Harley J. Sims


My illustrated fantasy epic the Unsung. is now available at Amazon (worldwide) and Chapters-Indigo (Canada). 

There is a lot of epic fantasy out there. 
More than any other, it's the genre that turns readers (and gamers) into writers. 
We imagine a better place; we want to bring people there. 
Language provides the timber, and we build a bridge.

Then what makes the Unsung. different?
I suppose I should be careful.
Borges wrote that  'God must not engage in theology
The writer must not destroy by human reasonings the faith that art requires of us'.

But Zadie Smith also said that "writing is the exact opposite of therapy'
and I can work with that one better.

the Unsung is literary fantasy.
This is a fact, not a boast.
If you don't love the wild magic of words themselves - 
if you see them as labels
and not as rocks kept ever damp and slippery by the rivers of meaning they cross,
then keep moving.

In the Unsung., the familiar is not a path, but a threshold.
The more steps you take, the less familiar it will become.

I promise
by the end, 
you will not know 
where you are.

Withstand Oblivion.
from the back cover:

This is Norráma. 

It is now the Age of Life. 

Everything that breathes has a soul. 

Man is but one of the World’s children. 

Knaks is a kingdom of Men. Its King is descended from Woden Himself. He will not share the land his ancestors have housebroken. 

But the World is older than this one Age. Forgotten horrors writhe beneath its newborn skin. 
Gloryseekers, desperate for renown, prod every boil they can find. And what bursts forth, not all of it can be stopped.

A self-taught swordsman from the downfallen north. 

A great tuskcat, his steed and soul-brother. 

A demoniacal warrior-wizard wielding powers he does not understand. 

A thuggish priest of a backbench earthGod. 

A man of nine bloods, whose genetic roulette has made him a superman. 

What they awaken overflows the scales of Good and Evil, and threatens to drown the very world they sought to champion.

A masterwork of worldcraft; a tribute to its genre; a work of fantasy decades in the making. The Unsung explores the edge between boldness and blindness, pitting indomitable hope against devastating loss, and asking what it is to live by the words 

"If you’re not remembered, you never existed."

Copyright ©2018

 from Chapter 3

Then came a response from the brume. Its sound was seismic, whalesong basso profundo, of underworld pipes moaning out through their welds. Its organ was ancient, and long abandoned, pressed back into service as bolthole of speech, as when one whose arms and legs have been chopped away, and his tongue ripped out, beats head against floor, spelling out the dots and lines of an obsolete code. Whether it was the Beast speaking, laughing, or simply readjusting the coiled miles of Its body, they could not tell. Only an immortal might recognize it as language, the rules of whose grammar antedated the laws of starbirth. For everyone else, it spelled madness.


All about and above them the great Thede-Eater stiffened. Its neck snaked to a clef, and the scutes atop its body floated outwards on a rising tide. What it did there, they learned, was to draw breath, and what Avarnok made of that breath was nothing less than alchemy. The hammer of its noise brought clots to the eyes, that which had no name but Roar, and from the edges of its strike leapt that bright, ashing agent whose worldly echo is fire.

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the Unsung. is available as a trade paperback and Kindle e-book. 

Audiobook coming soon.