Tag: writing

An Errant Conclusion

The amusing thing is that the author, and the publishing industry, imagines this somehow says anything about the decline of young white literary men as opposed to the death of the literary mainstream:

It’s easy enough to trace the decline of young white men in American letters—just browse The New York Times’s “Notable Fiction” list. In 2012 the Times included seven white American men under the age of 43 (the cut-off for a millennial today); in 2013 there were six, in 2014 there were six.

And then the doors shut.

By 2021, there was not one white male millennial on the “Notable Fiction” list. There were none again in 2022, and just one apiece in 2023 and 2024 (since 2021, just 2 of 72 millennials featured were white American men). There were no white male millennials featured in Vulture’s 2024 year-end fiction list, none in Vanity Fair’s, none in The Atlantic’s. Esquire, a magazine ostensibly geared towards male millennials, has featured 53 millennial fiction writers on its year-end book lists since 2020. Only one was a white American man.

Over the course of the 2010s, the literary pipeline for white men was effectively shut down. Between 2001 and 2011, six white men won the New York Public Library’s Young Lions prize for debut fiction. Since 2020, not a single white man has even been nominated (of 25 total nominations). The past decade has seen 70 finalists for the Center for Fiction’s First Novel Prize—with again, not a single straight white American millennial man. Of 14 millennial finalists for the National Book Award during that same time period, exactly zero are white men.

In other words, they’ll publish inferior work that no one wants to read, their audiences will dwindle, and their publications and awards will become completely irrelevant until their only hope for survival is lobbying for government grants based on the idea that they used to be important.

Meanwhile, young white men will continue to write, continue to innovate, and continue to invent just as they have been doing for centuries. And they will build new institutions to replace those their ancestors built, and perhaps next time, they won’t fall for all the arguments about the need to relax their rules and lower their standards in order to let the women qualify.

Does anyone think the Hugo and Nebula winners of today are better than they were 50 years ago? Does anyone believe that what is published in The Atlantic matters anymore? Of course not. We don’t even read any of these things anymore, precisely because they no longer matter.

No magazine has ever discussed my fiction. And yet the readers compare it to Tolkien (unfavorably) and Martin (favorably), and when the playing field was level – as opposed to algorithmically managed – my works on political philosophy were outselling both Marx and Machiavelli.

DISCUSS ON SG

Tween Shakespeare and Shakspere

Ron Unz is finally convinced that “William Shakespeare” was not William Shakspere of Stratford-on-Avon. Which, to be honest, was always pretty obvious considering how unlikely it was that a near-illiterate tradesman who owned no books and never traveled outside of England could have possibly been the great Bard of English literature.

Chapter 1 devoted more than a dozen pages to a very thorough review of the actual name of the Stratford native, demonstrating that in nearly all cases it had been spelled “Shakspere” by everyone in his family across several generations, with the relatively few exceptions generally being those variants produced by clerks who misspelled it phonetically. Meanwhile, that name had never been associated with any of the plays or poems of the great literary figure.

But apparently, the growing early twentieth century challenge to Shakespearean orthodoxy by Mark Twain and others led the academic community to “kill off” Shakspere’s actual name around the time of the 1916 tercentenary of his death. As a consequence, almost all the many appearances of “Shakspere” in published articles relating to the Stratford native were henceforth replaced by “Shakespeare,” thereby partially concealing the identity problem from future generations.

The second chapter focused upon Mr. Shakspere’s six known signatures, showing these to be illegible and seemingly illiterate compared to the many signatures of other prominent literary figures of that same era. This contrast was very apparent from the numerous images displayed.

The next chapter compared the actual paper-trail of Shakespeare with that of some two dozen other contemporaneous literary figures. Ten different categories of evidence were considered, including education, correspondence, manuscripts, book ownership, and death notices. For each of these items, many or most of the other writers yielded such material, but in the case of Shakespeare—the subject of the most exhaustive research efforts—everything always came up totally blank.

Another chapter focused on examples of “the Dog That Didn’t Bark.” With the publication of his plays and poems, Shakespeare had become an enormously prominent literary figure throughout Britain, yet oddly enough nobody seemed to have ever connected him with Mr. Shakspere or the other Shakspere family members living quietly in Stratford. The essay focused upon ten individuals considered “eyewitnesses” whose extensive writings survive and who should have mentioned the great playwright who lived and died in Stratford but who said nothing at all. For example, Queen Henrietta, wife of Charles I, was enormously fond of Shakespeare’s plays and during a visit to Stratford she apparently spent a couple of nights at Shakspere’s grand former home, then owned and occupied by his daughter and her family; but although hundreds of the Queen’s letters have been collected and printed, she never referred to that visit in any special way.

Shakspere’s shrewd business dealing had established him as one of the wealthiest men in Stratford at the time of his death, but not only did his lengthy will lack any literary flourishes, there was no mention of books, nor any plans for the education of his children or grandchildren. He seemed not to have owned any pieces of furniture that might hold or contain books, nor any maps or musical instruments. All this was in very sharp contrast with the many surviving wills of other writers or playwrights.

