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3.64 AVERAGE
3.64 AVERAGE
Moorcock is yet another author I've been meaning to get into for quite some time now, as Sword & Sorcery has been one of my niche interests of the past few years, and knowing that Elric is one of its central and most archetypal sagas.
Elric of Melniboné is chronologically the first in the series (though not the first that Moorcock wrote), and there's a lot to enjoy about it. It's succinct, very readable, and doesn't get too carried away with detail or get lost in the machismo that makes much of the genre pretty stale. Elric is a more morally complicated character than the genre often has, and reading of his ups and downs made him a dynamic one. The world also has a lot of creative imagery and concepts, making it feel truly fantastical and otherworldly. By drawing from classical fantasy and metaphyiscal/cosmic fantasy and horror, it has the hallmarks of a work that's more influential than it may receive credit for.
My only criticisms come from the dialogue-- I don't need fantasy, let alone, pulpy fantasy to have really lofty dialogue or prose, but some of it felt a bit quaint and simplistic, sometimes redundant-- was ultimately hoping for something a bit more 'lyrically' written, but that's admittedly one of my biases within genre fiction and it's more of a nitpick than an objective flaw. Gene Wolfe's work may have spoiled me in that regard.
All in all, it's easy to see why it's heralded as a classic within fantasy, and I look forward to reading more of the White Wolf and Stormbringer.
Elric of Melniboné is chronologically the first in the series (though not the first that Moorcock wrote), and there's a lot to enjoy about it. It's succinct, very readable, and doesn't get too carried away with detail or get lost in the machismo that makes much of the genre pretty stale. Elric is a more morally complicated character than the genre often has, and reading of his ups and downs made him a dynamic one. The world also has a lot of creative imagery and concepts, making it feel truly fantastical and otherworldly. By drawing from classical fantasy and metaphyiscal/cosmic fantasy and horror, it has the hallmarks of a work that's more influential than it may receive credit for.
My only criticisms come from the dialogue-- I don't need fantasy, let alone, pulpy fantasy to have really lofty dialogue or prose, but some of it felt a bit quaint and simplistic, sometimes redundant-- was ultimately hoping for something a bit more 'lyrically' written, but that's admittedly one of my biases within genre fiction and it's more of a nitpick than an objective flaw. Gene Wolfe's work may have spoiled me in that regard.
All in all, it's easy to see why it's heralded as a classic within fantasy, and I look forward to reading more of the White Wolf and Stormbringer.
This was a nice, short book. I really wish the author had not so loudly criticized Tolkien and set this book up as a contrast. It really is not even in the same ballpark as Tolkien's accomplishments. The one thing I will grant him is that his main character Elric is conflicted about what exactly constitutes "right" and "wrong", and though I would never call that a virtue, it does make Elric interesting at least.
The Melniboneans, however, are a very poorly conceived, and poorly developed, people. The author constantly talks about them as if they are a race distinct from humans in some magical way, but then also constantly refers to them as men, and endows them with only exaggerated versions of the flaws of men. Given the fact that Melniboneans are supposed to follow a "morality" based entirely on hedonism, their society and individual decisions make absolutely no sense. Again, I will grant that certain amounts of hypocrisy and lack of self-awareness can be realistic, but here, at least to me, it just smacks of poor writing.
Ultimately this was a mildly interesting entry in the fantasy genre, but not so interesting that I feel compelled to read the rest of the series. Now what I will do is go back and read some real high fantasy; I think it's high-time to re-read the Lord of the Rings.
The Melniboneans, however, are a very poorly conceived, and poorly developed, people. The author constantly talks about them as if they are a race distinct from humans in some magical way, but then also constantly refers to them as men, and endows them with only exaggerated versions of the flaws of men. Given the fact that Melniboneans are supposed to follow a "morality" based entirely on hedonism, their society and individual decisions make absolutely no sense. Again, I will grant that certain amounts of hypocrisy and lack of self-awareness can be realistic, but here, at least to me, it just smacks of poor writing.
