Vonda N. McIntyre's The Crystal Star: few titles are so synonymous with fanboy ire. Despite its top-ten bestseller status and a Publisher's Weekly review which dubbed it "the best yet", McIntyre's story of kidnappers, black holes, and extradimensional meatloaf is the Expanded Universe's tallest lightning-rod. Post after post in our Books, Comics, and Television "Worst Book" thread denounces the novel as barely worthy for toilet paper. Old E.U. fans regularly encourage new readers to avoid The Crystal Star at all costs, the better to retain their sanity.

Well, all the hubbub had me fooled. Seeing the widespread hatred for Ms. McIntyre's work, I relegated The Crystal Star to the end of my E.U. reading list and shuddered with the knowledge that I must someday open its dread cover.

But then I began to notice something: many of my favorite books were favorite targets of the broader fandom. Had McIntyre earned her unpopularity...or might her oft-scorned book be worth a read? On one of my regular trips to my local library, I had the opportunity to learn for myself -- for there, hidden in the shadows at the base of the metal bookshelf, lurked The Crystal Star! Fighting my trepidation, I slipped the tattered hardcover out of its literary tomb and fumbled through the greyed pages. Total page count: little over three hundred -- light reading for a half-week. How much could it hurt? Still, I confess that I checked the book out myself to avoid tarnishing my reputation with the librarians (I swear that my library is staffed entirely with siblings of Jedi Archivist Jocasta Nu, and all of them already look upon me with frosty scorn after my abortive attempts to order a certain series called "Junior Jedi Knights". Let's not talk about the time I had to place a hold on The Brain Spiders...).

Thus, I began to read. And discovered, to my immense shock, that The Crystal Star was far from the worst Expanded Universe book I had ever read. In fact, by the time I completed the novel, I went so far as to number it among my very favorites. It just goes to show that the establishment doesn't always reflect everyone's opinions. If I hadn't taken the time to think for myself, what would I have missed? Certainly, more than one novel!

Many perfectly good Star Wars books take scorching snark from all quarters. After my encounter with The Crystal Star turned my prejudice upside-down, I began to pointedly seek out and read all of the Star Wars novels commonly deemed "the worst ever". My surprise built with every book I finished: all of these misunderstood novels became new favorites of mine. What a pity that so many fans have foresworn ever touching them!

Untouched in bookstores, maligned online, the Expanded Universe's greatest triumphs remain unacknowledged. What are these literary black nerfs of the Expanded Universe, and why are they so hated? Below follow my own reviews of several E.U. outcasts -- but don't trust me! No single reviewer can dictate everyone's tastes. Grab a hated book and formulate your own opinions. Don't cater to anyone's establishment.

Please note that I've contained myself to a few of the most hated books of the Expanded Universe. I have neither the time nor the blog space to defend every good novel that got a lukewarm reception. So, without further ado...

1. The Crystal Star: Inexplicably despised, Vonda N. McIntyre's Crystal Star is the secret treasure of Star Wars. McIntyre's prose is intentionally elementary, and that lack of affectation eliminates the barrier between her words and the characters' thoughts. Ironically, McIntyre's minimalism actually adds a layer of poetry and rhythm to her words. This technique is particularly effective with five-year-old Jaina, who sounds adorably childish even from inside her own head. And despite its stylistic restraint, The Crystal Star's sparse writing does make an impact: McIntyre fixates upon precisely the right sensory details, and describes them so vividly that they stick in the reader's mind like peanut butter. Her spooky frontier worlds resurrect the sort of edge-of-the-universe strangeness that made A New Hope's cantina famous. Instead of portraying the Skywalker-Solos as a coincidental band of adventurers, McIntyre depicts them as a family: C-3P0 plays the role of nervous, prissy grandmother, R2-D2 is effectively a faithful, electronic puppy-dog, and Chewbacca is simply an extremely hairy uncle. There's a worn-in feel to all of the characters' interactions; they have, as Leia muses, been fighting the Empire for years. As squabbling in-laws, Han and Luke generate twice the tension they did when dueling for Leia's hand. Though McIntyre eschews flat stereotypes, anyone can empathize with her sensitively wrought family feuds. All the characters -- even Waru, the infamous golden slab of meat from another dimension -- are realistically motivated, and their actions and dialogue harmonize beautifully with their personalities. Never have Star Wars' "Big Three" seemed so adult. Ignore the criticism: The Crystal Star is the cream of the crop.

