How i fell out of love with anime
The title is a bit dramatic, since I’m still technically a fan of anime — I just don’t watch nearly as much as I used to. Anime went from being a huge part of my life to barely featuring at all. I thought I’d outline exactly what happened and how I got here, along with […]
The title is a bit dramatic, since I’m still technically a fan of anime — I just don’t watch nearly as much as I used to. Anime went from being a huge part of my life to barely featuring at all.
I thought I’d outline exactly what happened and how I got here, along with the things that shaped my initial love for the medium. My goal is to create a kind of timeline, showing why I liked anime so much, and how that love faded. Hopefully, some of you can see yourselves in this journey or recognize patterns that might explain why you’ve drifted away from it too.
Someone once told me that anime fans move in cycles. A person discovers the medium, dives deep, consumes everything they can — then eventually moves on. In my arrogant youth, I thought that would never be me. I thought I was different.
Early anime
Being a child of the 90s, the first exposure I got to anime was children’s anime in the form of Pokemon, Beyblade, and Digimon along with Spirited Away, but more on that later. Funnily enough, I always liked Digimon way more than Pokemon. I thought it treated the audience (kids) with a little more respect. The themes were a bit darker and the villains were more evil. You are not watching Pokemon and thinking team rocket is going to win.
Later I would get into Yugioh both the anime and the card game. I use to play with other kids at my school.
I used to watch a lot of cartoons and the anime kind of blended together. I did not think of the anime as something else. I did notice how the eyes were different and some of the jokes were told differently, but as a kid I did not reflect on where the cartoons on the TV came from, I just watched them.
That is until I saw Spirited Away in theaters. The film moved me a lot back then and still does to this day. Having seen it while at the same age as Chihiro, I was frightened to death about the whole situation. Being in a hostile new environment with your parents turned to pigs scared me a lot along with zero face. I was scared of the film. It felt different. It did not protect kids the same way Western cartoons did. I was convinced I did not like it. However, it kept lingering in the back of my mind. The film never let me go.
The Gateway
Through my growing love of film, I ended up consuming quite a few anime movies. I thought they were superior to most Western animated films, which seemed more focused on appealing to children. I loved animation as an art form, especially the hand-drawn style you saw in Ghibli films and Ghost in the Shell. At the time, Western animation had mostly shifted to digital, and it just didn’t hit the same way.
One day, I was watching a video essay about Princess Mononoke that I really enjoyed. I wish I could remember who made it, since this was years ago, but I ended up checking out more of their content. One of the videos was about Death Note. I had heard the name before, but after watching that breakdown, I knew I had to give it a try.
I also knew this was a commitment. I had a feeling that once I dipped my toes in, I wouldn’t stop.
Death Note marked the beginning of my anime fandom. It opened the floodgates. After that, I had to watch more, but where do you even start? At the time, almost no one talked about anime online. It was still very much a niche thing. I found a few lists of “must-watch anime” and started working through them.
That’s when I discovered the YouTube channel Glass Reflection, which was probably the first anituber most people came across back then. I watched a ton of his videos and eventually found out he had a podcast called Potaku, which I listened to religiously.
In the beginning, I wanted to build a strong foundation. I watched what people called the classics — Cowboy Bebop, Trigun, Code Geass, and others. None of my friends watched anime. In fact, there was still a pretty heavy social stigma around it at the time. So having podcasts and YouTubers talk about anime became essential to my enjoyment.
At some point, I realized the conversations about anime were starting to feel more exciting than watching anime itself.
The First Shift
As time went on, more people began getting into anime, and its presence on YouTube grew. New channels started popping up, and I started listening to the Anipod podcast, which featured anitubers like RCAnime and Kevin Nyaa. Through them, I discovered Animeeveryday, a Scottish YouTuber I liked quite a bit at the time.
Back then, most anime content was just generic reviews. Nobody had much depth or insight — but how could they? No one was really practiced in talking about anime. The broader discourse hadn’t been built yet. Unlike the film world, which has a long-standing tradition of respected criticism, anime had no equivalent. The only people creating content were super fans.
In 2012, the first big paradigm shift happened in my anime fandom.
That year, Sword Art Online (SAO) was on everybody’s lips. It was the new big thing, and the hype was massive. Everyone was talking about it. Even the Podtaku guys, though they weren’t huge fans, gave it some credit. Glass Reflection gave it a 7.5 at the time, which in hindsight feels extremely generous.
Then came the now-infamous Digibro.
Digibro was a strange figure online, presenting as a self-aware, unapologetic degenerate otaku. But regardless of persona, he was, at the time, undoubtedly the GOAT of anitube. He made a long, in-depth video critiquing SAO, tearing it apart point by point, exposing its flaws through thoughtful analysis. It wasn’t a rant. It was critique.
That video changed everything for me — and arguably for the community at large.
First, it introduced the idea that just because something is popular doesn’t mean it’s good. SAO wasn’t some misunderstood masterpiece. It might actually be bad. And if most reviewers weren’t willing to say it — if they were trying to stay positive to avoid backlash — then who could you trust?
Second, it marked a shift from basic reviews to more serious analysis. Digibro made analytical videos cool. Other creators like Kevin Nyaa, GoatJesus, and Animeeveryday followed suit, switching from reviews to deep dives and essays.
Lastly, it changed SAO’s legacy. Once seen as the next great anime phenomenon, it is now mostly remembered as a generic, mid-tier series with wasted potential.
When the Floodgates Broke
Since I didn’t have any real-life friends who liked anime, I had to find my community online. Anitube became that place. After being introduced to Digibro, I started developing a more refined taste in anime. I became more critical, and I started holding anime to a higher standard.
That period made up the core of my anime fandom. More and more anitubers entered the scene, and the medium grew in popularity. Today, anime feels almost mainstream. At the very least, the old social stigma is gone.
Funnily enough, the growing popularity of anime also marked the beginning of my falling out of love with it. One of the most important aspects of the experience for me wasn’t just watching anime, it was participating in the surrounding discussion. The analysis, the thought, the shared curiosity. That part of the culture has been completely eroded by popularity.
Let me explain.
In an old episode of Podtaku, Glass Reflection mentioned the idea of “tiers” in anime fandom. At the top tier, he placed shows like Cowboy Bebop, the must-watch titles. His point was that there are certain shows you need to have seen in order to fully engage with the medium, or to understand its evolution.
I actually agree with that to some extent.
Imagine a film fan who’s never seen Casablanca, The Godfather, or Citizen Kane. Sure, it’s technically possible to love movies without watching those, but without some historical context, it becomes harder to appreciate the medium as a whole.
Anime, unlike film, never really developed a clear canon. That’s not necessarily a bad thing the idea of a canon comes with its own problems, but it does mean most casual fans aren’t concerned with anime history at all. In the film world, we have critics who actively champion older works and argue for their importance. Because anime lacks that level of professional criticism, there’s no one with authority to keep older shows alive in the conversation.
Some creators like Digibro and Animeeveryday did their best. And for a brief moment, it seemed like they were succeeding.
With the massive rise in popularity, anime shifted its focus almost entirely to what’s airing now. And here lies the problem — too much content, not enough quality. Keeping up with every new release feels like a full-time job and a straight shot to burnout.
Anime is released on a schedule, neatly divided into seasonal drops. Most anime podcasts follow this formula: first impressions, mid-season thoughts, final wrap-ups. Repeat. When is there time to revisit the classics? The shows that actually stuck with people? You can’t. You’re too busy trying to keep up before the next wave buries the last one.
In the anime community, everything moves too fast. That one show you loved from three seasons ago? No one’s talking about it anymore. It’s already ancient history.
This kind of rapid, surface-level consumption is one of the biggest problems in modern media in general. Streaming services are packed with content, and every platform is churning out more by the second. But how much of it is actually good? How much of it changed you? Can you even remember a YouTube Short or TikTok you saw yesterday?
This is the official reason why I fell out of love with anime, but there is a more petty reason and that is the fact that I had to hide my fandom for so long, talking to people who thought anime was that strange tentacle stuff or whatever the fuck people thought it was. Being repeatedly met with “Are you into ‘that stuff’” was difficult and while I did not get bullied at all and my experience was never traumatic in any way, I did feel a small feeling of shame.
To be honest I’m just a tiny bit annoyed that people can enjoy anime without the social backlash, it is petty I know. My problem is also with shallow anime fans who have not seen the good stuff, the classics and any discourse I have with casual fans are no fun to me. I am an extreme person. I get into stuff in a big way, I get deep and into the history, I simply can’t just watch the popular new thing if it offers no value for me other than we all can talk about how we are watching the hot new thing.
Anime is just kinda…Bad
You might call me an elitist and that is fine for a time I did identify as such. Anime is simply not for me anymore and there is a reason for this. I’m old, or at least significantly older than I was. I have seen a lot of anime so I feel compatible competing on this.
Anime is geared toward younger people. The protagonist is mostly young, the story is often spelled out for you with painful examples of exposition. The action scenes in Battle Shonen are all about how mad you can be or how much you can push your power level. Most of all anime takes place in high school a setting I am not interested in, in the slightest. Most drama anime can be resolved with the characters just maturing a bit, romance is full of will they won’t they and the 2 mains never get together before the end, essentially tip-toeing around the interesting part.
I know there are exceptions to each of these examples, but my point is still that anime is way less subtle with overly large expressions. In the beginning, it was fun to see a different cultural way of doing stuff, but I do think anime has reached its endpoint for me. This is the last part of the cycle where people leave the fandom.
The reason is that most people get into anime through classic gateway anime, for me it was Death Notes. They then brought their horizon and consumed a lot of anime. At one point they would have seen everything relevant to them. I like deep mystery and psychological anime, I have already seen Lain, technolyse, and Paranoia Agent. You name it, I do not think new anime is going to come out with the trends we see that can top these shows.
Conclusion
I fell out of love with anime because it changed over time and hey maybe it was me that changed, my sensibility is not really the same as when I first got into anime and the truth is I was just a kid back then, I am an adult now. All the people I respected back then also stopped making anime content. I guess they had the same experience as I did.
