Of those, the immortal Tolkien.

I can also very highly recommend Jack Vance, L. Sprague de Camp, Ursula K. Leguin, Michael Moorcock, Gene Wolfe, T.H. White and Fritz Leiber.

Check 'em out -- really great witers, all.

A sure thing is Tolkien, but lately i'm reading Elizabeth Haydon, her Rhapsody books are great.

There is also a Dutch writer called Maryson, he wrote some great books.

I'm not much of a fantasy fan myself, but George R R Martin's books are excellent, especially the Song of Ice and Fire.

I also enjoy Terry Pratchett, who is often laugh out loud funny.

I've never managed to finish LOTR, although I really enjoyed the films.

As for the rest of the list - Mrs Syzygy is a big fantasy fan and I've dipped into most of the main authors in the genre, but none of them has ever held my attention.

And why isn't Michael Moorcock on the list?

Of those, Tolkien.

Of all, Simon R. Green

Tolkien.

But I also really like Terry Brooks,I am a huge fan of the Shannara books.

grimm brothers

hans anderson

j.r.r.tolkin

"Borribles are generally skinny and have pointed ears... They are pretty tough-1ooking and always scruffy, with their arses hanging out of their trousers, but apart from that they look just like normal children."

The ears are important and Borribles always hide them under woolly hats when they are out and about. If a Borrible is caught by the police his ears are clipped and he starts to grow like any ordinary child.

"Normal Kids are turned into Borribles very slowly, almost without being aware of it; but one day they wake up and there it is... A child disappears from a school and the word goes round that he was 'unmanageable'; the chances are he's off managing by himself".

For God's sake have nobody ever read:

1. Jorge Luis Borges
2. Julio Cortazar
3. Gabriel García Márquez

?????

I would also include Mario Vargas Llosa and Bryce Echenique but they're more in the historic/Autobiographical style than in the Latin American Real-Wonderful.

All nominees or winners of the Literature Nobel Prize except Cortazar who has recieved a recognition from many Nobel Prizes due to the unfairnes of not being awarded with the prize to him.

Borges was nominee for 30 years but never awarded for political reasons.

Iván

Tolkien of course

LOTR = greatest fantasy trilogy ever.

Geck0 wrote: I've got most of the Dark Elf related Forgotten Realms stuff to read by R.A. Salvatore.  I haven't started yet, but I'll get back to you on this. Tolkien I never got into really, The Hobbit was actually his best work.

Forgotten Realms books are awesome.

Have you read the Icewind Dale trilogy yet?

Do you like the Dragonlance books?

There are a ton of them and most of them are very good but the  initial three books by Margaret Weis and Tracy Hickman-Dragons of Autumn Twilight,Dragons of Winter Night and Dragons of Spring Dawning are superb fantasy books.

ivan_2068 wrote: For God's sake have nobody ever read: Jorge Luis Borges Julio Cortazar Gabriel García Márquez ????? I would also include Mario Vargas Llosa and Bryce Echenique but they're more in the historic/Autobiographical style than in the Latin American Real-Wonderful. All nominees or winners of the Literature Nobel Prize except Cortazar who has recieved a recognition from many Nobel Prizes due to the unfairnes of not being awarded with the prize to him. Borges was nominee for 30 years but never awarded for political reasons. Iván

liteature. All three are great, I think that Cortazar is underrated or at least not really well-known.

Vargas Llosa doesn't really fit this fantasy topic, a great writer anyway. 

Norbert wrote: ivan_2068 wrote: For God's sake have nobody ever read: Jorge Luis Borges Julio Cortazar Gabriel García Márquez ????? I would also include Mario Vargas Llosa and Bryce Echenique but they're more in the historic/Autobiographical style than in the Latin American Real-Wonderful. All nominees or winners of the Literature Nobel Prize except Cortazar who has recieved a recognition from many Nobel Prizes due to the unfairnes of not being awarded with the prize to him. Borges was nominee for 30 years but never awarded for political reasons. Iván Of course I have, but the Latin American Real-wonderful strongly differs from the fantasy liteature. All three are great, I think that Cortazar is underrated or at least not really well-known. Vargas Llosa doesn't really fit this fantasy topic, a great writer anyway.

Well Norbert, maybe we have different worlds or terms referring to literature.

We use the term Fantasía and Fantastico as synonyms, if you read Cortazar's "Rayuela" he talks about Magaitians (La Maga).

In any Peruvian and I believe South American library you can find Borges, Cortazar and Tolkien in the "Literatura Fantástica" (Fantastic Literature) zone.

We use that term to identify any kind of literature that talks about fantastic or Mythological creatures, not necesarilly swords and dungeons, but you cand find a lot of swords and mythycal creatures in Borges like Aben Hakan the Bohary dead in the Laberynth or The two laberynths (translated as "The two Dungeons") or Angels and mythical creatures in El Aleph and also in García Marquez (An old Man with Great Wings") described as a fairy tale what falls in the Fantasy frames.

It's a matter of perspective. 

And about Vargas Llosa yes we both agree, he only uses some fantasy mixed with historic reality in The War of the End of the World, so I wouldn't include him as I said before. 

Iván

I can't believe that nobody here has mentioned Stephen Donaldsen from the list

The Chronicles Of Thomas Covenant-The Unbeliever (6 books) are outstanding.

Since its publication in 1977, this award-winning trilogy has become an indisputable fantasy classic. Outselling The Lord of the Rings in its day, hailed by critics and loved by readers all over the world, no fantasy library could be considered complete without it.

