When I was young, I used to obsessively read and re-read and re-re-read fantasy novels. Now, though, I find myself rarely going back to re-read any of them. The thought of epic fantasy – though on some level I continue to love and identify with the genre – usually makes me groan a little, whether it’s because of the low quality or simply the oppressive wordcount, and so I haven’t reviewed all that many on this blog in the few years I’ve been keeping it. I certainly haven’t reviewed a whole bunch by the same author.
Except for the work of Robin Hobb. Hobb is probably the only fantasy author I still really love, although I didn’t get started on her until late in my teens. Her Fitz novels are one of only two series I still insist on buying and reading instantly (the other is Martin’s A Song of Ice and Fire) – the next volume is out later this year.
So far I’ve only read
nine ten eleven fourteen of her novels, but I’m sure more will follow. For now, here’s what I’ve got:
FITZ AND THE FOOL: