In the Beginning…

I was never much of a reader growing up.  I got sucked into video games, anime and a general malaise that kept me away from books, but that didn’t stop me from thinking I was unread and couldn’t write.  Now that I’m a little older and embracing modern technology (Kindle, not the cursed iPad), I find myself reading more and more.

And what have I been reading?  Great works of literature?  Dickens?  Proust?  No.  That stuff, although brilliant (at least I’ve heard Proust is brilliant), doesn’t appeal to me at the moment.  Although I feel slightly ashamed to admit it, I’ve been reading a lot of science-fiction and fantasy.

Why should I be ashamed, you ask again?  My you are a nosy one, but I don’t know the answer exactly.  Either I have been convinced or I have convinced myself that sci-fi/fantasy is a low art when it comes to novels, yet the more I read the more I realize that it isn’t true.  Yes, there’s lots of crap out there, you get that with any genre, but pure, unbridled fantasy can be a welcome and magical escape from the real world.

I base my life on the real, science and the hear-and-now, but fantasy novels are a vessel to another world.  Worlds were sorcerers rule the hearts of men, where subjugating dictators conquer other lands, and where the everyman rises to confront the evil.

Here are the books I am currently going through:

Gardens of the Moon by Steven Erkison

Tigana by Guy Gavriel Kay 

I’ll write reviews when I’ve finished, but initial impressions are: highly addictive.


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