Ultimately this was a mildly interesting entry in the fantasy genre, but not so interesting that I feel compelled to read the rest of the series. Now what I will do is go back and read some real high fantasy; I think it's high-time to re-read the Lord of the Rings.
Tive o primeiro contato com este personagem de fantasia através de obra em quadrinhos com a adaptação de um dos livros. Esta HQ me interessou pelas constantes mudanças na história e pelo personagem principal, o imperador albino de Melniboné, Elric.
É um livro muito diferente das outras fantasias de espada & feitiçaria. Mais para Conan e menos para O Senhor dos Anéis.
Muitas obras de fantasia são direcionadas para a jornada: o personagem ou os personagens tem uma tarefa a cumprir e o livro trata disso. Mas não na obra de Michael Moorcock. Claro que Elric tem coisas a fazer, mas nos engana e resolve tudo em 3 ou 5 capítulos. Portanto, o livro é sobre a vida dele e seu caminho para perdição.
Já o personagem tem tantos conflitos que não se poderia começar a descrever. Ser imperador não trouxe nenhuma felicidade para Elric: império decadente e arrogante; apenas dois parentes vivos, um primo que ambiciona seu trono e uma prima por quem é apaixonado e correspondido; saúde fragilizada; e um conhecimento das coisas que só torna tudo mais difícil. Isso se reflete em muitos diálogos nos quais Elric deixa subentendida sua aflição.
É um personagem trágico. Apesar de torcer por ele, se percebe que nada de muito bom pode acontecer. De início ele luta contra as circunstâncias, mas acaba se rendendo e deixando-se levar
Outros personagens são praticamente irrelevantes, exceto Yyrkoon (o primo ambicioso), Cymoril (prima e amada e conselheira de Elric, só que ele geralmente não segue os conselhos dela) e Stormbringer (a espada, que aparece pouco mas se mostra uma presença terrível para Elric).
Bom livro.
É um livro muito diferente das outras fantasias de espada & feitiçaria. Mais para Conan e menos para O Senhor dos Anéis.
Muitas obras de fantasia são direcionadas para a jornada: o personagem ou os personagens tem uma tarefa a cumprir e o livro trata disso. Mas não na obra de Michael Moorcock. Claro que Elric tem coisas a fazer, mas nos engana e resolve tudo em 3 ou 5 capítulos. Portanto, o livro é sobre a vida dele e seu caminho para perdição.
Já o personagem tem tantos conflitos que não se poderia começar a descrever. Ser imperador não trouxe nenhuma felicidade para Elric: império decadente e arrogante; apenas dois parentes vivos, um primo que ambiciona seu trono e uma prima por quem é apaixonado e correspondido; saúde fragilizada; e um conhecimento das coisas que só torna tudo mais difícil. Isso se reflete em muitos diálogos nos quais Elric deixa subentendida sua aflição.
É um personagem trágico. Apesar de torcer por ele, se percebe que nada de muito bom pode acontecer. De início ele luta contra as circunstâncias, mas acaba se rendendo e deixando-se levar
Outros personagens são praticamente irrelevantes, exceto Yyrkoon (o primo ambicioso), Cymoril (prima e amada e conselheira de Elric, só que ele geralmente não segue os conselhos dela) e Stormbringer (a espada, que aparece pouco mas se mostra uma presença terrível para Elric).
Bom livro.
Loved every single moment of it. Felt like revisiting Stephen King's early novels - the place where tropes and cliches were born.
A thrilling and tragic adventure about duty and sacrifice. It's prose is so much better than I anticipated. I could read some those sentences for hours.
Maybe I'm just not a true fan of high fantasy literature, but I thought this book was just so-so. And enjoyable short read with somewhat compelling, interesting characters, but nothing groundbreaking. I'll have to see if I continue the series. Maybe I'll give the next book a try, but I'm not sure I'll read the whole series.
