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Here’s a cleaned up review I posted yesterday (minor spoilers ahead):
These books are for a very specific reader. I have multiple friends who are those readers, but I am not one of them. To begin with, they’re badly in need of an editor. I think about 30% of them could be trimmed with no loss of narrative or even world-building. They are needlessly wordy.
Malazan was originally created for a GURPS campaign and, oh boy, does it feel like it. Many characters ramble or talk with annoying tabletop idiosyncrasies that work fine among friends, but does not translate well to a novel. Iskaral Pust is the worst example, but there are so many variations on that character you can practically spot the player that created them every time. The pre-story background for the Malazan Empire itself feels like an incredibly annoying tabletop conceit: a bunch of adventurers in a tavern decided to create an empire. They combine a bunch of magical McGuffins and incorporate modern tactics and strategies and basically go on to take over a significant chunk of the world. For a series that prides itself on its seriousness and ponderous history, this is such an unbelievably dumb foundation.
These books are graphic and violent to the point of feeling like torture porn in novel form. While Karsa Orlong’s introduction is especially repugnant and noteworthy, I’m reminded of smaller scenes, such as Felisin getting attacked out of nowhere by a swarm of magical blood flies. It’s long, it’s graphic and, honestly, it served no narrative link to the events surrounding it. They just show up and attack one character in particular and vanish, never to be a thing again. These books have a deep, unsettling fascination with violence and pain.
They are intentionally confusing. This may be a selling point to some, who like a narratively consistent world, but don’t like having characters spell out the rules of the universe in exposition, ala Brandon Sanderson. For me, this occasionally really works, as you labor to understand what’s even going on and then suddenly break through; it can feel very rewarding. Other times you realize there will never be an explanation or a reason and that can be deeply frustrating when confronted with bad characterizations that could be acceptable with a proper explanation.
In short, I don’t think Erikson knows when to pull back and allow less to be more. Instead, he feels compelled to give every nitty, gritty detail whether it’s important or not. I don’t think Erikson actually likes the violence or suffering, far too often you see this compassion bleeding through. Despite singling out the woman for an extended, horrific and disgusting blood fly attack, he spends much of the book trying to defend her from the abuses of the patriarchy. Despite war and violence seeming glorified for page after page, we meet characters like the Redeemer, who offers us a glimpse into a better way of living. We often see the results of these conflicts, during the Chain of Dogs, The Snake, or the simple, powerful line, “Children are dying.”
I believe Malazan is just in desperate need of a really good editor. Someone who could battle against Erikson’s attention to unnecessary detail. If you don’t mind a slog, if you can separate yourself from the characters and their suffering, and if you don’t mind the occasional tabletop RPG motif, then Malazan offers a wondrous window into an intensely creative and unique world.
Here’s a cleaned up review I posted yesterday (minor spoilers ahead):
These books are for a very specific reader. I have multiple friends who are those readers, but I am not one of them. To begin with, they’re badly in need of an editor. I think about 30% of them could be trimmed with no loss of narrative or even world-building. They are needlessly wordy.
Malazan was originally created for a GURPS campaign and, oh boy, does it feel like it. Many characters ramble or talk with annoying tabletop idiosyncrasies that work fine among friends, but does not translate well to a novel. Iskaral Pust is the worst example, but there are so many variations on that character you can practically spot the player that created them every time. The pre-story background for the Malazan Empire itself feels like an incredibly annoying tabletop conceit: a bunch of adventurers in a tavern decided to create an empire. They combine a bunch of magical McGuffins and incorporate modern tactics and strategies and basically go on to take over a significant chunk of the world. For a series that prides itself on its seriousness and ponderous history, this is such an unbelievably dumb foundation.
These books are graphic and violent to the point of feeling like torture porn in novel form. While Karsa Orlong’s introduction is especially repugnant and noteworthy, I’m reminded of smaller scenes, such as Felisin getting attacked out of nowhere by a swarm of magical blood flies. It’s long, it’s graphic and, honestly, it served no narrative link to the events surrounding it. They just show up and attack one character in particular and vanish, never to be a thing again. These books have a deep, unsettling fascination with violence and pain.
They are intentionally confusing. This may be a selling point to some, who like a narratively consistent world, but don’t like having characters spell out the rules of the universe in exposition, ala Brandon Sanderson. For me, this occasionally really works, as you labor to understand what’s even going on and then suddenly break through; it can feel very rewarding. Other times you realize there will never be an explanation or a reason and that can be deeply frustrating when confronted with bad characterizations that could be acceptable with a proper explanation.
In short, I don’t think Erikson knows when to pull back and allow less to be more. Instead, he feels compelled to give every nitty, gritty detail whether it’s important or not. I don’t think Erikson actually likes the violence or suffering, far too often you see this compassion bleeding through. Despite singling out the woman for an extended, horrific and disgusting blood fly attack, he spends much of the book trying to defend her from the abuses of the patriarchy. Despite war and violence seeming glorified for page after page, we meet characters like the Redeemer, who offers us a glimpse into a better way of living. We often see the results of these conflicts, during the Chain of Dogs, The Snake, or the simple, powerful line, “Children are dying.”
I believe Malazan is just in desperate need of a really good editor. Someone who could battle against Erikson’s attention to unnecessary detail. If you don’t mind a slog, if you can separate yourself from the characters and their suffering, and if you don’t mind the occasional tabletop RPG motif, then Malazan offers a wondrous window into an intensely creative and unique world.