Robin Hobb is my favorite fantasy author, top three at least (she's not fucking third), and she made sure to swing for brutal emotional swings, complex interpersonality, and heavy melancholy almost every step of the way, and she was doing that longer than most current writers are alive now.
Le Guin and Butler and Hobb and Bear and Pierce did not die so we could pretend saccharine happily ever after baby food is what women need