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Fantasy with Friends is a weekly meme hosted by the good people over at Pages Unbound. Fantasy with Friends poses questions each Monday about fantasy, either as a genre as a whole or individual works.

This week’s prompt is:

Are you a Brandon Sanderson fan? Some readers online have called his books the “fast food of fantasy?” Do you think that’s a valid criticism?

I am not a Brandon Sanderson fan. Mostly that’s due to my personal commitment issues. I’ve read 4 books by the man–one or two of my sons and I read The Reckoners trilogy some years back and I read The Frugal Wizard’s Handbook for Surviving Medieval England largely because of the title (and I wanted to read something by him that didn’t involve devoting a huge chunk of my life). I enjoyed all of them–some more than others, but there was nothing about them that made me “a fan”–nor am I a detractor. He seems like a nice guy who has had a lot of success and does a decent job of paying it forward. I’ve also heard his classes are more than worth the time.

Oh, I’ve also heard he’s masterful at taking a bunch of seemingly unconnected narrative threads and pulling them together in the last 10% or so of a book. Even if you know that’s his game, he can still really impress a reader the way he does it.

My friends and acquaintances that are into Sanderson do tend to make me wish I had the patience and bandwidth to try based on the way they talk about his stuff. But I don’t.

So why am I bothering to write a post this week? It’s because of the second part of the prompt.

Some readers online have called his books the “fast food of fantasy?” Do you think that’s a valid criticism?

First of all…I couldn’t find the short video I wanted to where Andrew Zimmern talks about his favorite fast food fries. But I did find this quotation/image at kitchenbusiness.com:

If you’ve ever seen Zimmern talk about food–you know that he knows a thing or two about a thing or two. And if he can talk for a few minutes about Fast Food French fries (and have positive things to say about some of them), there’s gotta be something there worth talking about. I’m pretty sure I could do the same thing with Alton Brown and others–I just remember Zimmern’s right now.

But that quotation speaks to my beef with the assumption of the question (and I don’t think that the nice people behind Pages Unbound concur with it, they’re trying to give us something to talk about)–fast food does not mean bad food. Fast food fantasy does not mean bad fantasy.

This goes beyond not trying to yuck someone’s yum. But it certainly starts there. Just knock off that kind of nonsense.

We’ve talked about what makes good Fantasy fiction in this series before–it should be some form of escapism (sure, it might be escapism in order to examine/critique our society, culture, whatever); probably have an element of magic; and take place in a world where things don’t quite work like ours, probably in at least some sort of fantastical fashion.

Can those things be done on a popular level with an easy entry point for readers of a wide variety of ages and education levels (not to mention familiarity with the tropes and conventions of fantasy), that don’t take a lot of intellectual vigor to get through the material, and possibly be more entertainment than anything? Yes. Can that be accomplished by a writer who shoves as many classical allusions into their language and characters as possible, drawing on myths and folklore from a variety of cultures, to create a scathing critique and challenge to the status quo in Western politics and power structures? Absolutely. I don’t think I want a steady diet of the latter–not sure I want a steady diet of the former, either. But give me a mix of both–along with a mix of other genres–and I’d be satisfied.

I think I should probably throw a couple of paragraphs in between the last two, but at this point, I think my point is made. But let me go back to the fast food idea for a second:

Today, I’d rather have some curly purple fries from Boise Fry Company with some of their custom ketchups and salts rather (to name one superior Fast Food fry). But there was a time in my life when fresh McDonald’s Fries (especially in a properly-filled Super-Sized sleeve) were one of the greatest culinary pleasures of my life. Now, I’m not there anymore. Partly because I think they’ve done something to the way they prep them–also, they don’t do a good job of filling the smaller sleeves now. But do I discount those earlier times? No. In fact, if I could hop in a TARDIS and have one right now (or is it right then?), I’d probably be pretty happy. A tasty fry is a tasty fry no matter if it comes in cardboard packaging or is served on a heavy plate by someone wearing a dress-shirt and tie.

And man, I really shouldn’t write using this metaphor so late at night…

So, sure, someone might “eat” a lot of Sanderson right now–but even he can’t put things out fast enough to satisfy people who only read Sanderson. So those people might decide to walk under the Golden Arches and head over to the place with the Ping Pong Ball head and read some McCaffrey, or just beyond that to the girl with red pigtails and try a Heather Fawcett book or two. Maybe they’ll want something more filling and try some Martin. Or they decide they want a particular texture and go for Brent Weeks or R.F. Kuang, or…. So let’s grant the whole Sanderson is fast food idea. At some point, a reader is going to want something else to eat–and will look for something like him, but not. And there are shelves and shelves of things that’ll fit. So leave his readers alone, and be ready to point them at something else they’ll like.

Of course, that’s my opinion. I could be wrong. Go read some of the other responses to this prompt.

