In the past 10 years, I’ve read a lot of fantasy fiction. Find any “best epic/high/fantasy fiction” list online; I assure you I’ve both seen the list and read 90% of the books on that list. This has always been my secret guilty pleasure.

In my mind, well written fantasy and science fiction works stand out in their unique ability to story build an entire world. The author conscientiously develops a rich, multi-faceted world that the reader becomes invested in exploring. The explicit world conveyed via the story is only the tip of the iceberg relative to the imagined world that exists in the shared experience between author and reader. A well-developed world has something for every reader: a complicated network of socio-political alliances, a clearly defined system governing the rules of magic, an ethnography of diverse peoples inhabiting a far flung physical world, a detailed depiction of military strategy and logistics, etc. While well-written characters are necessary to tell the story, the character’s story arcs are only biased perspectives that help guide the reader in exploring the world. In order to showcase all aspects of the world they’ve created, authors will often write several non-intersecting series occupying the same world.

I’ve recently been reading the Powder Mage trilogy, written by Brian McClellan. The story takes place in a fictional analog of Revolutionary Europe. Rival kingdoms via for power under a Westphalian political and religious backdrop. Within the protagonist kingdom of Adro, inter-faction political intrigue is at odds with the pressing necessity of the kingdom’s defense against hostile neighbors. The magic of this world is split between the Privileged (ubermensch sorcerers) and Powder Mages (military black powder wizards). As the kingdoms wage military and economic war, the religious gods that founded each kingdom return to the mortal earth.

It’s been a fast-paced, entertaining read – definitely deserving of its place within the top 50 of most epic fantasy recommendation lists. The trilogy has many aspects reminiscent of other seminal works in the genre: A Song of Ice and Fire’s complicated political intrigue, The Stormlight Archive’s detail to military conflict, The First Law’s darkness and grittiness. I’ve been most interested in The Powder Mage’s treatment of coexisting magic and gunpowder. Often times in fantasy fiction, the balance of power between magic and real world arms overwhelmingly favors one side. Either powerful sorcerers reign unchecked by the contemporary arms technology (Malazan Book of the Fallen) or magic is so inconveniently costly that guns are more expedient (Dresden Files). In this series, the aptly named Powder Mages, with their ability to only manipulate black powder, act as a check against the rarer and more powerful innate sorcery of the Privileged. The narrative is plot and action driven, and only covers a small handful of characters who are clearly protagonists. The pace of the story comes at the cost of developing depth in the world. The world building is comparatively light, perhaps because the author assumes an 18th century Europe analog is accessible to the reader. Additionally, I find the characters frustratingly flat with only obvious character development. The narrative focuses on a small handful of characters that provide disappointingly similar perspectives into the world.

While it certainly has its own merits, the Powder Mage series doesn’t strongly differentiate itself from the rest of the fantasy fiction genre. It reminds me of the books at the front of bookstores and libraries – captivating covers but ultimately unmemorable stories.