There is no reason to dwell on the past, I have to move forward. Anime is in the past now, so I’ll leave these reflections for anybody interested or who might be going through the same.
When Justice Becomes Revenge
True crime is one of the most popular genres today, with surveys showing that nearly half of Americans enjoy it. From Netflix juggernauts like Making a Murderer and Tiger King to an endless stream of top-ranking podcasts, true crime has surged into mainstream culture. While the fever may have cooled slightly, it still commands a
True crime is one of the most popular genres today, with surveys showing that nearly half of Americans enjoy it. From Netflix juggernauts like Making a Murderer and Tiger King to an endless stream of top-ranking podcasts, true crime has surged into mainstream culture. While the fever may have cooled slightly, it still commands a massive and devoted following.
But why do we love true crime? Why are we so drawn to gruesome stories about murder and tragedy when the news already offers more than enough of both?
The answer is simpler than it seems. We are naturally drawn to mystery. Stories that keep us guessing, watching, and waiting for the next twist speak to a shared curiosity. True crime offers something even more compelling. It is real. The stakes are higher, the horror more immediate, and the tension more gripping because we know these things actually happened.
A large part of the appeal is that we get to experience fear and danger from a place of safety. Whether you are at home or commuting, you are in control. You get the thrill of a dark story without any real risk. There is no danger, only suspense.
So, who is listening?
A 2010 University of Illinois study found that around 70 percent of Amazon reviews for true crime books were written by women. Podcasts and streaming platforms show similar trends. The majority of true crime consumers are women, particularly white women. This group likely plays a big role in shaping how these stories are told and why they resonate so deeply. For many, true crime offers a space to explore fear, danger, and justice while remaining completely removed from the situations that inspire them.
Patricia Bryan from the University of Iowa suggests that many true crime fans are drawn to these stories because, in most cases, the victim knew their killer. This fact makes the stories feel more intimate and personal. It invites listeners to reflect on their own relationships and surroundings.
Bryan also compares the popularity of true crime to the appeal of haunted houses or roller coasters. It is a controlled brush with danger. You feel the fear, but you know you are safe.
Murder is at the center of the true crime genre. Without a killer, there is no crime. And without a crime, what are you left with? Just ordinary life.
Serial killers are especially fascinating because they are outliers. People are naturally drawn to extremes, whether it is a world-class athlete, a brilliant artist, or a tech billionaire. We admire people who break the mold, and in a strange and unsettling way, serial killers are no exception. They are extreme in the worst possible sense, but we still find ourselves asking the same questions. What happened to them? What made them like this?
True crime lets us psychoanalyze these people from a distance. It allows us to peer into the darkest parts of human behavior without getting pulled in. And that creates its own kind of thrill.
There is also a deeper, more disturbing layer. The more we explore the minds of killers, the more we start to wonder what we are capable of ourselves. Could I be like that? Do I have a dark part of me buried somewhere deep? Most people will quickly say no. But even asking the question is part of the fascination.
This is where the line between curiosity and glorification starts to blur. A clear example is Zac Efron’s portrayal of Ted Bundy, where a charming Hollywood face gives a notorious murderer a strange kind of appeal. The more we look into their minds, the more risk there is of making them feel larger than life.
For many true crime fans, the fascination does not stop at understanding the killer. There is also a strong desire to see justice served. We want the murderer caught. We want them punished. There is a sense of order being restored when the story ends with someone behind bars.
vengeance is mine
That sense of justice is what sets true crime apart from simple horror. In horror, the fear lingers. In true crime, the satisfaction often comes from resolution. Someone is held accountable. The narrative is complete.
This desire for resolution is what makes Vengeance Is Mine such a compelling case study. Directed by Shohei Imamura in 1979, the film tells the story of a killer named Iwao Enokizu. The story is fictionalized but based loosely on the real-life murderer Akira Nishiguchi.
The film opens with Iwao being arrested. The public watches as he is escorted into the police station. People throw objects, shout insults, and unleash their anger. The desire for justice is immediate. Everyone wants to see him pay for what he has done.
But as the film unfolds, that simple desire becomes much more complicated.
As we learn more about Iwao, the film reveals that he was once wrongfully accused of murder. This experience becomes a turning point. He begins to view the world with contempt and slowly shifts from victim to predator. What starts as a twisted sense of justice quickly warps into something far more dangerous.
His initial motive is revenge. But soon, that need for vengeance becomes a hunger for control. He kills not just those who wronged him, but anyone who crosses his path. The violence escalates, and with it, Iwao becomes more detached. His humanity fades.
Iwao’s relationships with women throughout the film also reveal his emotional emptiness. He shows no intimacy, no vulnerability. He uses sex as a way to manipulate and dominate. His actions are driven by instinct, not connection. He becomes a figure consumed by impulse, hiding behind a mask of cold rationality.
One of the most chilling scenes comes early in the film. When Iwao is first arrested, he calmly asks for a nail clipper. At that point, the viewer knows very little about his crimes. The request feels strange, almost mundane. But when we return to that moment later, after everything we’ve learned, it takes on a different tone. It becomes a symbol of how calculated and emotionally distant he truly is. It is an image of a man more concerned with appearance than morality, more focused on control than conscience.
In that sense, Iwao shares DNA with other fictional killers like Patrick Bateman from American Psycho or Anton Chigurh from No Country for Old Men. These characters are not wild or chaotic. They are controlled, methodical, and terrifying in their calm. They are men who have detached so completely from empathy that even their most horrific actions feel routine. What makes them chilling is not just what they do, but how little it seems to affect them.
The nail clipper becomes a kind of symbol. It is not just about grooming. It represents order in the midst of chaos. A man tidying himself up while the world around him burns. That small act says more about his mindset than any dramatic monologue ever could.
The question that drives the film is the same one that drives so much of true crime: why? Why does he do these things? What happened to him? What turned him into this? We follow that mystery, not just to understand him, but to try and understand something darker in ourselves.
The film moves with a slow, methodical pace that mirrors Iwao’s own careful and calculated nature. At times, it feels more like a documentary than a narrative film. This approach creates a strong sense of realism. It is not sensational or flashy. It is quiet, patient, and unsettling.
Imamura’s directing style is known for its unflinching interest in human behavior, especially behavior considered strange, shameful, or socially taboo. He doesn’t romanticize his characters. He observes them. His camera often lingers too long, capturing awkward silences, strange habits, or sudden outbursts. He is not interested in making anyone look heroic. Instead, he wants to understand why people act the way they do.
In Vengeance Is Mine, that approach is turned inward. The film doesn’t just tell us that Iwao is detached. It shows us, again and again, through quiet moments and visual choices. It avoids melodrama and instead lets the discomfort grow slowly. Imamura does not offer answers. He asks us to sit with the ugliness and decide for ourselves what we’re looking at — a man? A monster? Or something in between?
Imamura uses framing to emphasize Iwao’s emotional distance. He is often shown in the background of scenes, sometimes barely in frame at all. Other characters take up the foreground while Iwao lingers behind them, quiet and unreadable. Even when he is alone, he rarely feels present.
Iwao is almost always seen wearing sunglasses and a hat, a disguise to avoid being recognized. But visually, it does something else. It hides his eyes. It hides his identity. He becomes harder to read, harder to connect with. The sunglasses remove any sense of intimacy or vulnerability. They turn him into a silhouette of a man who has shut the world out.
The camera rarely gives us close-ups of Iwao. He is usually framed in profile, or from a distance. He is always just slightly removed. This choice keeps us from forming a deep emotional connection with him. He is not a character we are meant to empathize with. He is a mystery we are meant to observe.
These choices make the film feel voyeuristic, almost like we are watching him through a pane of glass. It reinforces the idea that Iwao is not part of the world around him. He drifts through it, separate from it, and the camera makes sure we feel that distance.
As the story unfolds, the line between justice and revenge becomes harder to see. Iwao starts with a clear target: the people who wronged him. But that sense of justice quickly decays. The killings become random. The rage becomes unfocused. There is no righteousness left — only destruction.
The more we learn about him, the less clear his motives become. What started as retaliation turns into a spiral of violence and power. Iwao stops being a man seeking revenge and becomes a man chasing control at any cost.
The film asks difficult questions. Can personal vengeance ever truly be justified? Or does revenge always turn the victim into something else, something just as cruel as what they were trying to fight?
In this way, Vengeance Is Mine mirrors what so many true crime stories reveal. Once justice becomes personal, it is almost impossible to keep it clean. The pursuit of punishment often becomes its own kind of violence.
Conclusion
Vengeance Is Mine offers more than just a crime story. It is a deep dive into the human psyche, a reflection on how vengeance can corrode everything it touches. Through its slow pacing, visual restraint, and cold character study, the film avoids the sensationalism found in many true crime adaptations.
It leaves us with haunting questions. Can someone who starts as a victim ever find redemption? Or does the pursuit of revenge change a person so completely that there is no turning back?
Like the best true crime stories, it does not give us easy answers. It leaves us uneasy. And it reminds us that the path to justice can sometimes become a descent into something darker.
Why Pop Culture References in Movies Suck
Pop culture references might get a laugh, but they rob movies of originality. From Ready Player One to Free Guy, modern films rely too much on nostalgia instead of craft.
Fun is subjective. People find different things funny — we all know this. So yes, some people like fourth wall breaks and pop culture nods in movies. Blah, blah, blah. Who cares? I still don’t like any of those things, and this is my post, so I make the rules.
My reasons for not liking cultural references in movies are twofold. First, it’s about the integrity of art. Second, I find them lazy. Let’s explore both ideas.
Reason 1: Art is art, man
I’m not saying good movies can’t have references, but I don’t think the greats do. The best films are self-contained in their own universe. I’m talking about the “canon” of films here — Citizen Kane, The Godfather, 2001: A Space Odyssey. These movies are widely considered to be among the best ever made. You might not like them personally, but I invite you to explore your own favorite films, or the ones you consider the “best,” and ask how many of them rely on references to other media.