This was loaned to me by a friend, and I am glad I read it. I was impressed with the imagery, especially the hall of the sea god and the ship of Land and Sea. Moorcock's writing is sparse, and that is why, when they happen, these glorious bits of description stand out so powerfully. I went back and forth about liking Elric as a hero. He comes across as super intelligent and an idiot all at the same time. Further complicated by his weakening illness, episodes that hit at the worst possible times, it is hard to see why so many have faith in him. The other thing that bothered me at the beings of Melnibone. I was never more glad to be human, and the plight of this incestuous,cannibalistic race barely concerns me. I have decided to throw my stock in with the less powerful but more humane folks from the Young Kingdoms. In the end, it was the quest to wondrous worlds that won me over. That, and I found I cared for some of the supporting characters (Dyvim Tvar and Rackhir). Our heroine, Cymoril, is pretty typical of high fantasy leading ladies. She fills the role of letting herself get captured and needing to be rescued. Sad. Had she had any true grit, she would have taken her evil brother out and then replaced the wimpy Elric on the throne, but alas, she falls under a sleeping spell and remains absent for most of the story. Pure Princess Peach.
Overall, it was good enough for me to want to read more, and it scores high points for being short!
Overall, it was good enough for me to want to read more, and it scores high points for being short!
Qui ne connaît pas l'albinos le plus célèbre de la fantasy ? Dans ce premier tome, il est empereur de Menilboné aux prises avec un cousin ambitieux. C'est plus ou moins mou, mais la conclusion le voit tirer Stormbringer, et le souffle épique de cette saga entre enfin dans les pages de cette histoire !
adventurous
fast-paced
Plot or Character Driven:
Plot
Strong character development:
No
Loveable characters:
No
Diverse cast of characters:
No
Flaws of characters a main focus:
Yes
I have spent a long time searching for a modern fantastical epic which is worth reading. It seems like there should be one, out there, somewhere. I have so enjoyed the battlefields of Troy, the dank cavern of Grendel's dam, Dido's lament, Ovid's hundred wild-spun tales, perfidious Odysseus, the madness of Orlando, Satan's twisted rhetoric, and Gilgamesh's sea-voyage to the forgotten lands of death. And so I seek some modern author to reinvent these tales with some sense of scholarship, poetry, character, and adventure.
There are many great modern fantasies, but the epic subgenre lacks luster. In reading the offerings--Martin, Jordan, Goodkind, Paolini, even much-lauded Wolfe--I have found them all wanting. They are all flawed in the same ways: their protagonists are dull caricatures of some universal 'badass' ideal, plot conflicts are glossed-over with magic or convenient deaths, the magic itself is not a mysterious force but a familiar tool, and women are made secondary or worse (though the authors often talk about how women are strong and independent, the women never actually act that way).
But then, they are all acolytes of Old Tolkien, who is as stodgy, unromantic, and methodical as a fantasist can be (without being C.S. Lewis). Though I respect Tolkien's work as a well-researched literary exercise, it is hard to forgive him for making it acceptable to write fantasy which is so dull, aimless, and self-absorbed. It is unfortunate that so many people think that fantasy began with Tolkien, because that is a great falsehood, and anyone who believes it does not really know fantasy at all. It nearly died with him.
Yet there are many who do think he started it. They like to comment on reviews, especially reviews of their favorite books--especially negative reviews of their favorite books--which have, lamentably, become a specialty of mine. And often, they end up asking me "Well, what fantasy do you like?" There are many I could name, numerous favorites which have shocked and overawed me, which have shaken me to my core, which have shown me worlds and magic I dared not dream. But none of them are epics.
I could mention Susanna Clarke's Jonathan Strange and Mr. Norrell, a powerfully self-possessed work and one of the only fantasies of the past twenty years that I consider worth reading--the other is China Mieville's Perdido Street Station--but these are a Victorian alternate history continuation of the British Fairy Tale tradition and a New Weird Urban Fantasy, respectively. I could mention Mervyn Peake's Titus books, which so powerfully inhabit my five-star rating that Mieville and Clarke must be relegated to four--but this is a work whose fantastical nature would probably not even be apparent to most fantasy enthusiasts.
