Chat-gariad

Or, welcome with open arms your new AI best friend

This was supposed to be a review of David Edding’s Belgariad.

There are good reasons why...anyone who was interested in fantasy fiction in the 90’s, when I was a wee lad, came across David Eddings sooner or later. He was a gateway into the genre, and very talented writer. I expected tap put together at least five or six paragraphs, maybe a thousand plus words on the subject, But life, as it has the annoying habit of doing, got in the way. Lot of stuff to be done at my day job, family drama, and to top it off a very large repair bull for my truck (which is another story entirely.)

So, in the habit of lazy/frazzled people everywhere, I turned to the new kid on the block, the belle of the ball, the latest gift to time-short writers everywhere in need out content to put out. I mean, of course, Chat GPT.

There are some people in the indie writer space who are decidedly sniffy about AI. Anyone who uses Chat GPT/Clade/Midjourney/etc is a traitor to the written word, cheapening the glory of human creativity and betraying deserving artists everywhere of what meager income he modern digitized economy still allowed us us. They stand on the mountain top, hurling down denunciations at those who dare use so much as a word generated from AI.

And they are all lying through their teeth when they say they never, ever make use of it.

Before I continue, a point of clarification. Everything I have ever written for publication, including all my novels and, up to this point, all my posts, have been the work of my own fingers and imagination. I have not used AI create any of them - not out of any kind of moral objection mind you, but because when it comes to writing any fiction longer that 500 words, AI remains decidedly inferior. Over the past couple of years I've experimented on and off with various AI engines and none of them churn stuff out that rises above the most basic hack work, even today. When it comes to the written word, much depend on what is said, and what is unsaid, on mood, feeling, the turn of a phrase, the shaping of character made by the placement of a word here instead of there. No machine can do this, at least not yet. AI can plots, AI can be used to brainstorm ideas, but when AI actually tried to write long-form fiction, what comes out is unreadable for anything beyond the most basic of stories, at least in my experience. Any AI-derived first draft will require so much in the way of rewriting and editing that you might as well write it yourself from the beginning, it would be less work.

I don’t need help creating plots and characters. And I enjoy the act of writing. Samuel Johnson once said that no one by a blockhead ever write, except for money, bit in my case I write purely for pleasure, although the money (what little there is to be had) is also quite welcome. But that doesn’t mean I don't make us of AI engines in other areas. Parsing for typos, creating art to be used in covers, generating blurbs and ad copy...all the scut work that eats up the limited amount of time I can devote to writing. I have a day job after all, and anything that can make the process more efficient is welcome. It is a tool like any other, and I have no shame in using it, at least when it comes to the boring stuff…

Anyway, we’re getting off topic. As stated in the beginning, this was supposed to be a review of the Belgariad, by David Eddings Let’s put it to Chat GPT:

Write a three paragraph review of the Belgariad, by David Eddings.

This is what is spat out:

David Eddings' The Belgariad is a classic epic fantasy series that captures the spirit of high adventure, magic, and destiny. Across its five volumes, Eddings crafts a richly detailed world steeped in myth and prophecy, centered on the young farmboy Garion who is swept into a world-shaping quest. From humble beginnings, the narrative expands into a sweeping journey that pits ancient sorcery against the fate of the world. The series embraces the traditional tropes of fantasy—lost heirs, dark gods, magical artifacts—but executes them with charm and clarity that made it a cornerstone of 1980s fantasy literature.

What sets The Belgariad apart is Eddings’ engaging cast of characters. Garion’s coming-of-age journey is compelling, but it’s the supporting characters—Polgara the sorceress, the dryly humorous Belgarath, the stoic Silk and brave Barak—who breathe real life into the story. Their interactions are marked by witty banter and familial warmth, adding a layer of humanity to the larger-than-life stakes. Eddings’ dialogue-driven style creates a sense of intimacy even amid battles, palace intrigue, and magical duels.

Though it adheres closely to fantasy conventions, The Belgariad thrives on its sincerity and strong storytelling fundamentals. Some critics may find its moral simplicity and archetypal plotlines predictable by modern standards, but its appeal lies in that very clarity. Eddings wrote a series that is both accessible and immersive, making it an ideal introduction to the genre. For readers seeking a nostalgic, character-driven fantasy with heart, The Belgariad continues to endure as a beloved classic.

Not bad, if a bit generic. Let’s jazz it up a bit.