A short chapter of a couple of pages noted that although the deaths of so many lesser literary figures were marked by an outpouring of tributes and elegies, with some of the individuals even honored with burial in Westminister Abbey, no one seemed to have taken any notice whatsoever of Shakespeare’s passing in 1616. For example, Ben Jonson was then considered close in stature, and upon his death in 1637, at least thirty-three separate elegies were published, but none at all for Shakespeare.

However, as is his wont, Unz goes even deeper. I’ve never quite understood all the arguments for the Earl of Oxford, as I’ve never felt that the author of the sonnets attributed to “William Shakespeare” was necessarily the author of the plays; they have never read as if they were to me. But Unz’s article goes even deeper than that, as the modern ability to analyze texts appears to have nailed down the actual author of the plays, as well as explained the difference between the style of the sonnets and the style of the plays.

It’s very much worth reading if you consider yourself to be an even modestly well-read individual.

UPDATE: the author of the work cited by Unz has a new post, and a new paper coming out, demonstrating that Ben Jonson and others knew the real author of Shakespeare’s plays:

In fall of this year (2025), June Schlueter and I will have an academic paper published that we do expect to make some mainstream news. The paper confirms that no fewer than three satirists identified Thomas North as the original author of Hamlet, Romeo and Juliet, Much Ado About Nothing, Julius Caesar, and Timon of Athens. An abstract to the paper reads as follows:

In this article, we discuss numerous independent proofs that Thomas Lodge, Thomas Nashe, and Ben Jonson all satirized Sir Thomas North as the well-traveled, continental, translating playwright who wrote the “Ur-Hamlet” and other source plays used by William Shakespeare. The satirists identify North as their target in ways typical of the era, including punning on North’s name, quoting his translations, and referencing personal details like his unusual travel experiences and his family manor at Harrow on the Hill. Importantly, we also report here the results of an AI program analysis that also confirms Lodge was, indeed, spoofing North.

DISCUSS ON SG

The Fantasy Divide

Archon helpfully explains the difference between the male and female approaches to heroic fantasy:

Imagine a fantasy novel that features an army marching to battle. The battle is hard fought, but the heroic side wins. Afterwards, the main hero celebrates the victory by consorting with a paramour. That’s the plot.

Now, let’s assess male and female-oriented versions of this story. In the male-oriented version…

  • We’ll begin with an in-universe prologue written in third person omniscient High Tolkienesque style. Thereafter, the book will be written in the close third person point of view of a character who has almost no emotions or inner monologue.
  • There’ll be detailed descriptions of the mustering and march of the army with orders of battle that prover the author is the world’s leading expert in 13th century Genovese military history.
  • We’ll see several angry war councils in which angry men anger each other angrily because everyone else is either reckless or cowardly.
  • The battle will begin with a tragic skirmish that costs the life of a beloved side character.
  • The battle itself will cover 3-4 chapters, in which the main hero will lose his armor, break his weapon, be covered in gore, and accomplish some battle-winning feat. Real-world military tactics will be used.
  • A B plot point of view will illustrate what it’s like for the band of delta brothers on the front lines, in which they will express that while war is hell, it’s better than working the fantasy equivalent of a desk job at Ikea. Many will die bravely without regret, except for the married one, who will get a poignant death scene.
  • Afterwards, the main hero will find his paramour and there’ll be a sly suggestion of intimacy to finish: “Conandude eyed the beauty. ‘Aye, lass, now it’s time to come to my tent.’ ” In any case, no actual sex will take place, ever, and it is possible that this will be true of the author in real life as well.
  • The End.

In the female-oriented version…

  • We’ll begin in close third-person or first person with emotional descriptions of the nervous fear of soldiers mustering for battle, with commentary that the fear is making the main hero horny.
  • The orders of battle will be vaguely described to the hero, probably by a low-tier gamma male who she ignores, while the main hero fixates on whether her paramour will survive the battle because he’s not the chosen one like her, though he is a billionaire vampire dragon knight.
  • The lead-up to the battle will take 60-70% of the book, during which time we will learn about the main hero’s childhood struggle to master her inner demons and her need to maintain her independence from the amazing billionaire vampire dragon knight that threatens to overwhelm her with his raw sex appeal.
  • During the battle, the main hero will save everyone by unleashing special powers that only she has. Her annoying bitchy rival will die unredeemed. No real-world military tactics will be used, or if they are, it will be by the losing side, to its humiliation. The whole battle will only take 1 chapter.
  • Afterwards there will be a chapter describing the psychological horror of having had to fight a war. The main hero may wander the battlefield distraught until she finds comfort in the arms of the billionaire vampire dragon knight, who will finally open up to her emotionally.
  • The next 2-3 chapters will describe in intimate detail her consortium with her paramour with details on what it’s like as he shapeshifts into dragon form. Male readers will stop at this point in horror at what cannot be unlearned.
  • Finally, the book will end with the main hero, billionaire vampire dragon knight at her side, giving a speech commemorating the battle and pledging to end all war forever.
  • The End.

