By http://www.tolkientown.com, https://en.wikipedia.org/w/index.php?curid=7759785

A Lord of the Rings marathon.

A re-read of the Harry Potter series.

More recently, going to see the latest Star Wars film more times than one hand can count. (You know who you are.)

How about Sherlock? (IT’S COMING! IT’S COMING! IT’S FINALLY COMING!)

Or the Doctor Who Christmas special?

For some reason, December, particularly the time around Christmas and New Year’s, seems to draw a special interest that results in traditions centered around our favorite fandoms.

Sci-fi and fantasy movies come out—Star Wars and the Hobbit Trilogy to name a few. We return to the well-worn paths of stories we know and love, eager to rekindle the flame of excitement we still have.

My family doesn’t have a ton of traditions. We’ve done the LotR marathon before—who hasn’t? We watched the Hobbit movies each year they came out.

A couple years ago, BBC ran a Doctor Who marathon between Christmas and New Year’s. I’d never seen Doctor Who before, but that marathon was my first taste of the Whovian universe. First Tenant, than Smith. Oh the glorious discovery. After that, I’ve never returned to the ordinary drudgery.

Some of the typical traditions I mentioned beg the question, why? Why read books you know inside and out? Why re-watch a movie you’ve seen so many times you could quote half the lines verbatim?

I think it speaks to the powerful nature of storytelling. Though the details of the story itself may become so ingrained in our minds that it offers nothing new or exciting, the truths woven throughout remain timeless.

Such is our motivation in returning to stories we love. We seek their continual reminders of truth, love, sacrifice—whatever themes resonate with us. We return to the well of story to find refreshment and courage to face the future.

Because in our favorite stories, if one thing stands out above the rest, it’s the way in which they remind us of our story. Of our quests and villains, guides and sidekicks, defeats and triumphs.

So here’s to another year of fandom traditions that point us toward those moments and capture our imaginations all over again.

Let’s get a conversation started. What are some of your fandom traditions for this time of year?

S. D. Smith is the author of the middle-grade adventure fantasy novels, The Green Ember, The Black Star of Kingston, and Ember Falls (The Green Ember: Book II). Despite spending time as one of the top 100 best-selling authors on Amazon and seeing the audiobook for The Green Ember hit #1 in worldwide sales on Audible, Smith notes that he remains an award-losing author. His debut novel was a runner up for both World Magazine and Audible’s Kid’s Book of the Year Awards.

Lion-O from the ’80s cartoon Thundercats, Lassie, Robin Hood—these and other characters and stories proved influential for Smith during his growing up years in West Virginia, and then as a missionary kid in South Africa. Perhaps no story had more power than Narnia:

With Narnia, something I cannot really describe began to happen as Mom read to us at night in our home, way back in an Appalachian hollow. It was my first experience of magical transcendence. (“5 Questions with S. D. Smith“)

Nevertheless, Smith fell for the cultural stereotype which identified boys as non-readers, and left his love of books for a time. His return was inspired by a Shakespeare play which led him to The Lord of the Rings and Enders Game.

Certainly Smith’s early love for stories and fantasy became a part of him, but his writing didn’t take off until, as an adult, a father, he began telling stories to his daughter, then to her and her brother, and eventually to all the family. Initially they would sit out on the porch and watch deer and rabbits in their yard, and he would make up stories about the animals.

During the next ten years, the tellings morphed from backyard fare to nap time and bedtime stories that became the rough outline for The Green Ember and the related books, The Black Star Of Kingston (a prequel) and Ember Falls.

Of his fiction, Smith said,

This story is a bit of a throwback to a time when storytellers were more eager to ennoble virtue, while at the same time it’s just a fun tale. It’s about a pair of rabbit siblings, Heather and Picket, who, in terrible personal peril, discover a world wounded to its soul. They see how their own stories are linked to the wider world’s calamity and have to find a way to overcome in the face of betrayal and disaster.

I loved telling these stories to my kids and I enjoyed turning those tales into a novel. (Ibid.)

