Book Review -- THREE HEARTS AND THREE LIONS by Poul Anderson

In 1953 a novella was featured in F&SF magazine about a Danish engineer who was knocked out during a battle in World War II against the Germans and awoke to find himself a famous and legendary knight errant in a fantastic version of medieval Europe. It appeared sixteen years after J.R.R. Tolkien had published The Hobbit, and one year before The Fellowship of the Ring. It was later given the full treatment and published as a novel in 1961.

This work is considered highly seminal in the development of 20th century fantasy. It is credited with having had a very heavy impact on E. Gary Gygax and Dave Arneson, designers of role-playing game Dungeons & Dragons, inspiring the character class of paladin, the D&D alignment system (especially the original Law-Chaos dichotomy), and the D&D regenerating troll that can only be killed by fire.

Anderson structures his plot in a manner similar to A Connecticut Yankee in King Arthur's Court, with the man-out-of-time-and-place being whacked into a mythic world. He frames the tale as being related by a third party and acquaintance of Holger Carlsen (the protagonist). This frame only really matters in the very beginning and very ending, and the Holger's friend slips into the role of the typical limited subjective narrator. And much like Hank Morgan, Holger's modern scientific know-how gets him out of a few tight jams and saves both himself and his companions--a dwarf and a swan-may with Scottish accents.

All-in-all, the book isn't terrible, but it isn't amazing. Anderson's prose is, I guess, the Asimovian "clear-as-glass" style that so many modern fantasists and science-fiction writers employ. The overall effect is alright, but nothing to write home about. Holger is a pretty consistent character--his earthly experiences have certainly tainted his view of life and events in the fantasy realm in which he finds himself. He's torn between his earthly pragmatism and scientific skepticism as an engineer, and the faith and religiosity of the crusading knight. I can see how he was Gygax's inspiration for the paladin class (people ask him to lay hands on them, for example), but Holger's "lawful" behavior is a product of his earthly training in scientific methodology, not any sort of theological certainty. Indeed, Holger never struck me as a very faithful and virtuous character--just a man who was trying to get home. His courage and bravery, as well as his moral fiber, aren't the stuff of legend, but much more earthy and practical--this makes Anderson's story quite enjoyable and a tad subversive, but again, I see some strain between Holger's character and the paladin of Gygax and Arneson's D&D. Holger's no saint--he's horny and he is a tad unscrupulous, but overall he's honest and a definite do-gooder.

Anderson's channelling of epic medieval romance is excellent. His portrayal of the elves and fairy, his reminder that iron is anathema to them, and the sense of timelessness and chaotic transistasis that the fair folk inhabit is rendered quite well, and helps to create a wonderful sense of atmosphere. Readers should expect lots of magic, enchantment, monsters, spellbound castles, alluring sorceresses, and lots of other staples of romantic medieval adventure.

The ending, however, is a huge let-down. There's all this buildup, but it really doesn't amount to much. The book reads more like the beginning of a saga, which Anderson simply resolves rather swiftly with a brief, forced, and disappointing summary. There's little payoff, and it all comes off as depressingly anti-climatic. What the book really needed was a cliffhanger ending and a sequel where Holger really comes into his own, but we're never given that. All this development takes place throughout the book, but it leads nowhere in the end. Perhaps we're supposed to feel the lurching displacement that Holger himself feels in the end, but I'm not so certain, and I don't think it really works.

Overall, the book is quite enjoyable. It's not very original, it doesn't exhibit breathtakingly epic prose, and the characters (except for Holger) are not especially deep. It's not an incredible piece of fantasy, but it definitely has some value and deserves to be read at least once. I certainly liked it well enough to recommend it.


Three Hearts and Three Lions by Poul Anderson
Style B-
Substance B-
Overall B-

Book Review -- THIEVES' HOUSE: TALES OF FAFHRD AND THE GRAY MOUSER by Fritz Leiber

About a month ago, I logged in my review of Lankhmar, the first volume of White Wolf Publishing's Borealis Legends collection of Fritz Leiber stories concerning Fafhrd and the Gray Mouser. That first volume was primarily comprised of origin stories written decades after Leiber originally published "Two Sought Adventure" (now titled "The Jewels in the Forest") and tie-ins.

