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Spec Fic with Beautiful Prose?


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What works - shorts or novels - do you feel were written with incredibly beautiful style? Which of these books is written well but has a terrible plot and/or characterization?

Off the top of my head, I think two talented authors when it comes to prose - and very different prose - are Bakker and Valente.

Night Circus I think has a beautiful, flowing prose but the characterizations are surface level and thus while it has beautiful imagery the work suffers in that it is hard to care what happens to the characters.

I love Borge's writing style. I think Kafka, what little I've read, has an interesting style. I'm not quite ready to put my finger on what he's doing though.

ETA: grammar

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<p><p>Yeah, was gonna say valente also. But there is gene Wolfe, Jeff Vandermeer, Michael Cisco, J M McDermott too.

I'm reading Downbelow Station and I really like Cherryh's prose. The book is a bit slow but imo the writing makes up for it.

I thought The Last Werewolf by Glen Duncan was very well written also. I wasn't blown away by the plot but the characterization was well done.Also, I agree with Bakker, Borges, and The Night Circus. I would also throw im Patricia McKillip. Re reading the Riddle Master right now and it has beautiful prose. I'm partial to Jack Vance also. And PKD.

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Steve Erickson (note the spelling) - His prose serves to make his fractured narratives like Zeroville or The Sea Came in at Midnight even better.

Brian Evenson - Last Days is even more chilling due to the style Evenson employs, but he's even better when he writes short fiction. Especially read his collections The Wavering Knife and Altmann's Tongue.

I like much of Jeff VanderMeer's fiction, but I most like his short fiction, which allows him to showcase the range of styles he uses. "The Third Bear" and "The Situation," among others, benefit from him tailoring the prose to fit the scenes. Some are beautiful to read because of this extra effort.

Téa Obreht's The Tiger's Wife was a pure joy to read. Simple as that.

Michael Cisco creates weirdness on an epic scale due to his writing. The Narrator or The Great Lover, his two most recent novels, showcase this best.

Patricia McKillip's The Riddle-Master trilogy is haunting in its lyrical qualities.

Lord Dunsany is a must to read, as any of his story collections from a century ago showcase his talents as a prose (and poetry) writer.

I think that'll do for starters (and several of the ones already listed).

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Guy Gavriel Kay is always the first name that comes to mind for me when we're talking about beautiful prose. There are heartachingly beautiful passages in all of his works.

Ursula K. Le Guin, Harlan Ellison, the aforementioned Valente and Dunsany and McKillip. I consider Tolkien's prose to often be quite beautiful, especially in its descriptive passages -- there's a sense of purpose, of myth-making, and of the rhythm that's all quite admirable. Samuel R. Delaney. Mervyn Peake.

And yeah, Mickelem was a diamond in the rough -- grabbed the first book at random and I was truly impressed with her writing. Think I recently got a hold of the second novel, need to find some reading time.

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Hal Duncan. Say what you want about The Book of All Hours - and I know many people think it's a pretentious mess, though I'm of the school of thought that, much like Wolfe's New Sun, it's something that really needs and rewards a reread - but you can't deny it's fucking stylish in its writing.

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Mervyn Peake.is my number one pick for sheer beauty of the prose

:agree: from what i've read of Gormenghast. He actually reminds me more of Pratchett than of, say, Valente in terms of whats impressive about the prose. It's not so much beauty or lyricism, but this ability to deliver some insight or image thats just astonishing or heartbreaking in a handful of words.

ETA - Kate Griffin.

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ETA: Presentation

Regarding Catherynne M. Valente, her entire first novel Labyrinth is on her site:

http://www.catherynn...lente.com/free/

Here is part of the Labyrinth's opening:

"Roads. Oh god, I cannot speak of it, but the Roads have filled

me entirely, stuffed and crammed into every corner, oozing out

of my body like icy caviar. They are my avenue-bracelets and

my fat sapphire street chokers, my gold scarab short-cut

armbands and my boulevard harem anklets, they are my

cobblestone coin belts and my alleyway-agate earrings. Long

Paths criss-cross my torso like ammunition belts, and the innumerable

dead-ends pierce my breasts beautifully, hanging

pendulously, swinging with laughter, slapping triumphantly

against my bronzed belly.

And. There are here tremors ofDoorways. They appear in the

morning like dew-dampened butterflies, manic and clever.

They travel in packs. At night the hinges change from right to

left, or vanish completely. Some are no more than flaps of fur,

iridescent in the light of the Walls, or sweeping veils of gauze

and silk, long curtains like a woman’s hair. Like my hair. Some

are hard and ornate, carved with a fantastic code of Arabic and

Greek, letters drawn in a paste of crushed diamonds and the

hooves of a drowned horse, written with the elegant tip of a

black cigarette holder. These have heavy knockers and bulbous

knobs, brassy and baronial, in intricate shapes; I have seen a

knob like a griffin’s fierce mouth, open in a scream with her

tongue made of rose quartz, feathers fanning out magnificently

in silver on the face of the Door. And a falcon-claw knocker all

of amber, the reptilian talon, the three terrible nails ending in

their razor points, all wrapped about with the leather of

bondage, the flying trails of a hunter’s bird cascading down the

polished Door, ending in a large lacquered ball with which to

strike and enter.

But they are not beautiful to me, any longer. They cluster

whispering and break and dance in and out of vision. And they

hunt...."

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