Smith is not one dimensional. He’s husband to Gina and a father of four—two boys and two girls. He loves soccer, has a ready sense of humor, is an educator, and cares deeply for families. The latter led him to found Story Warren, a collection of people who identify as “allies” to imagination. Their purpose is to help parents as they foster imagination in their children. They do so through their web site but also through the Inkwell Family Conference and of course, through books.

About his storytelling, Smith says, “I love to make stories. I want them to be good.”

This Is Story Warren – Allies in Imagination from Laidley Media on Vimeo.

The Green Ember

by S. D. Smith

THE GREEN EMBER — INTRODUCTION
Heather and Picket are extraordinary rabbits with ordinary lives until calamitous events overtake them, spilling them into a cauldron of misadventures. They discover that their own story is bound up in the tumult threatening to overwhelm the wider world.

Kings fall and kingdoms totter. Tyrants ascend and terrors threaten. Betrayal beckons, and loyalty is a broken road with peril around every bend.

Where will Heather and Picket land? How will they make their stand?

– – – – –

I don’t usually tell people that there is a book they absolutely-must-no-questions-HAVE-TO-without-a-doubt read. But this one? How shall I put this? If I could choose only one book for my kids to read this year, this would be it. How’s that for a recommendation? Go get it! Officially our favorite read-aloud ever. I’m recommending this to everyone who happens to lend me their ear for 5 seconds. From the Read-Aloud Revival to S.D. Smith: thank you for giving us this beautiful gem! –Sarah Mackenzie, Author of Teaching From Rest, Host of The Read-Aloud Revival Podcast (via Amazon)

THE GREEN EMBER — EXCERPT

Prologue

Two soaked and battered rabbits washed up on the shore of Ayman Lake. Gasping, Fleck crawled onto the stony beach, rolled over, and tried to clear his mind. Galt was already standing. “We have to go, Fleck,” he said, eyes darting from the lake to the tree line.

“I’m no traitor,” Fleck managed to say through ragged breaths.

“Traitor?” Galt cried. “The winning side gets to decide who the traitors were. We’ve lost, Fleck. It’s over. Eve you, Captain Blackstar, can do nothing this time. We have o chance.”

“We? We have no chance?”

“He has no chance,” Galt said, head down, edging toward the forest.

Fleck stood slowly, staggering. The usual grey fur of his arm was blotched with dark scarlet. One eye was swollen shut. “He can be saved,” Fleck said, reaching for his sword. His hand closed on air. His scabbard was empty.

“Nothing,” Galt said. “There’s nothing we can do. It’s the end of the world.”

“But the oath, Galt. Remember? We can still turn this. King Whitson needs us. Prince Lander needs us,” he said, pointing to the burning ship. “I’ll never turn traitor.”

“You’re only a traitor if you betray yourself,” Galt said. He sprinted off, disappearing into the trees.

Fleck struggled to stay upright. Swaying, he turned from the fleeing rabbit to face the lake. Charcoal smoke corkscrewed into the sky. The blackened boat teemed with enemies. Flames snapped at the red diamond standard as the last kingsbucks grappled with the invaders on the deck. Whitson Mariner stood among them, his sword poised and his harried shouts echoing over the lake. Fleck straightened and stretched his arm. Pain flared. Unbearable agony. He bent, wincing. He opened his eyes and saw King Whitson, fighting desperately to protect Prince Lander. Fleck rose, ignoring the pain, and shouted across the water.

“My place beside you, my blood for yours! Till the Green Ember rises, or the end of the world!”

Swordless, Fleck Blackstar hobbled to the water’s edge and plunged in.

Chapter One – Heather And Picket Catch A Star

Heather had invented the game, but Picket made it magic. She remembered the day it began. She had been out in the meadow behind their elm-tree home, lying on a blanket in the sun. Heather was little then. Her long furry ears bent slightly in the wind, and the bow she invariably wore over one ear was starting to come undone. That day Mother had done a carnation bow, an intricate weave of one long ribbon made to look like a large flower, and pinned it to one ear. Picket was little more than a baby then, sleeping in his crib.

Heather had gathered several sticks and was thinking hard about them when a powerful gust of wind almost knocked her over. The gust finally loosened her bow, which came down in a tangle of scarlet ribbon, draping over the sticks she held. She was unaware that she held the ingredients for the game that would later give them endless hours of fun.