Thomas did not believe the strange world he found himself in, but, undeniably, the Land tempted him. Back in his world, his illness made him an outcast, unclean, a pariah – but here, he is the reincarnation of Berek Halfhand, saviour and hero. Only the mystic power of his white gold ring can protect the Lords of Revelstone and the Land from the evil of Lord Foul, the Despiser. Foul possesses the Illearth Stone, his deadly armies hold sway, and to free himself from his prison, he will destroy the Land.

With only a small but determined band of followers, Covenant is inexorably drawn into a confrontation with evil that will decide the fate of both worlds . . .

I cannot recommend them too highly.

Just an example and please seems long, but it's only a short story by García Márquez, and it's called real - Wonderful or Real - Fantasy becauuse this movement blends facts of the normal life with fantasy

I'm sure that even if you don't consider it fantasy, you will like it:

A Very Old Man with Enormous Wings by Gabriel Garcia Marquez   On the third day of rain they had killed so many crabs inside the house that Pelayo had to cross his drenched courtyard and throw them into the sea, because the newborn child had a temperature all night and they thought it was due to the stench. The world had been sad since Tuesday. Sea and sky were a single ash-gray thing and the sands of the beach, which on March nights glimmered like powdered light, had become a stew of mud and rotten shellfish. The light was so weak at noon that when Pelayo was coming back to the house after throwing away the crabs, it was hard for him to see what it was that was moving and groaning in the rear of the courtyard. He had to go very close to see that it was an old man, a very old man, lying face down in the mud, who, in spite of his tremendous efforts, couldn’t get up, impeded by his enormous wings. Frightened by that nightmare, Pelayo ran to get Elisenda, his wife, who was putting compresses on the sick child, and he took her to the rear of the courtyard. They both looked at the fallen body with a mute stupor. He was dressed like a ragpicker. There were only a few faded hairs left on his bald skull and very few teeth in his mouth, and his pitiful condition of a drenched great-grandfather took away any sense of grandeur he might have had. His huge buzzard wings, dirty and half-plucked, were forever entangled in the mud. They looked at him so long and so closely that Pelayo and Elisenda very soon overcame their surprise and in the end found him familiar. Then they dared speak to him, and he answered in an incomprehensible dialect with a strong sailor’s voice. That was how they skipped over the inconvenience of the wings and quite intelligently concluded that he was a lonely castaway from some foreign ship wrecked by the storm. And yet, they called in a neighbor woman who knew everything about life and death to see him, and all she needed was one look to show them their mistake. “He’s an angel,” she told them. “He must have been coming for the child, but the poor fellow is so old that the rain knocked him down.” On the following day everyone knew that a flesh-and-blood angel was held captive in Pelayo’s house. Against the judgment of the wise neighbor woman, for whom angels in those times were the fugitive survivors of a celestial conspiracy, they did not have the heart to club him to death. Pelayo watched over him all afternoon from the kitchen, armed with his bailiff’s club, and before going to bed he dragged him out of the mud and locked him up with the hens in the wire chicken coop. In the middle of the night, when the rain stopped, Pelayo and Elisenda were still killing crabs. A short time afterward the child woke up without a fever and with a desire to eat. Then they felt magnanimous and decided to put the angel on a raft with fresh water and provisions for three days and leave him to his fate on the high seas. But when they went out into the courtyard with the first light of dawn, they found the whole neighborhood in front of the chicken coop having fun with the angel, without the slightest reverence, tossing him things to eat through the openings in the wire as if he weren’t a supernatural creature but a circus animal. Father Gonzaga arrived before seven o’clock, alarmed at the strange news. By that time onlookers less frivolous than those at dawn had already arrived and they were making all kinds of conjectures concerning the captive’s future. The simplest among them thought that he should be named mayor of the world. Others of sterner mind felt that he should be promoted to the rank of five-star general in order to win all wars. Some visionaries hoped that he could be put to stud in order to implant the earth a race of winged wise men who could take charge of the universe. But Father Gonzaga, before becoming a priest, had been a robust woodcutter. Standing by the wire, he reviewed his catechism in an instant and asked them to open the door so that he could take a close look at that pitiful man who looked more like a huge decrepit hen among the fascinated chickens. He was lying in the corner drying his open wings in the sunlight among the fruit peels and breakfast leftovers that the early risers had thrown him. Alien to the impertinences of the world, he only lifted his antiquarian eyes and murmured something in his dialect when Father Gonzaga went into the chicken coop and said good morning to him in Latin. The parish priest had his first suspicion of an imposter when he saw that he did not understand the language of God or know how to greet His ministers. Then he noticed that seen close up he was much too human: he had an unbearable smell of the outdoors, the back side of his wings was strewn with parasites and his main feathers had been mistreated by terrestrial winds, and nothing about him measured up to the proud dignity of angels. Then he came out of the chicken coop and in a brief sermon warned the curious against the risks of being ingenuous. He reminded them that the devil had the bad habit of making use of carnival tricks in order to confuse the unwary. He argued that if wings were not the essential element in determining the different between a hawk and an airplane, they were even less so in the recognition of angels. Nevertheless, he promised to write a letter to his bishop so that the latter would write his primate so that the latter would write to the Supreme Pontiff in order to get the final verdict from the highest courts. His prudence fell on sterile hearts. The news of the captive angel spread with such rapidity that after a few hours the courtyard had the bustle of a marketplace and they had to call in troops with fixed bayonets to disperse the mob that was about to knock the house down. Elisenda, her spine all twisted from sweeping up so much marketplace trash, then got the idea of fencing in the yard and charging five cents admission to see the angel. The curious came from far away. A traveling carnival arrived with a flying acrobat who buzzed over the crowd several times, but no one paid any attention to him because his wings were not those of an angel but, rather, those of a sidereal bat. The most unfortunate invalids on earth came in search of health: a poor woman who since childhood has been counting her heartbeats and had run out of numbers; a Portuguese man who couldn’t sleep because the noise of the stars disturbed him; a sleepwalker who got up at night to undo the things he had done while awake; and many others with less serious ailments. In the midst of that shipwreck disorder that made the earth tremble, Pelayo and Elisenda were happy with fatigue, for in less than a week they had crammed their rooms with money and the line of pilgrims waiting their turn to enter still reached beyond the horizon. The angel was the only one who took no part in his own act. He spent his time trying to get comfortable in his borrowed nest, befuddled by the hellish heat of the oil lamps and sacramental candles that had been placed along the wire. At first they tried to make him eat some mothballs, which, according to the wisdom of the wise neighbor woman, were the food