"Two of the most common complaints about epic fantasy are that it is dominated by series, and that most of those series are formulaic and of low quality. As a longtime reader of the genre, I cannot argue either point. Most of the fantasy series I've read over the course of my life have ranged from mediocre to downright wretched. And yet the few excellent books I found were sufficient to keep me sifting through an endless morass of Tolkien clones and gaming-derived fiction, wondering all the while why so much of what I found was so awful.
The traditional response to why much epic fantasy is bad is that the genre is exhausted, with each new book or series drawing on the same patterns as its commercially successful predecessors. But while there is more than a grain of truth in that complaint, the explanation is insufficient. After all, Tolkien drew extensively on Celtic and Norse mythology as well as the patterns found in the works of authors like Lord Dunsany and E. R. Eddison when he wrote The Lord of the Rings, and writers have rehashed the legends of Camelot and King Arthur for centuries. Modern works as such as Sean Stewart's Nobody's Son and George R. R. Martin's Song of Ice and Fire are only further evidence that nothing is inherently wrong with stories that use magic swords, dragons, and other elements from fairy tales and folklore. Ultimately, the problems which plague many epic fantasies are not a result of the exhaustion of the traditional elements of fantasy as much as a symptom of the inexcusably crude manner in which they are used on the page.
All fiction requires a balance between elements of the strange and the familiar. But where strangeness in a contemporary novel may be restricted to personal idiosyncrasies on the part of the characters, in a fantasy it must be more pronounced, as evinced by significant differences between the world of the story and that of contemporary reality. Over years of commercial exploitation, however, many elements of strangeness in fantasy have been used so badly they have come to seem mundane, and where once readers thrilled to tales of knights and dragons, they yawn at cover copy promising thrilling quests and look for something less tedious to read about.
The question of what makes an epic fantasy bad is a misleading one, as it implies that the criteria for quality in epic fantasy are separate from those of any other realm of literature. There is nothing more harmful to the literary health of a genre than the belief that its works are subject to special standards of evaluation. Though, as John Gardner says in The Art of Fiction, every work of literature "must be judged primarily, though not exclusively, by its own laws," this is not the same as saying that the author of an adventure story is relieved of the obligation to portray emotionally convincing characters because characterization is not the main focus of their work. Epic fantasy can reasonably be expected to possess a distinctive setting, realistic characters, and a coherent and interesting narrative structure. This list is far from exhaustive or complete, but an examination of much of the epic fantasy on bookstore shelves will show that it fails to satisfactorily fulfill at least one, if not all, of the criteria listed above.
There are two primary ways in which authors can misuse language in epic fantasy. The first is to have the narrative voice slip into a tone inappropriate to the subject being discussed. The second is to have the characters speak in a way that is inappropriate to their character and circumstances.
Even if an author manages to keep anachronisms and ichor from drenching their prose, they still must depict a world that is not only distinct from the generic fantasyland of much recent fiction, but also emotionally and logically convincing. Once again, the tone an author is striving for is crucial. A high fantasy with an elevated tone and clear moral distinctions between the protagonists and their opponents will call for a dramatically different backdrop than a story of ambiguous morality and realistic social concerns. The first will lie closer to the idealized world of fairy tales than the latter, which calls for a world more like the historical middle ages, mired in excrement, violence, and poverty. The works of Tolkien and C. S. Lewis's Narnia books are high fantasy, for example, while the works of Sean Stewart and George R. R. Martin are not.
No matter how fascinating the world a story is set in may be, if the characters it concerns are uninteresting or underdeveloped, the story will be a failure. Even more than sloppy world creation and the misuse of language, failures of characterization plague the epic fantasy novel.
What is often referred to as a story's "plot" is an extremely abstracted description of a story's narrative structure, telling the person who hears it little to nothing about the actual arrangement of fictive elements that form the text. This is why though two stories may be share essentially the same "plot," they may vary widely in their actual texts and the quality thereof. It is all but impossible to generalize about successful narrative structures, since any time a novel demonstrates how one may be used to good effect, another one will come along and use a similar or identical structure very badly.
because of the current publishing climate, it is rare that a work of epic fantasy will be complete within two covers, or that it will escape unsequeled, as authors and publishers attempt to build up profitable franchises. While there is nothing wrong with the multi-volume fantasy if all the volumes function independently or were planned as part of a single work, I submit that the pursuit of fantasy franchises is one of the greatest enemies of quality in the genre, because the influence of market forces often results in having a popular novel or series of novels rehashed ad nauseum, with plot arcs suspended indefinitely by the neck until dead.
I will refer to the two easiest means of extending a fantasy series beyond its natural lifespan as the Jordan method and the Eddings method, though neither method is exclusive to or was originated by the writer I have named it for. The Jordan method involves the maintenance of the status quo from book to book in the same way a television series aiming for syndication maintains the status quo: putting the characters through a combination of trivial events that change nothing, or a series of "important" events which cancel each other out, changing nothing and advancing the story only minutely. The Eddings method involves a repetition of story structure from book to book or series to series, so that even if the characters involved in a book or series are different from those in the author's previous work, the reader can immediately recognize them and their situation as parallel to that of the work they enjoyed last time. Both methods are reassuring to the reader, promising them more of what they enjoyed before, which accounts for their appeal. Both methods also undermine the literary and emotional power of the stories they tell, because they rely upon the robotic repetition of story structure. And since these methods are the easiest methods of continuing a successful series, their fruits requiring less thought to produce than books with original narrative structures or genuine conclusions, they have all but drowned the few sequels or connected works of value on the shelves.
Le Guin argues in "From Elfland to Poughkeepsie" that the products of such assembly-line literary production are not fantasy because their authors "use all the trappings of fantasy without ever actually imagining anything." Sadly, the day that such a definitional argument might have had any power is gone, as the works of Jordan, Brooks, Goodkind, et. al. are already marked as fantasy on their spines. Genre critics must content themselves with the observation that they are bad fantasy, not only because they fail as literature, but because instead of making the commonplace strange and wondrous again, they turn the rich ore of myth, folklore, and magic into mundane lead.
What, then, are the sources of quality in epic fantasy? An unwillingness on the part of an author to settle for work that is shoddy, incoherent, clichéd, or otherwise trivial or superficial, joined to a commitment to the research and invention necessary to make an imagined world come to life on its own terms. This requires an awareness not only of the field's current state but of its history and original sources, in order to be aware of which elements of the genre have been abused and overused, and know how one might make readers see them as new again. It requires diligence, taste, and craft. It requires, in short, writing as seriously and as well as possible. . . "