2. Planet of Twilight: When it comes to absorbing environments, Barbara Hambly is queen mother of the fantasy genre. Her Nam Chorios -- not the mention the plethora of secondary worlds briefly featured in subplots -- numbers among the most uniquely exotic, most complete, most realistic planets in the whole of Star Wars. Speaking of completion, tech fans should rejoice at the abundance of nuts-and-bolts statistics in the book. Beyond mentioning the make of a speeder, Hambly will also discuss the model of its engine and even the power output of its batteries. And Hambly's lush density of description is nothing short of transporting; though I've read almost the entire Star Wars bookshelf, Planet of Twilight made me believe for the first time that I knew what a lightsaber would feel like humming to life in my palm. Sensory descriptions (especially metaphysical descriptions of the Force) carry a synaesthetic brilliance -- moiréd sunlight, smoky voices... These poetic details are stunning enough to smell. The ship-to-ship dogfights are so energetic as to summon memories of Luke Skywalker's original trench run against the Death Star. Too, Hambly delivers profoundly personal insights into the psyches of her main players. Even C-3P0 emerges unusually true-to-life. If you've ever wanted not just to watch Star Wars, but to live in it, Planet of Twilight is your paper-bound epiphany.

3. Dark Empire: Yes, the plot centers around a clone of the Emperor Palpatine. In the final judgment, the improbability of that plot device actually goes to Tom Veitch's credit as a writer: he salvages a bizarre idea and turns it around into one of the most terrifying episodes of the entire Saga. The heroes react with the same surprise as the readers upon learning of Palpatine's resurrection. Veitch suffuses his six-issue comic epic with dark, apocalyptic overtones, an ambiance as chillingly palpable as a storm brooding overhead. Characters' inner lives are plotted with meticulous care; the corruption of innocent farmboy Luke Skywalker is smooth, realistic, and sobering. Instead of retreading the sites of the Original Trilogy, Veitch strikes out boldly on his own, inventing atmospheric, new locales. However dull its reputation, Dark Empire set the bar for all subsequent comic stories.

4. The Courtship of Princess Leia: Former Mormon missionary Dave Wolverton brings a resonant spirituality to his interstellar romance. Luke's several prophetic visions are spine-tinglingly otherworldly. The whole novel is written with a lyric simplicity that verges on mythological. Wolverton is obviously an outdoors man: his environments avoid monochromatic stereotypes and feel uniquely natural. Humor is sly but outrageous: the author never lets on his jocular intent until he springs the punch line -- and then you all but die with laughter. The climax of the story, in which Han Solo leaves his friends to sacrifice himself in battle, is profoundly moving and perfectly captures the rugged half-nobility of everybody's favorite space outlaw. Despite its early chronological placement, The Courtship of Princess Leia feels like a glorious climax to the Saga.

5. Darksaber: Despite its filler-novel status, Darksaber ascends beyond the title of mere Star Wars book -- it's one of the best science fiction novels of its decade, period. Kevin J. Anderson makes no pretensions of psychological depth, but his deceptively simple stories go straight for the jugular. In Darksaber, the prolific sci-fi scribe affects an uncharacteristically descriptive style; although no individual description is particularly long, Anderson carpet-bombs the reader with every imaginable detail. The result is one of the Expanded Universe's most complete portraits of the Star Wars galaxy. Anderson maintains equality between dialogue, action, and the characters' internal narratives. Although there is little of each, the steady literary balance serves to drag the reader further into the story. It's the equivalent of leaving the interior of a boat spacious, but plugging all of its crannies: ultimately, it just floats better. The Imperial villains ring especially true thanks to Anderson's minimalist approach to characterization: he, like Vonda McIntyre, simply writes what the protagonists would think without any omniscient observations about their mental states; Admiral Daala, for instance, believes herself to be totally justified in her war against the Jedi. Add Anderson near the top of the short list of male writers who can craft believable female characters: he exquisitely choreographs Luke Skywalker's fast-unraveling romance with Callista Ming, and Leia comports herself with the same natural regality that Carrie Fisher brought to the big screen. Renegade Imperial Admiral Daala, half electricity and half fire, is an elemental force all her own. Among the multitude of Expanded Universe authors who have tried their hands at the character of Mara Jade, Anderson is undeniably the very best: he arms the redheaded assassin with a lethal dose of snide, but subtly reveals her underlying sensitivity (oh, man, am I ever getting crucified for this...). Remember, although many readers blame Anderson for sending Mara off with Lando Calrissian, Anderson was actually the first to suggest pairing Luke and Mara, but he was explicitly forbidden from writing that couple. Darksaber introduces characters and planets naturally, utilizing existent continuity without overt name-dropping. These familiar elements are reinforced with a rainbow of new worlds and peoples. The pyrotechnic climax, in which cloned Jedi Dorsk 81 channels the Force energies of the entire Jedi Order, contains some of the most gut-wrenchingly physical descriptions of telepathy I have ever encountered in any book. Leave it to the man Starlog proclaimed "Chancellor of the Star Wars University" to trump every existing standard of Star Wars literature!

