This weekend, I was excited to crack open a new book. No matter how many stories I’ve read, there’s always something about that initial rush that hits me, a world of possibility at my fingertips. It’s a book I’ve had on my TBR pile for a while now.

But before long, my enthusiasm waned. The writing didn’t work for me, and the exposition was too dense. I didn’t believe in the main character. At about 12%, after one particularly egregious line, I put the book down, and it felt good.

It’s important to understand that for me, this story is unusual.

I’m a completionist. Have been for as long as I can remember.

When I start something, I will finish it. It’s been a mark of pride.

But I’m happy that I’m breaking away from the trend. Putting the book down this last weekend was the right thing to do.

Initially, I’d intended to write a post about quitting, but that seemed too negative, and didn’t quite capture what I wanted to say. My experience this weekend made me think about reading, and why we do it.

Read.

I’m not sure there are any better forms of storytelling. Please don’t misconstrue that statement. I love so many forms of storytelling, from a great movie to videogames to graphic novels. But I believe reading is still the most powerful form of story.

Why?

Because it’s a conversation, a joint construction between an author and the reader. It’s two imaginations, working together to form a story. You can ask an author what they meant when they wrote something, but at best you’ll only get half the truth.

I don’t reread books often, just as a matter of preference. When I do, it is usually several years (if not decades) between readings. And I’ve learned something. It’s almost impossible to read the same book twice. Sure, the words might be the same, but I’ve changed, and thus I create a new story.

The same is true for other mediums, but I think to a lesser degree. Our imaginations play less of a role in the watching of a movie. I think it’s also why so few film adaptations live up to our expectations. Our imaginations will always be richer than even the most expensive computer graphics budgets.

There are plenty of good reasons to read. Read for inspiration, or education, or entertainment. Read to find yourself in a new world, or to understand this one better. Read because it makes our lives richer. Only through story can we live multiple lives in the time allotted to us.

But know when to put something down.

The choice to quit is a personal one, and I don’t think there are any hard and fast rules that should be followed.

I do know there are terrible reasons to read a book.

Never read a book because you feel like you’re supposed to. Or because everyone else is reading it.

Read the books that make your life better, and feel free to put down the ones that don’t.

I know that Malazan is a series that has been examined and reviewed to no end. And yet as a reader who just finished his first read through of the core ten book series, I can’t not talk about the experience I just had.
And it was an experience – the kind of experience I find most often in books, but is still rare and elusive. For lack of better wording- this series made me feel all the feelings.
So instead of reviewing Malazan, I thought I’d talk about what I learned reading Malazan.

1. The first rule of Malazan is: Never talk about Malazan. Yes, it’s a bit different on reddit and r/fantasy (see this post as an example), but when you step out into the real world with the sun on your face, have you ever tried to talk about Malazan to someone else? Like, really tried? The complexity of the story, from the politics to the gods to the magic, defy easy description. I know, because I tried several times with my wife and friends, and it didn’t work. Mostly I end up gesticulating wildly in the air, trying to express my appreciation for this series and failing completely. And you can’t really recommend the books to a friend (unless you have very special friends), because it’s a hard series to dive into, and really only reveals its true beauty over the course of many loooong books. So the best way (or maybe the only way, if you’re not online every day) to enjoy Malazan is as a truly solo endeavor. And that’s okay.
2. Reading slow is a powerful medicine against the ailments of the day. Like many, I’m someone who likes to read fast. Although I can’t hit the book-a-day rate that some manage, I’m still proud of being able to finish over fifty books a year, many of them epic fantasy. But this means reading a pretty decent clip. Unfortunately, reading fast just didn’t work with Malazan. I ended up missing too much. Initially, I’d planned to break up Malazan through the twelve months of 2019, but as I neared the end of last year I realized I wouldn’t make my goal and extended my journey through 2020. Doing so allowed me to digest the books slowly, to work through them bit by bit. To my surprise, I found that I really loved doing so. When most people seem to be turning to fast-paced, bite-size leisure, I found a real pleasure and a break in the day by just reading a few pages of Malazan. It certainly took a long time, but the rewards were well worth it, and I’d even argue that Malazan is better when one has time to soak it all in.
3. It’s okay to struggle to understand a book. Malazan is dense, and Erikson purposely hides incredible amounts of information, making the series a difficult one to get into. One common reaction I’ve seen online to Gardens of the Moon is “I think I liked it, but what did I just read?” I very much felt the same, and its one of the reasons that I didn’t continue the series the first time I attempted it (back in 2014). The style can definitely be off-putting. We’re surrounded by plenty of chaos and questions in our daily lives – I think most of us tend to like a bit more order and understanding in our fictional worlds. But I think that having to work to understand Malazan makes the reward and impact so much greater when we do.
4. Books are still the best medium for insights into life. I think it would be a fun experiment to take out all the scenes of characters marching and/or philosophizing and seeing how much of Malazan is left. Of course, if one did that, they’d rip the heart right out of the books. Malazan is without doubt my most highlighted series for this very reason. Over the course of ten books we see a tremendous variety of viewpoints argued and defended. In most stories, so much philosophy/arguing/debate wouldn’t work. It would bore the reader to no end. (And I know that’s the case for some with Malazan). But for me, it worked. Perhaps it was because I was reading so slowly, but I really enjoyed the endless conversations, thoughts, and asides. Combined with the situations the characters find themselves in, I feel like no other series has made me think more about Life with a capital “L.”
5. Life can be terrible, but it is still worth living. Did you know that Malazan is dark? I didn’t when I started, not really. Not until I got to Deadhouse Gates, which to this day, leaves me speechless with its stunning story. I’m not sure I’ve seen a book that holds a mirror to the real world in quite the same way. The books contain both triumph and heartbreaking tragedy, and the reader is subjected to both extremes of the emotional spectrum. But one of the overarching feelings I came away with after finishing the series was that life, as difficult and tragic as it can be, still has meaning. And maybe meaning isn’t quite the right word, because I don’t mean to imply some fated or destined purpose. Perhaps better to say that life has value, even in our darkest moments. And that’s a feeling I’ll treasure.
6. Humor is necessary. Did you also know that Malazan is hilarious? I’m not sure I’ve laughed so hard even at books that intended to be funny. But there were moments that had me laughing out loud, which is truly unusual for me when I’m reading. I tend to think it’s because the books can get so dark that the contrast is even more striking. When a line lands, it lands well. But it serves as a useful reminder: humor is one of our greatest weapons against the darkness of our days.