prescribed for angels. But he turned them down, just as he turned down the papal lunches that the pentinents brought him, and they never found out whether it was because he was an angel or because he was an old man that in the end ate nothing but eggplant mush. His only supernatural virtue seemed to be patience. Especially during the first days, when the hens pecked at him, searching for the stellar parasites that proliferated in his wings, and the cripples pulled out feathers to touch their defective parts with, and even the most merciful threw stones at him, trying to get him to rise so they could see him standing. The only time they succeeded in arousing him was when they burned his side with an iron for branding steers, for he had been motionless for so many hours that they thought he was dead. He awoke with a start, ranting in his hermetic language and with tears in his eyes, and he flapped his wings a couple of times, which brought on a whirlwind of chicken dung and lunar dust and a gale of panic that did not seem to be of this world. Although many thought that his reaction had not been one of rage but of pain, from then on they were careful not to annoy him, because the majority understood that his passivity was not that of a hero taking his ease but that of a cataclysm in repose. Father Gonzaga held back the crowd’s frivolity with formulas of maidservant inspiration while awaiting the arrival of a final judgment on the nature of the captive. But the mail from Rome showed no sense of urgency. They spent their time finding out if the prisoner had a navel, if his dialect had any connection with Aramaic, how many times he could fit on the head of a pin, or whether he wasn’t just a Norwegian with wings. Those meager letters might have come and gone until the end of time if a providential event had not put and end to the priest’s tribulations. It so happened that during those days, among so many other carnival attractions, there arrived in the town the traveling show of the woman who had been changed into a spider for having disobeyed her parents. The admission to see her was not only less than the admission to see the angel, but people were permitted to ask her all manner of questions about her absurd state and to examine her up and down so that no one would ever doubt the truth of her horror. She was a frightful tarantula the size of a ram and with the head of a sad maiden. What was most heartrending, however, was not her outlandish shape but the sincere affliction with which she recounted the details of her misfortune. While still practically a child she had sneaked out of her parents’ house to go to a dance, and while she was coming back through the woods after having danced all night without permission, a fearful thunderclap rent the sky in two and through the crack came the lightning bolt of brimstone that changed her into a spider. Her only nourishment came from the meatballs that charitable souls chose to toss into her mouth. A spectacle like that, full of so much human truth and with such a fearful lesson, was bound to defeat without even trying that of a haughty angel who scarcely deigned to look at mortals. Besides, the few miracles attributed to the angel showed a certain mental disorder, like the blind man who didn’t recover his sight but grew three new teeth, or the paralytic who didn’t get to walk but almost won the lottery, and the leper whose sores sprouted sunflowers. Those consolation miracles, which were more like mocking fun, had already ruined the angel’s reputation when the woman who had been changed into a spider finally crushed him completely. That was how Father Gonzaga was cured forever of his insomnia and Pelayo’s courtyard went back to being as empty as during the time it had rained for three days and crabs walked through the bedrooms. The owners of the house had no reason to lament. With the money they saved they built a two-story mansion with balconies and gardens and high netting so that crabs wouldn’t get in during the winter, and with iron bars on the windows so that angels wouldn’t get in. Pelayo also set up a rabbit warren close to town and gave up his job as a bailiff for good, and Elisenda bought some satin pumps with high heels and many dresses of iridescent silk, the kind worn on Sunday by the most desirable women in those times. The chicken coop was the only thing that didn’t receive any attention. If they washed it down with creolin and burned tears of myrrh inside it every so often, it was not in homage to the angel but to drive away the dungheap stench that still hung everywhere like a ghost and was turning the new house into an old one. At first, when the child learned to walk, they were careful that he not get too close to the chicken coop. But then they began to lose their fears and got used to the smell, and before they child got his second teeth he’d gone inside the chicken coop to play, where the wires were falling apart. The angel was no less standoffish with him than with the other mortals, but he tolerated the most ingenious infamies with the patience of a dog who had no illusions. They both came down with the chicken pox at the same time. The doctor who took care of the child couldn’t resist the temptation to listen to the angel’s heart, and he found so much whistling in the heart and so many sounds in his kidneys that it seemed impossible for him to be alive. What surprised him most, however, was the logic of his wings. They seemed so natural on that completely human organism that he couldn’t understand why other men didn’t have them too. When the child began school it had been some time since the sun and rain had caused the collapse of the chicken coop. The angel went dragging himself about here and there like a stray dying man. They would drive him out of the bedroom with a broom and a moment later find him in the kitchen. He seemed to be in so many places at the same time that they grew to think that he’d be duplicated, that he was reproducing himself all through the house, and the exasperated and unhinged Elisenda shouted that it was awful living in that hell full of angels. He could scarcely eat and his antiquarian eyes had also become so foggy that he went about bumping into posts. All he had left were the bare cannulae of his last feathers. Pelayo threw a blanket over him and extended him the charity of letting him sleep in the shed, and only then did they notice that he had a temperature at night, and was delirious with the tongue twisters of an old Norwegian. That was one of the few times they became alarmed, for they thought he was going to die and not even the wise neighbor woman had been able to tell them what to do with dead angels. And yet he not only survived his worst winter, but seemed improved with the first sunny days. He remained motionless for several days in the farthest corner of the courtyard, where no one would see him, and at the beginning of December some large, stiff feathers began to grow on his wings, the feathers of a scarecrow, which looked more like another misfortune of decreptitude. But he must have known the reason for those changes, for he was quite careful that no one should notice them, that no one should hear the sea chanteys that he sometimes sang under the stars. One morning Elisenda was cutting some bunches of onions for lunch when a wind that seemed to come from the high seas blew into the kitchen. Then she went to the window and caught the angel in his first attempts at flight. They were so clumsy that his fingernails opened a furrow in the vegetable patch and he was on the point of knocking the shed down with the ungainly flapping that slipped on the light and couldn’t get a grip on the air. But he did manage to gain altitude. Elisenda let out a sigh of relief, for herself and for him, when she watched him pass over the last houses, holding himself up in some way with the risky flapping of a senile vulture. She kept watching him even when she was through cutting the onions and she kept on watching until it was no longer possible for her to see him, because then he was no longer an annoyance in her life but an imaginary dot on the horizon of the sea.

