The Night Before Christmas,
published, M.A Donohue, 192?
When the children attained a certain age, after choir and hot chocolate and before a reading from Luke, they were regaled each Christmas Eve by corrupt and seditious parodies of A Night Before Christmas. Included were such lines as: the stockings were hung by the chimney with care/they smelled very bad and they needed the air, and laying a finger inside of his nose...
The kids loved it. It became a family tradition.
I am fond of fantasy and some SF. I hunt down the backlists of my favourites, like Moon and Modesitt, Jr. I re-read Jordan and Eddings. I trade boxes of books with my son-in-law.
A recent rotation included Robin Hobb's Tawny Man trilogy. Having read at one time part or all of her Farseer series, I envisioned quiet evenings of pleasure cuddled under a comforter with the dogs at my feet and a drink by my side. Several evenings, because the volumes run around 700 pages each.
I reached page 300 and so of The Golden Fool when I committed an act of minor sacrilege and tossed the book back in the box.
Perhaps my tastes have changed. Let me make it plain that I still consider Robin Hobbs a witty and brilliant writer who builds characters which are exquisitely human.
Our hero, the former royal assassin, climbed up secret stairs, he climbed down secret stairs, he conferred with people, occasionally he rode out of the castle or walked into town. Three hundred pages of suggestions of danger to come. Of slow set-up. Nothing of substance truly happened. Irresolute interpersonal conflict, yes. Action, no. Eventually, I found it tedious.
Which makes me consider if -- for some or many Fantasy and SF fans -- the lure lies, not in the plot, but in the created and detailed society, world or universe, not in the story but the setting itself. That might explain the profusion of fanlit.