Tales of the Dying Earth by Jack VanceMy rating: 5 of 5 stars
Safely ensconced in a time when sun still burned brightly, James cast his thoughts forward to the end of the world. There he watched the outlandish adventures of a world fallen and rebuilt so many times, its people have lost the will to do more than get by. Their only thought, how best to indulge themselves before the bloated red sun, hanging like a corpse over the Earth, finally flickers and flames out.
Witness the adventures of Turjan the cunning wizard, the innocence of T'sain and the unreasonable rage of T'sain. Gasp as Liane the Wayfarer gets himself in over his head in pursuit of love. Cheer at the high-flying adventures of Ulan Dhor. Marvel at Guyal of Svere as he travels a wasted and decadent land in search of of answers at the fabled Museum of Man.
But there was more to see! The many mis-adventures of the self-named Cugel the Clever as he makes not one but TWO perilous journeys across the earth back to wreak his revenge on Iucounu the Laughing Magician, who surely deserves it. Although, truth be told, Cugel himself is perhaps not an angel in all respects. Or perhaps any respects. Although, against all odds and all appearances to the contrary, sometimes quite clever. A fascinating fellow indeed!
Finally, his gaze settled on Rhialto the Marvelous, popingest popinjay of a band of powerful wizards, where watched the political maneuverings of surely the most decadent overclass of beings in the known history of the world. Caught in the midst of an eons long gender war, thrown back to the distant past to clear his good name and finally whisked to the edge of the known universe, indeed to the very edge of the Nothing Space that exists beyond it, in order to track the origin of the highly valued IOUN stones, Rhialto's machinations are truly marvelous to behold.
It was only with some reluctance, that James withdrew his mind from the unimaginably distant future, his scrying having reached the natural limits of his powers. And so he went on his way, busy with the bustle of the age, in a society still with the youthful exuberance only natural under the auspices of a young, yellow sun. Still, he thought often of aeons distant with all these deeds lost to dust, the character of man fallen and low, and that massive red sun, hanging languidly in the sky. Look, does it falter? Perhaps not just yet.
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