Why Do We Forget That Orcs Have Families Too?

"Now that Little Tusklove can eat cake, does that mean I can take him to daddy's work? We're raiding King Bruenor's caravan tomorrow."

A reflection on subversion, storytelling, and the deeper archetypes we've forgotten

In the age of subversion for subversion’s sake, the extraordinary has become painfully ordinary.

And that's why we forget orcs have families too.

Because subversion is everywhere. But disruption without direction is just gobbledygook. It’s like flooding a neighborhood with yellow cars. What once stood out is plain, old background. 

Fantasy literature has increasingly leaned into this trend. Subvert the hero. Subvert the villain. Subvert the damsel. Subvert the plot. But what gets lost in the rush to invert expectations is the deeper purpose of archetype and myth. There is a reason the old tales and parables will outlive Jemison, Sanderson, Brown, Herbert, and that’s because it communicates a deep truth.

When you look under the hood of my own writing, you'll find that I often return to the traditional frameworks. Take Ascendant: Saga of Valor, for instance. At first glance, Ava appears to be the archetypal subversive: your classic "badass female protagonist." But her role isn't simply to throw punches and steal scenes. Beneath her strength lies something older, more profound: she embodies one of the most ancient expressions of femininity: 

The sacred force that awakens the best in men and calls them to serve a higher good.

This is a truth as old as the dust from which man was formed.

There’s a reason why so many classic fairy tales give us a damsel in distress, a princess to be rescued, or a queen behind the throne. To dismiss these as mere patriarchal fantasies is to miss their symbolic power. Well-formed femininity—the pure princess, the virtuous queen—is the guiding light of civilization. She inspires, refines, and civilizes. In contrast, malformed femininity, the jealous stepmother, the manipulative queen—corrupts and leads men and civilization away from virtue.

These aren’t political statements. They’re mythic truths that span peoples and history, and have been told again and again.

So, why do we forget that orcs have families?

Because that’s not the point.

Sure, giving orcs families makes for a cute story. It humanizes the inhuman. It tries to pull at the heartstrings. But in doing so, it risks misunderstanding the very function of orcs within myth and narrative. Orcs are not meant to be nuanced. They are the embodiment of chaos and evil.

When we try too hard to blur every line, we end up with a shapeless world. A story with no moral contrast is a story with no soul. Subversion can be powerful, but only when it serves a higher truth. When it becomes the default mode of storytelling, it drains wonder, dilutes meaning, and leaves the reader indifferent.

In myth, we need the shadows to see the light. We need orcs who are monstrous so we understand what must be overcome. And yes, sometimes we need a princess in a tower… Not because she’s weak, but because her light is worth the climb.

Perhaps it’s time we stopped trying to reinvent every wheel. Perhaps it’s time we walked the worn path for a time. The one smoothed by the footsteps of those who came before us. 

I hear the stroll is beautiful.

Talk soon,

Izaic Yorks