The translation is less beautiful than the original , but very similar, hope you enjoyed it.

Iván

Geck0 wrote: Ooh thanks for that Tony R, I have to say, I hadn't heard of that series. If using Iván's ideas, then we must also include Lord Dunsany as well, he writes about Fairy Tale type scenarios and he's excellent. Iván, what Borges do you recommend?  I'm not a Spanish speaker, so I require English translations, are there any really excellent ones and some awful ones I should avoid?  I read some translations of some his poems, but not much else.  In fact, I think one was a story, but it was really short!  I did like style though, he uses the idea of labyrinths and mazes a lot I believe.

Borges was  obsessed with the Labyrinths and the mirrors (Which he described as  evil in a couple of stories  because it's a reflexion without soul).

I rather read Borges the Storyteller than Borges the poet, because a poem written in Spanish should not be translated (Neither a poem in any language) being that the words chosen has a specific meaning depending on the language.

But his stories are simply wonderfull, magic amazing.

In Amazon I could find two items The Aleph (Which is the one I read 100 times ) and the Aleph and other stories which I believe contains stories from his book Fiicciones, but if you want to go fopr the sure, buy the one titled THE ALEPH (Both can be found in Amazon.

1.

http://www.amazon.com/exec/obidos/tg/detail/-/0142437883/qid=1137006029/sr=2-1/ref=pd_bbs_b_2_1/103-3255102-4709434?v=glance&s=books">

http://www.amazon.com/exec/obidos/tg/detail/-/0142437883/qid=1137006029/sr=2-1/ref=pd_bbs_b_2_1/103-3255102-4709434?v=glance&s=books - The Aleph and Other Stories (Penguin Classics) -- by Jorge Luis Borges, Andrew Hurley; Paperback < =1.1 =text/> (Rate it) http://www.amazon.com/exec/obidos/tg/detail/-/0142437883/qid=1137006029/sr=2-1/ref=pd_bbs_b_2_1/103-3255102-4709434?v=glance&s=books - Buy new : $11.20 -- http://www.amazon.com/exec/obidos/tg/stores/offering/list/-/0142437883/all/qid=1137006029/ref=sr_pb_a/103-3255102-4709434 - Used & new from : $7.00       A good starting point, it's in Amazon.com Iván

Tony R wrote: I can't believe that nobody here has mentioned Stephen Donaldsen from the list The Chronicles Of Thomas Covenant-The Unbeliever (6 books) are outstanding.   Since its publication in 1977, this award-winning trilogy has become an indisputable fantasy classic. Outselling The Lord of the Rings in its day, hailed by critics and loved by readers all over the world, no fantasy library could be considered complete without it. Thomas did not believe the strange world he found himself in, but, undeniably, the Land tempted him. Back in his world, his illness made him an outcast, unclean, a pariah – but here, he is the reincarnation of Berek Halfhand, saviour and hero. Only the mystic power of his white gold ring can protect the Lords of Revelstone and the Land from the evil of Lord Foul, the Despiser. Foul possesses the Illearth Stone, his deadly armies hold sway, and to free himself from his prison, he will destroy the Land. With only a small but determined band of followers, Covenant is inexorably drawn into a confrontation with evil that will decide the fate of both worlds . . . I cannot recommend them too highly.

Wonderful books, I've read them 3 times. Great !

How about Greg Bear, Orson scott Card,Terry Goodkind  .

Tolkien.

Also George MacDonald: check out Phantastes, a wonderful book which was especially an inspiration for C.S. Lewis. And if you read The Princess And The Goblin and The Princess And Curdie, you can see that Tolkien was influenced by him too.

