heatseeker wrote:
I'm a big fantasy fan as well...I've read through nine books of the Wheel of Time and at the moment I'm reading Terry Goodkind's Sword of Truth...really good stuff. Of course, I've read other stuff as well but so far these are my favorites. I'm yet to check out anything Brooks or Salvatore, and I've never heard of Eddings...
Ugh... Goodkind. There's a lot of crap in the fantasy genre, but I do believe his takes the cake. Here are some reasons why:
Quote:
Jennsen gestured vaguely back at the men and the town behind her. "Since I've been with them, they have come to see that I'm not a witch, and Betty is not a spirit guide - although for a time there I was afraid they might be right about Betty."
Richard peered down at the goat. Betty cocked her head. "I guess none of us but Betty knew the truth of what Nicholas was up to." At the sound of her name, Betty's ears pricked forward and her tail went into a fit of expectant wagging.
<<long drawn out bunch of crap removed>>
After Richard picked up his pack and slipped his arms through the straps, Owen gripped Richard's hand. "Thank you, Lord Rahl, for showing me that my life is worth living."
Marilee stepped forward and hugged him. "Thank you for teaching Owen to be worthy of me."
Richard laughed. Owen laughed. Cara gave Marilee an approving clap on the back. And then all the men laughed.
Betty pushed in and with a flurry of tail wagging got the point across that she didn't want to be left out.
Richard knelt down and scratched Betty's ears. "And you, my friend, from now on I don't want you letting any Slides using you to spy on people."
Betty pushed her head against his chest as he scratched her ears, and bleated as if to say she was sorry.
Quote:
Her power, her magic, was also a weapon of defense. But it would only work on people. It would not work on a chicken. And it would not work on wickedness incarnate.
Her gaze flicked toward the door, checking the distance. The chicken took a single hop toward her. Claws gripping Juni's upper arm, it leaned her way. Her leg muscles tightened till they trembled.
The chicken backed up a step, tensed, and spurted feces onto Juni's face. rofl2.gif
It let out the cackle that sounded like a laugh.
She dearly wished she could tell herself she was being silly. Imagining things.
But she knew better.
<snip>
Kahlan frantically tried to think as the chicken bawk-bawk-bawked.
<snip>
"Mother," the chicken croaked.
Kahlan flinched with a cry.
<snip>
[Kahlan knocks over a candle by mistake, plunging the barn into darkness]
In the dark, the chicken thing let out a low chicken cackle laugh.
It hadn't come from whre she expected the chicken to be. It was behind her.
"Please, I mean no harm," she called into the darkness. "I mean no disrespect. I will leave you to your business now, if that's all right with you."
She took another shuffling step toward the door. She moved carefully, slowly, in case the chicken thing was in the way. She didn't want to bump into it and make it angry. She mustn't underestimate it.
Kahlan had on any number of occasions thrown herself with ferocity against seemingly invincible foes. She knew well the value of a resolute violent attack. But she also somehow knew beyond doubt that this adversary could, if it wanted, kill her as easily as she could wring a real chicken's neck. If she forced a fight, this was one she would lose.
<snip>
The chicken thing let out a whispering cackle.
<snip>
[she's trying to find the door, she's crying and panicking, she stubs her toe and falls down.]
With the next flash of lightning, she saw chicken feet standing between her and the crack under the door. The thing wasn't more than a foot from her face.
<snip>
The beak pinched the vein on the back of her hand over her eyes. The chicken tugged, as if trying to pull a worm from the ground.
It was a command. It wanted her hand away from her eyes.
The beak gave a sharp tug on her skin. There was no mistaking the meaning in that insistent yank. Move the hand, now, it was saying, or you'll be sorry.
If she made it angry, there was no telling what it was capable of doing to her. Juni lay dead above her as a reminder of the possibilities.
She told herself that if it pecked at her eyes, she would have to grab it and try to wring its neck. If she was quick, it could only get in one peck. She would have one eye left. She would have to fight it then. But only if it went for her eyes.
Her instincts screamed that such action would be the most foolish, dangerous thing she could do. Both the Bird Man and Richard said this was not a chicken. She no longer doubted them. But she might have no choice.
If she started, it would be a fight to the death. She held no illusion as to her chances. Nonetheless, she might be forced to fight it. With her last breath, if need be, as her father had taught her.
