If you passed through Iowa City in the mid-2010s, you might encounter a lanky, baseball-hatted kid in a tie-dye Hawkeyes sweatshirt (me) loping alongside his giant afroed friend Ryan, yapping about fantasy books and other nerdy potpourri. To be fair, that is a likely sighting on any liberal arts college campus, but it’s where today’s story takes place.
I was entrenched in the world of YA fantasy back then, which I say as a simple statement of fact with no judgment for the category itself. I loved that stuff, man. Peter and the Starcatchers, The Ranger’s Apprentice…hoo boy, that was my shit.
Ryan preferred what he called the greener pastures of fantasy. Epic worlds full of foreign cultures and powerful, scary magic. Heroes being heroes simply by virtue of deciding to do something. His passion captivated me, and I eagerly slurped up his recommendations like the garlicky dregs of a spicy tonkatsu ramen.
And so, bright-eyed and eager to see what the fuss was about, I first encountered Steven Erikson’s Malazan Book of the Fallen.
I read Gardens of the Moon. Ryan would ask me about it, and I’d gush over the book to him. The world was so massive! The characters were so cool! The magic was siiiiick, brah! I went to a Steven Erikson reading at a local bookstore and sat like a cold-stunned iguana while Ryan asked insanely detailed questions about the series.
In reality, I understood virtually nothing of what was going on. Don’t get me wrong, I did enjoy many things about the book. I was a Tattersail stan. Warrens as a system of magic riveted me. The names and cultures were all so intriguing. As for the plot, themes, and subtext? Whoosh. That’s the sound of hundreds of thousands of words whizzing right over my head in one fell swoop.
I praised the book. I even gave it a rave review on my then-blog, glossing over the fact that I understood maybe 10% of what happened. I read the next two and understood/remembered even less! What the hell was wrong with me? Deadhouse Gates? I remember one character’s name. Memories of Ice? Don’t have ‘em!
I won’t fault myself for these failings. This was over 15 years ago, and my mindhole has been filled with millions of words in the interim. Lately, though, my Malazan bounce-off has been on my heart. Clever readers may surmise that this is because I’m now reading the series in full with the QTL writers and some of our friends. I remember my first try not as a fantasy fan or a book reviewer, but as an older, wiser, sexier, more self-aware version of myself.
Back then, I was anxious. Yeah, I’m still anxious, but I’m also in therapy, medicated, and surrounded by love and support. Then, my anxiety reached into the world on my behalf, eager to people-please and earn validation others were already willing to give me. I wanted to impress Ryan because I admired his taste in books and his ideas about storytelling. I couldn’t break through my own mental walls enough to tell him, “Yo, I don’t understand what’s going on here, maybe this isn’t for me yet.” I was yearning for his approval despite hanging out often and enjoying our time together, sucking on a hookah and blowing smoke rings in between dumbass diatribes about one thing or another.
It would be years before I identified my anxiety and began to treat it. Today, I feel great. I’m reading Malazan with friends who love me (and whose approval I know I have, with the notable exception of Alex. I’m working on it, buddy). I’m a different guy now, and I have a whole buttload of beefy fantasy tomes under my belt.
The first time, I was chasing the feeling of being a “serious fantasy reader” in someone else’s eyes. Now, I just want to enjoy a seminal series with like-minded folks.
This time around, the confusion is part of the process. It pays off (sometimes multiple books later), and I have a cabal of trustworthy experts I can rely on to help me fill in any gaps. I’m deep into Deadhouse Gates, and I’m having a gosh-darned blast. I’m not chasing the anxious urge to please. Malazan makes sense to me now, but it hasn’t changed. I have. I returned to the world for the right reasons and with the right headspace.
I lost touch with Ryan soon after college, but I’ve never forgotten his passion for fantasy. On the very small chance that you read this, man, I hope all is well.
You were right about Malazan. I just needed to get there on my own time.
As Erikson and his writing partner say, “Worlds to conquer, worlds to share.”