Jack Vance is a very good writer: great storylines and a fantastic sense of humour.

C.J. (Caroline) Cherryh is good too: The Dreamstone is my favourite by her, almost as good as the Tolkien books IMHO.

 Tolkien. Im actually re-reading LOTR now to refresh my memory of all the stuff the movie left out.

Im also a fan of Terry Brooks' "Shannara" series.

ivan_2068 wrote: Norbert wrote: ivan_2068 wrote: For God's sake have nobody ever read: Jorge Luis Borges Julio Cortazar Gabriel García Márquez ????? I would also include Mario Vargas Llosa and Bryce Echenique but they're more in the historic/Autobiographical style than in the Latin American Real-Wonderful. All nominees or winners of the Literature Nobel Prize except Cortazar who has recieved a recognition from many Nobel Prizes due to the unfairnes of not being awarded with the prize to him. Borges was nominee for 30 years but never awarded for political reasons. Iván Of course I have, but the Latin American Real-wonderful strongly differs from the fantasy liteature. All three are great, I think that Cortazar is underrated or at least not really well-known. Vargas Llosa doesn't really fit this fantasy topic, a great writer anyway.  Well Norbert, maybe we have different worlds or terms referring to literature. We use the term Fantasía and Fantastico as synonyms, if you read Cortazar's "Rayuela" he talks about Magaitians (La Maga). In any Peruvian and I believe South American library you can find Borges, Cortazar and Tolkien in the "Literatura Fantástica" (Fantastic Literature) zone. We use that term to identify any kind of literature that talks about fantastic or Mythological creatures, not necesarilly swords and dungeons, but you cand find a lot of swords and mythycal creatures in Borges like Aben Hakan the Bohary dead in the Laberynth or The two laberynths (translated as "The two Dungeons") or Angels and mythical creatures in El Aleph and also in García Marquez (An old Man with Great Wings") described as a fairy tale what falls in the Fantasy frames. It's a matter of perspective.  And about Vargas Llosa yes we both agree, he only uses some fantasy mixed with historic reality in The War of the End of the World, so I wouldn't include him as I said before.  Iván

South-American writers are often called wonderful or magical realism. These novels are blend of normal and fantastic moments, and if you ask me they are of a higher niveau than usual "fantasy

books".

A very old Man with enormous wings is a truly beautiful piece of art One of my favourites by Garcia Marquez.

Borges really seemed to be obsessed with labyrinths.

                                                                                  Norbert

Norbert wrote: I agree that this is a matter of perspective. In Hungary the works of the mentioned South-American writers are often called wonderful or magical realism. These novels are blend of normal and fantastic moments, and if you ask me they are of a higher niveau than usual "fantasy books". A very old Man with enormous wings is a truly beautiful piece of art One of my favourites by Garcia Marquez. Borges really seemed to be obsessed with labyrinths. Norbert

You hit the head of the nail Norbert, this short story describes the Latin American Real - Maravilloso or Realismo Fantástico is how something as wonderful and incredible as an angel is thrown in in a chicken cage and the life of the characters continue almost as normal as ever.

They still do their usual work, the Chuch is burocratic, of course they make some profit, probably the sick kid is almost as important as the fallen angel.

They prove that reality can be more fantastic than fantasy, because I don't believe anyone of us will continue their normal life with a dying angel in our garden.

Borges is obsessed with everything  labyrinths, mirrors, libraries, luck (Read The Babylon Lottery  ). It's amazing to discover how well he could live with his own demons and create masterpieces.

Iván

When i started the thread i was only thinking of fantasy under it's 2 most popular headings: Swords and Sorcery, and Imaginary World Fantasy. These seem to be an English speaking phenomanon and though a lot of the non-english books a certainly fantastic they dont carry the same tone. Fantasy in it's most popular formats is based upon the myths of scandenavia, finland, and ireland/wales. this is what I am most interested in and the format in which the writers above do specialise in.

I am sorry I forgot D Gemmel. probably the best living fantasy writer behind Martin, and Michael Moorcock and of couse Robert E Howard, but I was in a hurry

Tony R wrote: I can't believe that nobody here has mentioned Stephen Donaldsen from the list The Chronicles Of Thomas Covenant-The Unbeliever (6 books) are outstanding.   Since its publication in 1977, this award-winning trilogy has become an indisputable fantasy classic. Outselling The Lord of the Rings in its day, hailed by critics and loved by readers all over the world, no fantasy library could be considered complete without it. Thomas did not believe the strange world he found himself in, but, undeniably, the Land tempted him. Back in his world, his illness made him an outcast, unclean, a pariah – but here, he is the reincarnation of Berek Halfhand, saviour and hero. Only the mystic power of his white gold ring can protect the Lords of Revelstone and the Land from the evil of Lord Foul, the Despiser. Foul possesses the Illearth Stone, his deadly armies hold sway, and to free himself from his prison, he will destroy the Land. With only a small but determined band of followers, Covenant is inexorably drawn into a confrontation with evil that will decide the fate of both worlds . . . I cannot recommend them too highly.

Seven books, Tony

http://www.amazon.co.uk/exec/obidos/ASIN/0575075996/qid=1137106381/sr=2-2/ref=sr_2_3_2/026-3550902-4292444 - http://www.amazon.co.uk/exec/obidos/ASIN/0575075996/qid=1137 106381/sr=2-2/ref=sr_2_3_2/026-3550902-4292444

And there's gonna be at least two more...