The chicken snatched a bigger beakful of her skin along with the vein and twisted. Last warning.
Kahlan carefully moved her trembling hand away. The chicken-thing cackled softly with satisfaction.
Quote:
As Six and the commander were talking, Richard turned a little, feigning a stretch. In an instant, his hand was on the sword. In another instant the blade was free.
Having a weapon, a sword, in his hand, instantly flooded Richard with memories, forms, and skills he had spent long hours learning. The lessons might have in part come from otherworldly sources, but the knowledge was not magic. It was the experience of countless Seekers before Richard. Even though he didn’t have that weapon with him, he still had that knowledge. Brahm's incursion: That is indeed magic, Richard.
He knew where Kahlan was, and he had to get to her.
These men were in his way.
Richard swung, taking off an arm wielding an axe. The cry, the spray of blood, made the men nearby flinch. In that sliver of an instant, Richard made his move. He brought his sword up through another man lifting his sword. The man died before he even had his arm fully cocked back. Richard spun out of the way of weapons coming for him.
Despite the sudden cacophony of metal clanging, of men yelling, Richard was already in a silent world of purpose. He was in control. These men might have thought that they had an army against him, but in a way that was his advantage. He didn’t fight an army. He fought individuals. They thought like a collective mass, a collective element, allowing one another to move, as if the soldiers were trying to be one big fighting centipede. Ya, you know, that whole individual thing works great, and explains why Roman legions were so easily able to defeat screaming Gallic and Germanic warriors who fought as individuaks all the time. This is just one of many places where Goodkind shows his complete ignorance of military strategy and tactics.
That was a mistake. Richard used it to cut into them. While they hesitated waiting for others to act, waiting for an opening, Richard was already moving through their lines, cutting them down. He let them swing and lunge, using strength and effort, while he floated through the onslaught of steel. Every time he thrust, he made contact. Every time he swung his weapon, he cut. It was like going through thick brush, slashing aside the branches that reached out at him. He let the momentum of the sword power the next strike, keeping it in continuous motion rather than using effort, and precious time, to draw it back. If he brought the blade down, slicing through the side of a man’s neck, he continued the movement, bringing the weapon up behind to run a man through as he rushed in, and then, as he pulled the blade out, he spun away as swords, axes, and flails came down where he had been only a moment before. It was a fluid dance, moving through the grunting, diving, jumping men. Slice, slice, slice, letting the screams fill the morning air, letting the alarm of not being able to stop him cause others to hesitate in fear of what could be happening.
<Groan, okay, let me cut this short. Richard kills a whole lot of men, gets out of the cave and finds a whole bunch of arrows pointed at him. Richard knows he can’t escape now. Though why he doesn’t just catch them all when they’re fired at him, who knows?>
The commander appeared in the doorway. “Very impressive. I’ve never seen the like of it..”
The man truly did sound amazed, but it was over. Richard heaved a sigh and tossed his sword down.
The commander stepped close, frowning as he appraised Richard, looking him up and down. Behind, Six appeared in the opening through the wall, a black silhouette against the sunrise.
The commander folded his muscled arms. “Do you know how to play Ja’la dh Jin?”
Richard thought it the oddest question he could imagine at that moment. In the background, beyond the rather small opening in the wall he had made it through, grievously injured men screamed, cried, and begged for help.
Richard didn’t shy away from the commander. “Yes, I know how to play the game of life.” <snip, the commander explains to Six that Richard is his prisoner and that’s just tough shit for her>
The commander turned back to Richard. “What is your name?”
Richard knew that he couldn’t give his real name. <Duh> He couldn’t even give the name he grew up with, Richard Cypher. If he did, he was liable to be recognized for who he really was. His mind raced as he tried to think of another name he could use. The name Zedd like to use when he needed to disguise his identity popped into his head.
“I’m Ruben Rybnik.”
“Well, Ruben, I will give you a choice. We could skin you alive, stake you out, slit open your belly, and let you watch as the vultures pull your intestines out and fight over them.”
“I don’t much like that choice. You have another?”
A sly smile spread on the man’s face, befitting the reptilian half with the scale tattoos. “Yes, as a matter of fact I do. You see, the different divisions of the army have Ja’La teams. Ours is made up of a mix of my men and the very best of those we have come across - men blessed by the Creator with exceptional talent.
