I can pinpoint with reasonable certainty that Melanie Rawn’s Dragon Prince marked my entry into the world of substantial fantasy books. Having not been a dedicated reader in my younger years, the prospect of tackling such a lengthy tome initially felt overwhelming. However, fueled by the exhilaration of discovering the beauty and wonder within this genre, I was eager for deeper exploration. Dragon Prince, with its captivating cover, seemed like the perfect gateway.
It exceeded my expectations. Soon after, I immersed myself in every lengthy book I could find, from the works of Tad Williams to Stephen Donaldson, perfectly preparing myself for The Eye of the World when it came into my view. It’s akin to learning to swim by diving into the deep end. I transitioned directly from shorter middle-grade novels to sprawling, seven-hundred-page epics. It was within these extensive narratives that I discovered the profundity, the imaginative scope, and the compelling storytelling that truly resonated with me.
It’s likely evident that I have a deep affection for epic fantasy. While I appreciate shorter fiction and enjoy stories of all sizes, epic fantasy holds a special place in my heart. It was the genre that transformed me into a reader, which in turn paved the way for my journey as a writer. Defining myself without acknowledging the influence of epic fantasy feels incomplete.
Therefore, I find myself in a somewhat peculiar position when the genre faces lighthearted mockery. Much of this jesting is good-natured; the genre’s substantial page counts and occasionally deliberate pacing do present an easy target. We playfully refer to them as “doorstoppers,” caution against dropping these novels near small pets, and joke about authors being compensated per word. Some even dismissively label these books as “fat fantasies with maps,” seemingly reducing the genre’s ambitions to a common feature found at the beginning.
I have no intention of stifling such humor. As I mentioned, it’s largely good-natured, and those of us within the genre must be willing to laugh at ourselves. Often, what one reader finds most appealing in a book—be it fast-paced action or intricate world-building—can be the very aspect that deters another. If there were only one type of book that pleased everyone, the literary landscape would be considerably less vibrant.
However, after a decade in this industry, I’ve surprisingly become a prominent voice for epic fantasy. Last year, I released what was arguably the most substantial fantasy book of the year, and it’s likely I’ll do so again this year. (Unless, of course, George R. R. Martin or Patrick Rothfuss unexpectedly release their highly anticipated works.)
This leads me to believe it’s worthwhile to discuss the genre as a literary form and shed some light on my approach to it. Not because I feel epic fantasy is in need of defense—its widespread popularity demonstrates its inherent appeal—but because I believe exciting developments are occurring within the genre currently, and I want to offer you a glimpse behind the curtain.
An Evolving Genre
I’ve previously expressed my concern that epic fantasy appeared to stagnate in the late 1990s and early 2000s, particularly concerning the endeavors of emerging authors. This isn’t to dismiss the excellent works that were published during that period (consider Robin Hobb and Steven Erikson). However, it seemed—based on my interactions with reader friends and fans at signings—that a significant number of readers drifted away around that time. While established authors like George R. R. Martin and Robert Jordan continued to produce compelling narratives, it felt as though many new writers were simply replicating what had come before, leading to a sense of repetition.
I recognize that this is a simplification and I may be overlooking noteworthy achievements of that era. But overall, I personally experienced a sense of fatigue. As both a fan and an aspiring writer, I penned several essays and editorials advocating for epic fantasy to evolve, experiment more, and break new ground. I believed, and still believe, that the defining characteristics of epic fantasy aren’t limited to specific races, settings, or familiar magic systems. Instead, the genre’s essence lies in its profound sense of immersion and expansive scope.
Fortunately, epic fantasy has evolved. It is evolving. In reality, it was evolving even then, but perhaps not rapidly enough for some of us. If you examine the works of Patrick Rothfuss, Brent Weeks, and N. K. Jemisin within the genre, you’ll discover a wealth of innovative approaches. Rothfuss experiments with non-linear storytelling and lyrical prose; Weeks crafts epic fantasy novels with the pacing of thrillers; and Jemisin explores voice, tone, and narrative flow in captivating ways. These are just a few examples of authors making significant contributions to the genre.
These stories are distinctly different from their predecessors, yet they retain the essential feel of epic fantasy. I am enthusiastic about the genre’s current direction and eagerly anticipate its future. I am committed to contributing to its ongoing evolution.