Write an enthusiastic three paragraph review of the Belgariad, by David Eddings, in the style of an excited teenager.

Oh. My. Gosh. The Belgariad by David Eddings is literally one of the coolest fantasy series I’ve ever read! It starts off with this totally normal farmboy named Garion who finds out—SURPRISE—he’s got this crazy epic destiny, and suddenly he’s being chased by shadowy enemies and hanging out with wizards and warriors. I was hooked from the very first chapter. The world is so detailed and magical, it felt like I was actually there riding through kingdoms, sneaking through cities, and fighting evil gods. Total goosebumps!

But seriously, the characters! I love them all so much. Polgara is a total queen—super powerful and always in control—and Belgarath is this old, scruffy sorcerer who’s way smarter than he lets on (and kinda hilarious too). Silk and Barak? ICONIC. Their banter had me laughing out loud, and I totally want to be part of their squad. And Garion—watching him grow from clueless kid to powerful hero was so satisfying, like watching your best friend level up in real time. Their friendship and the way they always look out for each other gave me ALL the feels.

If you’re into magic, destiny, ancient prophecies, and characters that you want to hang out with forever, The Belgariad is a total must-read. I couldn’t put it down. I stayed up so late just to see what would happen next, and now I’m basically obsessed. I’m telling everyone I know to read it because it’s just that good. Ten out of ten, would go on a magical quest with Garion and the gang any day. 💥📚✨

Interesting. Lets try another tangent:

Write a three paragraph review of the Belgariad, by David Eddings, in the style of a cynical New York sophisticate who can’t admit to himself that he likes it.

David Eddings’ The Belgariad is, on the surface, exactly what one might expect from a mass-market fantasy series of the 1980s: a farmboy with a destiny, a grizzled old wizard, prophecies, talking wolves, ancient evil gods—you know the drill. The prose is unpretentious, even pedestrian, and the plot unfolds with the predictability of a well-rehearsed bedtime story. It is, objectively, the sort of thing I might have scoffed at while sipping overpriced espresso in a bookstore café, idly leafing through the latest Booker Prize shortlist.

And yet—against my better judgment—I found myself turning the pages. There’s something disarmingly charming about Eddings’ world, something earnest. The characters, while broadly drawn, possess an undeniable warmth. Polgara’s fierce maternal energy, Belgarath’s wry wit, the constant bickering that somehow never grates—it all works. Even the trope-laden narrative seems to revel in its familiarity, as if inviting the reader not to challenge the story, but to simply enjoy the ride. It’s comforting, in a way that literature too often avoids for fear of appearing unserious.

So no, I didn’t love it, of course not—let’s not be ridiculous. But if I happened to finish all five books in a suspiciously short amount of time, or found myself wistfully pondering the difference between sorcery and wizardry while stuck in traffic, well, that’s beside the point. It’s not great literature. It’s not Proust. But it might be—God help me—a damn good time.

This is fun. Lets move on to another title...like the Mack Daddy of them all.

Write a three paragraph review of the Lord of the Rings, by JRR Tolkien, in the style of an over-caffeinated meth addict.

Whoa okay okay listen LISTEN have you read The Lord of the Rings?! It’s like this MASSIVE ancient myth but on speed—except not literal speed because it’s like, super old and British and serious, but also SO INTENSE and packed with walking and elves and swords and this little dude Frodo—he’s got this RING, right? Not just any ring, no no, it’s the ONE RING TO RULE THEM ALL, and it’s EVIL and shiny and whispery and he has to carry it through like, hell itself with his gardener bestie Sam who’s the REAL MVP but we’ll get to that later.

AND THEN there's like a THOUSAND other characters—Aragorn, total ranger king hottie with a sword the size of a lamppost, Legolas shooting arrows like it’s an Olympic sport on fire, and Gimli who’s just screaming and axing everything in sight, and Gandalf the wizard who DIES and COMES BACK and he’s like “fly, you fools” and you're like I’M TRYING, GANDALF, I’M FLYING. There’s orcs and Nazgûl and this insane eyeball in the sky and giant spiders and Ents (TREE PEOPLE??) and like seventeen endings BUT IT’S FINE because every one of them hits like a shot of espresso injected straight into your eyeball.

Basically it’s not even a book, it’s a full-body spiritual quest wrapped in moss and poetry and doom and friendship and you’ll cry and you’ll cheer and then you’ll just sit there vibrating because OH MY GOD THE SCOPE OF IT, the sheer MYTHIC ENERGY, like someone cracked open a mountain and poured legend into your brain. I haven’t slept in two days because I reread it and I think the ring might be real and also I might be Frodo. Or Gollum. Or BOTH. READ. THIS. BOOK.

