GOBLIN LAW
or, how i learned to stop worrying and love the grime
Goblins present a pretty interesting problem for fantasy writers who want to operate even adjacent to the “high fantasy” milieu. There are a few fantasy ancestries that, I think, most people are interested in having feel a Certain Way, more than others. People don’t play or write about goblins, generally, because they want them to be just like everyone else. People want to be Goblinoid™ when they are a goblin, they want to be able to go goblin mode all over everything. Dwarves share this problem, as nobody wants a dwarf to act and interact with the world in the exact same way as, say, a human, though in less problematic ways.1 Therefore, to write a goblin that feels satisfying, a writer must maintain a certain feeling of goblin-ness, without succumbing to the dangers of stereotype. JK Rowling’s goblins - hook-nosed, money-grubbing bankers - are, arguably, the most egregious example of failing to write a goblin by basically every metric, apparently made even worse in the Hogworts Legacy video game. They are little more than an antisemitic stereotype repackaged and put haphazardly into what is, in all honesty, a poorly thought out urban fantasy world.
Trying to figure out what to do with goblins, how to use them in my own settings, took actual years of my life, as I considered where to put them and how to avoid various pitfalls while still making them sufficiently goblin mode. I spent a lot of time thinking about goblins, what makes them work, and what makes them not work. The result is my Goblin Law, a semi-foolproof method by which anyone can write goblins that are sufficiently goblinoid, not merely offensive tropes, and not primarily evil creatures or antagonists. The first question, is, of course, what the hell even is a goblin?
what the hell even is a goblin?
The original goblin is a folklore creature that appears in basically every Northern European culture, most common in English, Scottish, and Irish folklore, and is generally just a catch-all terms for vaguely malevolent trickster spirits and fairies. Though there were various currents of antisemitism in these folk-tales, in general, such claims are overblown. In general, Medieval Europeans didn’t need a secret code to be antisemitic because they could just do it in public. Nobody was gonna, like, get mad at them.
Much like everything else in high fantasy, however, our goblins have, at best, a distant relationship with these guys. Tolkien chose to call his silly, mountain-dwelling, wolf-riding bad guys in The Hobbit goblins, and our goblins have a lot more to do with them than they have to do with medieval English folklore. Goblins in The Hobbit are pretty explicitly presented as sort of anti-dwarves, with Tolkien writing, “They make no beautiful things, but they make very many clever ones. They can tunnel and mine as well as any but the most skilled dwarves, when they take the trouble, though they are usually untidy and dirty…It is not unlikely that they invented some of the machines that have since troubled the world, especially the ingenious devices for killing large numbers of people at once, for wheels and engines and explosions always delighted them.”2 Much like dwarves they live underground (they are also somewhat like Hobbits in this manner), are excellent miners, and are excellent craftspeople. Tolkien makes it clear, however, that the difference lies in what they are interested in doing with these crafts. Goblins want to kill and destroy, they want things that are purely utilitarian, produced on assembly lines by captured slaves. All of these things are presented as inherent to them, or at the very least, so ingrained into their culture that it might as well be. They are, effectively, industrial capitalists. For a dwarf, conversely, the act of creation is as important as the craft itself, they are artisans, not merely producers of products. Importantly, however, these goblins are also somewhat silly, because The Hobbit, is, of course, a book meant to be read aloud to children. They sing a silly song as they march the dwarves, Gandalf, and Bilbo down to their settlement, called simply goblin-town, and are ruled by an individual named “The Great Goblin.” These are funny guys, which makes sense, as villains in media primarily for children are often played for comedy as much as anything else.
In later works, Tolkien changed his terminology from “goblin” to “orc,” losing much (though not all) of the silliness with the transition, and in Lord of the Rings, the orcs are very clearly situated as an industrial, imperialist power, acting and speaking much in the manner of British soldiers in the First World War or, perhaps more accurately, in colonial provinces across the world. Industrial empire is always Tolkien’s main antagonist. Unfortunately, he was writing in the 30s and 50s, when most people were still enamored with industrial empire. This inherent problem leads us to the future treatment of goblins.