So from the list Donaldson it is. But my two favourites are Gene Wolfe and T. H. White. And yes, there are some vital names missing from that list apart from the two I've mentioned - Moorcock, Peake, LeGuin, Lewis, John Crowley etc. etc.  

Tony R wrote: I can't believe that nobody here has mentioned Stephen Donaldsen from the list The Chronicles Of Thomas Covenant-The Unbeliever (6 books) are outstanding.   Since its publication in 1977, this award-winning trilogy has become an indisputable fantasy classic. Outselling The Lord of the Rings in its day, hailed by critics and loved by readers all over the world, no fantasy library could be considered complete without it. Thomas did not believe the strange world he found himself in, but, undeniably, the Land tempted him. Back in his world, his illness made him an outcast, unclean, a pariah – but here, he is the reincarnation of Berek Halfhand, saviour and hero. Only the mystic power of his white gold ring can protect the Lords of Revelstone and the Land from the evil of Lord Foul, the Despiser. Foul possesses the Illearth Stone, his deadly armies hold sway, and to free himself from his prison, he will destroy the Land. With only a small but determined band of followers, Covenant is inexorably drawn into a confrontation with evil that will decide the fate of both worlds . . . I cannot recommend them too highly.

Er, doesn't that plot synopsis remind you of something?

A trifle derivitive, no?

Too much of the newer fantasy is too formulaic, IMO.

(Much like some say about neo prog/retro prog.)

Hmmm... "Lord Foul -- the Despiser".... I guess he's a bad guy, right?

Signed,

Major Pain, The Irritating

Peter wrote: Tony R wrote: I can't believe that nobody here has mentioned Stephen Donaldsen from the list The Chronicles Of Thomas Covenant-The Unbeliever (6 books) are outstanding.   Since its publication in 1977, this award-winning trilogy has become an indisputable fantasy classic. Outselling The Lord of the Rings in its day, hailed by critics and loved by readers all over the world, no fantasy library could be considered complete without it. Thomas did not believe the strange world he found himself in, but, undeniably, the Land tempted him. Back in his world, his illness made him an outcast, unclean, a pariah – but here, he is the reincarnation of Berek Halfhand, saviour and hero. Only the mystic power of his white gold ring can protect the Lords of Revelstone and the Land from the evil of Lord Foul, the Despiser. Foul possesses the Illearth Stone, his deadly armies hold sway, and to free himself from his prison, he will destroy the Land. With only a small but determined band of followers, Covenant is inexorably drawn into a confrontation with evil that will decide the fate of both worlds . . . I cannot recommend them too highly. Er, doesn't that plot synopsis remind you of something? A trifle derivitive, no? Too much of the newer fantasy is too formulaic, IMO. (Much like some say about neo prog/retro prog.) Hmmm... "Lord Foul -- the Despiser".... I guess he's a bad guy, right? Signed, Major Pain, The Irritating

...Good one. The whole Thomas Covenant series bores me to tears.

Micheal Moorcock is my favorite and for fantasy with some humour try Fritz Leiber or the outrageous

Robert Aspirin.

Apart from one or two archetypal references Thomas Covenant (written in 1977 BTW) is subtly different to TLOTR. Just as all space-operas are set in space then all fantasy novels are set in an alternate world.

Manunkind:I've read Runes,it's not a patch on the original books.

Tony R wrote: Lord Foul, the Despiser

Speaking of being irritating on the web, here are some more character-revealing fantasy villain names, that, my sources say, Donaldson originally considered:

Baron Bumfogg, the Redolent

Major Trauma, The Drunk Driver

Captain Bringdown, the Buzzkiller

Lord Icky, the Unwashed

Sir Wheezalot, the Athsmatic

General Mayhem, the Unrestrained

Prince Ponce, the Preening

Duke Doorknob, the Dorky

Prince Pronghorn, the Priapic

Sir Swish, the Unmanly

Princess Nympho, the Easy

President Bush, the Bumbling Belligerent

Sorry, Donaldson fans -- I'm just happy to see so many committed readers here!

No?

OK, I'll go read a book: hmmm... one of the wife's "bodice rippers":

"He was a handsome (and unfeasibly well-endowed) Scottish laird, as wild and free as his highland home. She, his captive, was a haughty, highborn English noblewoman. Sworn enemies, they would nonetheless (eventually) have sex, just before the end of the novel."

Now THAT'S original! And isn't that Fabio on the cover?

Read on, Progholes!

gdub411 wrote:

for fantasy with some humour try Fritz Leiber or the outrageous

Robert Aspirin.

[/QUOTE]

Yep. (I prefer Leiber and his brilliant Fafhrd & Grey Mouser books, though.)

The aforementioned Jack Vance (Cugel's Saga & The Eyes of the Overworld) and L. Sprague de Camp (The Unbeheaded King trilogy, & others) are absolute masters of humourous, very well-written fantasy, too.

(Not so well-known, these days, perhaps -- look for them in second-hand bookstores, or online, I suppose.)

Also, has anyone read The Aquiliad, by S.P. Somtow? Three HILARIOUS books, with the ancient Romans (in the new world), a wily native chief, UFOs, hot-air balloons, an evil time-travelling pig, etc, etc. Take my word for it -- very funny, and well-written. All of my fantasy-reading friends really loved these 80s gems!

Peter wrote: gdub411 wrote: for fantasy with some humour try Fritz Leiber or the outrageous Robert Aspirin.

