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I wrote a book review for English (that's due like tomorrow, and I have to write another one, lololol).
George R. R. Martin's A Game of Thrones.
I’m not much of a reader, but I am a fan of fantasy- anything from medieval to urban to sci-fi. But as far as I’m concerned the mainstream novels of the genre have been going in a sharp and steady decline- while there are many deserving of the praise that finally earn the limelight, the ones that rule tend to be far less than the masterworks they are made out to be.
I will not hide it- I, personally, disliked Lord of the Rings- as a book. Not as much as I despise how the world treats it like a story of grand conquest and a bold hero going forth- I admire it in the fact that it is a tragic tale, about obsession and war and the trivialities of life and fate- in the end, Frodo failed his quest, and it is a grand irony. I greatly love the world that Tolkien created- and that is how I view Lord of the Rings. I love it as a celebration of Middle-Earth, and it is a prime example of a writer playing in his sandbox and crafting something rather magical- but as a story, I find it mediocre.
Time and time again modern fantasy books (pick a random paperback off a shelf, and I guarantee that it would) have fallen victim to the concept of basic plots, to archetypes and clichés and the tried-and-the-proven. This is not wrong- as long as the book is immersive enough, any and all mistakes can be forgiven, because you already enjoyed the tale and the writer has done his job. But there are those stories, few and far between, that manage to convince me to truly fall madly in love everything the author has done.
George R. R. Martin has managed this, in his rather acclaimed A Song of Ice and Fire series.
Originally planned to be a trilogy and now planned to be spanning across seven novels, the series is an epic tale that one would expect from Fantasy, but for some reason we have never seen the likes of since… well, perhaps since Lord of the Rings. And it all begins with this book: A Game of Thrones.
Have you ever read the kind of book that keeps you at the edge of your seat with every page? Have you ever wanted to know what would happen, scrambled to reread those last few paragraphs just because the events were so wonderfully written that they needed to be fully appreciated and absorbed? Have you ever seen perhaps a TV show, Heroes or something similar, where the story is told through shifting points of view, where there is no real main main character, but everything falls wonderfully into place- where it is not a tale of just one person and his or her grand destiny as foretold by the prophecy by pompous old men in robes, but a story about several people living in their world?
Odds are, no- but A Game of Thrones is just that.
There is a problem with many fantasy books- which is, well, the fantasy part. Fantasy is a word, really, that in terms of the genre means it is something that is fundamentally not real and more often than not does not take place in our world- be it among vampires roaming the streets of
Unicorns do not exist to ferry the carebears to-and-fro from the Forest of Feelings- they have beards, whip-like tails and cloven hooves, and their horns are weapons if anything, designed to stab and kill. Handsome heroes are a rarity, if not non-existent- no man is perfect, no man is flawless, every man has his obsessions and twisted delights that makes a character fascinatingly three-dimensional. There is no ultimate evil, like there is no ultimate good, and if anything there may be an ultimate grey about as defined as a coffee stain on the tablecloth. There are wars, and they are grand and epic- but where there is glory and honour there is bloodshed and death, and wars are, to be frank, ugly.
Those are the books I want to read. I do not want to hide from the fundamental flaws of the human condition- I want them to be declared, to be celebrated, everything from raw aggression to psychological trauma to lust and the breaking of every taboo. I want to be told about the bodies that litter the streets during the campaign to free the world from the ambiguous Dark Lord- surely the protagonist cannot be blind to this, and if he is, I want it to be made clear that he is in that sense twisted and blind to not realize the consequences of his actions, and not celebrated like the flawless prince the author so-commonly wants him to be. The world is not pretty, it is ugly, and in that it is beautiful.
But if pretty is what you’re looking for, perhaps pick up a copy of some Redwall books (I hold them dear to heart, despite their obvious flaws), take a look through David Eddings- the Belgariad and the like. Read cheesy vampire romances wherein the characters brood and weep over their curses and longings for their mortal lovers, or are otherwise monsters, somehow conflicted, and never written to their potential- Stephanie Myers’ is a prime example of this. Avoid Feist’s Riftwar saga, and most of all avoid George R. R. Martin.
Because he does this all, and does it beautifully.
Beautiful as it is horrific, in a somewhat macabre way, when you think about it.
The story unfolds through multiple viewpoints- through Jon, the bastard son of the noble house of Stark, descendants of the oldest line of men and masters of winter, and his eventual pledge to an enigmatic brotherhood whose sole task is to guard the kingdoms’ walls. Through many other children of Stark- from Lord to heiress to Lady, from shallow social butterfly to the awkward, overlooked son. Through the eyes of the cunning and manipulative and the insightful, alignments and motivations unclear (there was never a ‘good’ or an ‘evil’ defined- perhaps that is up to the reader to decide). Through the grand masterminds to the pawns shifting around on the board, blissfully oblivions to the workings on a large scale, buffeted about by greater forces, entirely unaware.
One of the more interesting viewpoints in the story is that of Daenerys- the fourteen-year-old daughter to the recently overthrown King. Princess characters easily irk most readers- and I am no exception- but I could not help but pity her, and then grow to like her as she grew throughout the story. She is a fascinating character, beginning as a young girl too obedient to her elder brother, slowly finding her voice- but not before she makes her mistakes. Her brother has her betrothed to the lord of a people widely regarded (perhaps not inaccurately) as savages, she becomes pregnant (and she realized this on her fourteenth birthday) - her relationship with this lord, advisors, her servants, and most of all her bitter and fascinating- sometimes borderline incestuous- relationship with her manipulative, vengeance-hungry brother.
Some writers like to ease you in- while this may be helpful for some, most authors make it sound remarkably condescending- and worst of all, it’s about things that aren’t even altogether relevant.You can almost see some of them, standing behind you, patting your shoulder comfortably, saying, “Don’t worry dear, it’s okay that you don’t understand the socio-politcal economics of Jajalakamaju, I’ll take it twice through, slowly- even if it does have nothing to do with the story.”
R. Martin does nothing of the sort. He plunges you straight into a world of intrigue and politics, of delicate negotiation and vicious words- underhanded dealings, sex and violence, fear and despair. He shows you the horrors of the war, the people who suffer for their sacrifices, and those who have hardened themselves to the reality of violence, and even those who see lives as an entirely necessary expense. He is not behind your shoulder gently explaining everything to you- if anything you can feel the characters’ breath down your necks, laughing and mocking at your disability to understand the scope of their plans and the beauty of their armies dancing across the battlefield.
It’s almost like watching a grand master’s game of chess. You feel that the players are above you, that you have no way of comprehending their plans, but you can see the great care in which they make their choices and bribe their pieces across the board- the light banter with their opponents sometimes has more tension than the silence. One may not understand what is happening, but it is undeniable that as we read this story we are watching something incredible unfold.
By the time you reach the end of the book you’re planning on visiting the library to physically hunt down the rest.
That may be the only fault of the book- that it does not tie up everything, and leaves you wanting more. Because of the epic scale of the series, much of the material that exists in A Game of Thrones sets the stage for future books, and not so much now.
All in all a brilliant book, if this story is the kind you care for- a rare gem among the things clogging up the mainstream pipe of fantasy nowadays. Interestingly enough, the Starks themselves mirror this sentiment- other noble houses’ words (a motto, of sorts) speak of honour, chivalry, truth, family- but the Starks’ are simpler in their sentiments, and three words is enough for them. There is nothing of beauty or glory or heroics.
Winter is coming.
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