I just finished reading The Dying Earth, by Jack Vance. It’s the first of four Dying Earth novels. The book caught my eye on my bookshelf the other day and lately I’ve, amazingly, had the attention span to read again. I wasn’t sure how long I’ve had the book or if I’d bought it myself or put it on my wish-list and received it as a gift at some point. When I opened it to read, I found a bookmark inside from Jo’s grandpa’s funeral in 2011, so odds are I’ve had it since at least then. Nothing like ordering a book to read 12 years later. I’m sure this isn’t the only one. Anyway, on to the book review!

As I began reading, I was somewhat put off by the excessively obscure word selection that had me looking up another word every few pages. But once I got into the flow of it, I fell in love with Vance’s old-school approach to writing. What might have taken another writer a chapter or even a whole book is often covered in just a page. I’ve always enjoyed this style of writing, whether it be Michael Moorcock’s Elric series, Fritz Leiber’s Fafhrd and the Mouser tales, or Fred Saberhagen’s berserker series, I’ve frequently fallen in love with stories that aren’t afraid to tell instead of showing in excruciating detail. The fountain of creativity almost puts Pratchett to shame, although that’s partly from the unhinged nonsensical nature of much of the stories. Can anyone tell me why so many wizards are trying to make people?

In a shocking turn of events, this turned out to be a book of short stories and I loved it. I have never particularly liked short stories. I feel inspired to try my hand at writing one.

Chun the Unavoidable certainly lived up to his name. Liane’s fate was rather satisfying. Most of the stories had a refreshingly happy ending, which has sadly been deemed an unacceptable outcome by too many writers. I know most people aren’t wired to enjoy this kind of writing, but there exists in my mind a void which aches for it. Or something like that.