Great movies like The Lord of the Rings and Spirited Away don’t stop to make a reference to something else. The greatest films exist as their own thing.
Reasons 2 It's lazy
We live in a hyper online world where nothing is original and everything is being regurgitated over and over again. When I saw ready player one I lost my mind with the sheer volume of references and sadly it did work I did find it fun with then the gundam appeared, I looked around the theater only to find people did not give a fuck. In fact, no one seemed to notice they all properly were excited about another reference earlier. When I looked back at the screen the Gundam was long gone and replaced with something else. This encapsulates the online mentality perfectly.
The film turns into a scrolling loot box of nostalgia where nothing matters because everything is trying to get a cheer. It’s like the movie makers say yell at the top of their voice “remember this! isn’t this awesome”
In the Dungeons and Dragons movie, there’s a moment where one character slams another in a way that mimics Hulk slamming Loki in The Avengers. The point is to get the audience to notice and smile.
In the World of Warcraft movie, all of us WoW fans were at least happy to hear the Murloc sound.
The problem is that filmmakers include things outside the work itself to trigger a positive reaction, instead of simply creating something good enough to earn that response on its own.
In other much more aggressive examples come in the form of current bad comedy films where the film will simply make a reference in the most lazy way possible.
In The Night Before, Seth Rogen’s character points at two twins and says, “Ever see The Shining?” This happens right at the start of the movie. There’s no setup, no context, just a tossed-in reference. The entire “joke” is basically, “Remember that thing you liked? This is like that.”
A similar example comes in the movie Horrible Bosses 2 Jason Sudacus makes a fight club reference saying “we have a fight clubber”. Making a reference is NOT the same as making a joke if i havent made my point yet here are some more examples.
In free guy the main character uses captain Americans shield as the avengers music play, you even have Chris Evens show up just to react to it. Also in free guy multiple famous streams show up, they are obviously not here for their acting, but for people to point and say hey i know that guy!
Pixels, with Adam Sandler, is one of the most blatant nostalgia-bait attempts ever put on screen.
Spoof films like Epic Movie, Date Movie, and Meet the Spartans are especially egregious. They throw out rapid-fire references one after another in a desperate attempt to get a laugh. It’s like comedy by Google search.
Pop culture references are like fast food. Quick hit of flavor, forgettable after five minutes, and if you consume too many, your brain starts to rot a little. I’m not saying everything has to be high art, but maybe once in a while, a movie could try being good on its own instead of yelling “Hey! Remember that thing you liked?”
Because the truth is, good stories don’t need crutches. You can build something timeless, something weird and beautiful and new, or you can toss in another slow-motion wink at the camera while someone hums the Star Wars theme.
One of those paths gets you remembered. The other just gets you retweeted.
Great works are about the small things
Mass Effect 2 isn’t legendary because of its explosions or epic scale — it’s legendary because of the quiet, human moments where someone cared enough to add the smallest detail
To make a good game you need a lot of components, you need smooth fun gameplay, maybe a good story, and some good character models. You might need an interesting art style or something else that makes it unique. The same can be said for other pieces of art. However, a good piece of work is hard to make, but a great piece is even harder, yet to make something truly special, something beyond great, an all-time piece of work you need to make the small things work.
Mass Effect 2 is the second installment in the Mass Effect trilogy. All the games in the trilogy are at least good to great, but the second one seems to be peak gaming. There are of course a lot of examples of this. The gameplay is super fun, and the characters are the best in all of the video games (this is a fact, deal with it). The story is easy to understand needing little setup yet still yields a lot of pay off and it’s easy to understand as well.
Mass Effect 2 focuses on the more quiet and intimate moments between Commander Shepard and her crew. – I play female Shepard so I will be saying her, but you can change it in your head if you play male, I believe in you.
Again there are thousands of things the game does well, but to showcase exactly what I mean I will be exploring a scene from the game.
Every single companion gets a loyalty mission you can do to grow closer to them. By doing this quest you unlock a new outfit, and you enhance the probability of them surviving the last suicide mission. The moment I want to showcase comes in the loyalty mission for Jacob, nobody’s favorite companion and nobody’s favorite loyalty mission and that is to be expected, Jacob sucks.
In these loyalty missions, you’re required to bring the companion the mission is about. You also get to bring one more squadmate, who usually comments on the situation as it unfolds. Jacob’s mission is about finding his father, who’s been missing after a shipwreck. Turns out, Jacob’s dad survived the crash, hoarded supplies, and created a power dynamic with the survivors that gets creepier the more you learn about it. Poisoned rations, mindless zombie-like enemies, and a disturbing personal power trip. It’s not great.
Eventually, you reach Jacob’s father. There’s a confrontation. In true Mass Effect fashion, you decide his fate, though your choice here doesn’t affect the overall game much. The moment I want to highlight actually happens just before the choice
As Jacob begins to confront his father, Shepard notices some of the infected shambling toward them. Without saying a word, she moves closer to Jacob. On her way, she nods subtly at your second companion. When the scene ends and the camera pulls back, you see that squadmate standing at the edge, weapon raised, guarding the perimeter.
What I enjoy so much about the moment is that it’s not loud at all, in fact, you might just miss it if you are not paying attention. It’s a moment that fits the situation, characters, and overall feel of the story. To make a good piece of art you need a lot of different elements to work To make something good, you need solid parts. To make something great, you need vision and style. But to make something legendary, you need small, human moments like this — scenes that feel like they exist because someone cared enough to add them. Mass Effect 2 is full of those.
And that’s why it’s one of the all-time greats.
The greatest anti-war story ever told.
I’ve seen a lot of war films. Some are exciting. Some are beautifully made. And a very few manage to touch you on an emotional level that stays with you long after the credits roll. War films come in all shapes. Some, like Saving Private Ryan, focus on the chaos of the battlefield. Others, like
I’ve seen a lot of war films. Some are exciting. Some are beautifully made. And a very few manage to touch you on an emotional level that stays with you long after the credits roll. War films come in all shapes. Some, like Saving Private Ryan, focus on the chaos of the battlefield. Others, like Grave of the Fireflies, show us civilians caught in the storm. Some, like Full Metal Jacket, focus on how war breaks down the human spirit.
Most of these films don’t shy away from showing how brutal war really is. War is hell plain and simple. Mass death. Human suffering.
The constant, suffocating presence of fear. It’s ugly. And yet, that ugliness often makes for great cinema. The tension is built into the premise. You already have opposing sides. You already know who to root for, because the camera follows a certain group. And war films almost always include explosions, gunfire, and high-stakes moments that keep us on the edge of our seats.
“Only the dead have seen the end of war.” – Plato.
A lot of war movies end up glorifying war sometimes without even meaning to. Because history has drawn clear lines around who was “good” and who was “bad,” these films often lean into the idea of duty, honor, and fighting for something noble. They focus on bravery and courage, which can make war feel less like a nightmare and more like a proving ground.
Take Captain America: The First Avenger. It’s technically a superhero movie, but the war setting is just a backdrop. We don’t see the horrors of battle. We see clean fights, heroic poses, and clear villains. And let’s be honest it’s not hard to root against the Nazis.
Other films, like Saving Private Ryan, absolutely show the horror. The D-Day landing at Omaha Beach is brutal and terrifying. But even in that film, there’s a moment at the end where things shift. Tom Hanks lies wounded, a German tank creeps forward, and then air support swoops in. The tank explodes, the music swells, and suddenly you feel a rush of pride. It’s effective, emotional, and well-crafted. But it also reminds us how easily war stories can slip back into feeling heroic.
Dunkirk does something similar. We see soldiers suffer, we see the chaos of the beach. But when they return home, they’re welcomed as heroes as they should be. Still, that celebration adds a layer of triumph, and that can easily be read as a kind of glory.
Many war films today have tried to remove the glory from war. They focus more on the emotional devastation, the psychological toll, and the trauma left behind. But even then, especially in American war movies, I often feel like there is still some layer of glorification. The battles look intense but heroic. The endings are sad, yet hopeful. We may see a soldier suffer, but we still usually get a victory or a moment of triumph.
A happy ending for one soldier is not enough. War does not end neatly for most people, and its consequences spread far beyond any one person’s survival.
To truly be an anti-war film, a story has to be so bleak and so emotionally shattering that it completely kills the fantasy of joining the military. After Top Gun was released, Air Force recruitment spiked. An anti-war film should have the opposite effect.
In my view, there are only two films that succeed in this completely. One is Come and See. The other is the one we’re about to explore.
All Quiet on the Western Front
All Quiet on the Western Front began as a novel by Erich Maria Remarque, a former German soldier. Since then, it has been adapted into three major films — in 1930, 1979, and most recently in 2022. This post will focus mostly on the 2022 adaptation and the original book. Mostly because its always fun to compare the book to the movie.
I believe this is the greatest anti-war story ever told. In the next sections, I’ll explain why, and also explore how the 2022 film compares to the novel that inspired it.
The story
The story of All Quiet on the Western Front follows Paul, a young German soldier who enlists in the army full of belief in glory, honor, and duty to his country. Alongside his friends, he enters the front lines of World War I — and one by one, they are broken by the brutal, meaningless violence of the war.
To really understand this story, you have to understand World War I.
Unlike World War II, which was largely driven by fascism and a clear ideological enemy, the First World War was a buildup of political tensions, alliances, and fear. It was a war with no real villain. That makes it easier to follow someone like Paul, a German soldier, and still feel for him as a human being.
World War I is remembered for trench warfare. Long trenches were dug by both sides — the Germans and the French — with a stretch of open, deadly land in between. They called it “no man’s land.”
Attacking meant running straight through that space, exposed to machine guns, artillery, and certain death. Thousands died just trying to cross a few meters. And when the war finally ended, the front lines had barely moved.