Alas they are not good counter-examples. I can (and do) mention Robert E. Howard's Conan, and Fritz Leiber's Lankhmar series, but these are fast-paced adventure stories, and though their worlds may be vast, mysterious, and grand, the stories themselves lack the hyperopic arc at the heart of an epic work.
But there have been many suggestions, many readers who have come to my aid, and who have named authors I might look to next, in my quest: Guy Gavriel Kay, Ursula K. LeGuin, Jack Vance, Poul Anderson, Jeff VanderMeer, Michael De Larrabietti, John M. Harrison, Scott Lynch, Patricia McKillip, and John Crowley (Brandon Sanderson and Patrick Rothfuss have been both suggested and sneered at). It is my hope that, somewhere amongst them, I will find the exemplary epic fantasy I am looking for--but I haven't found it in Moorcock.
Moorcock is good, he has scope, depth, complexity, and long, twisting plots, but at their core, his stories are modern, metaphysical, and subversive. They are light and lilting, ironical and wry--too quick and twisting to be 'epic'. The characters are introspective and self-aware, and it is clear that it is they, and not the world, who will be at the forefront.
It is all so thoroughly modern, so reinvented, full of sprightly ideas and metaphysical brooding. But it is decidedly not modern in the accidental, self-defeating ways of all those pretenders to the 'epic' title. The characters are not merely the male-fantasy counterpart of a bodice ripper, with modern, familiar minds dressed thinly in Medieval costume. The world is not simply our world with an overlay of castles--dragons for jet fighters, spells for guns, with modern politics and sensibilities.
No, Moorcock's world and characters are alien and fantastical, but Moorcock does not achieve this by ripping them whole-cloth from history, but by extrapolating them from modern philosophical ideas. Fantasy stories have always been full of dreamscapes, of impossible places for the reader to inhabit. These places draw us in, somehow we recognize them, like our own dreams, because of what they represent.
Anthropomorphism is the human tendency to see people where there are none: to see smiling faces in wood grain, to assign complex emotional motivations to cats, and to curse at the storm that breaks our window. The 'Other World' of British Fairy Tales is based on the latter: the assigning of our luck--good and bad--to capricious spirits. The world of fairy has rules (as do storms), but those rules are mostly a mystery to man.
But Moorcock's world personifies the ideas of Kant and Nietzsche: his 'Other Worlds' (called 'Planes') are those of the human mind: they are places of morality, like heaven and hell, except he has updated the concept to existential morality. There is Chaos, and there is Law; Chaos is the selfish urge, Law the communal urge, and he arrays his magic, spirits, and dreamscapes along this axis.
Like Milton, he has infused his epic with the latest thoughts and notions, updating it for the modern age. Also like Milton, Moorcock's influence has been felt, far and wide, despite the fact that most people do not recognize it.
The Dungeons & Dragons game prominently used his Law/Chaos dichotomy, among other concepts, and his 'Wheel of Psychic Planes' is an influence on their most audacious and unusual publication, the philosophical 'Steampunk' setting, Planescape. And many of these tropes have filtered down into the grab-bag common to the modern voice of fantasy stories.
Reading Elric, one will invariably be reminded of a dozen other books and games, as Elric drinks endless potions to maintain his strength and vitality, slaying twisted demons on a plane of fire in search of a rune-sword, dressed in ornate black armor and a dragon-helm. Indeed, the central mythology (and much of the plot) of the Elder Scrolls games--in particular Oblivion--owe a vast debt to Elric and his world, and not simply for the land of 'Elwher'.