She had crossed two short sticks and made an X shape. Then she added another, giving it six points. She tied them together with the long scarlet ribbon. Heather smiled. It was pretty, like a star. The end of the ribbon trailed back a few feet, and she considered wrapping all of it around the bound pointed sticks. But she stopped suddenly, and then the wind picked up again as she tied off the ribbon around the star at its center, leaving its long scarlet train to flap in the breeze. She stood, holding her small invention aloft, smiling wide. With barely a thought of why, she flung the toy as hard as she could. It sailed through the air like a shooting star, the ribbon trailing a scarlet wake. It disappeared into the tall grass. She frowned, afraid it would take forever to find it.

That’s when the game came to her. When Picket woke up, she explained it to him, hoping he would crawl out and play. But he was too little then.

“It’s called Starseek,” she said, “and this is the star.”

“is it a real star?” Picket asked, his head cocked sideways and his whiskers twitching.

“No, little one,” Heather said, “a real star hangs in the sky at night, along with a million others. This is just a game.”

“A game?” Picket said. “Maybe they’re all for games.”

Now that they were both older, Heather near maturity and Picket not too far behind, the two of them had played Starseek hundreds of times. It had been fun to play alone for a little while, but that got old pretty quickly. So Picket had played, with Heather’s patient instruction, from the time he could walk. Now he was older and, as much as Heather hated to admit it, getting as good as her at the game she had invented. He had a keen eye and was agile on the ground. She was faster, She could still beat him at a straight-run race, but he was quick.

Today she was in danger of losing every match. But it wasn’t over yet.

S. D. Smith — AUTHOR BIO

S. D. Smith lives with his wife and four kids in West Virginia. Sam is the author of the middle grade adventure fantasy, The Green Ember, as well as its prequel, The Black Star of Kingston.

Ember Falls, the highly-anticipated follow-up to The Green Ember, is available now.

Visit Sam at his website and find him on other social media sites such as Facebook :: Twitter :: Instagram

“It’s beginning to look a lot like Christmas,” as the song goes. *cue animated snowman scooting through the snow while singing*

Even if it’s not looking like Christmas where you live, the craziness of December has descended upon us. For book lovers, this is a joyous month. What makes a better present or stocking-stuffer than a book? Or a trilogy? Or a seven-volume series?

Answer: all the above…combined.

You may need to shop for a bookish friend or family member. Perhaps you’re looking for the perfect spec-fic novel to round out your list.

Here are some excellent fantasy and sci-fi books you should check out.

1. The Stormlight Archive (Brandon Sanderson)

Why you should read it

• Incredible depth, creativity, and originality in the worldbuilding
• An intricate, believable magic system
• Relatable, well-developed characters with powerful backstories and intriguing character arcs
• Humor galore
• An assortment of fascinating creatures
• A breathtaking plot
• All the trappings of a sprawling epic fantasy without the tired clichés
• Examination of deep questions

2. The Kinsman Chronicles (Jill Williamson)

Why you should read it

• A unique fantasy world (think Africa)
• Memorable characters who throb with life
• Impending doom that puts a new twist on the fantasy formula
• A dark world ripe for redemptive light to shine in

3. The Storm Siren Trilogy (Mary Weber)

Why you should read it (I’ve only read the first book)

• A sympathetic heroine
• A fascinating magic system
• Mind-rocking surprise (but of course, I won’t tell you when)
• Tasteful romance

4. The Reckoners’ Series (Brandon Sanderson)

Why you should read it (I’ve read the first two books)

• People have powers and they’re all evil (someone, give this book an award for originality)
• A passionate, headstrong hero
• Awesomesauce powers and neat tech
• A dystopian setting that lacks a feisty teenage female lead, a love triangle, or a corrupt government *gasp, what is this madness?*
• A breakneck pace that refuses to let you go

5. The Out of Time Series (Nadine Brandes)

Why you should read it

• Clocks that tell characters when they’ll die (is that not the coolest thing in, like…EVER?!)
• A determined heroine and well-rounded supporting cast
• Trial after conflict after hardship
• Another original dystopian setting with some of the most imaginative inventions I’ve seen
• A cruel cliffhanger that will make you weep

6. Mistborn (Brandon Sanderson…apparently, he’s the man)

Why you should read it (I’ve only read the fantasy trilogy)

• A unique, developed magic system that’s flat out fun to read (are you sensing the Sanderson pattern?)
• Shocking twists on classic fantasy clichés
• ALL THE PLOT TWISTS ALL THE TIME
• A crueler cliffhanger that will gnaw at your bookish soul until you read the next book
• Epic battles, love, loyalty, sacrifice

What are some of your fantasy and sci-fi book recommendations?

