Maybe if Robert Jordan hadn’t died, I might not have discovered Brandon Sanderson. My taste for pure fantasy has waned as I’ve grown older. It makes me sad. I want to love swords and sorcery as much as ever, but my heart just isn’t into it anymore.
Anyway – It was a strain to read book 11 of the Wheel of Time in 2005. I did only because I was so invested in the characters and Jordan promised the end was near. I waited for book 12, the last book, with the idea that I would just read it to get it over with. To be done with Rand and the others, characters that I didn’t even like anymore. But I craved that sense of completion that the last book would provide. I waited… 2006, 2007… I read his blog. I knew he was sick. I didn’t think he would die.
But he did.
The Wheel of Time did not.
Brandon Sanderson saved it. He really saved it. In the three books that replaced the promised last book, Sanderson gave me back the love I had lost for Jordan’s creation.
With an astounding seamless-ness, Sanderson wove Jordan’s beloved Pattern into a whole cloth.
I just finished that last book, six years later than I expected to, but it was worth the wait.
Thank you Mr. Sanderson, for taking on such a daunting task, and giving me my much needed closure.
You did good.
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