Clearly, Moorcock's odd vision has been transcribed onto the imaginations of fantasists, but as with those who were inspired by Tolkien, most of his followers have failed to recreate the weight of the original message. Except for a few outliers, like Planescape and Perdido Street Station, most authors have copied the outward appearance of Moorcock's alien world, but were not skilled or knowledgeable enough to take the substance along with the form--the existential ideas, the vital core of his dreamscapes, are most often missing, or at best, faded.
But while the ideas and the overall vision are strong--even compared to the ubiquitous attempts to recreate them--there are a number of flaws in Moorcock's presentation. The first and most damaging is a weakness in the voice. Moorcock has a lot to say, but must sometimes resort to explaining his ideas to us. He is not always able to deliver his world and characters through interactions, hints, tone, and actions. He is hardly an inexperienced enough author to explain to us that which is already self-evident, but it is a weakness in his delivery which sometimes takes us out of the flow of the story, so that we must step back from the world and listen to Moorcock talk about it, though he does do his best to veil it with Elric's thoughts.
Secondly, it can be difficult to get a strong impression of his characters, they are often difficult to sympathize with or to predict. It isn't that they aren't vivid and active, but that their actions are often based around ideas and concepts--the things Moorcock built his world on--which can create a sense of a top-down world, where the characters are there to fulfill a purpose, to explore various notions and philosophies.
The book is certainly not an allegory--there are no easy one-to-one correlations to be made between characters and ideas, but the world does not revolve around personalities--except, perhaps, for Elric's, but his thoughts and motivations are often the most difficult to reconcile. The personalities of all the other characters are, more or less, wholly dependent on him.
To some degree, the characters seem to operate on much older fantasy rules: their capricious yet repetitive acts becoming motifs for the larger ideas in the story, not unlike Tolkien's fantasy forefather, E.R. Eddison, whose characters seem half-mad with heroism for its own sake (another candidate for my favorite epic, if I didn't think his beautiful, deliberate archaism might prove too remote for many readers).
Part of the reason for this is that Elric's personality and world were created as an exercise, and with an explicit purpose: to portray the anti-Conan. He is sickly, weak, pale, effeminate, sorcerous, erudite, cruel, reluctant, intellectual, and hardly promiscuous. Conan becomes king by his own hand, while Elric begins as emperor and we witness the hardships of his downfall.
But this contrariness, while coloring the story, is hardly its center. Moorcock uses it as a springboard--an inspiration to drive him to something greater. It is one more example of the fact that genius is at its best when it has a lofty challenge before it. Moorcock is not interested in making a parody, but in exploring a little-trodden path, operating on the notion that if you start with something familiar and begin to move away from it, you are bound to end up somewhere else.
I must also mention an unbelievable incident involving a group of blind soldiers, which put dire strain to credulity. A bit of creative myth or capricious magic could have saved it, but as it stands in the book, it makes little sense.
But despite the subtle weaknesses in voice and characterization, Moorcock's idiomatic adventure story is eminently enjoyable. There are few fantasy books I could name which suggest such a playful intellect as this, and though it is not as wildly imaginative as his Gloriana, this philosophical exploration disguised as a pulp adventure is a delightful read that never gets bogged-down in indulging its own thoughtfulness.
My List of Suggested Fantasy Books
There are many great modern fantasies, but the epic subgenre lacks luster. In reading the offerings--Martin, Jordan, Goodkind, Paolini, even much-lauded Wolfe--I have found them all wanting. They are all flawed in the same ways: their protagonists are dull caricatures of some universal 'badass' ideal, plot conflicts are glossed-over with magic or convenient deaths, the magic itself is not a mysterious force but a familiar tool, and women are made secondary or worse (though the authors often talk about how women are strong and independent, the women never actually act that way).
But then, they are all acolytes of Old Tolkien, who is as stodgy, unromantic, and methodical as a fantasist can be (without being C.S. Lewis). Though I respect Tolkien's work as a well-researched literary exercise, it is hard to forgive him for making it acceptable to write fantasy which is so dull, aimless, and self-absorbed. It is unfortunate that so many people think that fantasy began with Tolkien, because that is a great falsehood, and anyone who believes it does not really know fantasy at all. It nearly died with him.