Perhaps no other holiday or time of year has inspired as much fiction as has Christmas. This weekend I watched a couple Christmas movies on ION—very sappy and sentimental, but sill endearing. The thing they had in common was some aspect of speculation: magic or wonder or the supernatural. These were not Christian movies, mind you. But they associated Christmas with wonder, with generosity, with reconciliation, with personal growth and change. And yes, with love.

Parents and children who had been estranged for years, made peace. Men and women engaged to the wrong person found their true love. Business people bent on serving themselves or “business,” made selfless choices and served others instead. An angel, a magical elevator, a star tree ornament brought people clarity or hope or insight or opportunity.

I find it amazing that our world, broken by division and disbelief, still takes from the holiday that superficially celebrates Christ’s birth, the remarkable gifts God gave when He sent “His own Son in the likeness of sinful flesh.”

Stories reflect the desires of our heart, and the stories of Christmas tend to be about a Scrooge finding generosity to be more satisfying than all the money his miserly ways have accumulated; about a George Baily finding charitable service to others more fulfilling than selfishness; about a poor young husband and wife each sacrificing their prized possession that they might be able to give to their beloved spouse; about a Nutcracker coming to life, rescuing a young girl from the evil Mouse King, and whisking her away to a magical kingdom.

In other words, Christmas stories, even ones without the elements of the Biblical account of Christ’s first coming, include wonder, sacrifice, hope, reconciliation, and love. Good wins out over evil.

I tend to think Christ’s incarnation has had such a big impact on the world, that we can’t help but reflect the miracle of His coming. Without intending to, writers of sappy Christmas stories and writers of classic novels and ballets and movies reflect what God did when He sent His Son in the form of a baby. His was the greatest sacrifice, the most priceless gift, the best love, the most complete reconciliation, the highest hope.

But these qualities are so other when compared with normal life. We know that relationships aren’t always healed, that selfish people don’t share their wealth with the Tiny Tim’s of the world. We know that the George Bailey’s often end up in prison, and orphans don’t always find a loving family. Enter the speculative.

To believe in the goodness of Christmas, we seem by instinct to realize that something beyond the pale of the usual must happen. Christmas stories without the miraculous, the wonder, the divine, end up being too unbelievable, too unrealistic, too contrived.

Perhaps sin has hardened us or perhaps it has given us a correct understanding—apart from intervention, we will live without hope and help. We will remain alone and lonely. We will not find fulfillment in our selfish pursuits. But our Christmas stories show intervention. The supernatural comes into the world in unexpected ways, and it changes everything.

Of course not all Christmas stories include the supernatural or the speculative. Some, like Pearl S. Buck’s “Christmas Day In The Morning” or O. Henry’s “The Gift Of The Magi” reflect God’s love through the love of another person.

Either way, the story breaks from the mold of our usual existence—from the familiar Facebook arguments; or complaining kids, siblings, employees; from demanding customers, drivers, parents; from insincere neighbors and harried shoppers.

Love that sacrifices is almost as magical, almost as supernatural, as a Nutcracker come alive, as a ghost making a visit. And all point to the true great gift of Christmas.

Beast

by Chawna Schroeder

Published by Gilead Publishing

INTRODUCTION

I am Beast. I serve the master.

For as long as Beast can remember, she has lived among her master’s dogs. With them she sleeps. With them she eats. With them she fights and struggles to survive. But through hunger and cold she dreams of one day becoming her master’s favorite, earning bones with meat and a place beside the fire.

When her pack scatters after a surprise raid, Beast must defend herself against slavers hunting down the loners.

