Today I received this exquisite review of my lyrical fantasy-fiction saga, the series Lore of the Underlings:
Starts with a poem, then a bunch of chit chat, neither intrigued me, deleted from e-reader before getting to the “story”.
I can’t deny these one-star charges. And I’m sure that this reader made a wise choice based on what he was looking for.
But it does beg some questions. Has the age of poetry passed? Is life too fast to savor a verse?
I hope not. The liquid language of the Lore is the very reason I write it at all. That was the genesis of this epic — to tell tall tales in poetic style.
And I knew it would not be for everyone. Or many, for that matter. There are plenty of other fine books already for those who’d like a quicker read.
Scratching that itch is not the need that I’ve been trying to quench and feed. The lilt of the Lore is its own reward, the reason that it’s free.
And yet at times like this I wonder. Have I notched out a vanishing niche? An alcove with only dead poets in it?
But then I see an occasional flicker. Some hope left in it yet. Such as this contrasting review:
An absolute JEWEL
FINALLY, someone who can WRITE! I just waded through 5 books of such poorly-written drivel I was about to give up and watch tv, and then I found this, a gem in the muck of what passes for Fantasy fiction these days. The language was so luscious I got lost in it and had to re-read it to find the story. Beautiful. Amazing job, Author, keep it up!
So I think that I will keep contributing verses. If you’d like to sing with me, join in…