We now live in a post Dungeons and Dragons age, by which I refer not generally to the intellectual property at large but specifically to the far-reaching influence of the original edition. Goblins and orcs were separated out from each other, becoming distinctly different species of antagonist. Both, however, lose their industrial air and become tribalistic, raiders at the edge of civilized society. Much noise has been made about whether or not D&D, at least in its earliest form, was/is an inherently fascist game. The treatment of goblins and orcs shows that, whether or not this is the case, it is certainly an imperialist game. Player characters are the civilizing forces that root out embodied forces of chaos, being goblins and orcs, who are effectively just 50s Western movie Indians with green skin. Characters are homesteaders who oust goblins, orcs, and other similar antagonists from ruins and turn these decrepit structures into their own strongholds, projecting the colonial power of their imperial core into new, uncharted wildernesses. Notably, neither orcs and goblins really farm; they are raiders and nomads. Gygax, situated in his Midwestern context, likely drew from his own perceptions of the struggles between white, American settlers and the nomadic Native American peoples of the great American steppe. The result is that the goblin has become a stock low-level antagonist, alongside kobolds, bandits, “cultists” and other such riff-raff, and, worse, a low-level antagonist with deeply troublesome connotations.
By now, the silliness has almost disappeared from the goblin, at least in the official text. The 1979 Monster Manual mentions nothing about goblins that would make a reader think anything about them is supposed to be funny. Most of the people actually playing D&D, though, probably thought of The Hobbit when they saw or ran goblins, especially considering the Rankin Bass Hobbit movie had only just come out two years before the Monster Manual. Goblins in that movie are undeniably silly, like 90% toothy mouth with big stupid horns that evoke those ahistorical but undeniably hilarious-looking horned viking helmets and ears pricked up like a dog.
The goblin as a comic figure was basically cemented by tabletop roleplaying games in the aftermath of the first edition of D&D. Some of this is history, but I think some of it is also psychology. D&D established that goblins were small (this was not previously an assumed fact about their nature), and the concept of a small grimy fucker who lives in a hole and has a generally bad attitude is just hilarious in an inherent sort of way. Goblins are funny for the same reason the Sackville-Bagginses are funny is what I’m saying, effectively. Being small also means traveling adventurers (ie, ttrpg players) have a compulsion to adopt them as a sort of crime-baby, which has led to a proliferation of, effectively, goblin mascots. They’re like shitty little cats, but they’re sentient. I don’t entirely love this version of the goblin, as it more or less fully reduces them to the level of a beast or pet, which feels a bit…Belgian zoo, if you catch my drift.3 The crime-baby goblin, despite these obvious problems, however, was the death knell for the goblin as an inherently antagonistic force. Goblins have become a more effective mascot of the fantasy genre than dragons, knights, or wizards ever were. People like them so much that basically all ttrpgs trying to fight for D&D’s spot in the sun have made goblins a playable ancestry in some form or another.4 The age of the goblin is upon us, clearly, but we have to make sure we don’t fuck it up. A poorly-thought out goblin is worse than no goblin at all - just look at the cognitive dissonance caused by Wizards of the Coasts’ dogged adherence to previous D&D lore on goblins when put against how they’re actually played at the table, or the utter travesty of Rowling’s attempt.
Basic Do’s and Don’ts of Goblining
That’s enough history class, let’s get into the gunk. Below are the core principles of my Goblin Law, a (mostly) foolproof method to write goblins that are fun, interesting, and meaningfully goblinoid. I assume at least some degree of overarching goblin culture for this project, but feel free to fuck around with that and make multiple distinct cultures of goblins. I won’t be discussing bugbears or hobgoblins much at all, because as far as I’m concerned, they’re sideshows to the main event.5 Note that (almost) all of these are recommendations, and they’re malleable. Twist or fuck with them at your leisure. A goblin is like a fingerprint; no two persons’ are the same. On the other hand, however, my goblins are the ones that are most correct, by various objective measurements, all designed by me. Let’s get started, in order of importance:
DON’T make them an antisemitic trope: I really shouldn’t have to say this, but there is significant evidence that says I should. Try and think of a list of awful antisemitic stereotypes. If your goblin aligns with like more than like, two or three of these, change things until it no longer does.
