For many years, despite my more haute couture tendencies, I have secretly harbored a dirty and sinful pleasure in reading trashy fantasy novels. It began when I was about eleven, and like smoking for some; I have never been able to give it up. I buy these books clandestinely, telling no one. Then I consume them voraciously in one sitting. I feel like an obese man I saw once wedged into a tiny Toyota Prius shoving a box of powdered crispy cremes into his chunky jowels. When I looked at him, he had this feral, but sad look on his face that said, “yes it’s disgusting, but it’s my life. Leave me alone.” This is how I feel when I read R.A. Salvatore novels.
I read the “Crystal Shard”:http://www.amazon.com/Crystal-Shard-Icewind-Trilogy-Forgotten/dp/0786942460/ref=pd_bbs_sr_1/102-4362146-7999342?ie=UTF8&s=books&qid=1191423399&sr=8-1 when I was about 12. And I have read every book since then. Only now am I admitting this. Of course my friends know this is true. They see the books in the dusty corners of my home and know that I have been out cramming my brain with the proverbial crispy creme.
So with that same guilty pleasure I have completed R.A. Salvatore’s latest high calorie action adventure novel “The Orc King, Transitions Novel 1”:http://www.amazon.com/Orc-King-Forgotten-Realms-Transitions/dp/0786943408/ref=pd_bbs_sr_1/102-4362146-7999342?ie=UTF8&s=books&qid=1191423991&sr=8-1 And much to my satisfaction found his latest book to be just as sugary as the Crystal Shard was almost 25 years ago.
I find that these books give the male mind, which is probably stuck at about age 14 anyway something to grasp onto in a sea of shifting ice. Something that remains as satisfying as it was when I first read it. Of course now when I read cheesy dialog or forced and contrived plotlines somewhere in my head I know it’s not the same; like seeing silicon breast implants. But at the same time we need them to be big and fake don’t we?
For my part I will keep reading, despite me divulging my secret. I know in my heart it is not Faulkner, Saramago, Calvino, or Proust, but my inner 14 year old needs to see that Drizzt, Wulfgar, Bruenor, Regis and Catti-Brie are still out there getting their mojo on.
While I am not recommending that anyone necessarily read these novels, unless that’s your bag, I am recommending that indulging your mental sweet tooth is not all bad. Unless it’s reading John Grisham, I can’t stand that loser…