Yes. I am reading an enormous, déclassé fantasy series. These books are probably, on average, 700 pages long, and there’s fourteen of them, and when I first noticed I thought ‘Whatever, I read A Suitable Boy. I read Tolstoy. I can handle this nonsense.’ I was wrong, because I’m on book five now, and I’m exhausted.

The good: A fully realized world very much in the spirit of Lord of the Rings, so it’s perfect if you’re looking to relive your childhood. You should probably not attempt to relive your childhood.

The bad: I’ve read about 3000 pages and one measly year has passed in the story. The characters are flat. SO flat. And dense to the point of stupidity. That’s ok for the first book, but by book four, you wonder why these people can’t seem to have more than about five different thoughts, which are:

-“Is Rand going mad?”

-“Light, no! [description of something already described 57 times before in the exact same words]”

-“Who understands women/men?”

-“I will keep this vital fact a secret from everyone, thereby extending the plot by a completely unnecessary 300 pages.”

-“I am tired.”

Me too, guys! Me. Too.