I started on a new book last night. It was recommended by a friend whose taste I have learned to trust.
The Fifth Season by N. K. Jemisin.
I can’t say yet whether I like it, but it did almost immediately remind me of some old noodlings I’ve had about fantasy.
Books that go too far — other worlds, other creatures, other customs, etc. — into the unfamiliar turn me off.
The Lord of the Rings has hobbits and elves and dwarves and wizards, all set in a different world at a different time, but it still manages to be very familiar and homey. Which I like.
When a book is too weird, it loses me.