Once upon a time I heard an artist I very much admired had written a book. As in "a book with words in it, not just pictures". Well, it made me smile. Someone's bored, I thought to myself, and gave it no more thought.
Two years later there's another novel. Well, keep on reaching for that rainbow. Everyone needs a hobby, I guess.
Then, another two years later, Brom publishes his third novel. And this time around it's almost triple the size of his previous books ... with decidedly less pictures. Well, humor the fool, I told myself, and went out to get it. At least it'll have some pretty pictures.
Wrong. Dead wrong. Well, it did have some pretty pictures, and the book itself is just wonderful to behold (big bad red-and-black monster of a hardcover for a reasonable price), but what I didn't expect was a good story. And boy did I get one.
Brom's style is pleasant to read and moves along at a good pace, much like Abercrombie, whose love for occasional grittiness and gore Brom shares. The book reads more like oldschool Gaiman (Sandman) and newer Miéville (Un Lun Dun) than contemporary US writers. Is that a good thing? Quickly, give me three good modern US fantasy writers. See what I mean?
This book is heavily recommended for anyone who likes a good fantasy yarn, preferably with a sidedish of good-natured violence. It's even more recommended by fantasy lovers who've grown bored with series that take a dozen volumes to tell. And it's most highly recommended for everyone who thinks he's outgrown fantasy literature. Because, while it's true that a high percentage of modern fantasy literature is cheap crap, you never really outgrow fantasy. At least not fantasy written by masters like Brom.
The biggest drawback of this book is that it's so goddamn unfair. I mean, Brom? The guy that defined Dark Sun, did some beautiful work for Guardians and is the legitimate heir of Frank Frazetta (RIP)? That guy can write, too? Dammit. What's next? Ice skating? Politics?
Read this book. You won't regret it. And, yeah, no sparkly vampires.