Thieves' House picks up chronologically where "The Jewels in the Forest" ended in volume 1. It is comprised of most of Swords Against Death and Swords in the Mist, Leiber's earlier (and more well-known) anthologies. The stories themselves vary in quality, but there is very little in the way of tie-ins now that most of the backstory has been dealt with in the first volume. The stories also vary in time of writing, and Leiber's voice changes with them. His prose is more turgidly purple and forced in the later stories (such as 1970's "The Price of Pain-Ease"), although his sense of humor has, by then, developed more keenly. It creates the impression that Leiber might very well be lampooning himself an his characters as one reads through the stories.

The eponymous tale, Thieves' House, is the fifth Fafhrd and the Gray Mouser tale published by Leiber, and opens up this particular volume. Chronologically, the two adventurers find themselves returning to the Thieves' House, although for Leiber in 1943, this was his first foray and it is likely this tale saw editing in order to better fit the author's timeline. As Fafhrd and the Gray Mouser stories go, this is nearly as excellent as the later novella Ill-Met in Lankhmar, and the main reason is because of the Thieves' House itself. Leiber managed to create a labyrinthine setting come to life in less than 40 pages, filling it with secret passages, crypts, and dungeons enough to make the reader want to go in and explore, and then sprinkles a deep, lengthy history of the Thieves' Guild into the setting, spicing it further.

"The Bleak Shore" (1940), Leiber's second publication for the two heroes, wasn't bad but it disappointingly ended just as soon as it was getting good. This story had more of a pot-boiler quality, and the final premise and ultimate villain were both weak. Though the action was well-described, it felt as though it was cut short and would have benefited from a slightly longer and more developed climax.

"The Howling Tower" (1941) is quite nearly as pulpy and good as "The Jewels in the Forest." Leiber touches on some of the darker workings of the inner soul here, examining how fear, hate, and loathing can fuel evil, and how evil begets more evil. Not a profound work, but interesting, still. Sorcery in pulp is simply at its best when it is driven by dark obsession and tragedy, and in that regard, "The Howling Tower" delivers.

"The Sunken Land" (1942) was mediocre. Leiber gropes for a mix of mythical Atlantis and Lovecraft's R'lyeh, but falls short. However, the ending could have been the inspiration for the cloaker in Dungeons & Dragons. The problem here, as with "The Bleak Shore," is simply a problem of development. A Viking longship hell-bent on plundering the riches of lost Atlantis and finding R'lyeh instead is a fantastic idea. But Leiber doesn't develop enough beyond the two roguish protagonists for us to feel anything about the Northerner crew or their fate. Only a few pages are devoted to exploration before the just desserts are served, leaving this story pretty flat at the end.

"The Seven Black Priests" (1953) sees Fafhrd and the Gray Mouser wandering through the mountains of the cold north. Fafhrd gets to carry around the idiot ball, but in this case, it's actually a real Mac Guffin. And it doesn't really make him stupid, just... malleable. Lots of combat and near-misses, although, again, Leiber disappoints by not developing the villains enough. The story ends with the reader wanting more.

"Claws in the Night" (1951, originally titled "Dark Vengeance") is a superb example of how Leiber can excel. The story is artfully woven together by the author, who writes a tightly paced tale, full of intrigue, mystery, and suspense. It is a story in which nothing is wasted--Leiber satisfactorily utilizes every single plot element he introduces to assemble a great tale that's excitingly paced. Fafhrd and the Mouser are well-defined by this tale, and both work together and play well off one-another's strengths and weaknesses.

"The Price of Pain-Ease" (1970) comes off as pure filler, much like "The Circle Curse" (1970). We've just been through several stories in which Fafhrd and the Gray Mouser have never once mentioned or dealt with their tragic loss experienced in Ill-Met in Lankhmar. Why Leiber felt it necessary to include this tale is something I don't really understand, but it doesn't really accomplish much for the characters. By now, the reader sees their losses as having shaped their personae and doesn't need the author to come down and fix it for them. So much for the flimsy purpose of the tale, the premise is just far-fetched and poorly executed. What could have been a journey into the underworld (like in Homer's Odyssey or Virgil's Aeneid) was too brief and undeveloped. Fafhrd and the Gray Mouser's "wizard mentors" come off more annoying than helpful.