Life in the trenches was beyond grim. Soldiers lived in mud with barely enough food, constant rain, and the threat of being shelled at any moment. Rats would crawl over them in their sleep. Many soldiers developed what we now call PTSD, then known as Shell Shock. For those who survived, returning home did not mean peace. Their minds had been torn apart, just like their friends had been by shrapnel.
1930 film version
The 1930 version is a decent enough entry into the story. It was one of the first movies ever to win a Best Picture Oscar. Even Though it’s old it still has some unbelievable imagery. One of the most iconic ones is the two serpent hands clinging to some barbed wire.
The movie is made by Americans and contains American actors talking in a very thick American accent. This makes it impossible to believe it’s about German soldiers. The effects are also very dated though the spirit of the book is still somewhat present albeit hidden. While it’s faithful, it doesn’t quite capture the same emotional devastation. The 2022 adaptation might take more liberties, but it feels more immersive. It digs deeper into the horror and hopelessness, which makes it, in my opinion, a more powerful version of the story.
The 2022 version
And they told me original Netflix movies were always bad. HA!
The 2022 adaptation of All Quiet on the Western Front, directed by Edward Berger, is visually stunning. The picture quality is almost too clean, which you might expect to work against a gritty war story. But instead, it enhances the experience. Every detail is sharp. Every moment of violence and horror feels uncomfortably real.
What this version does better than any other is build empathy for the characters. Each of Paul’s friends has a distinct personality and appearance. They feel like real people, not just uniforms in a trench. That clarity makes their deaths feel personal. It hurts more when you lose someone you’ve come to know.
One of the smartest additions is the subplot involving Matthias Erzberger, played by Daniel Brühl. He’s the German politician working to sign the armistice. These scenes contrast sharply with the battlefield. We move from mud and death to polished boots and political delays. While Paul fights to survive, diplomats argue over wording. The result is quietly infuriating.
The film opens with a quiet, haunting sequence. A young soldier named Heinrich dies in battle. His uniform is cleaned, patched up, and handed to Paul. Paul notices the wrong name stitched inside. The officer removes the label without a word. In that moment, the film shows what war really is. People become replaceable. Lives get recycled. Nothing is personal.
That same idea returns in the final moments. Paul dies just before the ceasefire. The young recruit he tried to protect is then told to collect the dog tags from the dead. The cycle has begun again. The war keeps eating people alive, even as it ends.
This version also gives us more time with the soldiers outside of combat. We see them joke, talk, dream, and break. That time makes the losses feel heavier. Each death isn’t just another casualty. It’s another piece of Paul falling apart.
The book
The book version of All Quiet on the Western Front is heartbreaking, but not in the way you might expect. It’s not emotional because it dwells on suffering. It’s emotional because it doesn’t.
The first-person perspective brings you into Paul’s head completely. You don’t just see the war. You feel his numbness growing with every chapter.
Remarque writes with a cold, restrained precision. The prose is clean and clinical. Horrors are described in a few sharp sentences, then the story moves on. You want him to pause. You want him to scream, to hold the moment and explain how unbearable it all is. But he doesn’t. He brushes past each scene like it’s just another fact of war.
That distance is what makes the book feel so hopeless. You don’t need flowery language or dramatic description. The raw reality speaks for itself. The way Remarque tells the story feels almost numb, as if the narrator has already been worn down past the point of reacting.
There are also several moments in the book that didn’t make it into either film version. One of the most powerful is the “undying room.” It is the part of the hospital where wounded soldiers go when they have no chance of surviving. Paul fears being sent there. It would mean not only the end of his life, but the death of his dream to return home with glory.
That chapter shows how disconnected he has become. He feels closer to the men in the hospital than he does to his own family. He belongs to the war now, not to the world outside.
Where the 2022 film shows horror in visual detail, the book simply states it. The result is just as devastating, maybe even more so.
The French Soldier
The moment with the French soldier is possibly the most haunting part of the entire story. It appears in every version of the film, and of course in the book — and for good reason.
During a brutal attack, Paul ends up trapped in a crater. A French soldier jumps in too. Paul reacts on instinct and stabs him. But the man doesn’t die right away. He lies there, suffering, choking on his own blood, and Paul can do nothing but watch.
It’s not a heroic kill. It’s not even a necessary one. It’s a human tragedy.
In the book, Paul says:
“Why do they never tell us that you are poor devils like us, that your mothers are just as anxious as ours, and that we have the same fear of death and the same agony — Forgive me, comrade: how could you be my enemy?”
This is the moment where the enemy becomes a person. Not a uniform. Not a target. A man with a life, a family, and a future that just got taken away. Paul sees himself in the French soldier, and it breaks him.
Up until this point, the enemy has always been distant. Faceless figures firing from across no man’s land. But now, death has a face. And it looks a lot like Paul.
This is the heart of All Quiet on the Western Front. It is not about good versus evil. It is about how war turns human beings into enemies by accident. How it makes murder feel normal. And how it leaves the people who survive with more grief than anyone can carry.
When Kat is taken away I will not have one friend left.
His leave with his family
At one point in the story, Paul is granted leave and returns home to visit his family. This scene appears in the 1930 film, but it is missing from the 2022 version. In the book, however, it is one of the most powerful chapters.
Paul is back in his hometown, surrounded by the familiar comforts of home. But nothing feels right. He cannot talk to his mother about what he has been through. The horror runs too deep. How do you explain gas attacks, rats in the trenches, and the screams of dying friends to someone who has only known peace?
Even though his mother worries for him, and even though he loves her, there is now a wall between them. She will never truly understand what war has done to him.
At the front, Paul feels like a stranger to himself. At home, he feels like a stranger to everyone else. He has been broken into two halves — one that still pretends to be the son he was, and one that knows he will never be that person again.
the end
In the 1930 film, Paul is shot on a quiet day while reaching out to touch a flower. The final image is simple and poetic: his hand, lifeless, resting beside the delicate flower. It’s a moment of peace interrupted by violence.
In the 2022 version, Paul dies in a much more brutal fashion. He is stabbed from behind just moments before the ceasefire takes effect. He had just saved a young recruit, and then, without warning, he is gone. His death happens as the war is ending, which makes it feel even more cruel. His life, like so many others, is lost for nothing.
But the book delivers the most devastating version of all. Paul is already broken. He has nothing left to live for. All his friends are dead. His spirit is gone. He reflects on this during his final leave, saying he will keep going because that’s all he can do. And then the story ends with this:
“He fell in October 1918, on a day that was so quiet and still on the whole front, that the army report confined itself to the single sentence: All quiet on the Western Front. He had fallen forward and lay on the earth as though sleeping. Turning him over one saw that he could not have suffered long; his face had an expression of calm, as though almost glad the end had come.”
In a way it’s a good ending since Paul finally found peace from the war. It would have been impossible for him to return to a normal life after what he had been through. Like so many other times in history Plato was right, Only the dead have seen the end of war.
Conclusion
In the end, what was it all for? Glory? The fatherland? The emperor? The president?
Who has the right to send young men to die?
The dream of glory in war is exactly that — a dream. And like all dreams, it fades. What remains is the nightmare. Those who did not die came back worse than when they left. Today, we still see war in the news. Still see destruction. Still ask, “For what?”
We talk about fallen soldiers like they were pieces on a chessboard. But they were not symbols or slogans. They were people. Just like you. Just like me.
That’s what makes this story so powerful. It gives a voice to the broken. It does not seek to accuse or excuse. It simply speaks for a generation that was shattered, even if their bodies made it home.
As Remarque wrote at the start of his book:
“This book is to be neither an accusation nor a confession, and least of all an adventure, for death is not an adventure to those who stand face to face with it. It will try simply to tell of a generation of men who, even though they may have escaped shells, were destroyed by the war.”
AI Didn’t Kill Creativity, It Accidentally Supercharged It
Why Ai art is good actually I just washed some clothes, no need to explode just yet. What I did was basically gathered dirty or used cloth, put it into the washing machine, and watch that sucker go. In theory, I didn’t do the actual washing, yet we still say I did in fact do
AI Didn’t Kill Creativity, It Accidentally Supercharged It Read More »
Why Ai art is good actually
I just washed some clothes, no need to explode just yet. What I did was basically gathered dirty or used cloth, put it into the washing machine, and watch that sucker go. In theory, I didn’t do the actual washing, yet we still say I did in fact do the washing even though I did not beat my clothes with a rock at the river like in olden times, we still say I washed my clothes.
The AI images took the world by storm in what felt like no time at all we heard about AI images winning art competitions, we saw a lot of AI-generated images, and most of all we saw endless memes made with AI. Suddenly everybody could make an AI image. Just write out a prompt and BAM there you have your image.
What I believe to be an odd benefit from this is that people are consuming less and making stuff instead. In a strange way, AI images come from the idea of the individual and it takes some time and tries to tweak the image to something the creator wants. You might say you yourself did not make the image, but as I said before I did do the washing even though the machine did it for me.
What AI images do is give potentially endless amount of creativity. If you have an image, a character, a scene, or anything of that nature you can make it in just seconds. Gone are the days when you need to learn how to draw just to make stuff.
People aren’t just making cool or weird images either. I’ve seen folks using AI to build characters for their DnD campaigns, plan out tattoo ideas, and even design little birthday cards. Like, stuff they never would’ve done without it. It’s kind of wild how low the bar is now to just make something.
Me and my guild in World of Warcraft has spent a lot of time lately trying to make epic images of our characters. We came up with different scenarios and poses, and we made them into jokes and it actually brought us closer together.
Now there are plenty of people like illustrators, IT people, and writers losing their jobs due to AI and that is a problem. This post is more about the everyday person and not companies, but I fully recognize there is a problem here. As a writer myself, I do fear the growing need for AI.
With AI I spend more time “making” images of characters and places I can use in future projects. Now, you could say if people are just making more AI art aren’t they just making more stuff for consumption?
Well technically, but people are swallowing an alarming amount of shorts and TikTok during the day so if you place that with people looking at AI art you haven’t really changed anything. People are on their phones a lot but there is a limit. You simply replace one thing with another, and you contribute instead of just consuming blindly.