“It was quite impressive the way you made your way through all those men and to the opening in the wall, like you were making your way toward a goal. You continued on toward that goal without allowing yourself to be stopped no matter what the men threw at you. Well, You’re a natural point man.”
Yes. In that last one, not only does Richard grab a sword by pretending to stretch, but he then kills an incredible amount of men with it (judging by Richard's usual standards, probably somewhere in the 200s mark). Instead of being upset, the captain of these soldiers then offers Richard a spot on his sports team. Seriously. As a person at another forum put it, its like killing a cop with a baseball bat and then being invited to be a member of the police softball scene.
As the above quotes demonstrate, Goodkind is a really shitty writer (take special notice at ("Richard laughed. Owen laughed. Cara gave Marilee an approving clap on the back. And then all the men laughed"). Not only is Goodkind a bad writer, he also fills his later novels with a fifth grader's version of objectivist philosophy, allowing Richard (the main character) to make 20 page long speeches directed at straw men that explain why Richard is the most moral being alive, communism sucks and capitalism is the shit. Not only is this "authorial voice" bullshit one of the worst things a writer can commit to writing, it is repetitive and hypocritical. Richard and Kahlan, the two main characters, do just about all the shit they condemn the evil bad guys for doing, such as torturing (including making one man eat his own testicles), killing inncocent civilians, kicking an eight year old girl in the face, killing children, and being all around dicks in general. Now, I don't mind good characters who do horrible things, or having grey characters as protagonists (which in fact I love), but don't tell me that your protagonists are the paragon of virtue and justify everything they do when they're in fact just as bad as the enemy.
Now, onto the next aspect of what I hate about Goodkind. In the earlier books; there is very little Objectivist philosophy crap that takes up 500 pages of the book and is simply repeated over and over again. Instead, there is the most unoriginaly fantasy story of all time. You have it all; from the simple little farmboy (in this case, a woods guide) who turns out to be the Messiah and who can do everything (in this case, the magic acts as a deus ex machina that allows Richard to actually do about everything; from kill 30 renowned warriors while he hasn't had any weapons training to making an antidote for a poison, based simply on how the poison tasted to him) to the disgruntled old wizard to the evil villain (of the first book) who turns out to be the protagonists father to about everything in the second book, Stone of Tears, which is basically a Wheel of Time book with different names for everything, and on it goes. Goodkind takes all these fantasy cliches and actually makes them worse through poor writing, cheesiness, qne general ineptitude. He then claims he is doing something original and has changed the fantasy genre. In summary, he hasn't. And when he does get original... Well, its somehow even worse. An evil chicken? A fucking goat who is noble? Jesus fucking Christ.
I have no idea why this series is so popular. Hell, even David Eddings and Terry Brooks, horrible writers and Tolkien plagiarists to the max do much better than this. There is so much better than this in the fantasy genre.
End rant.
And now, I'll reccomend some fantasy (and sci fi) books for both those who have only read the more traditional fantasy stuff, like Jordan, Eddings, Brooks, etc... and those like Lee who believe that the fantasy genre is all dumb stories of elves and men killing dragons. The speculative fiction genre is really so much more than that. Here I go:
George RR Martin- A Song of Ice and Fire (first book: A Game of Thrones). I can't reccomend this series enough. Minimal amounts of magic, incredible characterization, great politics a Medieval period in a fantasy novel that is actually like the Middle Ages, and a stupendous plot, with plenty of twists and a fast pace. Definitely reccomended.
R. Scott Bakker- The Prince of Nothing (first book: The Darkness That Comes Before). Historical philosophical fantasy, exploring the nature of belief, causality and religion during a holy war. Extremely depressing, but fantasy that will actually make you think (Bakker has his PHD in philosophy, and as a result, actually knows what he's doing/talking about, as opposed to many other authors).
Guy Gavriel Kay- The Sarantine Mosaic (first book: Sailing to Sarantium). You can't go wrong with a GGK book, but this duology is his best. Slow paced and following a mosaicist in an analogue to Byzantium under Justinian I. Excellent character development, politics and development of themes. I admit to crying something like 3-4 times.
That should get you folk started. Sorry if I went a bit overboard on the Goodkind rant, but damn does he piss me off. Check out these books. As for what I'm reading now:
Charles Dickens- Hard Times (for my 19th and 20th century history class)
, coz queers deserve to die for chosing to be gay! 