They are so strong, and she is only a beast . . . or is she?

Excerpt

I am Beast. I serve Master.

When he calls, I come. When he commands, I obey. When he rages, I cower at his feet. By his word I live; by his word I die. So I stay to the shadows, sleeping in the pen with Master’s dogs and fighting them for the scraps that fall from Master’s table. Sometimes I win. Most times I don’t. Then long nights follow. Cold nights, when wind pierces the wood.

Tonight, Master’s dogs curl up together in the corner away from the wind. I try to join them, but the Others growl and snap. I go away to the pen’s far side and wrap my fur around me. It is long, but it covers only my head, and the extra coat Master gave me is full of holes. The Others’ fur covers all of them. This is one reason why I am Beast, not an Other.

Light comes after a long time, but it is cold light, angry light. My insides hurt. I curl into a tighter ball, but the hurt does not go away. Maybe some of Master’s pack will come, and he will call me to do the things only I can do. Then Master will laugh, I will have food, and the hurt will go away for a little while.

The house door opens—it creaks—and Master’s mate calls. “Warrior, Mongrel, Huntress, Arrow.”

The Others immediately rise, yapping and jumping against the pen’s boards.

Mate does not call me, but I uncurl anyway. Pressing my forepaws into the dirt, I swing the rest of me forward, my useless hind leg dragging behind. I am not as quick as the Others, but they have four good legs, and I have only three.

Without looking at me, Master’s mate tosses bones to the Others. Her mouth is thin. I wait by the boards, face to the ground. I do not know why I wait. A thin mouth says she is displeased, and my insides always hurt more when Master’s mate is displeased. Day will be cold and long.

“Beast, come.”

I raise my head. She called me?

Her fingers grasp the gate, her mouth thinner. She did call. I bound forward.

Mate opens the gate enough for me and me only, then closes it on my useless leg. I yelp and roll forward. My leg, my let! I curl into a ball, forepaws to my useless leg, water running down my face.

“Quit your whining.” Mate hits my back with a stick. “Hurry up.”

I slink toward Master’s house but not fast enough. Mate’s stick finds my back twice more before I reach the flat rock by the door. She raises the stick to strike again. I cower.

The door opens. “Enough, woman!” Master steps between his mate and me. “Get back to your work.”

She scowls but turns away.

Master pats my head. “Don’t worry about her, Beast.” He goes into the house. “Come, girl.”

I swing myself across the stone floor, and Master shuts the door behind me.

The inside is warm and thick with the smell of food, and I would thump a tail if I had one like the Others. My movement must be fast so that no one steps on me, for both strangers and the men of Master’s pack fill the room. But perhaps more people will mean more food.

A stranger-man at the long table snorts and points at me. “What’s that?”

“Beast.” Master pulls out a chair, and it scrapes against the floor.

“But what is it? Human? Animal?”

“Neither. Both. It’s a beast. Watch.” Master breaks a loaf of bread and tosses part to me.

I catch it in my mouth. The bread is dry and hard, but it is food, and I feast.

Master breaks off another chuck. “Beast, catch.” He throws it across the room.

I bound over the uneven floor and leap to catch the bread as it bounces off the wall.

Some of Master’s pack chuckle, and a stranger says, “Impressive.”

I think that means I did well. I chew on my reward.

The men hunch again over the table and stab fingers at something on it. I am forgotten, but I don’t mind. The wind cannot bite here. I curl into a ball in the corner and watch the fire burning low in the hearth.

I think of a place where I am a favorite, where I lie by the fire and bones with meat are set before me every day. Could there be such a place for me? What would I have to do to earn such high favor with Master?

The men at the table become louder and louder. Master’s pack is fighting the strangers. Fists pound. Voices yell. I huddle in my corner. Master is angry. I do not like it when Master is angry. Blood—usually mine—will flow.

One from Master’s pack rises and stomps out the door. Outside. There I can hide until Master’s rage goes away.

I slink toward the door. A stranger tips a chair over and a pot flies over my head, shattering against a wall. I dart behind pans by the hearth. My useless leg bumps a small pail. Gray powder spills across the floor.