In conclusion, Malazan has been one of the best reading experiences of my life. I can’t recommend it (see point number one), but I understand why those who love it do with such fervor.
And thank you for bearing with me for yet another r/fantasy post about Malazan.

I’m not certain of much, but I do believe this: Stories Matter.

I think that in such uncertain times, our stories matter more than ever.

Right now, the stories circulating between friends and family and over the news and internet are having a profound effect on each of us. 

The world no longer has enough toilet paper, and it’s probably worth fighting over what little remains on shelves. Mother Nature is taking a deep breath thanks to the sudden and rapid decrease in human economic activity. The virus is nothing more than a common cold blown out of proportion by media outlets. We are facing the greatest challenge of our generation, a foe that will unite us and make us stronger.

All of these and more are stories I’ve come across in the past few weeks. Any could be backed up by no shortage of articles, opinions, facts, life coach gurus, and more.

I’m a firm believer that we need balance in our stories, just as we need balance in so many other aspects of our lives.

It’s never been easier to get sucked into a vicious whirlpool of negative stories. And I don’t think we should hide from them, either. It’s important to remember those who have lost their jobs, or worse, their loved ones. As inconsequential as it seems, I think it’s even important for us to tell stories of toilet paper shortages. Because even that story helps us understand ourselves and our world.

But it’s never been more important to remember the lights in our world. I think of the ER doctors, nurses, and staff reporting to work knowing the risks, not just to themselves but potentially to their loved ones. I think of my neighbors, checking in on one another to make sure everyone is safe and healthy. I think of my three year old daughter, who has no clue what is happening and is simply delighted that her mother is home more.

We also have the ability to write our own stories. Many of us are now having more family time than we are used to. While it comes with new stresses, it also brings opportunity. Today I enjoyed an hour of playing with play-dough with my daughter. I’ve met (at appropriate distances) more of my neighbors in the last week than I have in the last year.

Our stories matter.

The world is a terrible place.

And it’s a beautiful one.

Let’s not forget to tell stories that reflect both aspects.

I’ve been thinking a lot about grimdark fantasy for the past few months.

I’ll start off by saying I’m not really a fan of the label. Like most identifiers, it tries to reduce something complex into a simple label that we can fling around.

So let’s start with at least a vague definition: When I talk about grimdark fantasy, I’m talking about stories in which good and evil isn’t necessarily easily delineated. Characters aren’t champions of light and darkness, but are complex characters. But more than anything, I’m talking about stories that embrace a darker tone, willing to pull back the curtain on horrible violence and brutality.

In the past few decades, we’ve seen an explosion in works that are classified as grimdark. From A Song of Ice and Fire to Malazan and The First Law, there are no shortage of books that fall somewhere on the grimdark scale.

I find that I have really mixed feelings about grimdark.

First, let’s look at the bright side of grimdark:

I think the greatest contribution of the subgenre (if it can even be called that), is the more ready acceptance of rogues and morally complex characters. Such characters have existed for a long time, of course, but grimdark has brought them to the forefront, and I believe complex, morally ambiguous characters are more interesting and lead to better stories. I appreciate stories in which protagonists struggle against their character, and I appreciate that sometimes they fail.

Likewise, grimdark allows for more complex conflicts. It’s not just good vs evil or light vs darkness. Grimdark more accurately reflects the world we live in, which I think makes the works more impactful.

But, as with all things, the pendulum can swing too far in one direction. I read a book last year in which I could almost hear the author asking himself, “What’s the worst thing that I could do here?”

Ooh, let’s have the protagonist protect a young orphan.

Except the orphan has a fatal disease.

And the orphan gets possessed by a demon.

And the orphan gets enslaved, starved, and beaten.

Then when the hero tries to rescue the orphan, the orphan is brutally tortured and killed.

I exaggerate a little, but not by as much as I wish I was.

I don’t think there’s anything wrong with highlighting the darkness that lives side by side with us. I actually think it’s important.

But darkness for darkness’ sake creates a weaker story and numbs the reader.

Which is why grimdark is hard to do well.