of panel 2 featuring our favorite antiheroes. The Bodyguard (aka Battle Bitch for the grownup set) is doing her best to put off the pesky soulmate goose of enforcement that keeps attacking her. It’s not like she has a soulmate (or two?) anyway. Our Lady of the Tree knows otherwise, and is doing her best to give her favorite Bodyguard a clue. Recent foray into the world of superheroes The Third Eye watches (not pining, never), especially grumpy because his begrudging friend (with benefits, but it’s just for fun, okay?) and sidekick Mapman has convinced (ie begged and pleaded until he finally caved) him to wear this stupid cape and headscarf. As if the lycra shirt and pants weren’t bad enough. As long as Mapman appreciates the view, he supposes. And hopefully those badass best bitches will be into it when they finally sort their own shit out and notice him. And anyway, what the hell is up with that goose?
Monday morning came in fits of flickering autumn gold. The weekend had gone by so quickly, Quentin seemed to only remember it in gasps and snatches now. Beautiful fragments of memory. The kind that felt more like dreams than things that had actually happened. Leftover pie on the sofa; breezing their way through his dad’s old man movie collection. Model airplanes and Fillory books and bad jokes that made Quentin laugh until his stomach hurt. So much love it was like it had been meant for someone else. Someone other than Quentin. Someone who’d always understood that life was meant to be this beautiful.
On the horribleness of reality: when I wrote The Magicians I was really struggling a lot personally, with depression and other things. I strongly felt the horribleness of reality. But my life has changed a lot since then: I got therapy, I got psychopharmaceuticals, I got remarried, had more kids, wrote some books that weren’t flops. Reality and I are on way more civil terms. I actually think Quentin’s arc in The Magician’s Land reflects this pretty clearly. I don’t think I was wrong about reality, basically, but my attitude toward the horribleness has changed. I’m more robust about it.
The struggles never go away, but I think the way that [Quentin] responds to stimulus has shifted, especially after a lot of the experiences last year, last season. When you think about it, he sort of has the emotional wisdom of someone who’s like 120-something years old after having experienced like, a whole life where he fell in love with a woman and a man, and had a child, and lost his wife, and lost his best friend and soulmate, and saved the world, and maybe ruined the world. He’s experienced a lot. And so, I guess I don’t think those things go away, but I think that we’ll see a shift in the way he responds to his internal demons.
Monday morning came in fits of flickering autumn gold. The weekend had gone by so quickly, Quentin seemed to only remember it in gasps and snatches now. Beautiful fragments of memory. The kind that felt more like dreams than things that had actually happened. Leftover pie on the sofa; breezing their way through his dad’s old man movie collection. Model airplanes and Fillory books and bad jokes that made Quentin laugh until his stomach hurt. So much love it was like it had been meant for someone else. Someone other than Quentin. Someone who’d always understood that life was meant to be this beautiful.
Monday morning came in fits of flickering autumn gold. The weekend had gone by so quickly, Quentin seemed to only remember it in gasps and snatches now. Beautiful fragments of memory. The kind that felt more like dreams than things that had actually happened. Leftover pie on the sofa; breezing their way through his dad’s old man movie collection. Model airplanes and Fillory books and bad jokes that made Quentin laugh until his stomach hurt. So much love it was like it had been meant for someone else. Someone other than Quentin. Someone who’d always understood that life was meant to be this beautiful.
Monday morning came in fits of flickering autumn gold. The weekend had gone by so quickly, Quentin seemed to only remember it in gasps and snatches now. Beautiful fragments of memory. The kind that felt more like dreams than things that had actually happened. Leftover pie on the sofa; breezing their way through his dad’s old man movie collection. Model airplanes and Fillory books and bad jokes that made Quentin laugh until his stomach hurt. So much love it was like it had been meant for someone else. Someone other than Quentin. Someone who’d always understood that life was meant to be this beautiful.
Monday morning came in fits of flickering autumn gold. The weekend had gone by so quickly, Quentin seemed to only remember it in gasps and snatches now. Beautiful fragments of memory. The kind that felt more like dreams than things that had actually happened. Leftover pie on the sofa; breezing their way through his dad’s old man movie collection. Model airplanes and Fillory books and bad jokes that made Quentin laugh until his stomach hurt. So much love it was like it had been meant for someone else. Someone other than Quentin. Someone who’d always understood that life was meant to be this beautiful.