Yep. (I prefer Leiber and his brilliant Fafhrd & Grey Mouser books, though.)

[/QUOTE]

Fafryd and The Grey Mouser are exactly what I am talking of. Also , as far as setting goes, nothing beats the dark and dangerous world of Newhon on which our two anti-heroes, rogues tread. Plus, name a city in any other book as cool as that as decadent Lankhmar

Peter wrote: Tony R wrote: I can't believe that nobody here has mentioned Stephen Donaldsen from the list The Chronicles Of Thomas Covenant-The Unbeliever (6 books) are outstanding.   Since its publication in 1977, this award-winning trilogy has become an indisputable fantasy classic. Outselling The Lord of the Rings in its day, hailed by critics and loved by readers all over the world, no fantasy library could be considered complete without it. Thomas did not believe the strange world he found himself in, but, undeniably, the Land tempted him. Back in his world, his illness made him an outcast, unclean, a pariah – but here, he is the reincarnation of Berek Halfhand, saviour and hero. Only the mystic power of his white gold ring can protect the Lords of Revelstone and the Land from the evil of Lord Foul, the Despiser. Foul possesses the Illearth Stone, his deadly armies hold sway, and to free himself from his prison, he will destroy the Land. With only a small but determined band of followers, Covenant is inexorably drawn into a confrontation with evil that will decide the fate of both worlds . . . I cannot recommend them too highly. Er, doesn't that plot synopsis remind you of something? A trifle derivitive, no? Too much of the newer fantasy is too formulaic, IMO. (Much like some say about neo prog/retro prog.) Hmmm... "Lord Foul -- the Despiser".... I guess he's a bad guy, right? Signed, Major Pain, The Irritating

Let's just say that Eduard Dujardin's Les lauriers sont coupés preceded Joyce's Ulysses.

And re-telling stories is just as important as creating entirely new ones (something that seems nigh impossible in the light of the myths). Read some medieval literature. 

Somehow I can't see Lord Foul the Despiser using his real name - "Rodney James Horowitz III is trying to invade the Land!" somehow doesn't work. Neither does "Bow before Possum Jenkins!"

Tony - I wouldn't call the differences between LotR and The Chronicles subtle... the only real similarities are between the lands. 

Lorak wrote: I cannot believe that you did not include Frank Herbert in this list.  The DUNE saga is pure fantasy and deep....very deep.  You can have Tolkien, try getting through the original Dune novels, and then pick up the the prequels done by his son Brian Herbert and collaborator Kevin Anderson (who, by the way, is into prog.  I read that he listens to Dream Theater, and another prog band that I cannot remember at this time, on his blog)

Well, Dune is generally regarded as science fiction (often concerning the future, spaceships, other planets, advanced technology, etc).

Fantasy, on the other hand, generally involves magic, and often, a pseudo-medieval setting.

The two genres are related, yes, but generally treated as separate (though sometimes the lines blur, and writers often don't necessarily stick to just one or the other).

I don't know if Herbert has ever written any pure fantasy.

But, just in case you don't want to take my word for it, I got this from the Official Dune Website:

"Frank Herbert's Dune series is one of the grandest epics in the annals of imaginative literature. Selling millions of copies worldwide, it is science fiction's answer to The Lord of the Rings, a brilliantly imaginative epic of high adventure, unforgettable characters, and immense scope."

Great books, BTW, though, for me, the first was easily the best.

Well, if I were going to pick a best fantasy genre writer: It would be Robert E. Howard, followed closely by Moorcock. For me, it never got any better than the best of their stuff.

Now, as Ivan seems to suggest, if we should include criticallly acclaimed literary authors who wrote fantastic literature, I would say that Bruno Schultz's two books provided me with the most surrealistic experiences I've ever gotten from the printed page. I very highly recommend his works to those who like Borges, Kafka, Alain-Fournier, Carrol, Poe, (and even authors like Virginia Woolf, whose "Orlando," is fantasy-style literature).

Badabec wrote: The best fantasy-author is the german author Ullrich Kiesow!

And by "the best," of course, you mean "my current favourite, of the limited number of authors I've read," right?

Sigh -- does there always have to be one "winner," in everything? Art is not sports, you know.

Gawd, I hate this prevailing mentality that increasingly reduces all human endeavor to competition, and "winners" and "losers!"

AHHHHHHHH!!! i love fantasy novels but you put my four top authors on here!... how is a guy supposed to chose? AAAAAHHHHHHHHH brain aneurism!!! i ended up casting my vote for terry goodkind since his was a lonly percentile of ZERO... George RR Martin, Robert Jordon, and David Eddings all had votes so i had to level out the playing feild a little bit. i read almost as much as i listen to music so this poll has done me serious emotional dammage. watch out for a lawsuit progarchives!! im comin' for ya'!

 PS Feast for Crows is wonderfull and Knife of Dreams looks scrumptious as well, though i havnt had the pleasure of beggining Jordan's yet.

PEACE!,

mike

Peter wrote: Well, Dune is generally regarded as science fiction (often concerning the future, spaceships, other planets, advanced technology, etc). Fantasy, on the other hand, generally involves magic, and often, a pseudo-medieval setting. The two genres are related, yes, but generally treated as separate (though sometimes the lines blur, and writers often don't necessarily stick to just one or the other). I don't know if Herbert has ever written any pure fantasy.   But, just in case you don't want to take my word for it, I got this from the Official Dune Website: "Frank Herbert's Dune series is one of the grandest epics in the annals of imaginative literature. Selling millions of copies worldwide, it is science fiction's answer to The Lord of the Rings, a brilliantly imaginative epic of high adventure, unforgettable characters, and immense scope."   Great books, BTW, though, for me, the first was easily the best.