6. Splinter of the Mind's Eye: The cynosure of classic Star Wars literature, Splinter contains the same pulp-style escapades that inspired both A New Hope and Indiana Jones. It's the sand-in-joints details of technology and worldbuilding that make Alan Dean Foster's swamp-planet Mimban so credible. Luke and Leia's subterranean journey is wondrous and eerie, perhaps even an intentional homage to Jules Verne's Journey to the Centre of the Earth. And although the ending is necessarily anticlimactic (Splinter is effectively a novelization of George Lucas's cinematic Plan B, the movie he would have made if he hadn't acquired the money for Empire), the story is a worthy expansion of the original Star Wars.

Pardon the length and verbosity of my reviews; they're short by my standards alone. But these books don't deserve half the flak they get. Some, naturally, would argue that they don't get half the flak they deserve...but such is Star Wars fandom.

I don't presume to dictate literary standards to fellow readers -- their views are as valid as mine. Nor to I dare suggest that I am more literate or more intelligent than they (often, it's quite the reverse...). Nevertheless, different books appeal to different individuals with different standards.

To me, a good book should be luxuriously written; every drop of prose should be delicious. Mind you, I don't require obnoxious eloquence and enjoy many simple-spoken authors. Still, "They went there, he said, she said, the end" just doesn't cut it. Oh, please, write like a writer!

Now, that's my personal opinion. I think many other readers are actually annoyed by authors who attempt overt stylistic development. They just want the writers to spit it out, already! Again, that's not an invalid desire; however, it isn't always a realistic expectation of professionals who have spent their entire careers polishing their prose. Everyone likes a simple story, but delivering it utterly unembellished leads to rather barren, vapid books. Give me Barbara Hambly's exhausting descriptions any day. At least they're alive -- and that life is the single most important quality in a book, regardless of the author's style.

Good books overflow with vivacity. I don't want to read any piece about which the author is not obviously, contagiously enthused. Enthusiastic writers tend to be enthusiastic about life, you see. In or outside of Star Wars, I think many readers (especially those who believe themselves particularly intelligent!) find that unpretentious energy discomfiting: it's too honest, too raw, and they're embarrassed by the realism. They prefer to hide in ostentatiously intelligent books, the sort touted for "mature characters" ("mature" being a euphemism for "dry as the Sahara").

It's an interesting point: what is so mature about characters who have no fears, no dreams, no weaknesses? And what's immature about characters who are unabashedly human? Oh, make no mistake: stuffy readers are fine with enjoying emotional characters as long as those characters are dark and angst-ridden; those feelings are realistically human but still somber enough to be "cool". It's only when the bolts strike close to our most cherished secrets that we begin to sweat.

You know what? We have to overcome our collective fear of sympathizing with "weak" characters. How many of us can really relate to colorlessly perfect android-men and busty warrior-women? I guarantee you that there's nothing particularly liberated about female characters whose only skills are hand-to-hand combat. Real people have lives -- and real literature should reflect the real world as accurately as possible.

I just completed a short story the protagonist of which is a young girl. Now, it ain't the stuff of Nebula Awards, but I'm still proud: it's the best I've done. Halfway through, I had to explain that the girl was writing her own story, the sort of juvenile romance which all of us budding authors keep tucked away in locked journals in the furthest recesses of our closets. You know what? I was scared out of my keyboard! Sure, all writers have, at some stage of adolescence, penned these saccharine, little love stories -- but if I mentioned my character writing such a story, I was virtually admitting that I had done something similar in my own past! Which isn't to say that I actually had, but that's the insinuation most readers would make, you know? Oh, the quandary...

Then I happened to remember a quote of Matthew Woodring Stover's: "Tip for the aspiring writer: write things that make you grin like an idiot, and forget the rest." (This is not precisely what Matthew Woodring Stover said.)

Okay, thanks for the kick in the hinder quarters, Matt. You know what I did? I -- wrote -- the whole -- corny -- paragraph. And it felt good. In the unlikely event that this story is ever published, it will probably be derided as immature. That's okay, because the people who will lambaste it will probably the same ones who wrote mushy diaries, themselves. Yes, I'm maudlin. So is life -- get used to it. Save your sophistry, folks. I want to write.

It's time to release the light long closed in hardcovers abandoned on the bottom shelf. Maybe that light is just too dazzling, too revealing for us: so often, we're frightened to read about our own flaws in books -- as though our collective subconscious can't bear our own scrutiny! But why do we need to feel so vulnerable? Let's celebrate every luminous color of ourselves, and every vibrant shade of writing. Give me your Crystal Stars and your Darksabers; join me in welcoming these unappreciated magnum opii. They are true books, and true books are life: rich and unashamed. Read deeply, brethren.

Force be,
~The Admiral

Blog Update: As is inevitable with a large trade-paperback, the release of Dark Horse's Legacy: Broken has been delayed; however, it's still set to premier in the upcoming week, so my triple-review of Legacy, Knights of the Old republic, and Rebellion is still set for next Sunday. As to my sketches, well, I'm quickly discovering that I'm not quite as fast an artist as I had imagined. Sure, inking is a fast process, but penciling, well, that's another story entire! I may be forced to upload the drawings individually week by week, but rest assured that they are coming!