Друзья, какие из художественных книг (или авторов) отличаются самой богатой, вкусной речью? От чего вы наслаждаетесь?

Грэм Джойс. Когда читаешь прям буквы исчезают и ты словно видишь все происходящее как во сне.

Данте, Гомер, Толкин, Козлов, Проханов, да много еще кто. Я уж и не упомню. Вот два примера:

"Белосельцев, рассеянно наблюдавший очередную забаву пресыщенных людей, вдруг ощутил ледяной холодок прозрения, соединивший его с черноволосым гадателем, чьи выпуклые, без зрачков, глаза были наполнены древней халдейской тьмой с мерцаниями погасших светил. Розовый фрак, безвкусные, напоминавшие огромные стекляшки, перстни придавали ему вид шута, шарлатана, но от него исходила волна загадочной силы, выносившая из будущего неясные образы еще не совершенных событий. Так на берег из глубин океана донные течения выносят призраки бездны, существующие на свету лишь одно мгновение, а затем исчезающие, оставляя на отмели обрывки загадочных водорослей, слизь огромных медуз, чешую невиданных рыб. " (Проханов "Господин Гексоген")

'Then Ilúvatar arose, and the Ainur perceived that he smiled; and he lifted up his left hand, and a new theme began amid the storm, like and yet unlike to the former theme, and it gathered power and had new beauty. But the discord of Melkor rose in uproar and contended with it, and again there was a war of sound more violent than before, until many of the Ainur were dismayed and sang no longer, and Melkor had the mastery. Then again Ilúvatar arose, and the Ainur perceived that his countenance was stern; and he lifted up his right hand, and behold! a third theme grew amid the confusion, and it was unlike the others. For it seemed at first soft and sweet, a mere rippling of gentle sounds in delicate melodies; but it could not be quenched, and it took to itself power and profundity. And it seemed at last that there were two musics progressing at one time before the seat of Ilúvatar, and they were utterly at variance. The one was deep and wide and beautiful, but slow and blended with an immeasurable sorrow, from which its beauty chiefly came. The other had now achieved a unity of its own; but it was loud, and vain, and endlessly repeated; and it had little harmony, but rather a clamorous unison as of many trumpets braying upon a few notes. And it essayed to drown the other music by the violence of its voice, but it seemed that its most triumphant notes were taken by the other and woven into its own solemn pattern. In the midst of this strife, whereat the halls of Ilúvatar shook and a tremor ran out into the silences yet unmoved, Ilúvatar arose a third time, and his face was terrible to behold. Then he raised up both his hands, and in one chord, deeper than the Abyss, higher than the Firmament, piercing as the light of the eye of Ilúvatar, the Music ceased.' (J.R.R. Tolkien Silmarillion)

Великлепный и метафоричный слог Маркуса Зузаки.