So Why Is It So Long?
Interestingly, this essay itself has a lengthy introduction, as I am only now approaching the core question I initially intended to address: Why Are These books so long?
Words of Radiance is famously the longest book that Tor can physically bind into a single volume using their existing binding equipment. In terms of word count, it isn’t actually the longest fantasy novel in recent years—I believe that title belongs to George R. R. Martin. However, my book includes a substantial number of illustrations, which contribute to its physical thickness and page count.
Some time ago, I spoke with someone who had calculated that if the Wheel of Time series had been divided into 30 parts instead of 14, it could have generated hundreds of millions more in revenue. This was a hypothetical exercise, not a suggestion to arbitrarily split books, but it sparked a discussion about a question I frequently encounter.
Why don’t I simply write shorter books? Given their size, they are considerably more expensive to produce. I am certainly capable of writing shorter works. Why not create shorter epic fantasy novels? Or why not divide these long books into multiple volumes? (Several countries already split the Stormlight Archive books for translation.)
The answer is straightforward: this is the artistic creation I envisioned.
The Stormlight Archive is conceived as a tribute to the epic fantasy genre. I wrote the initial version of The Way of Kings during a period when I was uncertain if I would ever successfully publish a book, and I was determined to create something that embodied everything I admired in fantasy. I disregarded market constraints, printing costs, and similar considerations. In many respects, The Way of Kings represents my most authentic work.
It embodies my long-held vision of what epic fantasy could be. Length is integral to that vision, as is the hardcover format—the substantial, lavish, art-filled hardcover. A large book doesn’t automatically equate to quality, but when you discover a lengthy book that resonates with you, there is simply more of it to savor. Beyond that, I felt—and still feel—that a work of this length can deliver an experience that is unattainable in a shorter format, even if it’s the same narrative divided into segments.
And thus, I present to you Words of Radiance.
The Piece of Art I Wanted to Make
Words of Radiance is a trilogy in itself.
It’s not merely part of a trilogy. (I’ve stated that the Stormlight Archive is planned as ten books, structured into two five-book arcs.) It is structured as a trilogy. This means I plotted it as I would three separate books, with smaller arcs within each and a larger overarching arc for the entire trilogy. (These breakpoints occur after part two and part three, with each of the three “books” being approximately 115,000 words long, 330 pages, or roughly the length of my novel Steelheart, or Anne McCaffrey’s Dragonquest.) When you read the novel, you are essentially reading a complete trilogy of novels bound together into a single volume, encouraging you to perceive them as a unified, interconnected whole culminating in a powerful climax.
Words of Radiance also functions as a short story collection.
I’ve discussed my intention for the interludes within these books on my blog. Between each section of Words of Radiance, you will find a selection of short stories told from the perspectives of supporting characters. Each interlude was conceived as a self-contained narrative, a small piece of the larger tapestry, but also as a story that could stand alone. (The Eshonai interludes are an exception—similar to the Szeth interludes in the first book, they are intended as a novelette/novella running parallel to the main narrative.)
Words of Radiance is also akin to an art book.
Many book series feature beautiful companion volumes showcasing artwork from their worlds, with illustrations and descriptions enriching the series’ depth. My original concept for the Stormlight Archive involved integrating this artistic element directly into the novels themselves. Words of Radiance includes entirely new, full-color endpapers, as well as approximately two dozen new pieces of interior art—all in-world drawings by characters or artwork originating from the setting itself.
My dream, my vision for this series, is for each book to blend short-form stories, multiple novel-length narratives, artistic renderings, and the expansive scope of a series into a single volume of remarkable quality.
I aspire to incorporate poetry, experimental short pieces, classic fantasy archetypes, song, non-linear flashbacks, parallel storylines, and extensive world-building. I aim to push the boundaries of what epic fantasy can be, and even what a novel can be, if possible.
I want readers to feel satisfied spending thirty dollars on a novel, knowing they are essentially acquiring five books in one. But above all, I want to create a beautiful hardcover fantasy novel reminiscent of those I cherished in my youth. Not identical, but something distinct, yet retaining that essential, familiar feeling.
I am grateful to Tor for their willingness to support me in this endeavor. The result has been wonderful. It is the book I always envisioned it could be.
But, as a final note, please avoid dropping it on any small pets.