Before, if you couldn’t draw or paint or code, you sort of felt like you had no business creating anything “cool.” AI kind of kicks that door down. It gives people who were on the outside a chance to play too. And sure, maybe it’s not masterpiece-level stuff, but it’s still yours. That counts.
Look, I know making an image with AI isn’t the same as carving a sculpture out of wood. One is instant and effortless; the other is skill and craft. And yeah the wood carving is objectively cooler. But even if all you ever do is generate goofy Studio Ghibli-style memes, you’re still making something. You’re putting stuff out into the world instead of just swallowing an endless scroll. And I think in a weird, modern way that might be one of the keys to feeling a little more human.
Movies that a better than the book
Movies that a better than the book We hear it a lot, don’t we? The book was better than the movie. This sentiment has come up countless times in my life, especially since my dad was a hardcore reader. He wasn’t shy about reminding me, over and over, how much superior the book was to
Movies that a better than the book
We hear it a lot, don’t we? The book was better than the movie. This sentiment has come up countless times in my life, especially since my dad was a hardcore reader. He wasn’t shy about reminding me, over and over, how much superior the book was to the movie. It became a mantra—books were always better. But today, we don’t hear that phrase as often. Maybe it’s because fewer people are reading nowadays, or perhaps it’s because so much content is being produced that to keep up with every new book and movie, you’d need to dedicate every waking moment to consuming a fraction of the endless content out there. The last time I remember hearing this debate on a wide scale was when Game of Thrones was still airing. Fans of the books were always raving about them, pointing out how much richer and complex the story was compared to the show. But here’s the thing: the Game of Thrones book series isn’t finished. It probably won’t ever be. And what we got was a TV series that wrapped up with one of the most disappointing, “what-the-hell-just-happened” endings in recent memory.
What are we even talking about when we say, “The book is better”? It’s a phrase that gets tossed around all the time, but what does it really mean? Sure, a lot of movies are adapted from books, but when it comes down to it, they’re two different mediums of storytelling—each with its own strengths and weaknesses. A book gives us so much more detail, depth, and inner thought. We get the characters’ internal monologues, the slow build-up of tension, the subtle clues that may only make sense later in the story. A book isn’t limited by the constraints of budget, CGI effects, or a lackluster performance from an actor. In that sense, it has the freedom to explore ideas in a way movies often can’t.
But let’s not forget that reading a book is a big commitment in its own right. It’s a time investment that requires focus. Your enjoyment of the book will depend heavily on your reading comprehension, how fast you can get through it, and your ability to immerse yourself in one task for hours. That’s a different experience than watching a movie, where you can let your mind wander while still being entertained by the visuals and pacing.
Books vs. Movies: Story Consumption and Expectations
The thing is, both books and movies are just different ways to consume a story. Sure, there are other mediums out there—TV shows, video games, graphic novels—but when it comes to adaptations, books and movies are often compared. The reason? Movies are usually based on books, so naturally, the two tend to be held up against each other. Since the book almost always comes first, people who read it before seeing the movie tend to form a clear image in their heads of what the characters and the world look like. That mental picture, shaped by the words on the page, becomes the real version of the story. And when you watch the movie afterward, it’s hard not to compare the two. It’s clear that the version you experience first will always leave a more lasting impression.
Are Books Really Always Better Than Films?
The short answer is: no. Some movies are far superior to their book counterparts. In fact, there are a handful of adaptations that improve on their source material in ways we might not expect. In the next section, I’ll go over a few examples of movies that managed to outshine the books they were based on.
What do we really mean when we say, “The book was better than the movie”? If books and movies are inherently different storytelling methods, is it even fair—or possible—to compare them? It’s a tricky question, one that’s been asked time and time again.
When we experience a story, it’s being expressed through either a book or a movie. The medium shapes the way the story is told. A book gives us direct access to characters’ thoughts, inner conflicts, and rich descriptions. A movie, on the other hand, presents the story visually, using images, sound, and performance to convey what a book might describe in pages. So when we compare the two, we’re really comparing how the same story is presented to us—how plot points are hit, how pacing flows, how the emotions are conveyed, and so on.
The truth is that books are the ultimate storytelling medium. It is the best way to tell your story. Some stories can only be told in a selected medium like Undertale could not be told as a book or movie since it deconstructs players’ established relationship to videogames. House of Leaves could not be told as anything other than a book since it uses the medium. Everything else being equal a book just has way more detailed inner thoughts and descriptions to weave a complete story. That being said since the book is always (mostly always) being written before the movie adaptation it could skew people’s perception. If half of all movies would be made into books I don’t know if people would prefer the book version after seeing the film.
What does it take to make a good adaptation?
Before we get into the final list I think we have to explore what it takes to make a good adaptation. First of all, if you want the story told in the book, you have to read the book. An adaptation of a book is an interpretation. It is not possible to adapt every single aspect and nuance of a book. It should also be noted that some things are just not good on film. Take an example like Lord of the Rings in the book
The Hobbits meet a lot of different people before getting to the council of Elrond they meet elves that are not in the movie and of course Tom Bombadil, a fan favorite. Now, Tom Bombadil is not in the movie and honestly, I understand why.
When you read The Lord of the Rings, the vastness of the world and its lore feels almost overwhelming. You’re immersed in so much detail, and everything feels warm and cozy. The movies, though long, give themselves time to explore much of the world, but when we read the Tom Bombadil segment from The Fellowship of the Ring, it’s clear that this part is better suited for a book than a movie. Tom is too mysterious, and his presence would likely frustrate audiences, especially at the time.
The film needs to launch the adventure quickly and then gradually explore the lore. In contrast, the book spends much more time in the Shire and Bree, but a film has to move faster to keep the plot engaging, given the time constraints. This is why it’s often necessary to make changes to the book that simply work better on screen.
Since books and movies are such different storytelling mediums, a successful adaptation must play to the strengths of film, not just try to replicate what makes books good. I believe most bad adaptations fail because they try to stay too faithful to the book. It becomes clear that when you use music and visuals effectively, you’re leveraging the strengths of film, creating a more compelling adaptation.
Adaptations are always a topic of debate, but when it comes to movies based on books, some films improve on their source material, while others offer a different take that stands on its own. In this post, I’ll explore two categories of adaptations: Bad-Good and Good-Different.
In Bad-Good adaptations, the movie takes a weaker or underwhelming book and transforms it into something much better. On the other hand, Good-Different adaptations stay true to the heart of a strong book but take creative liberties to make the story work for the big screen, resulting in a unique experience that still honors the original.
The two categories are thus bad-good and Good-difference.
The List
JAWS (Bad-Good)
Jaws as a book is underwhelming, to say the least. The book focuses way more on Brody and his cheating wife than the shark. At best it’s a deeply mediocre and lackluster family drama.
The Movie utilizes everything good about movies. It has those nice and quiet moments on the boat with the 3 main characters along with a kickass ending. And of course, the iconic music by John Williams is unforgettable, transforming simple moments into pulse-pounding sequences. The score’s ability to signal the shark’s approach is not just an auditory cue; it’s an essential piece of the film’s storytelling that heightens the dread with every note. The film’s use of sound, pacing, and focus on suspense turns what was a lackluster narrative into an electrifying cinematic experience.
Psycho (Bad-Good)
What is the book even about? It’s so forgettable that I honestly forgot it was a book I had read. Were it not for this list I would have completely forgotten about it.
The movie, however, is iconic. Hitchcock masterfully uses sound, particularly in the scene where Marion drives after stealing the money. The oppressive music heightens her paranoia, showing her fear without her saying a word. The famous shower scene, with its unforgettable sound effects and stabbing music, remains one of the most memorable moments in film history.
Anthony Perkins’ performance as Norman Bates is equally unforgettable. He brought a disturbing depth to the character, which the book never achieved. The visual of him framed by dead animals in his office adds an unsettling layer to his persona, showcasing how the film surpasses the book in capturing the essence of its characters.
Stand by me (Bad-Good)
It might not be internally fair to say Stand by Me is bad, however, it is also not fair to call it good either. Stephen King is of course a master of his craft, but Stand by Me or The Body as the short story is called is kind of underwhelming. King wrote the greatest horror book of all time in IT, however, what works in IT is not the scary clown, but the relationships between all the characters. The characters felt so real to me and when I finished the book I felt like I knew all of them from my own childhood. The Body tries to capture the same feeling, but it’s way too short to establish any real connection. Ace, for instance, feels like a weaker version of the antagonist from IT, Henry Bowers.
The film feels more like a coming-of-age road movie. The four boys embark on a journey to see a dead body. The story is simple and easy to tell. With this simplicity comes the time to ease into every moment of intimacy. In the end, the main character reflects on his friends and as they leave they fade away as he tells us what happens to them and the narrator says:
“I Never Had Any Friends Later On Like the Ones I Had When I Was Twelve”
This sentiment is at the heart of the film, and the way it shows the boys fading away as the narrator recalls their futures truly captures the passage of time in a way only film can.
The Shawshank Redemption (Bad-Good)
Not all of King’s work has been adapted with equal success, and Rita Hayworth and Shawshank Redemption (the short story) is a prime example. As a short story, it doesn’t have the space to build a large, emotionally resonant narrative. The movie, however, elevates it in every way. While the story is solid, it lacks the soul and depth that the film brings to life.
The movie, now a classic and ranked #1 on IMDb, is filled with unforgettable moments. The scene where Andy plays opera for the inmates or the iconic moment where he escapes and stands in the rain with his arms raised—these moments are cinematic and powerful, capturing emotions that the short story never fully conveys. The medium of film amplifies these moments, adding gravitas that the original story simply lacks.
2001 A Space Odyssey (Bad-Good)
This is a strange case since the book and movie were developed alongside each other. The book was released after the film. The Book is written by the legendary Arthur C Clark, a man known as one of the Big Tree sci-fi writers. Clark’s other books are great, but this one just seemed doomed to fail from the start.