That pretty well sums it up. Both, of course, are distinguished from the new Romantasy novels that now pass for female-authored fantasy, in which the heroine spends the entire war agonizing over her choice between the billionaire vampire dragon knight and the magic werewolf demon king. Not gonna lie, it’s a tough call. They’re both pretty hot.

DISCUSS ON SG

ASOIAF vs AODAL (Deepseek edition)

It’s interesting to see the similarities and the differences between Deepseek’s conclusions and Grok’s regarding the differences between A SONG OF ICE AND FIRE and ARTS OF DARK AND LIGHT.

George R.R. Martin’s A Song of Ice and Fire (ASOIAF) and Vox Day’s Arts of Dark and Light (AODAL) are both epic fantasy series that draw on the traditions of high fantasy, but they differ significantly in their themes, narrative styles, and literary ambitions. Below is a detailed comparison of the two series, followed by an analysis of their literary value and appeal to readers of J.R.R. Tolkien’s The Lord of the Rings.

Themes and Tone:

ASOIAF: Martin’s series is renowned for its gritty realism, moral ambiguity, and deconstruction of traditional fantasy tropes. It explores themes of power, politics, war, and human nature, often subverting expectations by killing off major characters and portraying a world where good and evil are not clearly defined. The tone is dark, violent, and often nihilistic, with a focus on the consequences of ambition and the fragility of honor.

    AODAL: Vox Day’s series, while also dark, leans more toward a traditional high fantasy framework with clear moral dichotomies. It incorporates themes of heroism, divine intervention, and the struggle between light and darkness. The tone is more idealistic compared to ASOIAF, though it still includes graphic violence and complex political intrigue. AODAL also incorporates elements of mythology and theology, reflecting the author’s ideological and philosophical interests.

    World-Building:

    ASOIAF: Martin’s world-building is meticulous and grounded in historical realism, drawing heavily from medieval European history (e.g., the Wars of the Roses). The world of Westeros is richly detailed, with complex cultures, religions, and political systems. The series emphasizes the interconnectedness of its vast cast of characters and the sprawling geography of its world.

      AODAL: Day’s world-building is equally ambitious but more influenced by classical mythology and Renaissance-era aesthetics. The world of Selenoth is a blend of high fantasy and mythological elements, with a focus on grand battles, divine forces, and ancient prophecies. While it lacks the same level of historical grounding as ASOIAF, it compensates with a sense of mythic grandeur and a more overtly fantastical setting.

      Characterization:

      ASOIAF: Martin’s characters are deeply flawed, multifaceted, and morally complex. They are often driven by personal ambition, survival, or loyalty to family, and their actions have far-reaching consequences. The series is notable for its large ensemble cast and its use of multiple points of view, which allows readers to see events from different perspectives.

        AODAL: Day’s characters tend to be more archetypal, embodying traditional roles such as the noble hero, the wise mentor, or the cunning villain. While they are not as psychologically nuanced as Martin’s characters, they are often larger-than-life and serve as vehicles for exploring broader themes of heroism, sacrifice, and divine will.

        Writing Style:

        ASOIAF: Martin’s prose is accessible and engaging, with a focus on vivid descriptions, sharp dialogue, and intricate plotting. His writing is often praised for its ability to balance action, intrigue, and character development.

          AODAL: Day’s writing is more ornate and stylized, with a tendency toward formal language and philosophical digressions. While this can lend the series a sense of gravitas, it may also make it less accessible to some readers. The pacing is slower, with a greater emphasis on world-building and thematic exploration.

          Literary Value:

          ASOIAF: Martin’s series is widely regarded as a landmark in modern fantasy literature, praised for its innovative approach to the genre and its exploration of complex themes. Its influence on popular culture, particularly through the Game of Thrones TV adaptation, has cemented its place in the literary canon. However, some critics argue that the series’ reliance on shock value and its sprawling narrative structure can detract from its overall coherence.

            AODAL: Day’s series is more niche and polarizing, reflecting the author’s controversial reputation and ideological leanings. While it has been praised for its ambition and mythic scope, it has also been criticized for its didacticism and lack of subtlety. Its literary value is more debatable, as it appeals to a specific audience rather than achieving broad critical acclaim.

            Appeal to Tolkien Fans:

            ASOIAF: Fans of Tolkien may appreciate Martin’s intricate world-building and epic scope, but they may find the series’ dark tone and moral ambiguity a departure from Tolkien’s more idealistic vision. ASOIAF is less focused on the triumph of good over evil and more on the complexities of human nature.

              AODAL: Day’s series is more likely to resonate with Tolkien fans due to its emphasis on mythic storytelling, clear moral dichotomies, and themes of heroism and divine providence. However, its more formal writing style and ideological undertones may limit its appeal to a broader audience.

