What I got from fantasy novels

I’ve been perusing into fantasy literature, and have found a few gems which I will explicate here. Wizard’s First Rule, by Terry Goodkind, is one of the best that I have ever read. This one has nuggets of wisdom woven into tangibly readable dialogue and action. I haven’t yet seen a fantasy novel that leads in so well with the death of Richard’s father, to the Mud People, to the jarring revelation of the Rule. Why this hasn’t been made into a TV miniseries yet, I don’t know.

I’m less of a fan of some of the spinoff fiction from this author. Severed Souls, for me, wasn’t near up to the descriptive capability of its predecessor. I’m still struggling with the wanton violence, which seems excessive and doesn’t really have a point. But many people would say that fantasy works do this ad infinitum. Going over the top doesn’t really help the dialogue, nor the plot. Without an appreciation of the characters, the book wouldn’t attract me in the slightest.

I also recently finished Eye of the World, by Robert Jordan. Jordan seems an able administrator of his fiction in a way that is catching to the eye. His work was recently redone in a miniseries, but I didn’t like way the characters were portrayed. It didn’t hold a candle to the book, not by a longshot. In order to create a fantasy world this detailed, you probably have to get a PhD in the thing. But I’m still trying to get this book, and I may have to give it another good solid read.

The greatest fantasy novel (other than Tolkien which doesn’t count) is ‘The Elfstones of Shannara,’ by Terry Brooks. This masterwork was made into a TV miniseries with MTV, but as far as I know, it has been yanked off of Netflix, for reasons that I durst not explain. I did enjoy this portrayal of the work, and it was much closer to the book’s contents with a few annoying teen prop fictional sentimentalism. But if I had to recommend one to go for, it would be this one. I’m part of the way through Song of Shannara. This work seems promising, but ‘Elfstones’ is the masterpiece.

I’ve recently finished Sarah J. Maas’ A Court of Roses and Thorns. The world she has created is fairy tale friendly and quite sexy at points. I’ve likened this particular work to other mythos registers such as Neil Gaiman’s Neverwhere, and Erica Johansen’s The Queen of the Tearling. The storytelling is succinct, dynamic, and eminently readable. Romance and fantasy do often dovetail nicely, as they do in this incipient work about Prythia.

The list goes on here, and I’m about to get into some N. K. Jemsin total escapism. I wouldn’t recommend it if you want to hold down a job!

layers of fantasy journeys into utopia (nowhere)


Now that the YA is finished, I’ve started on the next chapter, which is dedicated to my cat Leo.

Gabe’s bedtime story part ii

After many years in Cornellia castle, Poxig was bored of life in the castle. He sat mercilessly trying to read novels by sitting for long periods of time in an uncomfortable chair in order to discipline himself to sit. But as he read, he couldn’t make himself remember what he read. It was not like his early days when he seemed enchanted by his schoolwork. He attempted to read…

Then, it suddenly became to him like a video game that he liked. These “video games” were light shows with different bright colored candles. They flashed blue and green with the magic fire spell that Lakfi had performed in his magic shows. Lakfi became more surly and withdrawn these days. He had hardly talked to him at all.

The cat went back to the mat. He was so cold by the ornate window, with arabesque designs on the sill. He huffed, scratched the side of it where the paint had worn off. There were shredded white, red, and gold curtains where kitty, called BubbaYee (BY), had damaged them. He still couldn’t see clearly because of the eye salve, but the noxious fumes from his owner’s pipe were making them water. But as he curled up, his eyes began to sprinkle with tears. His owner, Poxig, remembered how much he dislike the smoke of his pipe, but he calmly enjoyed the sunshine.

The kitty opened his mouth and yawned.

“I wish that I could swallow sunshine,” he exclaimed in his mind, “I am so hungry that I could die!”

The cat got up off the mat and sauntered over to the green faced giant, as BY called him. The elven warrior stroked the kitty with his ungloved hand. He met the cat with annoyance, because he was working in his study.

The books were piled high, and it looked like his owner was still in school. But he wasn’t. They were all the royal books of the father of King Charles, whose name happened to be Melchior.

BY demurred, then he purred. The green hand stroked the scruff of the cat’s head.

“Blarg…meddido…hapsha!” yelled his companion, who was obviously trying not to reveal that he was performing magic in a strange mix of dark and light magic he called ‘Wuffle’

“Hmm… let’s see,” he muttered as he perused the magic book.

“Wilfo…blinko…bot! Blast!” he exclaimed.

The candles fizzled out.

This is BY in his transformed anthropomorphic self