There are two aspects of fiction that I am a sucker for. Neither one of them is particularly original, but they both always make me enjoy the story immensely more than if they were absent from the book.
The first is an inclusion of a map, most often found in the fantasy genre. My brain works spatially, and I adore following the characters as they travel around the realm, from one town to the next. It’s sad to admit, but I have a very hard time resisting any book that has a fully realized map.
The second aspect that helps me enjoy the story is when the narrative describes the food the characters eat. It’s such a simple technique, but there are few things that are as universal across all cultures—no matter how fantastic—than describing the aroma of a juicy roasted chicken and piping hot potatoes.
The first is an inclusion of a map, most often found in the fantasy genre. My brain works spatially, and I adore following the characters as they travel around the realm, from one town to the next. It’s sad to admit, but I have a very hard time resisting any book that has a fully realized map.
The second aspect that helps me enjoy the story is when the narrative describes the food the characters eat. It’s such a simple technique, but there are few things that are as universal across all cultures—no matter how fantastic—than describing the aroma of a juicy roasted chicken and piping hot potatoes.