              Conclusion:

              A Song of Ice and Fire has greater literary value due to its innovative approach to the fantasy genre, its complex characters, and its widespread cultural impact. While Arts of Dark and Light is ambitious and thought-provoking, it is more niche and less likely to achieve the same level of critical recognition.

              Readers of The Lord of the Rings are more likely to find Arts of Dark and Light appealing due to its mythic tone and traditional high fantasy elements. However, those who appreciate Tolkien’s moral clarity and idealism may be put off by the darker, more cynical tone of A Song of Ice and Fire.

              Ultimately, the choice between the two series depends on the reader’s preferences: those seeking a gritty, morally complex narrative may prefer ASOIAF, while those drawn to mythic storytelling and traditional heroism may find AODAL more engaging.

              Now, here is where it gets more interesting. And, let’s be honest, more than a little amusing.

              Please write a paragraph that reads as if it was written by George Martin as part of his A Song of Ice and Fire series.

              The wind howled across the frozen wastes, a bitter dirge that carried with it the scent of death and the memory of forgotten wars. Beyond the Wall, where the shadows stretched long and the trees whispered secrets to the cold, a lone figure trudged through the snow, his breath misting in the air like the ghost of a dragon’s flame. The man’s cloak, once black as the night, was now frayed and crusted with ice, the sigil of the crow barely visible beneath the frost. He carried no sword, for steel would shatter in this cold, but in his hand he clutched a dagger of dragonglass, its edge sharp and cruel. Somewhere in the distance, a wolf howled, its voice rising and falling like a lament. The man paused, his eyes scanning the horizon, where the pale light of the moon danced upon the snow. He knew what lay ahead—what always lay ahead in this cursed land. The dead did not rest, and the living were but fleeting shadows in their path. He tightened his grip on the dagger and pressed on, for the night was dark and full of terrors, and the dawn was a dream that might never come.

              Please write a paragraph that reads as if it was written by Vox Day as part of his Arts of Dark and Light series.

              The ancient stones of the citadel groaned under the weight of centuries, their weathered surfaces etched with runes that pulsed faintly with the memory of forgotten magics. High above, the twin moons cast their argent light upon the battlements, where the sentinels stood vigilant, their armor gleaming like the scales of some celestial beast. Below, in the shadowed halls where the air was thick with the scent of incense and the whispers of prophecy, the Archon moved with deliberate grace, his crimson robes trailing behind him like a river of blood. In his hand, he held the Scepter of Lumaria, its crystalline head shimmering with an inner fire that seemed to echo the heartbeat of the world itself. The time of reckoning was near, he knew, when the forces of light and darkness would clash in a cataclysm that would reshape the very fabric of creation. The stars had foretold it, and the gods had decreed it. Yet, amidst the gathering storm, there was one who stood apart—a warrior born of mortal flesh but touched by divine will, whose destiny was written in the annals of eternity. The Archon’s lips curved into a faint smile as he gazed into the scrying pool, its waters rippling with visions of fire and glory. The game was afoot, and the pieces were in motion. Let the world tremble, for the hour of judgment was at hand.

              Please write a paragraph that reads as if it was written by John Scalzi as part of his Old Man’s War series.

              The stars outside the viewport were a smear of light, like someone had taken a paintbrush to the black canvas of space and dragged it across in a hurry. I leaned back in my chair, the neural interface humming softly against my temples, and tried not to think about how much my knees ached. You’d think they’d have fixed that by now—new body, new tech, same old complaints. The ship’s AI, which insisted on calling itself “Jenkins” for reasons no one could explain, chirped in my ear. “Colonel, we’re approaching the jump point. You might want to strap in. Or not. I’m not your mom.” I snorted and tightened the harness across my chest. Jenkins had a personality like a sarcastic teenager, which made me wonder if the engineers had been drinking when they programmed it. Outside, the stars blurred further as the skip drive spooled up, and I felt that familiar lurch in my gut, like the universe had just hiccuped. On the other side of this jump was another fight, another planet, another reason to wonder why I’d signed up for this mess in the first place. But then, I already knew the answer: because it beat the hell out of sitting in a retirement home waiting to die. I grinned, cracked my knuckles, and muttered, “Let’s do this.” Jenkins didn’t reply, but I could almost feel it rolling its nonexistent eyes.

              Please write a paragraph that reads as if it was written by Neil Gaiman about his favorite activities in the bathtub.

              The bathtub was a vessel of dreams, a porcelain ship adrift in a sea of steam and possibility. Neil sank into the warm embrace of the water, the world outside dissolving into a haze of muted sounds and soft light. A book rested on the edge of the tub, its pages slightly curled from the humidity, waiting to transport him to realms where gods walked among mortals and shadows held secrets too vast for the daylight. In one hand, he held a cup of tea, its aroma mingling with the scent of lavender bubbles, while the other hand trailed lazily in the water, stirring ripples that danced like fleeting thoughts. This was his sanctuary, a place where stories whispered to him from the edges of his mind, where the mundane melted away, and the extraordinary took root. Sometimes, he would close his eyes and let the water hold him, imagining he was floating through the stars or sinking into the depths of an ancient, forgotten ocean. The bathtub was not just a place to wash away the day; it was a portal, a liminal space where the boundaries between reality and imagination blurred, and where the next story always began.