DON’T make them racist in some other strange way: Gygax goblins aren’t antisemitic, but they are racist, being culturally strange, cruel, dark-skinned pygmies that live in naturally-occuring caves and attack civilized folk. So, uh, don’t do that, or anything even remotely resembling that. Try not to make your goblins, like, ontologically evil, and you’re already about halfway there on this battle.
DO make them small or short: We are past the era where large goblins are possible. Making your goblins large or even human sized will cause a degree of cognitive dissonance in the average person’s mind that they will simply no longer engage with you, unless they have incredible mental fortitude.
DO make them silly: Goblins are funny. We all know goblins are funny. Stop pretending they aren’t funny. Just lean into it. Make them domesticate strange animals, like large bugs, which are also funny (bugs are meant to be small, as you well know), or animals that other people tend to find weird or gross, like mice and rats, lizards, snakes, or other such things.6 Give them at least one cultural belief that kinda seems like they’re all just playing a joke on the rest of the world and don’t actually mean it, like how all of Germany has decided to pretend that one state isn’t real, even in official documents and statements by elected representatives. In all my settings, for instance, my goblins all believe, or at least say they believe, that size is directly correlated to intelligence: the shorter you are, the smarter you are. If you choose this one, I recommend specifically making your goblins the second-shortest ancestry, on average, because it’s funnier that way. They should have tastes that are funny; they like foods that smell or that make your breath smell like garlic, stinky cheese, and onions, and feel very strongly about such pleasures. They like old-fashioned, Vaudeville-style slapstick comedy, this song, and basically anything that could go in a Three Stooges movie. Have them talk in a squeaky, raspy voice that makes them sound like horrid little bastards. Be sure not to make them greedy - this can trigger the antisemitism alarm - but perhaps have them enjoy collecting silly and worthless objects, somewhat like a magpie.
DO make goblins relatable: We all want to go goblin mode sometimes. Goblins should care deeply about their simple pleasures in a way that makes you feel better about caring about your simple pleasures. Want to sit inside and watch old Looney Tunes shorts while getting zooted to fuck and back and eating cheese puffs all day? Want to spend an unacceptable percentage of your paycheck on a new LEGO Star Wars set? Want to log, like, 200 hours in some video game that’s, in all honesty, very mid? So does every single goblin. Arguably even more importantly, goblins are small and they know they’re small, so rather than making them pint-sized, stupid bullies, like D&D tends to do, make them cunning and wily. Everyone likes an underdog, because we can all relate with them. Goblins should have heroes much like those of old Greco-Roman “clever slave” plays, people who win out because they are able to outsmart and outmaneuver those who have more power, but less brains. Their heroes are always small, and their villains are always tall, and they come crashing down in a beautiful and cathartic fashion, every time, to raucous, jeering applause.
DO make goblins somewhat hedonistic, but DON’T make them overly so: What the hell do I even mean by this one? Basically that goblins enjoy their simple pleasures in great quantities, but that the pleasures should always be simple. A goblin’s version of hedonism should resemble the perfect world of someone like a college-aged stoner. Plenty of shitty food, trashy movies, and all the second-rate dope someone with significantly smaller lungs than a human can smoke. Goblins don’t want to cover the world in gold-foil or live in perfectly arranged and cultivated lives, they don’t want anything that’s so expensive or rare that someone else has to suffer for them to have it - not necessarily because of any ethical objections, but just because that’s not their style. A goblin will always prefer imperfection over perfection. They don’t eat off silver plates, they just want a hole in the ground crammed full of all their stupid shit, delicious and filling food to eat, and other similarly-minded individuals to surround themselves with.
DO make goblins live (mostly) underground: As you might be able to tell, I have yet to fully dissuade myself of the notion that goblins should be, on some level, gremlinized dwarves or hobbits, and at this point, I likely never will. Living underground is a primary factor in achieving this reality. In my worldbuilding, dwarves tend to dig down, piercing deep into the earth in search of minerals and building elaborate fortresses, whereas goblins tend to dig out, sprawling out in tunnel complexes beneath cities. Goblin tunnels shouldn’t, at first, show clear craftsdwarfship (always of the highest quality) or hobbitish comforts, but on closer inspection, they should have a sort of lived-in, imperfect hominess to them, like a hole-in-the-wall restaurant or dive bar. Yeah, the place is a bit beat-up, yeah, the tables are a bit sticky, but with tacos this good, are you really gonna go anywhere else?
