In which Kevin drags you, kicking and screaming, into the world of reading.
Fantasy is one of the most malleable mediums we have. Storytellers take us to our past so that we might understand our present. Worlds of magic, otherworldly races, fantastical creatures, all in service telling profound stories about humanity. It’s one of our best genres for possibility and exploration.
Not Conan.
The thesis statement of every Conan book can be quickly boiled down to: “Isn’t Conan cool?” And, boy, isn’t he just?
The barbarian who rose up and became a king… and beheaded a lot of people on the way up. Whether he’s tangling with giant snakes, climbing towers that no one but Conan can climb, or convincing pirate queens and goddesses alike that he’s worth a shag, it’s all Conan all day, baybeeeeeee!
You, a god, think you can outrun Conan but it is actually Conan who can outrun you. Easy mistake to make. Damn, I think I can beat up Conan, thinks each man in a horde of men who certainly cannot beat up Conan. You’re either Conan, or you get the dang heck out of Conan’s way. Those are the rules from Cimmeria to Aquilonia and all the places in between that are decidedly not Conan-proof.
If this is the kind of moral philosophy you can get behind, you can read the entirety of Robert E. Howard’s Conan stories in three handy volumes. By Crom is it worth it.
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