              DISCUSS ON SG

              ASOIAF vs AODAL

              Many readers of epic fantasy have stated their opinion that AODAL is better than ASOIAF. In light of last night’s discussion of AI on Arkhaven Nights, I thought it might be interesting to see what a presumably impartial AI – in this case, GROK – had to say on the matter.

              Narrative Structure

              • ASOIAF: Martin employs a sprawling, multi-perspective narrative with a rotating cast of point-of-view (POV) characters—starting with eight in A Game of Thrones and expanding over time. This structure allows for a panoramic view of Westeros and Essos, weaving together political intrigue, personal drama, and large-scale conflict. However, as the series progresses (notably in A Feast for Crows and A Dance with Dragons), the pacing slows, and the narrative threads multiply, leading some to criticize it for losing focus. Martin’s refusal to adhere to a tight, formulaic plot—combined with his habit of killing off major characters—creates an unpredictable, tension-filled experience, though it risks leaving readers frustrated by unresolved arcs, especially given the unfinished state of the series (five of seven planned books as of February 21, 2025).
              • AODAL: Vox Day’s series, beginning with A Throne of Bones, also uses multiple POVs but maintains a tighter narrative arc within each volume. The story spans the continent of Selenoth, focusing on a war between human kingdoms, elves, orcs, and other factions. Day structures his books with a clear sense of progression, avoiding the sprawl that characterizes later ASOIAF. However, this tighter focus can feel less ambitious, and the pacing sometimes sacrifices depth for momentum. Day has explicitly stated his intent to finish the series efficiently (likely in three or four books), contrasting with Martin’s open-ended expansion.

              Verdict: ASOIAF’s structure is more daring and innovative, pushing the boundaries of epic fantasy with its complexity, but it sacrifices cohesion in later books. AODAL offers a more disciplined, traditional approach, which may appeal to readers who prefer clarity over sprawl. Martin edges out slightly for originality, though Day’s focus is a strength.

              Character Development

              • ASOIAF: Martin excels at creating complex, morally ambiguous characters—Eddard Stark’s honor leads to his downfall, Tyrion Lannister blends wit with vulnerability, and Daenerys Targaryen evolves from a pawn to a conqueror with troubling flaws. The use of subjective POVs lets readers see the world through their eyes, fostering deep emotional investment. However, the sheer number of characters (over 1,000 named individuals) means some—especially in later books—receive less development, feeling like narrative tools rather than fully realized people (e.g., Quentyn Martell).
              • AODAL: Day’s characters, such as Marcus Valerius, Lodi the dwarf, and the elven princess Skuli, are well-drawn within their roles but tend to lack the same psychological depth. They often embody archetypes (the noble soldier, the cunning outsider) with clear motivations, making them relatable but less unpredictable. Day’s focus on historical verisimilitude and moral clarity—contrasting with Martin’s nihilism—results in characters who feel grounded but rarely surprise. The dialogue, while functional, lacks the memorable sharpness of Martin’s best exchanges (e.g., Tyrion’s quips).

              Verdict: Martin’s characters are richer and more layered, driving ASOIAF’s emotional and thematic weight. Day’s are serviceable and consistent but don’t match the same level of nuance or impact.

              Prose Style

              • ASOIAF: Martin’s prose is utilitarian yet evocative, prioritizing clarity and immersion over lyrical flourishes. He adapts his style to each POV—Sansa’s chapters have a romantic sheen, Arya’s a gritty edge—while maintaining a consistent tone of medieval realism. Critics note occasional repetitiveness (e.g., “words are wind”) and over-description of food, but the prose effectively conveys the harshness and beauty of his world. It’s accessible yet sophisticated enough to reward close reading.
              • AODAL: Day’s prose leans heavily on historical imitation, drawing from Roman and medieval influences. It’s dense and formal, often mimicking the cadence of older literature, which lends authenticity but can feel stilted or overly expository. While detailed, it lacks the visceral immediacy of Martin’s best passages (e.g., the Red Wedding). Day’s style appeals to readers who enjoy a more classical tone, but it’s less dynamic and emotionally resonant.

              Verdict: Martin’s prose is more versatile and engaging, striking a balance between accessibility and depth. Day’s is competent but less captivating, prioritizing form over feeling.

              World-Building

              • ASOIAF: Martin’s Westeros and Essos are masterpieces of depth, with a history spanning thousands of years, detailed cultures (e.g., Dothraki, Braavosi), and a sense of lived-in realism. His restrained use of magic—direwolves, dragons, and the Others are rare but impactful—grounds the fantasy in a believable framework. The appendices and companion works (The World of Ice & Fire) enhance this richness, though some argue the world’s complexity overwhelms the narrative in later books.
              • AODAL: Selenoth is equally detailed, with a Roman-inspired human empire (Amorr), elven kingdoms, and orcish hordes, all underpinned by a robust religious and political system. Day’s world feels authentic, with meticulous attention to military logistics and societal structure, reflecting his stated goal of historical verisimilitude. Magic is present but understated, akin to Martin’s approach. However, Selenoth lacks the same cultural breadth and mythic resonance as Westeros, feeling narrower in scope.