Fantasy with Friends is a weekly meme hosted by the good people over at Pages Unbound. Fantasy with Friends poses questions each Monday about fantasy, either as a genre as a whole or individual works.

This week’s prompt is:

What are some of your favorite magical systems in fantasy? Do you like magic to be explained in detail or to be a bit vague? Do you think magic should have a “cost” or not?

I think the best way for me to tackle these three questions is all at once. But in general–I prefer magic to be at least a bit vague, otherwise it’s “science.” And I don’t know if it “should” have a cost, but most of the time, I enjoy it more when it does.

I really should’ve done more thinking ahead of time before trying to list favorite magic systems, I literally have no idea what I’m going to end up mentioning.

I really enjoy Newtonian magic as seen in The Rivers of London–and its cost to circuit boards and eventual cost to the brains of practitioners due to Thaumaturgical degradation. Although I have frequently been impatient at how long it takes Peter and others to make progress in learning the systems. At the same time, I’m intrigued by some of the other schools of magic that Peter is encountering.

On the other hand, the magic of Abercrombie’s The First Law is described so vaguely that it’s more mystery than system. Which reminds me of Tolkien’s lack of system (and, I believe, Shannara’s). It’s more magical if it can’t be explained by rules–it’s just something that happens in the way the user wants it to. There’s something inherently more interesting about that. (as fun as it is to wrap your brain around something).

I think Butcher gives us a good mix of mystery and rules in The Dresden Files and The Furies of Calderon. I think he’s on the way to giving us something similar in The Cinder Spires. Most of the cost there comes from exhaustion and the mental/physical toll taken in using it (oh, and to tech, too). You can learn a lot about the rules of this type of magic or that–here’s how potion-making work, here’s how fire magic works, etc. And then the Fury-based abilities of Calderon are just cool–even if it’s a little cheapened by everyone (except poor young Tavi) having some.

If there are rules to the magic in what Arcandius Moog does, I can’t see it. Which just makes it a joy to watch.

The clear divisions of magic abilities and classes in Benedict Jacka’s Alex Verus series are really cool to see. There are sort of rules to it all, but Jacka doesn’t give us a lot of info about it (which is just as good as there not being rules). We see how Alex uses his precognition, with a little bit of understanding of some of this allies’ abilities–but just some ideas.

Most of the magic in Jacka’s new series, Inheritance of Magic seems very rule-based, and is hard to describe as magic, it’s much more science-y. Now, I find it fascinating to watch Stephen’s autodidactic stumbling through it, don’t get me wrong. It’s just not as fun as the range-free stuff of others. The cost of this magic is primarily front-loaded, you have to have the right materials to form something–and I like that. Typically when I think of costs to magic, it’s personal cost to use it. But in this case, it’s about having all the stuff that goes into making a sigil.

That reminds me of the magic in Kevin Hearne’s Ink & Sigil books–there it’s about the materials, too. You have to know how to create the sigil, the right kind of inks to use, and then the best paper. The cost is simple–use a sigil and it’s gone. But as long as you have paper, ink, and a good pen–and the time to combine them–you’re good to go.

Then there’s the cost-heavy Seven Kennings trilogy by Hearne. Using magic takes time off of your life, people can age decades in a night if they use enough power. Seeing some people take those chances because they have to adds a lot to the drama of the situation. But it loses a few points for me by everyone having abilities.

Babel, or The Necessity of Violence: An Arcane History of the Oxford Translators’ Revolution has a very set-in-stone (or a precious metal) system. R. F. Kuang does a decent job of setting that up and explaining it to the reader overall. Especially when you consider that the magic system is of so little importance to the book. The cost to that magic is more of a moral and ethical thing than anything else. And that’s maybe a greater cost than some of the others on this list.

One more and then I’ll get off this ramble. M.L. Wang’s Blood Over Bright Haven has a great system to its magic. I was utterly fascinated by it and wanted more and more of it–well, until a certain point in the book where the protagonist, Sciona, really figures out the system for the first time. Then it becomes fascinating and horrifying. And the costs? Unthinkable. But I won’t say more than that. We’re all better off not knowing.

Time prevents me from getting into Raistlin’s magic, or the Kingkiller Chronicles’, or Dark Lord Davi’s magic (as fun as that might be). Or any of the others that might come to mind as I ramble on. But I think this is enough free-associating as I scan my bookshelves (and skip over more books than I want to).

I look forward to seeing what other people writing on this have to say. I expect to be reminded of a handful of things I should’ve remembered for this post, and to get some leads on new-to-me books.

Fantasy with Friends is a weekly meme hosted by the good people over at Pages Unbound. Fantasy with Friends poses questions each Monday about fantasy, either as a genre as a whole or individual works.

