In most the modern works that we've read it seems that realism is the only style of writing. Long gone is the writing in which a djin is behind every rock ready to put any passerby to some difficult or ridiculous task. But why is it that the magical and the fantastic has left the writing of such a beautiful culture?
While I'm sure there's no one, easy answer I wonder if it isn't the case that hundreds of years of war have taken their toll even on the hearts of these peoples. The beautiful fantasy of ancient fiction seems too often to have been replaced with the historical fiction of wartimes. I hope that I'm making a connection that isn't there or that is so incomplete that it's ridiculous, because if I'm not then what follows is really quite terrifying.
I guess what I'm really wondering at is: can a culture make so much war that when it's all over there may not be much left because the only thing left holding it together was the constant fighting?
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