“Beast!” Master’s footsteps pound. “What are you still doing in here, you stupid animal?”

Whimpering, I flatten myself to the floor. Please, Master. Don’t be angry. Please, Master, I’m sorry.

He grabs my fur and hauls me out from behind the big pots. “Out!” He kicks me outside and slams the door behind me.

Water from above splashes down on my head, and the wind bites hard. But Master’s hand did not find his belt. That is better than I thought possible.

I drag myself off the stone by the door; neither Master nor his mate must find me here. The sky’s water pelts harder as I crawl under some bushes near the edge of the woods. Master will not know I am here. The pack and strangers will leave. His anger will go away. Then I can return.

– – – – –

AUTHOR BIO

Chawna Schroeder loves stretching both the imagination and faith through her novels. Living in Minnesota, she dreams of far-off places, daring swordfights, magic spells, and princes in disguise. When she isn’t committing her dreams to paper, you can find her studying the biblical languages, working with fiber, or teaching about the importance of discernment.

Visit her website and her blog, Imagination Investigation, to learn more about her and her writing. You can also find her on Facebook.

Image via Pixabay.

Christmas is coming. Which means presents.

Which means…BOOKS! Because if we’re honest, what better present is there?

Books are magical.

Composed only of paper and ink, and fueled by imagination, they act as portals to other worlds. For a time, we leave the confines of reality behind and travel to places where animals talk, wizards practice magic, or dragons roams the skies.

The sense of transportation we gain from reading is something rarely found elsewhere, which is one of the reasons books are so amazing.

There are many different types of readers, but today I’m talking to the bookworms—the voracious readers who count books as one of the joys of the world (you know who you are). 😉

Being a bookworm is like having membership in an elite club. Not everyone can appreciate the joy, anguish, excitement, and emotional ache involved in loving books. Finding a fellow bookworm is a delightful experience. Finally, someone you can geek out over the beautiful intricacies of written stories.

Living as a bookworm comes with a unique reality that sometimes the outer world doesn’t understand.

Things Only Bookworms Understand

1. The emotional connection to and involvement in the lives of people who don’t exist (side effects include laughing, crying, worrying, and cheering).
2. The joyful thrill of walking into a bookstore or library.
3. The smell of a new book as you fan through its pages that are begging to be explored.
4. A stalwart love of hardcover books.
5. While sitting in bed, the realization that, despite your good intentions to go to sleep, you can’t put the book down even though it’s now 2 am.
6. The tendency to fangirl (or fanboy) over favorite authors, sometimes to the extent of making people wonder if you signed an endorsement contract.
7. When it’s impossible to let go of a story, you write a continuation of events that follow.
8. The moment when you look up and realize your mom has been trying to ask you a question for an entire minute and you didn’t hear her because you were too absorbed in the story.
9. An increased beat of the heart, similar to the pounding of horse hooves, as you approach the end of a chapter you suspect will be a cliffhanger.
10. The temptation (sometimes carried out) to throw a disappointing book across the room.
11. The ease with which you lose track of time when reading.
12. The custom of telling yourself “just one more chapter” until you end up finishing.
13. A habit of letting your eyes stray to the end of a chapter to see what happens (see 9) and therefore ruining the moment.
14. An addiction to buying books—and the inherent dangers to your bank account.
15. 

    Image via Pixabay.

    The overwhelming need to rave to others about a book you love, and keep bugging them to read it until they do.

16. An unusual obsession (to the outside observer) over the arrangement of your bookshelves (because let’s be honest, you have more than one).
17. The agonizing pain as you await the release of a sequel.
18. The surge of emotions you experience when you finish a series you loved.
19. Fondness of reading and re-reading favorite parts in a favorite book, in order to relive the experience again (I’ve done this multiple times with Lord of the Rings).
20. The giddy excitement you experience when you find a limited or special edition book.
21. The paralyzing indecision over which books to buy when you don’t have enough money to buy each one you want (see 14).
22. Satisfaction gained in standing and admiring your bookshelves.
23. The risk of turning blue from unknowingly holding your breath during a riveting part (see 9 again).
24. The sheer delight of getting gift cards you know you can spend on books (note to family and friends of bookworms: said gift cards make excellent birthday and Christmas presents). 😉
25. 