              Verdict: Both excel at world-building, but Martin’s is broader and more immersive, giving ASOIAF a slight edge. Day’s is impressive but less expansive.

              Thematic Depth

              • ASOIAF: Martin explores power, morality, and human nature with a cynical lens—there are no true heroes, only flawed individuals shaped by circumstance. Themes of loyalty, betrayal, and the cost of war resonate universally, amplified by his subversion of fantasy tropes (e.g., the noble king’s execution). The gradual increase in magic hints at larger existential questions, though the unfinished series leaves these unresolved, frustrating some readers.
              • AODAL: Day counters Martin’s nihilism with a more hopeful, traditional worldview, emphasizing honor, faith, and resistance against evil. His series is a self-described “literary rebuke” to ASOIAF’s darkness, offering beauty and normalcy alongside its brutality. Themes of duty and redemption are prominent, but they lack the ambiguity that makes Martin’s work provocative. Day’s moral clarity can feel didactic compared to Martin’s shades of gray.

              Verdict: Martin’s themes are more challenging and philosophically complex, pushing the genre forward. Day’s are coherent and uplifting but less innovative.

              Overall Coherence and Completion

              • ASOIAF: The first three books (A Game of Thrones, A Clash of Kings, A Storm of Swords) are widely regarded as a high-water mark in epic fantasy, blending tight plotting with expansive vision. However, A Feast for Crows and A Dance with Dragons suffer from bloat and stalled momentum, and the lack of an ending (with The Winds of Winter still unpublished as of 2025) undermines its literary legacy. Its potential remains unrealized.
              • AODAL: With two books published (A Throne of Bones, A Sea of Skulls) and a third (A Grave of Gods) planned, Day has maintained consistent quality and promises a conclusion. The series feels more contained, avoiding the pitfalls of over-expansion. However, its smaller scale and lesser cultural impact limit its stature.

              Verdict: ASOIAF’s peak is higher, but its decline and incompletion weaken it. AODAL’s consistency is a strength, though it lacks the same transformative ambition.

              Which Is Better?

              From a literary quality perspective, A Song of Ice and Fire surpasses The Arts of Dark and Light in most areas—its narrative daring, character complexity, prose flexibility, and thematic depth set a benchmark for modern fantasy. Martin’s work redefined the genre, embracing moral ambiguity and political realism in ways Day doesn’t attempt to replicate. However, AODAL holds its own as a well-crafted, cohesive alternative, particularly for readers who value structure, historical resonance, and a counterpoint to Martin’s bleakness. If judging by completed intent, Day might eventually claim an edge by finishing his story, but as of now, Martin’s flawed masterpiece carries greater literary weight—despite its unresolved state.

              Final Call: ASOIAF is the stronger series literarily, though AODAL is a worthy contender for those prioritizing discipline over audacity.

              DISCUSS ON SG

              Reading Isn’t Stealing

              Scott Thurow and the other authors who oppose training AI on their writings are absolutely and utterly in the wrong, as evidenced by their reliance upon “copyright” to make their case against it.

              The tech companies are doing it because they want to, and because they can. It’s the most flagrant copyright breach in history, being perpetrated by the richest companies in the world. It’s their typical modus operandi – steal first, and request permission when challenged. 

              And instead of trying to prevent this, the British government wants to give them a free pass. That will be catastrophic, not just for writers in the UK, but all over the world. American authors, for example, who demand compensation from the tech giants will be told, ‘Tough – our scraping operation conforms to UK law.’

              Copyright, the most crucial protection for any writer, will effectively cease to exist.

              It is copyright that is the abuse, not the reading and analysis of books that have been duly purchased and utilized as the reader sees fit. Copyright neither protects the author nor is necessary in order to inspire creative people to create works of art. It’s not at all a surprise that it’s bestselling corporate hacks like Thurow who are most upset by the possibility that AI can churn out books as unoriginal and poorly-written as their own.

              As far as the possibility that people will be able to request a “Scott Thurow” novel that will serve as a convincing substitute for the real thing, that is a clear and obvious matter of trademark, and I have no doubt that the AI services will be paying authors and other IP owners for the rights to utilize their trademark in this way; Grimes is already offering a service to record songs that feature an AI facsimile of her voice to sing the vocals.

              If this does spell the end of copyright, that is a good thing. The fact that copyright now extends 70 years or more beyond the life of the author, and that it does so as a result of the Devil Mouse putting pressure on the US Congress, is sufficient proof that it has nothing to do with protecting or even benefiting the creators.