DO make goblins impolite: Any manners, customs, or cultural practices, a goblin should be pushing at the edges of them, if not outright breaking them. Goblins are messy eaters and loud burpers, they’re people who reach across the table instead of asking for someone to pass the salt. They carry hot sauce to other peoples’ dinner parties and put it on the food in front of everyone if it’s not spicy enough for them. Depending on how callous or absentminded you want your goblins, or specific goblin, to be, this could be up to the point of like, legitimate cultural offense. This particular maneuver is best deployed if the goblin is in a position of having less power than those they’re offending, though, if you want a lovable rascal and not an culturally-insensitive tourist.
DO keep them in the grime: Though this is the last on the list, it’s only at the bottom because, if you’ve been following me this far, it should already be self-evident. Generally, it isn’t a good idea to give goblins an empire, noble titles, or other such things, if you want to remain consistent with the other aspects of their character, as established in the previous rules. They don’t have ambitions of power or conquest. The only thing I could imagine, or recommend, is a magocracy ruled by goblin wizards or something similar. They only got into this gig to do weird magic experiments, and it got out of control and now they’re actually in charge of stuff. If you do that, write them on a spectrum from Albert Einstein to Dr. Frankenstein (pop culture Dr. Frankenstein, not Shelley’s Dr. Frankenstein, who is much too aristocratic for even the most detestable of goblins). In general, however, fancy titles and imperial conquests are for the big folk. Goblins are much too smart for all that. They’d rather stay in the grime.
Learn to Love the Grime
To write a goblin, you have to spend some time in the grime, mentally and, perhaps, physically. Tolkien’s goblins were “untidy and dirty,” and he wanted you to contrast that with dwarves and hobbits, who live in well-carved mountain fortresses or comfortable hillside homes, and come away disliking the goblin. However, in our trying times, living in a dirty and untidy hole in the ground is far more relatable than any kind of castle and home ownership might as well be a myth. There’s a bit of a slob in all of us, I think, one that wants to get out and walk around in the world, not caring what anyone thinks or says. That’s what the goblin provides. Who cares what the big people think anyway? If they had any brains, they’d be shorter anyway. Closer to the grime. In his landmark essay, “On Fairy-Stories,” Tolkien described fantasy as the escapism of the prisoner trying to flee prison, rather than the deserter trying to flee their post.7 And, Tolkien reminds us, who could blame a prisoner for that? Nobody wants to be in prison. A goblin provides escapism of a particular sort: escaping social niceties, escaping social anxiety, escaping any sort of pressure put on you by the world to be a certain way, think a certain way, like or dislike certain things. All of that, the goblin paints with a brush coated in grime, until it is lost in the muck.
Particularly interesting because, as we will see, the high fantasy dwarf and the high fantasy goblin share a sort of connected lineage. There’s a post to be made about why this has happened to some of the ancestries and not others, but I’m not wholly certain of the reasons myself yet.
J.R.R. Tolkien, The Hobbit (London: Harper College Publishers, 2011), 61. The implication that goblins invented like, the machine gun, is too obvious to ignore.
https://www.africamuseum.be/en/discover/history_articles/the_human_zoo_of_tervuren_1897
This trend started with the Eberron setting for 3.5e D&D, which made the somehow incredibly novel maneuver of making goblins actual people instead of just interchangeable adventurer fodder, and then was wholly adopted by Pathfinder. In that game’s second edition, goblins are not only playable, but one of the core ancestries, right alongside staples like elves, dwarves, and halflings.
Easy option if you want to keep the vibes as they have been laid down in previous incarnations of these guys: Hobgoblins are sneering and posh British imperialists, all tea and crumpets over scenes of awful colonial brutality, and bugbears are the cockney, low-class servants and foot-soldiers, often ordered to carry out the dirty work but perhaps uncertain about the morality of it. If you want to include normal goblins in this group as per normal D&D associations, maybe make them, like, Welsh or Scottish or something? Scottish goblins sound fun, yet another wacky parallel with dwarves.
The Age of Wonders video game series historically paired goblins with giant beetles, which is truly one of the most enlightened decisions ever made by a fantasy setting.
Tolkien clearly wasn’t thinking about the draft when he wrote this.