"Bazaar of the Bizarre" (1963) is actually one of my favorite stories, although the Mouser ends up grabbing the idiot ball halfway through the story and runs with it as hard and fast as he can. And Leiber suddenly bursts out and uses an obscure word at least twice ("coolth"). The tone is nearly Pythonesque, and it is annoying seeing the Mouser and Fafhrd reduced from skilled thieves and cunning rogues (like in "Claws of the Night") to teenage errand-boys for the two wizards. Nevertheless, the idea of such a bazaar is pretty cool, and through the two annoying wizards, Leiber describes who built it, why, and why Fafhrd must destroy it. The combat is exhilarating and the description of the bazaar itself is keen and fascinating (at least, the bazaar the Mouser sees).

"The Cloud of Hate" (1963) was taken from the Swords in the Mist anthology, as was "Lean Times in Lankhmar" (1953). The former was acceptable, although, again, the villain's motivation was unclear, and a lot of questions remained undealt with (such as, how could such a temple, with such a huge congregation, go unnoticed). The Mouser and Fafhrd are the highlight of this piece, as their banter is enjoyable to read and their cunning and resourcefulness makes for a sharp, climactic action sequence.

The latter closes this particular volume on an extremely high note. "Lean Times in Lankhmar" is a long story that takes its time, develops fully, and blossoms into fruition. Leiber punctuates certain passages with purple prose, but the prose is not turgid enough to be grotesque, but rather comical. This story is probably one of Leiber's best. It is also a pretty thinly veiled commentary on religion, but that does not stop it from being a great story with a near-perfect ending.

Leiber's characters rarely carry around the idiot ball ("Bazaar of the Bizarre" notwithstanding), although Fafhrd's stubbornness and the Mouser's recklessness and hubris, though not as overwhelming in the previous volume's tie-in stories, are still enough to get them into lots of trouble. They display a resourcefulness and adaptability that keeps them one or two steps ahead of their opponents, and a kind of selfish interest that makes them believable rogues. The overall theme of sadness and loss is not present in this volume, despite the presence of "The Price of Pain-Ease." Leiber's more recent stories are written in a much less serious or adventuresome tone, instead being nearly comical and at times nearly lampooning itself. This detracts from the overall sword & sorcery feel of the book, slipping it into a more lighthearted self-mockery approaching the styles of Terry Pratchett or Douglas Adams.

Leiber's biggest weakness as a writer is that he cuts off more than he can chew with plot premises. This is why stories like "The Sunken Land" and "The Price of Pain-Ease" fail so dismally, especially when contrasted with his well-developed and excellently-paced tales, such as "The Jewels in the Forest," "Snow Women," "Lean Times in Lankhmar," and Ill-Met in Lankhmar. "The Sunken Land," perhaps, should have been expanded and better explored; similarly, "The Price of Pain-Ease" could have provided more internal conflict and eventually peace had it been done differently. When Leiber shines, man does he shine. But when he doesn't, he's lackluster. I got the feeling that many of these stories were simply written for a paycheck because they don't evince the love and attention-to-detail that some of his more well-developed tales. Leiber's a great storyteller, but it seems to be only when he wants to be. The rest of the time, he's an okay storyteller.

What redeems these lackluster stories are the characters themselves. Leiber can write Fafhrd and the Gray Mouser well. By the 1950s, he knows quite well who they are and how they interact, both with one-another and with the world around them. Cagey fighters and lethal swordsmen, there is a reason the Mouser and Fafhrd are two of the most iconic sword & sorcery characters ever to see print. When you read the stories, the two characters get along like old friends and compatriots. They feel real, have conversations with one-another that are believable, and know one-another inside-and-out. Their combat styles dovetail beautifully; Leiber scrawls fight-scenes where the two adventurers are constantly rescuing one-another from danger, deflecting lethal thrusts, and skewering opponents attacking the other's blind-side. Leiber's creations have aged well, I should add. Though I'm much older than I had been when I first read these stories a decade ago, I find them to be just as exciting and interesting today, as I did then, despite the flaws my more trained and literary mind detects.