Yet there are many who do think he started it. They like to comment on reviews, especially reviews of their favorite books--especially negative reviews of their favorite books--which have, lamentably, become a specialty of mine. And often, they end up asking me "Well, what fantasy do you like?" There are many I could name, numerous favorites which have shocked and overawed me, which have shaken me to my core, which have shown me worlds and magic I dared not dream. But none of them are epics.
I could mention Susanna Clarke's Jonathan Strange and Mr. Norrell, a powerfully self-possessed work and one of the only fantasies of the past twenty years that I consider worth reading--the other is China Mieville's Perdido Street Station--but these are a Victorian alternate history continuation of the British Fairy Tale tradition and a New Weird Urban Fantasy, respectively. I could mention Mervyn Peake's Titus books, which so powerfully inhabit my five-star rating that Mieville and Clarke must be relegated to four--but this is a work whose fantastical nature would probably not even be apparent to most fantasy enthusiasts.
Alas they are not good counter-examples. I can (and do) mention Robert E. Howard's Conan, and Fritz Leiber's Lankhmar series, but these are fast-paced adventure stories, and though their worlds may be vast, mysterious, and grand, the stories themselves lack the hyperopic arc at the heart of an epic work.
But there have been many suggestions, many readers who have come to my aid, and who have named authors I might look to next, in my quest: Guy Gavriel Kay, Ursula K. LeGuin, Jack Vance, Poul Anderson, Jeff VanderMeer, Michael De Larrabietti, John M. Harrison, Scott Lynch, Patricia McKillip, and John Crowley (Brandon Sanderson and Patrick Rothfuss have been both suggested and sneered at). It is my hope that, somewhere amongst them, I will find the exemplary epic fantasy I am looking for--but I haven't found it in Moorcock.
Moorcock is good, he has scope, depth, complexity, and long, twisting plots, but at their core, his stories are modern, metaphysical, and subversive. They are light and lilting, ironical and wry--too quick and twisting to be 'epic'. The characters are introspective and self-aware, and it is clear that it is they, and not the world, who will be at the forefront.
It is all so thoroughly modern, so reinvented, full of sprightly ideas and metaphysical brooding. But it is decidedly not modern in the accidental, self-defeating ways of all those pretenders to the 'epic' title. The characters are not merely the male-fantasy counterpart of a bodice ripper, with modern, familiar minds dressed thinly in Medieval costume. The world is not simply our world with an overlay of castles--dragons for jet fighters, spells for guns, with modern politics and sensibilities.
No, Moorcock's world and characters are alien and fantastical, but Moorcock does not achieve this by ripping them whole-cloth from history, but by extrapolating them from modern philosophical ideas. Fantasy stories have always been full of dreamscapes, of impossible places for the reader to inhabit. These places draw us in, somehow we recognize them, like our own dreams, because of what they represent.
Anthropomorphism is the human tendency to see people where there are none: to see smiling faces in wood grain, to assign complex emotional motivations to cats, and to curse at the storm that breaks our window. The 'Other World' of British Fairy Tales is based on the latter: the assigning of our luck--good and bad--to capricious spirits. The world of fairy has rules (as do storms), but those rules are mostly a mystery to man.
But Moorcock's world personifies the ideas of Kant and Nietzsche: his 'Other Worlds' (called 'Planes') are those of the human mind: they are places of morality, like heaven and hell, except he has updated the concept to existential morality. There is Chaos, and there is Law; Chaos is the selfish urge, Law the communal urge, and he arrays his magic, spirits, and dreamscapes along this axis.
Like Milton, he has infused his epic with the latest thoughts and notions, updating it for the modern age. Also like Milton, Moorcock's influence has been felt, far and wide, despite the fact that most people do not recognize it.
