I regularly take a break at the end of June, escaping the Texas heat for the glories of summer in rural New Hampshire where much of my family still lives. This trip was bittersweet this year. At the last minute, I had to make the journey alone while my wife and son stayed behind, and there are other changes afoot in my family as various members age and consider a move.
And there was, of course, the added stress of the presidential debate last week, which (for a wide variety of reasons) sent a lot of us into a spiral of anxiety. We’re all weary of politics these days, and overwhelmed by the world in general: the ongoing Palestinian crisis, the still-brutal war in Ukraine, the rich getting richer and the poor getting poorer. The debate, and the very valid concern about both candidates, was just one more stressor added to the pile.
So it was no wonder that sitting in a screen house in a New Hampshire field on a glorious day (temps in the mid-seventies, a cloudless blue sky, a cup of tea at my elbow), I sought comfort and started a re-read of my favorite series of fantasy novels – Steven Erikson’s Malazan Book of the Fallen.
Worlds to Conquer, Worlds to Share
If you’re unfamiliar with the Malazan series but enjoy fantasy novels, prepare to tumble down a deep rabbit hole.
The core of the Malazan Book of the Fallen is a ten-book series, all beefy tomes of 500-plus pages. Then there are additional books in the same universe – a complex prequel trilogy, a parallel series of stories by Erikson’s collaborator Ian C. Esslemont, and a series of shorter, more comedic novellas following the exploits of a pair of deadly and dangerous necromancers, Bauchelain and Korbal Broach.
If it all sounds overwhelming, it is – 29 books and counting, as of this writing. The world that Erikson and Esslemont have built is staggering in its complexity and density. There are hundreds of characters – gods, mages, soldiers, and peasants. Plotlines span multiple continents and stretch across millennia.
Dog-eared and much-loved!
And, most clearly and impressively, there are hundreds of thousands of years of detailed history of long-dead species and cultures, their echoes still reverberating down through the ages. The author’s background was in anthropology and archaeology; like Tolkien’s linguistic chops, Erikson’s academic credentials informed the nature of his fantasy writing.
The gaming connection, and one reason I’m writing about the books, is that the Malazan series started life as Erikson and Esslemont’s private role-playing campaign in the eighties. Anyone who’s played pen-and-paper games knows how a long-running campaign involves a ton of collaborative world-building. In fact, several of the key characters in the series are former player characters of Erikson and Esslemont.
The dedication in the first book, Gardens of the Moon, is to Erikson’s collaborator Ian Esslemont; it reads “worlds to conquer, worlds to share” – a pitch-perfect encapsulation of the feeling you get from pen-and-paper role-playing. The hobby lends itself to the creation of shared spaces where stories are told – where everyone at the table adds to the narrative.
In the core ten-book series, Erikson drops the reader into the action with no explanation. After a brief prologue, the story opens in the middle of a complex war of conquest with multiple factions and a legion of characters. Erikson glosses over significant elements of the setting – nations, religions, and the complex system of magic – as he jumps from one scene to the next.
A reasonable speculation is that Erikson made an amateur writing mistake, skipping necessary explanations because he was so personally familiar with his long-standing role-playing world. On re-reads of the series, I’ve concluded that there was far more purpose to Erikson’s choice.
The author exhibits genuine trust in his readers, expecting that they’ll roll with the odd fantasy terms and vague descriptions of magic. Keep up, Erikson says, because this story train is leaving the station – and you’ll get to your proper destination in the end.
Mr. Erikson’s Wild Ride
Over the next nine books – delivered to readers at a steady pace, demonstrating a writing discipline utterly absent from a certain popular modern fantasy author that shall not be named – Erikson makes good on that promise and then some.
The series spans multiple continents and introduces a dizzying cast of characters. It’s impossible to pick a favorite, though Trull Sengar, a warrior plagued with an unfortunate need to be truthful even to his detriment, became a personal hero of mine. If there’s a fantasy archetype you prefer, odds are there’s a character you’ll fall in love with somewhere in the story.
Malazan is a high-magic world and makes no apologies for it. The power curve is dizzying, with gods and mortal mages exhibiting abilities that make Gandalf look like a sideshow magician. Mysterious Warrens, the vaguely explained sources of magical powers, are worlds unto themselves; gods rise and fall, and new gods take their place.
Somehow, despite all the characters and hundreds of thousands of years of history, the story all comes together at the end – driving methodically to an ending in The Crippled God, the tenth book in the series, that’s satisfying, robust, and conclusive.
In a time when many big-name fantasy epics end with a whimper – or, worse, spin out a thin story across too many books – the core ten Malazan books feel elegantly planned and plotted at a level far beyond anything else on the market. On my second and third time through the series, I noticed new connections between threads and moments that laid the groundwork for dramatic events to come.
It’s a hell of an achievement, especially given the complex structure of the series – three major plot threads that only begin to come together in the sixth book.
of the side novellas. The Crippled
God is 900 pages of narrative climax!
The Gaming Connection
Game developers and anyone with any interest in fantasy literature should give the Malazan series a try. It’s a rare treat to experience world-building performed at this level. As a massive narrative that continually delivers fresh insights on a re-read, the series weaves a rich tapestry that rewards a reader’s investment.
Especially for gamers, it’s an inspirational series – showing how powerful a complex narrative that started life as a long-running pen-and-paper campaign can be.
In its best moments, the Malazan series demonstrates that, rather than the traditional Tolkien rip-offs that early D&D games farmed, there is space in gaming-inspired literature for deep stories with amazing characters and eminently quotable moments – content with enough weight, heft, and drama to satisfy the most demanding reader.
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