Not A Blog™

[This classic Not A Blog entry was originally published on December 14, 2005.]

In an effort to see just what this fantasy writing business is all about, I recently decided to take the plunge and read one. Someone must be doing something right, right? Well, maybe someone is, but that someone wasn’t the book I selected.

The first fantasy book I found was one laying around my house. One of my siblings was reading it, no doubt, so I decided to give it a shot and see what I’ve been missing. In the process of doing this, I set a new record.

It is a matter of personal pride that I finish books that I start. There has—up to this point—only been one book that I started which I didn’t finish. It was absolutely horrible, and I gave up after a few chapters.

Well, it’s a rather dubious distinction to say I’ve added a second book to this list. Be aware that when I started reading this book, I absolutely intended to read it. I never once thought I would put it down, unfinished. It was going to be bad, I knew. The summary on the back of the book told me that much. But I clearly didn’t realize how bad. Fully intending to read the entire 430 pages of fantasy contained therein, I could not continue after the first paragraph.

How bad is this first paragraph? Well, we have standards here at this humble Not A Blog™, but I shall relax them just this once.

The book in question is A Darkness at Sethanon by Raymond E. Feist.

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The wind came from nowhere. Ringing into existence with the reverberation of a hammer striking doom, it carried the heat of a forge that fashioned hot war and searing death, It [sic] came into being in the heart of a lost land, emerging from some strange place between that which is and that which seeks to be. It blew from the south where snakes walked upright and spoke ancient words. Angry, it stank of ancient evil, echoing with long-forgotten prophecies. In a frenzy, the wind spun, swirling out of the void seeking a course; then it paused, then it blew northward.

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Wow. Just: wow. I find it impossible to believe that this was actually published; that I’m holding a copy as I type (not really); and that I actually spent time reading it, however fleeting.

Let’s deconstruct, shall we? Sixteen words in, Feist has introduced that old fantasy standby: the word “doom”. I suppose a hammer could strike doom the way it could strike happiness or boredom or indignation, which is to say it can’t strike doom. Perhaps it could strike doom into the hearts of men, or boredom into the hands of children, but to be honest, he lost me when he compares wind blowing with a hammer striking doom itself. I’ll bet the doom is ticked.

Note the inclusion of [sic], indicating that, yes, the second sentence of the book is a run on sentence with incorrect capitalization. This seems to indicate that it’s actually a typesetter’s error and there should have been a period there rather than a comma, but it wouldn’t really make a difference. Even if we give Feist the benefit of the doubt here, he still runs-on the last sentence in the paragraph, so it’s not much of an improvement.

By the time we reach sentence three, we can definitively claim that Feist really has no idea what he’s talking about, even in his own book. Sentence one: “The wind came from nowhere.” Sentence two: “…It came into being in the heart of a lost land…” Sentence three: “It blew from the south…”

Well?? Which is it? I suppose “the heart of a lost land” and “the south where snakes walked upright” could, conceivably, be the same place, although if you knew the lost land was in the south it wouldn’t be lost anymore. But you can’t have no place and some other place. I can understand wanting to be poetic and mysterious. Oh! It’s fantasy! Let’s make it mysterious! But it should also make sense.

And then, just when I think it can’t possibly get any worse, we reach sentence five.

In a frenzy, the wind spun, swirling out of the void seeking a course; then it paused, then it blew northward.

Then it PAUSED? PAUSED?! Correct me if I’m wrong, but if wind paused, IT WOULDN’T BE WIND ANY MORE, WOULD IT? How the hell is wind supposed to pause?

And top it all off, the wind blew northward. Wait—where was it coming from before? Ah, yes, the south. So, let’s see. A wind blowing from the south is blowing, well, to the north. So it paused to find its course, then decides to blow north? It was already blowing north!

Let’s see what we know at this point in the story. There’s this wind. It came from nowhere, but it actually came from a lost land, except it blew from the south. It was blowing north, but it paused to seek out a course, which it determined should be north.

Keep in mind, that is the first paragraph. At this point I was so flabbergasted by reading this that I couldn’t continue. There’s no way. I can’t take this crap seriously. How did this moron get published? How? Someone tell me. This is the most ridiculous paragraph I’ve ever read, and it’s clear the author meant it seriously. Maybe—I like to think—that he knew it was stupid, and laughed all the way to the bank. But I’m not buying it. Edgar Rice Burroughs did that. Feist is no Burroughs.

Checking Feist’s website, I’m horrified to read he’s sold fifteen million copies of this kind of nonsense. They’re best sellers. I’m depressed.

-Ted