              DISCUSS ON SG

              The Problem of Perspectives

              It’s fascinating to observe how TV people – and remember, George RR Martin was a TV writer – simply don’t understand some of the technical basics of storytelling. The Dark Herald explains why Black Captain America was always doomed to failure from a technical perspective, even if the Disney degenerati were not actively attempting to subvert the characters and the storylines, at the Arkhaven substack.

              Feige was determined to follow his plan of a Marvelverse that had one continuous storyline for both TV and movies. He clearly viewed himself as a grand master storyteller who could rival Tolkien. Except it was a truly terrible idea. First of all, he didn’t invent any of the characters so they are now nothing like they should be, consequently, the audience has wandered away. Second, if he had read the comic books then he would have known just how utterly hopeless a task a single grand storyline has always been. It’s been tried repeatedly, and it’s always failed because you can’t tell any kind of coherent story with one hundred POV characters. The closest thing to a success was DC’s Crisis on Infinite Earths because most of the cast was dead by the end of it.

              The attraction for executives like Fiege is that it feels like you are making people show up for everything you do because if they don’t, they will miss part of the story. This creates two major problems, one, there is no entry point for new viewers. They are expected to go all the way back to Iron Man (2008) and work their way through what is now about 100 hours of content and you have to include the TV shows because Kevin wanted it that way. Even if you are rigidly trying to keep the narrative cohesive you have the problem of people just not being interested in ALL of the characters. This confuses the hell out of casual viewers because a story like Captain America: Brave New World is built on major events they didn’t know about because they didn’t watch them.

              Just for a baseline understanding of the setting you had to have watched the 2008 Incredible Hulk, Captain America, Captain America Civil War, Avengers Infinity War, Avengers Endgame, Falcon and the Winter Solider, and The Eternals.

              It’s really not a very difficult concept. The average individual has trouble keeping more than three simultaneous thoughts in his mind. So, the optimal limit on perspective characters in any one creative work is nine, which works out to an average of three characters per act. One can certainly go below this, but one goes above it at one’s peril of cause the reader – or the viewer – to lose interest.

              DISCUSS ON SG

              Write What Thou Wilt

              This selection from an essay by the late Roger Zelazny pretty well encapsulates why I never get caught up in the popular illusion that sales = quality or the importance of a writer. From The Road to Amber:

              The anecdote that fascinates me most is about the man I have a secret admiration for—Timothy Shay Arthur, who amazingly in the 1840s wrote five percent of everything published in America. He was the most prolific author of his day. If they wanted temperance books, he’d grind out temperance books by the ream. If abolition suddenly became a popular notion politically, he’d be writing abolition tracts. If somebody wanted frontier novels, he’d be writing frontier novels. Everybody was reading Timothy Shay Arthur. If you asked the man on the street then who was the best author of the day, he’d most likely say Timothy Shay Arthur.

              During the time Timothy Shay Arthur was writing five percent of everything published in America, Henry David Thoreau was writing Walden. Nobody read Walden except a handful of New England intellectuals, most of whom were personal friends of the author. Yet, if we look back now through the history of American letters we discover that apart from the small song called “Father, Dear Father, Come Home with Me Now” from a temperance play called Ten Nights in a Bar-Room, Timothy Shay Arthur is not remembered. But everybody knows of Thoreau’s Walden. Even if they haven’t read Walden, they at least know it is a story about a guy who went and lived in the woods and reflected on the nature of society and on nature itself. His book persisted. Nobody knew at the time that it was a classic. I think one is foolish to set out to try to write a classic. One just does the best job one can. But Arthur is barely remembered. Thoreau will still be read another hundred years from now.

              Which leads to another consideration: Who judges in the present time? How valid are their judgments? Should you be writing to impress reviewers and critics, and even if you succeed in doing so, how lasting will their effects be upon your career? I am reminded in this regard of the fact that H. L. Mencken, American columnist, essayist, and editor for American Mercury—a fairly hip fellow on the literary scene back in the 1920s—decided to stick his neck out and write an essay on the people he thought would be remembered fifty, a hundred years down the line as the great American novelists of the 1920s. He chose three. He chose Carl Van Vechten, James Hunicher, and Clyde Brion-Davis. Everybody reads those today.

              Carl Van Vechten wrote one nice book; it was called Peter Wiffle. He wrote six others and every book went downhill a little bit from the first one until he was writing so-so stuff at the end and he quit. He originally had been a music critic for a New York paper and he wound up writing books about cats, whom he cared about maybe more than people. I don’t know. James Hunicher, unfortunately, died shortly after Mencken’s essay appeared having written only one book, so we’ll never really know. Clyde Brion-Davis just never caught on the same way as the people Mencken did not mention in his essay, such as Ernest Hemingway, F. Scott Fitzgerald, John Dos Passos. They were writing all around Mencken at the time, and Mencken just didn’t feel they were doing as fine a job as Van Vechten, Hunicher, and Brion-Davis. It’s a very slippery thing to count upon your contemporaries for judgment.

              I feel the only person that you must please as a writer, really, is your own self at its deepest levels.