The film is made by the legendary Stanley Kubrick who uses his vast array of amazing directing skills to make possibly the most influential movies of all time. The iconic opening with apes and the incredible iconic music to the cut from the bones to the spaceship is the greatest cut in movie history. Everything works so well in the movie, the voice of Hall, the red eye, the way Hall says “I can’t do that Dave”. It’s all so iconic and masterfully made and the book frankly doesn’t hold up.
Apocalypse now (Good-Different)
Heart of Darkness by Joseph Conrad
Based on Heart of Darkness by Joseph Conrad, Apocalypse Now, directed by Francis Ford Coppola, shifts the story into the context of the Vietnam War while retaining the core theme of the descent into madness. As the characters journey deeper into the jungle, they fall further into chaos, mirroring the psychological toll of war.
Some scenes are perfect for the film medium, such as the iconic napalm strike set to Ride of the Valkyries. The visual and auditory impact of this sequence takes the horrors of war and amplifies them in a way the original novel never could.
Blade Runner (Good-Different)
The original book is named “Do Androids Dream of electric sheep” which is possibly the greatest title to a book ever. The book is vastly different from the movie in a good way. The book is about Deckard trying to get enough money to buy an animal. All animals have been replaced with replicas and real animals are hard to come by.
The visuals are jaw-dropping, the world of this dystopian cyberpunk world feels fully alive and rich. Deckard has no wife in this version, making for a great opportunity to expand on the humanity of the replicants since he falls in love with Rachael. Roy Batty is an amazing villain with a great look. The scene where he kills his creator saying he wants more life is great. When Roy deafetes Deckard at the end he saves him from falling and gives the greatest speech in movie history, the Tears in Rain speech. It’s shot and endlessly potent and does not feature in the book. In fact, the fight with Roy in the book is super underwhelming. The original book is definitely good, but the movie is still better.
Silence of the lambs (Good-Different)
It’s debatable whether the film is definitively better than the book, but the adaptation certainly makes some interesting changes. While the book dives deeper into Clarice’s relationship with her boss and his obsession with her, the film shifts the focus more toward Hannibal Lecter. The presence of Anthony Hopkins—one of the greatest actors of all time—elevates the character, making him a central figure rather than just a supporting role.
The film also employs clever visual tricks to enhance the power dynamics. For instance, when Clarice talks to Hannibal, the camera places her looking down while he faces directly at the audience, subtly indicating his control over the situation. This is a detail unique to the film medium.
Additionally, the movie amplifies Clarice’s vulnerability, showcasing her as both a rookie FBI agent and a woman trying to navigate a male-dominated field. The film’s portrayal of Buffalo Bill in the dark adds an extra layer of suspense and tension that the book doesn’t quite achieve in the same way.
Bonus round: It’s complicated
I want to highlight 2 more adaptations that are in my opinion just as good as their book counterpart, yet different enough so that picking between the two becomes almost impossible and all down to personal preference.
The Shining
The Shining is infamous for having a big dispute between the director of the film Kubrick and the Author of the book Stephen King. The two versions of the story, while both being about The Torrance family and a hotel, are vastly different in both feel, themes, and execution. The overall plot is the same, Jack Torrance takes the job as a groundskeeper at a hotel in the wintertime. He brings his family with him. Everything is fine in the beginning, but soon Jack starts to lose his mind. Is it just because of the isolation or is there something more sinister going on?
The book focuses heavily on family dynamics—specifically, the breakdown of Jack Torrance’s family. One of the most heartbreaking moments is when Wendy realizes that her son Danny loves his abusive father more than her. The novel is a poignant exploration of that family struggle.
The biggest slight against the films is that Jack Nicholson plays the role a little too insanely. In the book, Jack is a normal man from the start, but in the film, Jack plays it like he is already a bit off.
Lord of the Rings
he Lord of the Rings trilogy is often considered the greatest trilogy of all time. The costumes, atmosphere, music, acting, world-building, and cinematography are world-class. The films, however, differ from the books in significant ways, and Peter Jackson made smart decisions about what to cut. Tom Bombadil, for example, never would have worked on the big screen. Action scenes are also far more intense in the films, while the books often glaze over them quickly.
The books take their time, introducing new characters and expanding the world at a slower pace, making it feel incredibly rich. The films, on the other hand, focus more on spectacle and action. Adapting the books exactly as written would have been a mistake, as there’s quite a bit of “fluff” that would have slowed down the story.
That said, the movies are aging, and future audiences might see them as dated. However, that’s true of every film over time. The core difference between the two mediums is that the books are about immersing readers in the world, while the films are designed to deliver an epic spectacle. It’s hard to say one is definitively better, as they aim for different goals. In 50 years, people will still read the books, while the films may not hold up the same way—but that’s just speculation.
Conclusion
In the end, adaptations are tricky beasts. Some films surpass their source material by improving on or expanding the core ideas, while others take creative liberties that make them entirely different experiences. Whether it’s a Bad-Good case like Psycho, where the film elevates a forgettable book, or a Good-Different adaptation like The Lord of the Rings, where the films successfully streamline and visualize an otherwise slow-paced, world-building epic, it all comes down to personal preference.
What’s important is that these adaptations work within their medium. Movies can offer moments of spectacle, tension, and visual depth that books simply can’t. Meanwhile, novels can provide rich detail and nuance that films often gloss over. Each medium has its strengths, and when the right choices are made, the adaptation becomes an entirely new work of art—sometimes even better than the original.
Ultimately, it’s all about finding that balance: making the story accessible and impactful for a new audience while still honoring what made the original special. Whether you prefer the book or the movie, it’s the way these adaptations resonate with us that makes them unforgettable. So, which do you prefer? That’s up to you, and maybe that’s the beauty of it all.
FullMetal Alchemist Brotherhood vs 2003
There have been plenty of articles, videos, and other opinion pieces debating which version of Fullmetal Alchemist is better. There are good reasons to like both, but I think most people would agree that Brotherhood is the best. This makes sense, since Brotherhood sticks to a more coherent storyline, features better animation and action scenes,
There have been plenty of articles, videos, and other opinion pieces debating which version of Fullmetal Alchemist is better. There are good reasons to like both, but I think most people would agree that Brotherhood is the best.
This makes sense, since Brotherhood sticks to a more coherent storyline, features better animation and action scenes, and has opening and ending themes (OPs and EDs) that are leagues better. Plus, Brotherhood was made after the manga was completed, unlike the 2003 version, which takes some creative liberties with the second half of the story.
All of the above is true, and both versions have their merits, but this article is going to highlight why I think the 2003 version edges out Brotherhood. This won’t be an exhaustive list, since many others have already done a more detailed comparison of the two. Instead, I’ll focus on the aspects of the story I believe are often underrated.
The 2003 version is a darker story overall, both in terms of thematic depth and its literal tone. The show has a darker color palette, which adds to its somber atmosphere. It also focuses more intimately on the two brothers, taking extra time to explore their psychology, motivations, and the depth of their brotherhood. In contrast, Brotherhood is more epic in scope, featuring a large cast and a grand narrative. While Brotherhood feels like an epic, I tend to prefer the more personal approach of the 2003 version. Of course, this is all a matter of personal preference.
Roy Mustang and the theme of war
Roy Mustang was better utilized in 2003. He is introduced in a more comedic fashion in brotherhood which I always found to be a bad way of introducing the character. He is introduced in the 2003 version as a stern no-nonsense soldier, whereas in Brotherhood he is made the but of a joke since he can’t fight in the rain. There is nothing wrong with Roy being silly at times. But as an introduction to such a vital character, I prefer the 2003 version a lot.
Roy’s voice acting is also far superior in the 2003 version, where he feels like a more grounded, real person. In Brotherhood, he comes across as more of a stereotypical anime hero, with a loud, over-the-top voice. Thanks to 2003’s more muted approach, Travis Willingham delivers a quieter, more intimate portrayal of Roy that feels much more relatable.
When the alchemists are pulled into the war, 2003 takes a much bleaker approach, with Roy being responsible for the deaths of Winry’s parents. This change is a brilliant one, as it adds significant depth to Roy’s character. He grapples with the weight of his actions and the moral cost of war in a way that feels far more personal.
The 2003 version leaves Roy with a form of PTSD and builds a powerful thematic throughline around the “war is hell” idea. This theme also drives Winry’s character, pushing her to the brink of shooting Roy in a moment of intense emotion. Her eventual mercy adds a layer to her character arc, giving her more depth beyond just being Edward’s love interest and mechanic.
When Roy meets Riza during the war, he notices how much her appearance has changed after having to kill as a sniper. These subtle but impactful changes in the characters’ development build the psychological complexity and introduce real consequences for their actions. The exploration of war’s impact is far more profound in this version.
Dante and The Homunculus
If there was any part in FMA 2003 that is FAR superior to Brotherhood it would be the villains. In my opinion, the homunculus from 2003 is vastly superior to its Brotherhood counterpart. Even if they are not as “badass” they still are utilized better for the story.
The first homunculi introduced are Envy, Gluttony, and Lust. The first half of Fullmetal Alchemist 2003 follows the manga closely, much like Brotherhood, so there’s not much to compare here.
There’s a scene where these three homunculi are sitting around a table in an inn (or something similar). It’s been a while since I’ve watched the episode, so I can’t recall exactly what they’re talking about. But honestly, the conversation itself doesn’t really matter.
Having a scene where the bad guys talk in a casual manner makes the world feel 10 times more alive and rich. By showing something away from the main characters, it gives the sense that the world is constantly moving, even when the heroes aren’t around. It’s a small detail, but one that many anime miss. Usually, when villains meet, they’re in some ominous location, talking about how evil they are. But here, having them gather in a casual spot to discuss whatever feels more realistic—and far more relatable. You get the sense that these three regularly meet up just to chat.
In Brotherhood, the homunculi are created by the main antagonist, Father, and are powerful servants who do his bidding. In contrast, the 2003 version’s homunculi are the result of a failed human transmutation ritual. This idea works on every level. Rather than being manufactured by an all-powerful figure, the homunculi in 2003 are the direct consequence of someone’s mistake—a reminder of the characters’ failures that they must eventually confront. This setup strengthens the thematic throughline and allows for much richer emotional storytelling.