Thieves' House: Tales of Fafhrd and the Gray Mouser by Fritz Leiber
Style B
Substance B
Overall B

Book Review--LANKHMAR: TALES OF FAFHRD AND THE GREY MOUSER

When legendary science-fiction/fantasy author Fritz Leiber first put pen to paper, it was with the intention to create a duo of fantasy adventurers that were far more realistic than many other, similar characters that could be found in the pulps and novels of early 20th century American fiction. Fafhrd and the Gray Mouser were birthed in 1939, with the publication of "Two Sought Adventure" (subsequently retitled as "Jewels in the Forest") in Unknown. In the years immediately prior to the American entry into World War II, Leiber went on to publish two more stories, "The Bleak Shore" (1940) and "The Howling Tower" (1941). During the 1940s, only a few more Fafhrd and Gray Mouser stories saw print, "The Sunken Land" (1942) and the novella Adept's Gambit (1947).

It wasn't until the 1960s and 1970s that Leiber began to prolifically produce stories of Fafhrd and the Gray Mouser. Soon, they became iconic of the post-Tolkien pulp-fiction world of the mid-to-late 20th century. Scoundrels, self-serving, and yet each possessing a heart of gold, Fafhrd and the Gray Mouser adventured across the surface of their world, Nehwon, but were always called back to mysterious Lankhmar, the City of the Black Toga, the City of Sevenscore Thousand Smokes.

When, in 2000, White Wolf Publishing, makers of now-discontinued Vampire: The Masquerade, decided to repackage and republish Leiber's original stories in slightly different collections, it was tied into the upcoming release of Exalted as a sort of inspiration source for their forthcoming product. Indeed, as inspirations go, the tales of Fafhrd and the Gray Mouser provided inspiration to E. Gary Gygax and Dave Arneson in their creation of the fantasy role-playing game Dungeons & Dragons (see my entry on Appendix N).

Lankhmar: Tales of Fafhrd and the Gray Mouser by Fritz Leiber
Contained in this volume are only a handful of Leiber's stories. Most were written late in Leiber's career, and as tie-ins to explain the origins of the characters and their purpose for adventuring. Originally collected together in a volume titled Swords and Deviltry, White Wolf also chose to include the first two stories from Swords Against Death. For a first-rate assessment of these first two volumes, check out Justin Alexander's review on The Alexandrian.

The quality of each of the stories varies as much as the tone, but generally, the overall theme is one of sadness and loss.

The collection starts with a map of Nehwon and two poems entitled "The Gray Mouser: 1" and "2," followed by a brief "Introduction," in which Leiber, in fanciful style, describes the world of Nehwon. Its primary purpose is to set the mood and prime the reader's imagination for adventure and exploration.

Then the actual storytelling begins, with "The Snow Women" (first published in Fantastic, 1970). Leiber describes a people that seem an amalgam of Viking and Inuit, merging the piracy and fierceness with simplicity of life and adaptation to a frigid wasteland environment. Fafhrd is introduced as a youth of eighteen years, not yet considered a man, but plagued by his controlling mother and her coven of witch-women. The tale is one of tragedy and liberation, and is brilliantly told. Fafhrd's dilemma between love and wanderlust, between duty and repression, is exacerbated by the treatment he receives at the hands of many of the other tribesmen. In the end, Fafhrd gets his freedom, but at a price, and he learns of deceitfulness and treachery.

The second story, "The Unholy Grail," is much more straightforward, much less full of twists, turns, and is also much shorter than its predecessor. In-all, it isn't as good as "Snow Women," but it succeeds at explaining the Mouser's origin satisfactorily and sets the stage for his meeting with Fafhrd.

"Ill Met in Lankhmar" is, perhaps, one of the best stories I've read. Although it was penned quite late in Leiber's career, it is, nevertheless, one of the most iconic adventure stories I've ever read. It is the undoubted inspiration for every sort of cityscape adventure devised for Dungeons & Dragons, and is one of the tales that most likely necessitated Leiber's inclusion into Gygax's illustrious Appendix N. Lankhmar is described more in feel and tone than in actual physical design. The names of streets and the description of the smogs that perpetually blanket the city create a tone and atmosphere at times reminiscent of London, and at other times ancient Rome at her decadent height. Leiber's writing is at its tightest and most solid. There is never a wasted word throughout the story.