    Image via Pixabay.

    The odd yet comfortable feeling (and accompanying distress) that your best friends are fictitious.

26. The skill of avoiding furniture and people while not looking, developed by simultaneously reading and walking.
27. The grainy sensation in your eyes after having read too much.
28. The sheer ecstasy experienced when you win a free book.
29. Musing about how characters from other worlds would act if deposited into our world.
30. An endless TBR list that continues to grow despite your best efforts (who doesn’t have one, right?).

What are some of your bookworm habits?

*Adapted from a post that originally appeared on zacharytotah.com in February 2016*

I can feel it coming on. I’ve noticed it more the last few years, but no doubt it’s been part of my makeup for some time. Call it the Fantasy Itch.

Yep, for some reason as the “holiday season”—usually defined here in the US as Thanksgiving, Christmas, and New Years Day—approaches, I begin to have an urge to snuggle in with one of the great fantasies. In recent years I’ve used the occasion to reread the Hobbit and the Lord of the Rings trilogy, much of the Narnia series, and a couple of Lloyd Alexander’s Chronicles of Prydain books. One year I even reread the one Harry Potter book I own—then visited the library to get the rest of the series to satisfy the fantasy itch.

The odd thing is, I read fantasy all the time—part of the job now, so to speak. Some years ago I read Falling Kingdoms by Morgan Rhodes, a general market young adult story, and the beginning of a series touted as “ideal for fans of George R. R. Martin and Kristin Cashore.” Then there was Throne of Glass by Sarah J. Maas, another general market YA. Before that was Shannon Hale’s sequel to Princess Academy, Palace of Stone.

Of course I’ve also read all the books the Christian Science Fiction and Fantasy Blog Tour features, and some I judged for contests. Others, friends have sent me. With all this speculative fiction coming out of my ears, why would I want to settle down with a fantasy as a special holiday season activity? It’s a mystery to me.

Somehow, with shorter days and cooler weather (I realize we here in SoCal aren’t allowed by our Eastern friends to say “cold weather” 😆 ), reading becomes a greater pleasure. But more than that, getting lost in a different world, one so rich it feels real, is pure delight.

Which probably explains why I gravitate to certain books—those that have a level of worldbuilding a grade above most other fantasies.

Some of those general market fantasies I mentioned above, not urban fantasy or dystopians, seem to me to be a weak imitation of the medieval world, with different countries, and of course some magic or supernatural power. In other words, I don’t feel transported to somewhere else.

Narnia speaks for itself. It’s a world full of surprises—with talking animals which one day disappear from the world, until they’re brought back; with time that moves at a different rate; with a Lion king and a frozen land always waiting for Christmas. There’s nothing like Narnia outside Narnia.

Tolkien’s stories, though supposedly happening on “middle earth,” also feel Other. Not unfamiliar or strange, mind you. There are familiar things like inns and ponies and roads and a comfortable fire and birthday parties. But peopling this familiar place are hobbits and trolls and dwarfs and orcs and wizards and dragons and elves. What’s more, there are frightening forests and abandoned dwarf mines that once held an entire city and mountains that turn malevolent and secret stairways and deadly marshes. In other words, along with the familiar are places that enchant and intrigue and even frighten.

Harry Potter is similar. Nothing could be more familiar to most of us than a school, though fewer of us have experienced a boarding school, unless you lived in a dorm during college. But mixed in with what seems so normal—homework and tests and boring lectures and athletic contests—is the special world of wizardry with its hierarchy and governance, games and tradition, wands and flying broomsticks. And history. A dark history in which a wizard, utilizing the dark arts, ruled.

Ah, yes, I’m definitely ready to settle down with a good fantasy. It’s that time of year! Last year I read Brandon Sanderson’s Mistborn, first in the Mistborn Trilogy (which, I learned, is actually a five book series). I’m thinking this year I should finish out the rest, starting with The Well of Ascension.

What about you? What speculative books are you looking forward to reading? Do you have a time of year in which you favor a particular genre? Which one?

This article is a revised version of one that first appeared at A Christian Worldview Of Fiction in November 2012.