A Game of Thorns

So. I am 100% confident that I have zero people reading my blog because not even I want to read my last awkward posting. There might be some aliens reading or something. Or like, really smart chimps.

Anyway. I started reading the book "A Game of Thrones" by George R.R. Martin. I've been seeing this title floating around because there's a new HBO series based on the book series of which this book is the beginning. I originally thought the title was "A Game of Thorns" because of a misunderstanding between my eyes and my visual cortex. So for awhile I thought this book was some kind of Agatha Christie/Sherlock Holmes-type saucy British inspired mystery. Which is like, my FAVORITE. I imagined garden parties, women with lace dresses, hedge mazes, and shocking turns of events. I was very excited, as you can imagine.



So this led me to actually watch the show on HBO, of which my parents are subscribers thankfully (because I have no monies). It. Was. Fantastic! It is like Lord of the Rings meets medieval British historical fiction with a dash of The Sopranos. The first episode left me hanging, because the ending is super unexpected. I literally said "Aw hells no," to myself because a) I often talk to myself in cliched sentences and b) I do not enjoy being left hanging.

So today I bought "A Game of Thrones" and began to promptly read it. It was just as good, if not better, than the show. It actually feels like it was written for HBO, being all dramatic and the like. I'm on page 75 so far, because obviously I have no life. I can see myself becoming one of those obsessive "A Song of Ice and Fire" (which is what the book series is called) fans who know everything about the books- of which there are 4 so far- and have gatherings to discuss said books. I read about this in last week's New Yorker. This is my future.

Many die-hard fans are angry because Mr. Martin has taken five years to write the 5th book in the series, which is expected to come out in July. Apparently the 4th book had to end rather abruptly because it was already rather long. So people were left hanging. I can understand not liking to be left hanging, as I mentioned previously, but come on! People are way too angry about this. These books are so complex with literally hundreds, even thousands, of different characters. Martin invented a whole new continent, for crying out loud! These books are gifts. It's not like he's just stopped writing all together and flipped all the fans the bird; he actually really cares about the fans. Insulting a writer cannot help him or her finish any faster. I would rather wait and have a superb book than get a crappy one quickly.

But that's just what I think. Here's a link to the New Yorker story.