"The Circle Curse" comes off as a brief interlude linking the younger Fafhrd and Mouser to their older versions Leiber wrote of in later stories. The problem is, the story is basically filler with little or no real purpose behind it. Leiber summarizes the characters' first encounters with their curious wizard-mentors along with a montage of places they journey and a few things they witness during the three-year tour of Nehwon they make. Then, they reluctantly return to Lankhmar. Though this chapter serves as a bridge between the prequel stories and Leiber's earlier yarns, it does so by placing all of the dramatic weight at the conclusion of "Ill Met in Lankhmar" on the chopping-block. The character's flight from the city was charged with emotion, but to go from a highly detailed adventure to a brief summary of places and images is just disappointing. Leiber boils three years of travel down to a few paragraphs that leave the reader wanting more than what is given, in the end, leaving him feeling robbed that the majority of events took place offstage.

"The Jewels in the Forest" closes the book on a brilliant note. Being Leiber's first Lankhmar story, originally titled "Two Sought Adventure," it was the 1939 debut of Fafhrd and the Gray Mouser. The tale begins in media res, which serves well, because all of the lead-up to this particular excursion is summarized skillfully in conversation and through the Mouser's own thoughts. The characters come off as extremely archetypal of themselves, which is fitting since this was their first appearance in print. There is a fantastic mix of swashbuckling action, mystery, and exploration to keep the reader engrossed. Leiber scatters clues throughout the yarn that leave the reader guessing until the end--some of the guesses will be invariably incorrect due to a few false clues left by the author in order to ensure the surprise at the end of the tale.

Leiber writes in a style that almost parodies himself and his subject-material. It keeps his stories fresh and entertaining, ensuring that a more lighthearted tone prevails, despite the tragedy the characters might experience. There is a certain humor to the work, especially considering that, though Fafhrd and the Gray Mouser obviously take themselves far too seriously for much of this volume, the author does not. He does not descend to puns or absurdity (such as Piers Anthony's Xanth novels, or Terry Pratchett's Discworld) series. The lightheartedness keeps the pace of the stories in motion. Leiber doesn't let the low-points in the characters' lives encumber him or the reader. Instead, their pain and suffering provides drive and direction to characters' actions.

This theme of tragedy, however, doesn't seem entirely characteristic of Leiber's earlier work, if "Jewels in the Forest" can be judged as typical of his early works. Indeed, although the overall lighthearted tone seems to be at odds with the general aura of misfortune that surrounds the characters, the two flavors don't clash, but instead play off one-another. The overall voice is optimistic; Leiber is leading up to the main events, which are inaugurated with "The Jewels in the Forest." The tragic backstory is a vehicle to provide drive, purpose, and determination for the two rogues, and to explain their deep friendship and camaraderie.

It seems that Leiber is a bit of a misogynist. Women throughout this collection are not depicted in a very positive manner. In "The Snow Women," the women of Cold Corner are depicted as jealous and petty. Fafhrd's mother, Mor, in particular, is especially vindictive, having used her magic to "punish" her husband with death when he climbed a mountain against her wishes. Her ice magic nearly kills her own son repeatedly. She is incapable of bending, and unwilling to see how her behavior is literally driving her son away from her and towards civilization. Similarly, Fafhrd's girlfriend, Mara, is repeatedly overcome with petty jealousy, and sets her brothers to beat (and perhaps kill) him, then regretting her behavior once she realized the danger she had placed him in. In "The Unholy Grail," Ivrian is a weak-hearted, easily manipulated, cowardly girl with absolutely no spine. Once she is paired with Vlana in "Ill Met in Lankhmar," the two women cajole and humiliate Fafhrd and the Gray Mouser into making an ill-advised foray into Thieves' House that nearly kills them (however, it also saves their lives from strangulation). Leibers' females are depicted as fickle, ruled entirely by their passions. They are portrayed as vindictive, petty, jealous, manipulative, or callow, but never as strong, brave, intelligent, or trustworthy.

