Realistic Proportions in Fantasy

I write stories with tall, slender, graceful, women in them.
There, I've said it. Whether I should take it as a confession or an act of pride, the point is made: my girls are girlish, my women often have Venusian figures, and my more heavily built women are likely to be the older women and the mother-figures.
There are three reasons for this. The first is that, male or female, no one in my stories gets to sit around all day, eating chocolates and reading novels (or watching television, as that may be.) And when you don't do that, when you fight to stay alive or work your tail off, you generally don't get much more than nicely rounded.
The second is a slightly more shallow reason, and it is this: I find it much easier to draw slender characters, and I love illustrating my stories.
The third reason is that I don't have an axe to grind over the weight issue. I've read stories with overweight heroines. One series, The No. 1 Ladies' Detective Agency, is absolutely delightful, with the heroine, Mme Ramotswe, comfortable in her own skin and more than happy with her traditional build. Another story, Squashed, stars a young pumpkin-growing gardener whose enthusiastic dessert-creation has her constantly struggling to drop a few pounds to fit in her jeans. Neither of these heroines obsesses over their build: Mme Ramotswe likes her padding, and Ellie Morgan is much more interested in raising her giant pumpkin to prize-winning proportions.
Other stories, however, don't take it so well. I did not read all of Just Ella, a retelling of Cinderella that tears up the fairy tale. But what I read of the dust jacket and the last few pages, it's clear that the author has a clear vendetta about the whole issue of beauty, and what beauty is considered acceptable. I also read a book two or three years ago; I do not remember the name of it, or who the author was. What I do remember is that the actual plot of the story was hidden behind a rather impressive amount of moralizing about weight, and how more weight doesn't make you bad, and less doesn't make you good.
Now, I do agree about this. Physical beauty or the lack thereof doesn't really mean anything. But I do think that you should leave the moralizing and vendettas about such out of fantasy.
I don't write about graceful, beautiful women and stalwart, handsome men to sneer at the overweight and cowardly of the world. I'm not exactly a sylph myself, and I'm not as brave as I wish I was. I write about them...because I wish I was like that.
Frankly, I don't understand this mentality that the ideal is a slap in the face to those who don't meet it. It's an ideal. Real life doesn't match up to it, no matter what you do. It's something to strive toward. And in my not-all-that-humble opinion, the ideal body should be a back-burner goal, because it's really not all that important.

And because one of my heroes looks like this.

I like reading about beautiful women and stalwart men because the world is not like that. I know the world is not like that. Believe me, it's impossible to get away from the fact. When I read A Princess of Mars, I'm not going to come away believing that I'll find the equivalent of John Carter, Warlord of Mars out in the real world. I'm taking comfort in the fact that ideal still exists somewhere. I'm escaping from the cruddy reality, and traveling--even if only for an hour and in the privacy of my mind--to a new place.

You see, the point of fantasy stories--especially the escapist sort--is not to judge the world. They might; ideals do occasionally rebuke those that flaunt them. But that is not their point. Their point is to take you away. You might be a 95-pound weakling who groans when you lift a full grocery sack into a car. But when you read  Lord of the Rings, or Princess of Mars, Ranger's Apprentice or Robin Hood: 

That's You!

And the same thing goes for women. Read a story with a gorgeous heroine, and--she's not mocking you. That is you. I don't care if you're an anorexic stick or have secret fears about going into elevators. Once you open that book: 

 

That's you!
















And that's the point of those stories. Not to mock you: to be you. For that happy hour you spend reading it, or how many times you read it afterwards, guys, you are the stalwart hero, and girls, you are that gorgeous heroine for whom he is willing to burn down the world.
That's why I write those stories. That's why I read those stories. That's why I dislike the stories that don't get it.
Because, frankly, who wants to be the whiny kid who hates his life? There's too much of that out in the world already.