As every year passes, I become more convinced Roger Zelazny died way too soon.
I first encountered his work when I was fourteen, thanks to a friend who thrust Nine Princes in Amber into my hands and swore it was one of the best books he’d ever read.
Since I was already reading two huge fantasy series concurrently at the time, I don’t know why I agreed to start reading a third – maybe his enthusiasm won me over.
Unfortunately, my brain does not enjoy trying to fit a trilogy and two quintilogies (is that a word?) in at the same time, so I eventually abandoned Nine Princes after chapter two and didn’t pick it up again for months.
Funny thing, though. I couldn’t stop thinking about it; and when I picked up the book again I started from scratch and was hooked. An amnesiac prince whose bloodline allows him to walk through any reality he can conceive of has to overthrow his brother for the throne of Amber, the one true reality. Plus, he swears, smokes, makes offhand references to literature, philosophy, politics and history like a boss, all with a sharp sense of humour? I’m there.