The development of the main characters themselves is handled brilliantly. Fafhrd and the Gray Mouser are not static characters. Indeed, as earlier mentioned, Leiber doesn't take them as seriously as they take themselves, and this is nowhere more apparent as in "Ill Met in Lankhmar," which is probably the best story in the entire book. Fafhrd and the Mouser are very insecure about themselves and their relationships, and this insecurity translates into bluster and bravado. The Mouser, especially, takes great pains to try and impress Fafhrd upon their first meeting. Coupled with their beloveds' goading, the two scoundrels attempt to infiltrate the Thieves' Guild. Their cocksure attitudes are fueled by their exceptional combat skills (in addition to Mouser's acrobatics), but it is evident through their behavior that they lack wisdom. The guildsmen see through their feeble disguises, and the Mouser runs off at the mouth where a much wiser man would have shut up and chosen his words much more carefully. The insecurity, bravado, and verbosity is quelled, however, once tragedy strikes, and except for a single comment, the two characters are completely silent for the remainder of the tale, during which they exact what vengeance they are able. This change persists, even into "Jewels in the Forest," where the two rogues are no longer so insecure, and no longer needing the esteem and approval of others, but are obviously comfortable with their skills, more realistic about what they can and cannot achieve, but still a little apt to bite off more than they can chew now-and-again.

This book provides a delightful introduction to two very iconic characters that have had a powerful effect on the sword & sorcery genre since their creation. They were birthed in an era immediately following the demises of Robert E. Howard and H.P. Lovecraft and the retirement of Clark Ashton Smith, and inaugurated a new age of fantasy writing that would generate the likes of Michael Moorcock and Roger Zelazny.

Lankhmar: Tales of Fafhrd and the Grey Mouser by Fritz Leiber
Style: B
Substance: B
Overall: B

Appendix N, Nostalgia, and Contemporary Fantasy

Nearly every single gaming-related blog has a little bit to say about Gary Gygax's "Appendix N," a list of inspirational reading for players and Dungeon Masters found in the Dungeon Master's Guide for first edition Advanced Dungeons & Dragons. So, I'll probably be making reference to "Appendix N" as time goes on, much like many of those other blogs do. This isn't necessarily to copy them--it's actually kind of a necessity. "Appendix N" is the bibliography for Dungeons & Dragons as listed by Gygax himself. (What I'd give for an "Appendix N" written by Dave Arneson!)

Minus the introductory text, the reading list is as follows:


Anderson, Poul. THREE HEARTS AND THREE LIONS; THE HIGH CRUSADE; THE
Bellairs, John. THE FACE IN THE FROST
Brackett, Leigh.
Brown, Fredric.
Burroughs, Edgar Rice. "Pellucidar" Series; Mars Series; Venus Series
Carter, Lin. "World's End'' Series
de Camp, L. Sprague. LEST DARKNESS FALL; FALLIBLE FIEND; etal.
de Camp & Pratt. "Harold Shea" Series; CARNELIAN CUBE
Derleth, August.
Dunsany, Lord.
Farmer, P. J. "The World of the Tiers" Series; etal.
Fox, Gardner. "Kothar" Series; "Kyrik" Series; et of.
Howard, R. E. "Conan" Series
Lanier, Sterling. HIEROS JOURNEY
Leiber, Fritz. "Fafhrd &Gray Mouser" Series; et of.
Lovecraft, H. P.
Merritt, A. CREEP, SHADOW, CREEP; MOON POOL; DWELLERS IN THE
Moorcock, Michael. STORMBRINGER; STEALER OF SOULS; "Hawkmoon"
Norton, Andre.
Offutt, Andrew J., editor SWORDS AGAINST DARKNESS Ill.
Pratt, Fletcher, BLUE STAR; etaf.
Saberhagen, Fred. CHANGELING EARTH; etal.
St. Clair, Margaret. THE SHADOW PEOPLE; SIGN OF THE LABRYS
Tolkien, J. R. R. THE HOBBIT; "Ring Trilogy"
Vance, Jack. THE EYES OF THE OVERWORLD; THE DYING EARTH; et 01.
Weinbaum, Stanley.
Wellman, Manly Wade.
Williamson, Jack.
Zelazny, Roger. JACK OF SHADOWS; "Amber" Series; et of.
BROKEN SWORD
MIRAGE; et of.
Series (esp. the first three books)

The most immediate influences upon AD&D were probably de Camp & Pratt, REH, Fritz Leiber, Jack Vance, HPL, and A. Merritt; but all of the above authors, as well as many not listed, certainly helped to shape the form of the game. For this reason, and for the hours of reading enjoyment, I heartily recommend the works of these fine authors to you.