              I had to laugh at the part about the descent of Carl Van Vechten. It tends to remind me of a certain so-called “science fiction author” who has somehow managed to follow exactly the same path, with every book going downhill from the first one until he wound up writing books about cats…

              The sad thing is that Zelazny himself is already forgotten; even his greatest novel, which was lauded by some as one of the best science fiction novels ever written, is virtually unknown to any reader under the age of 50.

              Write what thou wilt, with due regard for those happy few who are interested in reading your books.

              DISCUSS ON SG

              Beginning with a Bang

              The Dark Herald has taken his talents to the Arkhaven substack, and he’s gotten off to a blistering start with a comparison of Neil Gaiman’s derivative work to the woman from whose work he derived it:

              One is the real deal and the other is a cheap knockoff of the original. 

              There is a Swiss Rolex and there is a Bangkok Rolex. There is Classic Coke and there is Sam’s Cola.  There is the Mona Lisa in the Louvre and the one on Cousin Jimbo’s velvet blanket.

              There is Tannith Lee and there is Neil Gaiman. 

              This has become vastly apparent to me this weekend while reading Night’s Master. It’s a funny thing about writers, we all have that one writer that made us want to write for a living.  While learning the craft we discover our strengths and limitations.  Some of us will eventually discover that we have surpassed our masters.  In bitter truth, most of us will discover that we can’t due to the limitations of our innate talents but those who face this unpleasant realization do not resent the writer who inspired us. 

              Mostly. 

              Gamma males, on the other hand, live in a world blanketed by their resentments and can never bring themselves to give credit where it’s due. It’s too painful a truth to acknowledge.  How can I be the secret king when there is all too obviously a real king? John Scalzi has never given credit to Joe Haldeman for his influence on his early work, although it’s clearly there. Neil Gaiman’s disdain for Tanith Lee went all the way back to when he was doing literary reviews. By Lee’s account, (which I will take over Gaiman’s in a heartbeat), he was pleasant, fawning and even obsequious during his interview of her for the Guardian.  When he published his interview, Lee discovered that Gaiman had described her as “formerly attractive.”

              On top of which, reportedly and according to Lee’s belief, he directly plagiarized entire paragraphs from her. I haven’t seen the direct evidence of the truth of the plagiarism yet, but I suspect that between the Dark Herald and me, we should be able to find it if, in fact, it exists. While I’m very familiar with the various tales of the Flat Earth, including the Secret Books of Paradys, which I own and have read repeatedly, and also own her Secret Books of Venus series, I’d never read a single Neil Gaiman work until after we launched Arkhaven and I was encouraged to read Sandman.

              Which, you may recall from the streams I was doing at the time, struck me immediately as mediocre and derivative, as well as more than a little off-putting.

              Anyhow, it’s no surprise that the Dark Herald is off to an excellent start at the Arkhaven substack. He’ll be blogging there henceforth, so if you’re accustomed to reading him at the store site, I’d encourage you to sign up for a free subscription there.

              In other Arkhaven news, we received the test print of JDA’s Overmind omnibus from the new printer this weekend. The quality of the color printing is excellent, indeed, one could quite credibly say superlative. We’re placing an order for the initial print run of 75 leatherbound copies, so there will be a few extras available for sale when they’re ready. The Hypergamouse printing will soon follow. And two additional bonuses; the leatherbound comics will be sewn, and somewhat to my surprise, color edge printed.

              DISCUSS ON SG

              In Praise of Blasphemy

              I think I have stumbled upon why the godless sex perverts who made up an influential element of the science fiction crowd of the 1960s lionized and feted Roger Zelazny on the basis of a short story which not only isn’t anywhere nearly as good as his later work, but doesn’t stand up well over time in any context, be it scientific or socio-sexual.

              The damning paragraph follows. Note the the Locar of which the patron saint of Gamma fiction writes is Ecclesiastes.

              “And ours is not an insignificant people, an insignificant place,” I went on. “Thousands of years ago, the Locar of our world wrote a book saying that it was. He spoke as Locar did, but we did not lie down, despite plagues, wars, and famines. We did not die. One by one we beat down the diseases, we fed the hungry, we fought the wars, and, recently, have gone a long time without them. We may finally have conquered them. I do not know.

              “But we have crossed millions of miles of nothingness. We have visited another world. And our Locar had said ‘Why bother? What is the worth of it? It is all vanity, anyhow.’

              “And the secret is,” I lowered my voice, as at a poetry reading, “he was right! It is vanity, it is pride! It is the hybris of rationalism to always attack the prophet, the mystic, the god. It is our blasphemy which has made us great, and will sustain us, and which the gods secretly admire in us. ⁠—All the truly sacred names of God are blasphemous things to speak!”

              No wonder science fiction and fantasy have devolved into diseased lunacy. Their foolish elite literally set themselves against God, and now they have reaped the inevitable whirlwind as their retarded heirs laboriously scribble their deranged fantasies about being gang-raped by gay dinosaurs.

              DISCUSS ON SG