Ludwig II was born in 1845. He became King of Bavaria in 1864, when he was only 18 years old. Within Bavaria, he is sometimes called the Swan King or even the Fairy Tale King. Outside of Germany, he is sometimes called Mad King Ludwig.
Over the course of his 22-year reign, he gradually lost interest in affairs of state. Instead, he became interested in the arts—especially architecture and the work of Richard Wagner, who lived from 1813-1883. Although he used his own money to fund his artistic extravagances, his tendency to ignore all of his counselors’ advice did not make him popular at court or with the Bavarian royal family. Neither did his refusal to marry or the open secret of his homosexual sexual affairs with members of the Bavarian cavalry.
In 1886, he was declared insane and deposed. (Modern historians have questioned the diagnosis.) Three days later, he—and the doctor who had declared him insane—were found drowned in what is now called Lake Starnberg. The official cause of death, suicide, has also been called into question.
These are the strange but true historical facts of the life of Bavaria’s Swan King. They gave author Fumio Takano plenty to work with in her alternate history novel, Swan Knight. She adds only one odd but peculiarly appropriate, almost “steampunk” historical counterfactual—the existence of televisions in late 19th-century Bavaria.
And the plot gets more delightfully zany from there.
Swan Night begins at what the historically informed reader (of which there are likely few, especially among non-German readers) knows is the end of the historical Ludwig’s life—when only fifteen years remain of the 19th century. Notably, 1885 is also two years after the death of the historical Richard Wagner.
Takano’s Swan King has only one great joy in life—watching Wagnerian operas played out on television. For all his possible madness, Ludwig is no fool. He realizes television lies. Nevertheless,
He value[s] the dreams it offer[s] him far more than his reality. His kingdom of Bavaria [is] but a tiny, backward state, merely a mouse dangling from the jaws of the giant that [is] the new German Empire. Even when he [does] get accurate and relevant information, he [finds] himself unable to act on it. That being the case, it [is] better to have dreams, as there [is] no need to worry about whether they [are] true or not. It [is] clearly so much better. Dreams [can] help him forget the dismal realities of ruling an insignificant little kingdom.
It’s Wagner’s operas and the omnipresence of Wagner himself which drive the plot of Swan Knight forward. Ludwig watches the televised operas obsessively, especially Lohengrin, the Swan Knight in Germany’s Arthurian literature. He eventually undertakes a difficult quest to track down the elusive maestro, “just to meet him and tell him how much [Ludwig] admires him.”
He is aided on his quest by a young woman who dreams of life in Wagnerian opera. She identifies herself as Parsifal, a famously naive but warm-hearted knight of Arthur’s round table and central figure of Wagner’s final composition.
Meanwhile, a man named Karl works for Wagner’s television-opera studio. He wants to become a great composer, but his secret goal is also to meet the great Wagner—if the man still exists. Despite being a mediocre tenor at best, Karl finds himself cast as Lohengrin in the studio’s new productions. He has no desire for a role as a singer. A minor chorus member named Hans assists in Karl’s search for Wagner, but with mysterious motives of his own.
Throughout, the reader learns about the action through the words of a third-person omniscient narrator the reader doesn’t really know whether to trust. Translator Sharni Wilson’s narrative voice recreates what she calls a “third-person unreliable narrator” perfectly, leaving the reader with a permanent baffling sense that he or she is missing a piece of the puzzle.
When the principals’ plots come together, the result is a joyful collision of real history, historical fantasy, Arthurian mythology, quest tropes, and political intrigue. And yet, like the best speculative fiction, Swan Knight is also a thoughtful novel that playfully asks questions about identity, reality, and the ways stories affect how people live their lives.
English readers might be surprised to learn that Takano’s alternative history debuted 20 years ago in Japan’s acclaimed SF Magazine, one of the longest-running science fiction publications in Japan. (Alumni include English-language greats like Kurt Vonnegut and Ursula K. Le Guin as well as Japanese SF writer Izumi Suzuki.) The Japanese “SF” genre is broader and more generous, encompassing not only what English-speakers would call sci-fi, but also what they would label speculative fiction, fantasy, horror, and even, sometimes, mystery. These often genre-defying works seldom make it into English translation, although Toh Enjoe’s Akutagawa-winning Harlequin Butterfly (translated by David Boyd) is another exception appearing in English in 2024. Swan Knight is a delightfully unusual addition to the Japanese literature available in English translation.
The strongest aspect of speculative fiction in Swan Knight comes from its sustained consideration of the nature of truth, both within the novel and in the very essence of alternative history itself. Near the end of the novel, Karl sees another character mistake TV for reality. “How,” he asks, “Could anyone be taken in by trickery that’s so completely obvious?” When all is revealed, however, it becomes clear that there is no character who has seen behind all of the myriad illusions in the 19th century Bavaria of Takano’s imagination. Fiction has proven more compelling than truth and, as Karl also notes, “Something that [is] a fiction through and through [will] never betray you”.
Swan Knight itself is a case of a fiction that is, perhaps, more compelling than truth. It is more than just alternative history and it does more than simply borrow from the life of an obscure king who lived 9,000 km away from the author and who died almost 150 years ago. The historical details in Swan Knight are really real—so well researched and incorporated into the story that a reader may find new historical “Easter eggs” on a second or even a third pass at the novel. The novel feels real, too. Even in adapting the historical tale, adding ahistorical technology, and projecting personalities on historical figures, the result aligns so closely with real historical fact it’s easy to lose track of where history ends and Takano’s imaginative additions begin.