I've read a few of these, particularly some Zelazny, Moorcock, Howard, de Camp, Anderson, Vance, and Tolkien, to name just a few. When asked if he'd change anything, or add new media, Gygax generally responded with a "no," barring the addition of one or two new publications that have emerged since the late 1970s/early 1980s.

This is significant because it indicates that Gygax's vision of Dungeons & Dragons, and perhaps role-playing in general, evolved very little after his initial co-creation of the role-playing hobby with Dave Arneson. However, I found his comment a bit disturbing.

Essentially, Gygax all but completely ignores the emergence of "high fantasy." While this, in-and-of itself isn't surprising, because he often under-reported the influence of Tolkien on D&D, it shows a bit of closed-mindedness toward different developments in the genre of fantasy fiction. One of the major themes one cannot help but notice throughout Gygax's "Appendix N" is that not a single book in the list breaks the 250-300 page mark (with the exception of Tolkien's works). In other words, the books tend to be short, exhibit a tight economy of prose, develop quickly through rapid pacing, and are of limited scope. Indeed, some of the authors penned only short stories and novellas, never full-length novels. Gygax seemed to eschew the sort of world-shattering conflicts that were the hallmark of post-Tolkien high fantasy that emerged during the very late 1970s and became quite vogue in the 1980s.

That post-Tolkien fantasy is rife with problems, I'll admit--the greatest of which being their tendency toward overt imitation. Nevertheless, there are quite a few writers that Gygax has completely overlooked which could easily provide inspiration for a great many gamers and Dungeon Masters. A number of authors have produced some fantastic work in the past 15-20 years that deserves to be noted, but seems to have been completely ignored by many in the gaming community (particularly the "old school" community) in favor of many "Appendix N" books.

These include (but are not limited to) Steven Erikson, Ian Cameron Esselmont, R. Scott Bakker, Dan Simmons, and Tad Williams. During the 1980s, Raymond E. Feist emerged with incredible books, like his two-volume Magician and the ultra-imaginative A Darkness at Sethanon, but it appears he had almost no impact on Gygaxian roleplaying. Why is this the case?

Well, first, it is apparent that Erikson's/Esselmont's and Feist's worlds may not have an impact on roleplaying because they, themselves, originated as roleplayed settings. Nevertheless, they still deserve notice because of the magnitude of imagination that went into the creations of their worlds and the atmosphere of adventure, magic, and wonder that surrounds everything that takes place within those settings. Erikson, Esselmont, and Feist inspire me to roleplay far more than Zelazny or Moorcock. I think these authors took a lot of what inspired Gygax, and indeed took roleplaying itself, and developed it further. Like it or not, roleplaying has actually impacted fantasy literature, and I am not talking about Margaret Weis and Tracy Hickman. I'm talking about how fantasy literature and roleplaying are part of a continuum--changes in one can, should, and do impact developments within the other. It's a living and breathing system.

Fantasy writing is not, and should not be, stagnant, but should develop and change with the times. Nostalgia is great. I remember playing old school Rules Cyclopedia D&D with friends in middle school. The books we read had a massive impact on our gaming. The creation of self-contained worlds that made perfect sense wasn't as cool as having random characters and creatures from all of the different and disparate fantasy novels you've read make guest appearances. We weren't old enough to demand logic and continuity from our gaming worlds yet. As we got older, though, we started to expect settings to behave more rationally, and a bit of the magic slipped out of our play.

I still look back at those days as an awkward pre-teen playing in whimsical, Wonderland-esque games where our characters could have an ale or two at the same table as Conan, Raistlin, Elric, and Gandalf. But I wouldn't want to really play in that sort of game anymore. Nostalgia isn't now. It is a longing for things past and gone.

I think that a lot of the old school renaissance is fueled by nostalgia. In itself, I don't think it is destructive at all. I have serious problems myself with where roleplaying has gone. And I may sound a bit hypocritical when I criticize the impact of video games on table-top roleplaying when I applaud the relationship between roleplaying and fantasy literature. But I think that, in it's desire to return to the original roots, old school gamers have thrown the baby out with the bathwater in terms of fantasy fiction. There's too much of a focus on "Appendix N" and not enough of a focus on more recent sources of inspiration that can enhance and enrich one's role-playing experience.