This week’s prompt is:

When reading a favorite fantasy series, which reading order would you recommend? For instance, when reading Narnia, do you think people should go by publication order or by chronological order? Or, if you like to recommend Tolkien, do you think readers should start with LotR or The Hobbit? Feel free to discuss any favorite fantasy series you have!

Generally speaking, for your first read it should always be in publication order. Period.

For re-reads, that’s up to the reader and their interests. Maybe once in chronological order, just for giggles. But that’s only on a re-read.

The exception I’d make to that (at this point in my life, I can think of one—I’m open to others) is reading The Lord of the Rings prior to The Hobbit. I came to LotR later in life than I should have—having been unable to get through The Hobbit in childhood. Yes, yes, I know—there are so many red flags raised by this admission. I have no defense. Anyway, in college, I had several friends tell me to skip The Hobbit and jump right to LotR. A few years later, I didn’t pay attention to them and started with it—and not only finished, but then went on to read the rest. As the two were clearly written for different audiences, it totally would’ve worked to do skip The Hobbit, LotR tells you everything you need know about its predecessor, and does so at the level of the rest of the series.

Narnia, on the other hand needs to be read in the publication order the first time. Spoilers ahead. In The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe, the reader—like the children—don’t understand who the witch is or who this Aslan everyone’s talking about it. You’re confused and in suspense just like them. If you, as some will tell you, read The Magician’s Nephew first—you will run into problems. 1. You won’t give a hoot about the lampstand bit. 2. You will know who Aslan is, how much greater his power is than the White Witch’s. So when everyone’s telling the children to wait for Aslan, the reader can go “oh yeah,” he’ll sort it out. 3. You’ll wonder why no one is using Jadis’ name—and really, someone who’s only known by a title rather than a name is more ominous. 4. The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe is a better book than The Magician’s Nephew and is more likely to get people to read on. There are likely better and more reasons along those lines, but I’ll save that for better writers than me—and I need to get going anyway.

Yes, there’s that letter that Lewis wrote to a young reader where he said he didn’t care, but suggests the chronological order. I’d point out that Lewis isn’t infallible. But also, he’s writing to someone who’d read the books at least 4 times. Not a new reader.

Before I get into things more—let me talk about a couple of other series.

Let’s start with Harry Connolly’s Dark Fantasy/Urban Fantasy series, Twenty Palaces. Del Rey published three books in the series and decided not to continue (tragically, oh, so tragically). We pick up with our protagonist after he’s been on a mission with an enforcer of a society that controls/polices magic for some time. After Del Rey declined to continue the series, Connolly published a prequel where the protagonist meets the enforcer. Frankly, I cared more about Annalise coming into Ray’s life as a flashback. You can stomach the way she treats Ray when she first meets him better than if that were your intro to her. Seeing Ray get his first/only spell is more enjoyable when you’ve seen it in action, etc.

The next series isn’t fantasy. But it’ll make my point better. Gregory Mcdonald’s Fletch series (don’t judge them by the Chase movies, which are fine for what they are, but they can’t hold a candle to the books). Here are the two orders to choose from:

Publication Order of Fletch Books

Chronological Order of Fletch Books

source: Book Series in Order

I’d add that reading them in any order works, too. When I first encountered the series, Fletch Won hadn’t been published, and I got the rest in a haphazard fashion by buying whatever was available at a used bookstore or two. Now, Fletch is the best way to encounter the character for the first time. I’d argue that the publication order is a really good way to read them—with the random way I stumbled onto coming in a close second (although you should do Fletch Won and Fletch, Too last even then). Like with The Magician’s Nephew, Fletch Won answers questions raised by Fletch and maybe Fletch and the Widow Bradley. And that’s a big factor. But the biggest is that when Carioca Fletch (a direct sequel to Fletch—starting hours after it) Mcdonald starts flexing different authorial muscles, and his storytelling shifts. Fletch Won is closer to the style of the other books in the series, but is still closer to Carioca. Fletch, Too is clearly more of the same kind of storytelling that started in Carioca—it’s deeper, not as dialogue-driven, there’s more atmosphere, it’s about the locale as much as it is the story and characters. Also, there’s a lack of concern for news stories, which is a driving force in the others.

This gets us back to my main point—prequels come along and explain things that the reader already knows—no one cares about the lampstand in Nephew, no one will care about the origin of Ray’s Ghost Knife (well, it’s a fun scene regardless, but you won’t care as much), or no one will care about Fletch meeting a woman right before his wedding if we don’t already know that the new woman will be his second ex-wife. If you read them in publication order, on the other hand…

But all three point to something else—the author has grown, their ideas about the series have matured and changed—in some cases, the first book or two were written without any plan of books to come in the series, and were written that way. It’s only in retrospect that an author decides to go back and explain some things—or play with things we already know.

Of course, that’s just my opinion; I could be wrong. I look forward to seeing what other people writing on this have to say. I expect it to be better (and likely shorter) than this..