I finally finished it. Whew.
One word to describe George R.R. Martin’s A Game of Thrones is tedious. It’s 807 pages with tiny print would surely eat plenty of your time. But once you begin leafing through the book’s pages, you’ll get quite hooked.
To be honest, I’m very new to reading fantasy novel of this kind – where knights, kings, and swords define life, and direwolves were taken in as domestic pets. Sue me but I am yet to read The Lord of the Rings (and probably other books of the same genre) and I have no point of comparison when it comes to how such a genre should be treated. Well, for something that didn’t initially interest me, A Game of Thrones sparked a desire in me to discover the political gruesomeness of the medieval times.
I’ve watched movies (I think) and heard stories about kings warring over the ultimate power and I find Martin’s plot quite usual. But I owe him the fascination I got on some of the characters he created – the bastard Jon Snow (whose pitiful chance at life he reiterated numerous times throughout the entire book as if we will forget), Arya, the bravest fictional little girl I’ve ever encountered, and Daenerys whose innocence and seemingly insignificant start ended up with a bang. However, I also hate the fact there are too many characters in the story, some of them forgettable characters with forgettable names.
Ask me if I’m gonna read the rest of the series. Sure, I will but I would probably be taking a break and go for a couple of easy reads before I indulge in Martin’s second installment in the Song of Ice and Fire series.
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