Now for a quick breakdown between all of the homunculus to find out which version did it better.
Lust
Lust is pretty much the same in both versions. She’s introduced as the classic femme fatale—seductive, deadly, and straight out of 40s and 50s movies. She even meets the same fate in both versions. However, in the 2003 version, we get more insight into her backstory and learn a bit more about what led her to this point. So, in this case, the point goes to 2003.
Gluttony
Gluttony’s character remains mostly unchanged in both versions—he doesn’t have much depth to begin with. However, in Brotherhood, he’s far scarier, using his powers to consume anything in his path. His death is also much more impactful in Brotherhood, where he’s ironically devoured by Pride. In contrast, the 2003 version turns him into a massive, somewhat less compelling monster. While still a threat, it doesn’t quite have the same emotional weight. Point goes to Brotherhood.
Envy
He serves a lot of the same functions in both stories. He starts the war and kills Major Huges. Two actions that make him one of the most evil characters in the entire series.
In Brotherhood he becomes a big green monster like Gluttony did in 2003. Just like with Gluttony, becoming a big scary monster doesn’t really do it for me. He is behind some of the worst actions in the entire story yet he is completely sidetracked.
In 2003, Envy is more of a martial artist—kicking Edward’s ass toward the end, adding a personal touch to his villainy. He’s also revealed to be the son of Hoenheim, which creates a far more intriguing dynamic between him and Edward. This family connection deepens the rivalry and makes Envy feel more like an individual. Plus, his final act of walking through the gate himself is both a badass and symbolic moment. It feels like a powerful conclusion to his arc, making him a more memorable character. Point to 2003, without a doubt.
Greed
Greed plays a crucial role in 2003. He’s immune to damage, so Edward has to use both his alchemy and his wit to figure out a way to lower Greed’s defenses before landing the killing blow. This serves two major purposes:
First, it shows Edward as someone who can think on his feet and adapt to his opponents. He’s put in a situation where brains are more important than brawn, making him a more strategic, resourceful character.
Second, it forces Edward to actually take a life. Throughout both versions, Edward has avoided killing, and this moment has significant consequences for him emotionally. It helps set the darker tone of 2003, especially when compared to Brotherhood, where Greed is dispatched far more easily by Bradley. The point goes to 2003 here, no question.
I don’t really count Greed Ling in Brotherhood since he’s a very different character. While he has his own unique arc, I still feel that the weight of Greed in 2003 carries more significance to both the plot and Edward’s overall journey.
I do not exactly count Greed Ling who is a unique character from Brotherhood. I am not the biggest fan of the character and I still feel the weight of greed in 2003 is much bigger and significant to the plot and to Edward as a whole. Point to 2003
Wrath
Wrath (Bradley) is definitely handled better in Brotherhood. He has more screen time, engages in more fights, and is genuinely scary and powerful. In 2003, he actually turns out to be Pride, which changes the dynamic considerably. While he’s still intimidating in 2003, his identity is revealed too late to have much impact, whereas Brotherhood introduces him earlier, which builds far more tension throughout his scenes.
In 2003, Wrath is portrayed as a child, and frankly, he doesn’t add much to the story. He’s more annoying than threatening and doesn’t have the same presence as the other homunculi.
However, Wrath in 2003 is the manifestation of Izumi’s lost child, whom she tried to save through a failed human transmutation. This emotional backstory adds significant depth to his character, making him far more interesting than the version in Brotherhood, where he’s simply another creation of the main antagonist.
So while the point technically goes to Brotherhood, the portrayal of Wrath in 2003 is far more compelling and meaningful, in my opinion. When Brotherhood wins a point, it feels close, but when 2003 takes the point, it’s almost always in a landslide.
Sloth
Sloth is a big muscular man in brotherhood. He has no personality and is only used by his father to dig. He is kind of scary and it basically takes so much effort to kill him. I do appreciate that he’s surprisingly fast for his size, though, which adds a bit of danger to his presence.
Sloth is the manifestation of Edward and Alphonse’s mother who they tried to save like Izumi did her child. It forces Edward to confront his failures and he also has to kill his own mother. A mother he paid an arm and a leg to get back. This showcases once again how much more darker and emotional 2003 is compared to Brotherhood. Pont goes to….. 2003 of course!
Pride
Pride in 2003 is King Bradley himself, but it doesn’t do much for me. His role as Pride feels lackluster, and there’s not enough depth or intrigue behind it.
In Brotherhood, Pride takes the form of King Bradley’s child. He’s the strongest of all the homunculi, incredibly menacing, and his childlike appearance adds a chilling contrast to his evil nature. This version of Pride is much scarier and more compelling, earning Brotherhood a clear win here.
That being said, both versions have their merits, and you could definitely debate the points made. However, the fact that the homunculi in 2003 are manifestations of human transmutation gives them a much stronger emotional foundation. This element is what makes them significantly more engaging than their Brotherhood counterparts.
Dante vs Father
Father is the main antagonist in Brotherhood, but honestly, he feels like a bit of a letdown. His master plan is to sacrifice all of humanity by performing a massive alchemical transmutation to gain ultimate power—sounds epic in theory, but the execution is flat. His motivations are weak and lack personal stakes, making him feel more like a typical “world domination” villain than a compelling force. On top of that, his design is lackluster; for most of the show, he just looks like an evil version of Hohenheim, which makes him feel more like a recycled character than a unique threat. In the end, Father strikes me as a clichéd anime villain, with not much depth beyond his “I want ultimate power” mantra.
His origin as that little being in the flask a kind to “the truth” is well done. I like how he becomes that little being again when he is defeated.
In his final moments, face-to-face with God—or “the Truth,” as it’s often called—Father asks why he lost. The response is profound: “You never grew beyond your days in the flask.” Despite gaining immense power, Father’s mindset remained as narrow as when he was just a tiny being trapped in that flask. It’s a tragic flaw that ultimately leads to his downfall. That moment really resonated with me—it’s both humbling and inspiring to see how a weak mindset can undo even the greatest of powers.
On the other hand, Dante isn’t a supernatural being—she’s just a human. And in a way, that makes her inherently more compelling. As a human, she’s the underdog, not relying on overwhelming power but instead on persuasion and charisma to command the homunculi. She doesn’t create them out of thin air like Father; instead, she recruits them, offering them a purpose and a place to belong. This gives her a unique advantage: the homunculi have their own motivations and desires, and Dante simply guides them toward her own goals.
Dante’s method of immortality is equally fascinating. She transfers her soul from one body to the next via alchemy, ensuring that she will never die. It’s a straightforward, yet powerful motivation—she simply wants to avoid death and live forever. Her scheming nature makes her the true puppet master of the story, pulling the strings behind the scenes. While the homunculi act as the powerful foes that the protagonists face, Dante remains the true mastermind, operating from the shadows.
High highs and really low lows
I believe Fullmetal Alchemist 2003 is the superior series because it achieves so many more “highs” than Brotherhood. While 2003 certainly has its low points, the emotional and thematic highs it reaches make it stand out. That said, there are still several areas where Brotherhood surpasses 2003, and here’s a list of moments where 2003 definitely falls short:
The plant brothers
In one episode, Ed and Al meet two brothers who can make plants grow—or something like that. The episode feels completely irrelevant to the plot, and it’s one of the more forgettable moments in 2003. It drags the story down without adding anything meaningful.
Tuckers return
Shou Tucker returns as a monstrous being in an oversized jacket. His return is super bad even though he helps Ed with some information, he sounds strange I would have preferred it if he did not return.
No Olivia Armstrong
A fan favorite was not present in 2003. While I don’t mind her absence too much, I can see why it might be a disappointment for fans who enjoy her strong, commanding presence. It’s a small downside, but it’s one that Brotherhood gets right.
Scar is better
Scar is definitely more fleshed out in Brotherhood. His role in the story feels more pivotal, especially when he kills Bradley with the help of Greed Ling. Brotherhood gives him a more heroic arc, whereas in 2003, Scar’s character development is a bit more muddled.
The End?
Some people argue that Brotherhood wraps things up in a more satisfying way, but 2003 takes a darker, more complex approach. While Brotherhood has a more straightforward ending, 2003 requires a movie to tie up its loose ends. However, what 2003 offers that Brotherhood doesn’t is a much more impactful thematic conclusion—where Ed and Al are both alive, against all odds, which feels like the real victory.
Action
As I’ve mentioned earlier, Brotherhood’s animation and action scenes are vastly superior to 2003’s. The animation is more polished, and the action scenes are faster-paced and more fluid. While 2003 might lack in technical prowess, it more than makes up for it in emotional depth and thematic richness.
Conclusion
One thing that has always bugged me about Brotherhood is that Edward maintains his atheism throughout, even after talking to a self-proclaimed god. I mean, come on—what does it take to question your beliefs after that? But I digress.
Fullmetal Alchemist is a remarkable series, both in its 2003 and Brotherhood iterations. The concept of alchemy is fascinating, and the characters are some of the best in anime, hands down. While Brotherhood offers a vast, epic story, 2003 presents a darker, more intimate narrative.
Ultimately, Fullmetal Alchemist holds a special place in my heart. I don’t need to rewatch either version because both are etched into my memory, leaving a lasting impact for years to come.
5 tips for reading Malazan Book of the Fallen
This post is a companion piece to my former post on the series regarding Malazan Book of the Fallen. That post is about some of the misconceptions regarding the series along with my own thoughts on the reading experience. This post is about some helpful tips to get through the series. 1 Don’t expect to
This post is a companion piece to my former post on the series regarding Malazan Book of the Fallen. That post is about some of the misconceptions regarding the series along with my own thoughts on the reading experience. This post is about some helpful tips to get through the series.