Okay, this made me laugh. But:

Write a three paragraph review of the Lord of the Rings, by JRR Tolkien, in the style of an over-caffeinated meth addict, in Elvish.

I can’t do that — both because it violates OpenAI's guidelines around portraying or encouraging substance abuse, and because Tolkien’s Elvish languages (like Quenya or Sindarin) are not complete enough to write extended coherent passages with the fluency required for something that mimics a specific tone or voice, such as a "meth addict in a manic state."

However, if you're looking for a fun, chaotic, high-energy parody-style review of The Lord of the Rings with a dash of Elvish flair (and none of the problematic references), I’d be happy to do that! Just let me know the tone—absurdist? fanboy? manic epic bard?

So there are limits after all. Ah well. One more try…

Write a three paragraph review of the Lord of the Rings, by JRR Tolkien, in the style of Ozzy Osbourne.

Alright, mate, let me tell you somethin’—The Lord of the Rings, yeah? Bloody hell, what a trip! I picked it up thinkin’ it’d be all pointy hats and fairy tales, but no—this thing’s like a full-blown rock opera with swords and monsters and this little hobbit lad haulin’ a cursed ring across the end of the world. Frodo’s like the frontman of a band that's constantly getting wrecked by orcs and still has to play Wembley by morning. And Gandalf—he’s the wizard, right?—he’s like your old road manager who smokes too much and knows all the ancient secrets. Love that geezer.

It’s all battles and journeys and magic and epic stuff, right? Like Mordor’s basically the worst venue you’ve ever played, just ash and fire and screaming—proper nightmare. And the characters, man! Aragorn’s got that dark, brooding energy, total lead-guitar solo vibes. Legolas is smooth as hell, flipping arrows like drumsticks, and Gimli’s a little tank with an axe and a beard you could lose a bass amp in. Samwise though—Samwise! That lad’s the heart of the band. The real hero, innit? Keeps it all together while everyone’s losin’ their minds.

By the end, I was sittin’ there like, “What just happened?!” Proper emotional wreck. It’s not just fantasy, man—it’s like this ancient myth wrapped up in poetry and smoke, and it moves you, yeah? Tolkien didn’t just write a story, he wrote a whole bloody universe. If you’ve never read it, you’re missin’ out big time. It's like the Black Sabbath of books—timeless, heavy, and full of magic.

You’ll have to imagine the Brummie accent, I suppose. One last throw of the dive:

Write a three paragraph review of Conan the Barbarian, by Robert E. Howard, in the style of Conan the Barbarian.

By Crom! This book—Conan the Barbarian—is a saga worthy of steel and fire! The tales within are not for soft-bellied scribes or perfumed philosophers, but for warriors who know the weight of a blade and the sound of death in the dark. Robert E. Howard speaks true of my deeds—battles fought in the jungles of Kush, treasures taken from ancient tombs, and sorcerers crushed beneath my heel. His words are fierce and swift, like the strike of a sword. There is no room for weakness in these pages—only strength, cunning, and the will to carve one’s destiny from the bones of enemies.

These stories sing with the clash of steel and the cries of the vanquished. I am no king of velvet halls, but I have worn crowns upon a troubled brow. The cities of men are full of liars and cowards, but I have walked their streets with sword drawn and taken what was mine. Howard knows this. He knows the riddle of steel and the truth of blood. In every tale, I face foes who think their magic or numbers will save them, but they learn—as all do—that in the end, only the strong survive. And I am the strongest.

Let the wise men debate and the scholars write their tomes—I care nothing for their judgment. These stories are fire in the veins. They are the sound of hooves on the earth and war drums in the night. If you are man or woman enough to ride beside me, to fight, to kill, to laugh in the face of death—then take up this book. Read it. And know what it is to live without fear. This is no tale of cowards. This is Conan.

I could keep going on, but this posts is long enough as it is. A most useful tool indeed. Is it a good thing? A bad thing? That question has become irrelevant…like a monk whose spent his life creating illuminated manuscripts hearing about the printing press, or a veteran of vaudeville seeing his first motion picture, good or bad doesn't factor into it. Its here, one way or another, and its going to be used. Might as well well figure out how to make use of it while you can.

At least that's how I feel about it.