I enjoy Sara Douglass's fantasy in a sort of fast-food gobbling way, but it can be rather turgid, overly dramatic stuff. Battleaxe is in this vein - grandly cliched fantasy, complete with unrequited passion, destiny, overblown tragedy, and so on (and on and on).
But sometimes you just feel like plunging into the murky pool of high fantasy, and watch the characters blink in surprise as destiny juggles with them and impregnates them with Grand Golden Magnificent Saviour Poobahs and suchlike. And the Grand Golden etc wanders around, bewildered by his destiny, agonisingly in love with his brother's wife, saving the world with a stiff upper lip, jutting and manly jaw, and gleaming muscles. Probably wearing a small leather loincloth, or something of the sort.
So if you're in the mood for that sort of thing, by all means, give Battleaxe a go. But if you're after some small strands of realism, I'd avoid Douglass's books at all cost.
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