1 Don’t expect to know all the answers at first
You are going to be confused. There are simply too many moving parts, too many plot lines, and too many characters to keep track of everything. You simply have to keep reading and enjoy the experience. Everything will eventually fall into place. To keep track of everything you would need to have read the series 10 times and even then you might miss some stuff.
2 have the wiki close by to check new (and old) characters
It is okay to have the wiki next to you to quickly look up a character if you forgot them. There is of course always a small chance to get spoiled, but I found the Malazan wiki to be structured in a way to avoid spoilers unless you look out for them.
3 it’s okay to not remember every name and event, if you try your brain might just fall out of your head
“Don’t stress if you forget characters or events. The books are huge, and not every name will stick right away. Use the wiki when you need to, but the key characters will stand out.”
4 have a companion piece
There are plenty of good YouTube videos on the series. I recommend A P Canavan and Philp chase talks on the series they have none and a full spoiler talks about each of the books. The former also has great fantasy analysis on his channel a critical Dragon.
The podcast Ten very big books is also great. It focuses on Peter (who has read the series) and his friends who are reading it for the first time. It is a great thing to listen to along with your own reading since they too are confused about what is happening.
5 Take your time
You can’t just bench-read the series in a weekend. It demands focus and attention, so it’s important to take your time. I highly recommend taking breaks between books—how long your break is depends on you, but don’t feel guilty about needing time away from the story. The books will call you back when you’re ready
BONUS! Have fun!
Above all, have fun! Sure, there will be frustrating moments and the story can get a bit winding at times, but if you stick with it and give it the time it deserves, it will reward you in the end. If the books just aren’t clicking for you, don’t force yourself through them. Life’s too short for books that don’t bring you joy!
In the end, reading Malazan is a journey. These tips will help make that journey more enjoyable, but remember: it’s okay to go at your own pace, ask for help, and most importantly, have fun. The payoff of finishing the series is immense, so don’t be afraid to take your time and enjoy every step along the way!
Malazan Book of the Fallen: What to know before reading
Intro I recently finished the fantastic epic fantasy series Malazan Book of the Fallen by Steven Erikson. I found the series to be profoundly brilliant with many heavy philosophical themes to chew on. I found myself pondering the many topics of the series long after finishing. The series has everything an epic fantasy needs, epic
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Intro
I recently finished the fantastic epic fantasy series Malazan Book of the Fallen by Steven Erikson. I found the series to be profoundly brilliant with many heavy philosophical themes to chew on. I found myself pondering the many topics of the series long after finishing. The series has everything an epic fantasy needs, epic battles both military and one-on-one. A crap ton of magic, dragons, and other magical creatures. Rich and interesting lore, along with some of the best characters ever to be put on the page, not just in fantasy, but in general.
The series is so dense it invites repeat reading. The more you explore and dig into the work the richer it becomes. It is not always easy, but it’s definitely rewarding. Every single scene is important, every single word is chosen with great care and Erikson’s great pros bring the world to life in ways you won’t find elsewhere in fantasy.
The books are so dense and have over time garnered quite a reputation for being difficult to read, but is this true?
This post is going to be about the conceptions and misconceptions regarding the Malazan Book of the Fallen so that you can make an estimation on whether or not you want to read it. I searched the internet and asked chatGBT about some of the things to be aware of before reading the series and I have gathered a few points which I will be answering NOW.
Analysis
Misconception #1: “The Introduction is Too Confusing”
The first book in the series Gardens of the Moon drops you right into an epic battle and siege on a city called Pale. You are not given any introduction about anything at all. There are multiple characters, and you don’t know why they are important or if they are even important. There are so many things going on it can be hard to get a grasp on what is happening.
It would be akin to being dropped into the middle of The Two Towers when the orcs attack helms deep. Just imagine that as your first exposure to Lord of the Rings. Who is Aragon? Why are the elf and dwarf comparing kills? What is an orc? Why are two hobbits talking to a tree? What even is a hobbit? Oh here comes Galdalf.. Who? It would be madness, but if you just keep reading things would begin to fall into place even without knowing the full backstory.
The series drops you right into the middle of the action. There is a crap tone of lore and history before the starting event, and you are only getting fed little information at a time over a long period of time.
While it’s easy to feel lost in the beginning, Erikson’s decision to start in the middle of the action is a deliberate choice. It mirrors the world’s complex and ever-changing nature. The key is patience—the more you read, the clearer everything becomes, and suddenly, you’re no longer wondering who that mysterious character is or what the stakes are. You start to see the grand picture unfold.
Misconception #2: “There Are Too Many Characters and I Don’t Get It”
One of the biggest challenges with Malazan is the overwhelming number of characters. With so much backstory, so many moving pieces, and a massive cast, it’s easy to feel lost. Characters you might think are important sometimes die immediately, or simply disappear from the narrative. Others, who seem like minor side characters, turn out to be key players down the line. Trying to keep track of all these characters—and their secretive motives—can make the dialogue tough to follow.
Imagine two characters talking about past events you don’t know about, discussing future plans you haven’t even been introduced to yet. And because so many characters are keeping secrets from each other (and the reader), it can feel impossible to figure out what’s really going on or predict where the plot is heading. The sheer complexity of the characters and their intertwining storylines can be incredibly difficult to follow, especially early on.
But here’s the thing: Malazan explores so many themes—military ethics, economics, death, history, and beyond. It tackles every topic you can imagine, often through complex dialogue between its vast cast. And while this makes for incredibly rich, multifaceted storytelling, it also means that sometimes you’ll find yourself reading about a topic that doesn’t immediately grab your attention. The series requires patience, and there will be moments where you have to push through, trusting that the pieces will eventually fit together.
The key is to keep reading. Don’t expect to get everything on your first pass through the books. Many of the characters in the series are incredibly well-crafted and worth investing in—even if you don’t always understand their full significance at first.
However, one aspect of the series that can be particularly frustrating is how the books span multiple continents, introducing new casts and plotlines. Just when you start to get attached to a set of characters, the next book might take you somewhere completely different with a fresh set of faces. For instance, Midnight Tides (Book 5) takes place before the events of the first book and introduces a whole new cast. Personally, I was frustrated when I reached Reaper’s Gale (Book 7), where yet another new group of characters emerged. It can be tough to stay invested when you’re constantly jumping to new characters and stories, especially when you’re itching to see what happens to your favorites.
Misconception #3: “I Need Everything Explained to Me Right Away”
One of the most striking features of Malazan is Erikson’s approach to exposition. Unlike some fantasy series, he doesn’t hold your hand or give you long explanations to help you catch up. Instead, he leads you along with subtle breadcrumbs, providing just enough information to keep you moving forward. This means the series doesn’t give you all the answers upfront. For example, if you want to know what a “Warrant” is or how someone becomes ascendant, you won’t find out right away. It’s a slow burn, but if you trust the process and keep reading, eventually everything will start to make sense.
If you’re a reader who needs immediate understanding and hates feeling lost, this might be frustrating. But if you can set that need aside and go with the flow, you’ll be rewarded with one of the most intricate and satisfying fantasy series out there. Erikson is incredibly skilled at catching the reader up if something important was established in earlier books. So while it can feel disorienting at first, it’s not as punishing as it might seem.
Another layer of complexity Erikson adds to the mix is the use of unreliable narrators. The series has numerous points of view, and some characters may intentionally mislead you, while others simply get the facts wrong. We’re used to assuming that when a character tells us something, it’s either right or wrong—but in Malazan, characters may interpret events in vastly different ways, leading to confusion about the larger narrative. This can be a source of frustration, especially when you piece together an event one way, only for new information to shift your understanding later.
While this doesn’t happen constantly, it’s something to keep in mind: don’t trust anybody completely. Your perception of the story will evolve as more pieces fall into place.
Misconception #4: “The Writing Is Hard to Understand”
Erikson’s writing is incredibly detailed and immersive, drawing heavily from his experience as an archaeologist. He paints a vivid picture of a vast, sweeping world filled with rich history, mysteries, and intricacies. Every scene feels purposeful, and he masterfully uses adjectives to enhance the atmosphere without overwhelming the reader. Nothing is superfluous—each detail serves the greater narrative.
It’s important to note that when people say Malazan is difficult to understand, this doesn’t mean the prose itself is hard to follow. Sure, there are a lot of fantasy names—characters, cities, places, continents—but the book is written in straightforward English. It’s not written in archaic or overly complex language, so you can definitely understand it. The challenge comes not from the difficulty of the words, but from the immense complexity of the world and the story Erikson is weaving.
Another area where Erikson shines is in his action scenes. He’s a master of combat and battle sequences, writing them with a visceral intensity that pulls you right into the chaos. Whether it’s a large-scale military clash or a one-on-one fight, Erikson’s action scenes are some of the best in fantasy, adding another layer of excitement to this already complex world.
Misconception #5: “The Books Are Too Long and a Drag”
While the perception that Malazan is a “slug” to get through is subjective (it depends on your reading style), it’s true that the books are long—most of them are around 1,200 pages, with the first book at around 600 pages. This length can make it a bit overwhelming at times.
If you try to binge-read the series, you’ll likely burn out. I know I did. After finishing Gardens of the Moon, I jumped straight into Deadhouse Gates, but I got halfway through before feeling completely drained. The book then sat on my shelf for a year before I picked it up again. From there, I made sure to take breaks between books, sometimes lasting several months. It took me about three years to finish the entire series, and that’s totally okay. The Malazan books are so dense and packed with detail that they require time to digest properly.
I recommend taking breaks between books. The length of your break is up to you, but the key is to give yourself space to absorb everything. It’s perfectly fine to pace yourself—don’t feel like you need to rush through it. The experience will be much more enjoyable if you let it unfold at your own pace.
Conclusion
Malazan is difficult to read—not for the reasons you might expect. It’s difficult because it asks a lot from you. The series demands your full attention and focus. Yes, the books are long and dense, but on the other side of that challenge is one of the greatest fantasy series ever written.
Much like life, the most difficult things often yield the greatest rewards. If you’re willing to put in the time and effort, Malazan offers a deeply enriching experience that will stay with you long after you turn the final page.