The Dungeons & Dragons game prominently used his Law/Chaos dichotomy, among other concepts, and his 'Wheel of Psychic Planes' is an influence on their most audacious and unusual publication, the philosophical 'Steampunk' setting, Planescape. And many of these tropes have filtered down into the grab-bag common to the modern voice of fantasy stories.
Reading Elric, one will invariably be reminded of a dozen other books and games, as Elric drinks endless potions to maintain his strength and vitality, slaying twisted demons on a plane of fire in search of a rune-sword, dressed in ornate black armor and a dragon-helm. Indeed, the central mythology (and much of the plot) of the Elder Scrolls games--in particular Oblivion--owe a vast debt to Elric and his world, and not simply for the land of 'Elwher'.
Clearly, Moorcock's odd vision has been transcribed onto the imaginations of fantasists, but as with those who were inspired by Tolkien, most of his followers have failed to recreate the weight of the original message. Except for a few outliers, like Planescape and Perdido Street Station, most authors have copied the outward appearance of Moorcock's alien world, but were not skilled or knowledgeable enough to take the substance along with the form--the existential ideas, the vital core of his dreamscapes, are most often missing, or at best, faded.
But while the ideas and the overall vision are strong--even compared to the ubiquitous attempts to recreate them--there are a number of flaws in Moorcock's presentation. The first and most damaging is a weakness in the voice. Moorcock has a lot to say, but must sometimes resort to explaining his ideas to us. He is not always able to deliver his world and characters through interactions, hints, tone, and actions. He is hardly an inexperienced enough author to explain to us that which is already self-evident, but it is a weakness in his delivery which sometimes takes us out of the flow of the story, so that we must step back from the world and listen to Moorcock talk about it, though he does do his best to veil it with Elric's thoughts.
Secondly, it can be difficult to get a strong impression of his characters, they are often difficult to sympathize with or to predict. It isn't that they aren't vivid and active, but that their actions are often based around ideas and concepts--the things Moorcock built his world on--which can create a sense of a top-down world, where the characters are there to fulfill a purpose, to explore various notions and philosophies.
The book is certainly not an allegory--there are no easy one-to-one correlations to be made between characters and ideas, but the world does not revolve around personalities--except, perhaps, for Elric's, but his thoughts and motivations are often the most difficult to reconcile. The personalities of all the other characters are, more or less, wholly dependent on him.
To some degree, the characters seem to operate on much older fantasy rules: their capricious yet repetitive acts becoming motifs for the larger ideas in the story, not unlike Tolkien's fantasy forefather, E.R. Eddison, whose characters seem half-mad with heroism for its own sake (another candidate for my favorite epic, if I didn't think his beautiful, deliberate archaism might prove too remote for many readers).
Part of the reason for this is that Elric's personality and world were created as an exercise, and with an explicit purpose: to portray the anti-Conan. He is sickly, weak, pale, effeminate, sorcerous, erudite, cruel, reluctant, intellectual, and hardly promiscuous. Conan becomes king by his own hand, while Elric begins as emperor and we witness the hardships of his downfall.
But this contrariness, while coloring the story, is hardly its center. Moorcock uses it as a springboard--an inspiration to drive him to something greater. It is one more example of the fact that genius is at its best when it has a lofty challenge before it. Moorcock is not interested in making a parody, but in exploring a little-trodden path, operating on the notion that if you start with something familiar and begin to move away from it, you are bound to end up somewhere else.
I must also mention an unbelievable incident involving a group of blind soldiers, which put dire strain to credulity. A bit of creative myth or capricious magic could have saved it, but as it stands in the book, it makes little sense.
But despite the subtle weaknesses in voice and characterization, Moorcock's idiomatic adventure story is eminently enjoyable. There are few fantasy books I could name which suggest such a playful intellect as this, and though it is not as wildly imaginative as his Gloriana, this philosophical exploration disguised as a pulp adventure is a delightful read that never gets bogged-down in indulging its own thoughtfulness.
My List of Suggested Fantasy Books