You make a point Peter, when saying limits are blur, lets see an example:

Star Wars: A futuristic space saga with spaceships, interstellar voyages, etc no doubt about it, but it has all the characteristcs of Fantasy that you mention:

1. Magic: The limits beyond magic and mysticism in the Jedi Knigts is very soft, so at least we have one component of Fantasy.
2. Swords: Light sabers are the equivalent to swords. the monsters we see take the place of the dragons, etc.
3. Pseudo Medieval settings: We have Queen Amidala, Princess Leia, Jedi Nights who fight for the sake of goodness.

What's this Sci Fi or Fantasy?

Iván

ooo nicely put. i would tend to lean towards Sci Fi still with most everybody i hope... but  it clearly has elements of both (or according to Peter) and i can see your point. sames true for music and its just that that sets off many arguments in these very forums.. prog or not,  metal or not, mainstream or not, etc.

• George R.R. Martin
• David Eddings
• JRR Tolkein (i know he influenced the above authors but i still enjoy them more so they go above him)
• Terry Brooks
• I used to like Jordan before he decided to drag out his gold mine. That freaking series is never going to end.
• I don't like Terry Goodkind

anyways...there you go

ivan_2068 wrote: Peter wrote: Well, Dune is generally regarded as science fiction (often concerning the future, spaceships, other planets, advanced technology, etc). Fantasy, on the other hand, generally involves magic, and often, a pseudo-medieval setting. The two genres are related, yes, but generally treated as separate (though sometimes the lines blur, and writers often don't necessarily stick to just one or the other). I don't know if Herbert has ever written any pure fantasy.   But, just in case you don't want to take my word for it, I got this from the Official Dune Website: "Frank Herbert's Dune series is one of the grandest epics in the annals of imaginative literature. Selling millions of copies worldwide, it is science fiction's answer to The Lord of the Rings, a brilliantly imaginative epic of high adventure, unforgettable characters, and immense scope."   Great books, BTW, though, for me, the first was easily the best. You make a point Peter, when saying limits are blur, lets see an example: Star Wars: A futuristic space saga with spaceships, interstellar voyages, etc no doubt about it, but it has all the characteristcs of Fantasy that you mention: Magic: The limits beyond magic and mysticism in the Jedi Knigts is very soft, so at least we have one component of Fantasy. Swords: Light sabers are the equivalent to swords. the monsters we see take the place of the dragons, etc. Pseudo Medieval settings: We have Queen Amidala, Princess Leia, Jedi Nights who fight for the sake of goodness. What's this Sci Fi or Fantasy? Iván

Space opera!

It's a "fairy tale" set in space -- think of the opening: "long, long ago, in a galaxy far, far away..." substitute "kingdom" for "galaxy," and you have a typical fairy tale opening. 

For sure, Ivan, that one is a major blend. I've always noticed how Star Wars "looks like sci fi, but acts like fantasy," as it were. Princesses, magic (the "force"), etc -- it is really more fantasy than sci-fi.

(Notice that I was careful to use words like "generally" and "often" in my post -- there are always exceptions.)

SW is pretty clumsy in its sci fi, too -- witness the spaceships making sound in the vacuum of space! Ha! Too much of the "science" is never explained, as well: just how does a non-aerodynamic craft, with no wings or rocket blast, levitate silently when within a planet's atmosphere? "Anti-gravity?" All indications are, such a thing is flat-out impossible.

There are many other examples of such fantasy/sci fi blends, but that one is certainly an obvious one! (For one excellent such blend, check out Robert Silverberg's stunning Lord Valentine's Castle. An amazing, engrossing read!

Science fiction is a type of "fantastic" literature, anyway. (An offshoot of fantasy, which came first in the guise of the folk/fairy tale.)

But there are generally certain broad parameters between the two.

Most popular fantasy is sword and sorcery -- but by no means does all fantasy fall into that category.

Much science fiction (Larry Niven, Arthur C. Clarke, David Brin, william Gibson, etc) focusses on actual, possible science and technology (so-called "hard" science fiction)  but some sci fi, like that written by Ursula K. LeGuin, for example, in her outstanding novels The Dispossessed and The Left Hand of Darkness, effectively "gloss over" all that, and concentrate instead on social sciences like anthropology (her father was a famous anthropologist) and psychology. Her character development, insights into human nature, and portrayals of the clash of "primitive" and technological cultures, is simply awesome, but the science of say, interstellar travel, is just taken for granted as being in place, with no real attempt to explain or justify it. (She writes excellent fantasy too, in her Earthsea series, as well as mainstream fiction. A very versatile author, and certainly one of America's best, in ANY genre!) 

Both types of sci fi can be equally rewarding reads, in different ways.

Happy reading!

Mikeypoo wrote: ooo nicely put. i would tend to lean towards Sci Fi still with most everybody i hope... but  it clearly has elements of both (or according to Peter) and i can see your point. sames true for music and its just that that sets off many arguments in these very forums.. prog or not,  metal or not, mainstream or not, etc.

Yes, Dune has many fantastic elements as well: Royal families, a power that is effectively magic, etc.

But, overall, it's classed as sci fi. Lots of hardware/technology.

An excellent read! The first one, especially is very, very absorbing!