Tags: George R R Martin

To
say I’ve arrived late to the George R R Martin party would be an
understatement. At their height, I think it’s fair to say these books
were as popular as it’s possible to be without crossing out of the genre
audience like Harry Potter or (eventually) Ender’s Game did. Fourteen
years after the first book,
A Game of Thrones, and almost five years since the most recent volume
A Feast for Crows
was published these are still very popular books. This is really a
two-for-one epic, in that by reading it you experience not only the epic
storyline, but also participate (albeit as a bit player) in Martin’s
epic struggle to actually complete the series. The series is well over a
million words in length already, but even more words have been written
about it online, so I will dispense with both the plot summary and the
recap of Martin’s authorial adventure and instead relate my experience
coming to these books in 2010.
I’ll begin by answering the most obvious question: given that I
obviously read a fair amount of fantasy, why haven’t I read these
before? Some people who had read a lot of my reviews will know that I
almost always wait until series are finished before starting them.
Although this was prompted in part by lapsed series that never paid off (
Chtorr
for example), the main concern was time. Whenever a series tells a
continuous story, I don’t feel like I’m getting the full effect of the
later books unless the preceding stories are fresh on my mind. This led
to me reading the first book in a series, then the first book again
before the second, then the first two before the third, and so forth.
For trilogies this was barely acceptable but as I only have a limited
time for reading it becomes quite inefficient for longer series. So I
swore off incomplete series right about the time that
A Game of Thrones was soaring in popularity.

But
I’m sure this only raises a further question: why read them now? There
are again a couple reasons. The first came when HBO greenlit a TV
adaptation of
A Game of Thrones. I’m one of those people who
goes out of their way to read a novel before its screen adaptation, and I
was definitely interested in the HBO series, which struck me as at last
the appropriate way to adapt a complicated novel: spending a whole
season on it instead of cramming into a movie or even miniseries. Then
there was the increasing chance that the series would never in any case
be finished. It has grown in projected books faster than Martin has
written them, and cruelly Martin himself ages at the same rate as the
rest of us regardless of how quickly the series moves forward. Who
knows whether he will live to finish it? Even if he does, while I’m
considerably younger than Martin, nothing is certain in life and I might
not make it that long either. Tolkien founded the modern fantasy genre
with a trilogy he said was about death, so I guess it’s only fitting
that series like this one and Robert Jordan’s
Wheel of Time have themselves unwittingly become grim
memento mori for authors and fans alike.
But the final straw was the feeling that I had already read
A Song of Ice and Fire
by reading other books. Just as Tolkien spawned countless imitators,
Martin is widely credited with sparking a flood of hard-edged, cynical
fantasy, and I’ve read my fair share of it. For instance, Wikipedia
cites no less than four prominent authors as being heavily influenced
and although I wouldn’t call myself extremely well-read I’ve already
read all four (
Scott Lynch,
Joe Abercrombie, Steven Erikson, and
R Scott Bakker). I’ve also read Glen Cook, whose
Black Company
books are thought to have influenced Martin, and indeed this influence
was probably the reason Cook has remained prominent enough for me to
seek out his work. I even make comparisons to Martin’s work when
reviewing fantasy on this site. Well, not his work itself, but to
perceptions of it at least. This is starting to get ridiculous, I told
myself. My first real contact with epic fantasy was reading
Lord of the Rings, after all. Wasn’t I grateful that I hadn’t first waded through imitators like David Eddings, Robert Jordan, and
Tad Williams that, whatever their actual quality, fall short of Tolkien’s masterpiece?

So I started reading
A Game of Thrones
for the first time in the position of someone who had never read the
series before but thought he had a pretty good idea what it was like. I
knew nothing about the plot or characters for I had avoided all such
details knowing I would eventually read the books, but from countless
asides in conversations with friends and reviews of other books, I
primarily associated two attributes with Martin’s work: First, an
unromantic approach to fantasy that emphasized intrigue and realism over
magic and elevated prose. Second, the implacable and ruthless
slaughter of major characters. Beyond that, while I’d heard some
criticisms of Martin’s prose and the decision to split the fourth book
into
A Feast for Crows and an as-yet unpublished fifth book, the
overall extremely positive reception of the series made me expect an
exciting, even addicting, set of books.
Having now finished the extant series, I can say that despite this
apparently detailed foreknowledge, the series Martin wrote was quite a
bit different than the one I had expected to read.
Let’s start with the gritty realism. It’s not Martin’s fault, but
here my exposure to later writers has probably completely changed my
reaction from what it would have been had I read the series as it came
out. Plenty of authors have tried to imitate Tolkien’s archaic yet
evocative style, yet no one has come close to equaling it. It was
reasonable for me to suppose that Martin’s realistic style would work
the same way. Reasonable, but wrong, and obviously so in hindsight.
Tolkien’s work hasn’t been matched because he was uniquely suited both
in temperament and profession to write the way he did. Throwing out the
excesses of epic fantasy in favor of gritty realism is not nearly so
challenging. In fact, it’s easier than trying to stay the course. It’s
no surprise then that Martin’s work was not the apogee of this trend
but just another stop along the way. Compared to Joe Abercrombie, just
to pick one name out of probably a dozen, Martin seems like a hopeless
romantic. It’s interesting that these days the people impressed with
Martin’s grit and realism are the people writing about the HBO series
(“It’s like the Sopranos in Middle-earth”), since when it comes to epic
fantasy in television and movies
Lord of the Rings is still very recent and the natural benchmark.

Then there’s the character slaughter. For me, the textbook case of this is in the film
Serenity.
Before that film I have to admit I thought of killing characters as
cool and subversive, but afterward I started thinking about how a work
of fiction has an unwritten contract with the audience. In some modes, I
decided, killing a character might be an effective move while in others
it is a betrayal of audience expectations. The fact is,
A Song of Ice and Fire
does indeed kill off characters, a great deal of them. But contrary to
my expectations, I argue that it does not, in fact, kill off major
characters. Rather, the reader is understandably mistaken about who is a
major character and who is not, for reasons I will get into at length
in a moment. So while it’s true there’s a lot more death in Martin’s
series than in most fantasy (including many, like Tolkien’s, where
theoretically lots of blood is shed yet almost no named characters die),
it didn’t nearly live up to its reputation in this respect either,
although that’s nothing to be ashamed of.
This leaves the most important issue. Is this the masterpiece of
modern fantasy literature that it’s made out to be? No, not even close.
I’m genuinely disappointed about this. Like anyone, I sometimes start
reading a book or watching a film with some bias one direction or
another (for instance, all the hype made me go into
The Matrix
looking for a fight, so while I didn’t think it was very good, a lot of
that reaction is probably my fault), but in this case I was definitely
hoping to love these books. For years I’ve checked up on Martin’s
progress hoping he’d hurry up and finish so I could find out what the
fuss was about. I thought there was a great chance I’d love it, along
with certainly some fairly small chance that I’d hate it, or at least
strongly dislike it.
I never expected to end up saying: Well, I guess it’s not bad. It’s okay.
The highlight is probably the worldbuilding. Tolkien and his
imitators have emphasized the landscapes of their fantasy worlds. Even
the Thomas Convenant series, which seemed at first glance like a
rejection of everything Tolkien brought to the genre, spent a lot of its
time (and won a lot of its fans, I suspect) on landscapes. Although
there are some maps to be found of Westeros and its surrounding
countries, Martin’s efforts in geographical construction and detail are
merely adequate. Instead, more than any author I can recall, he has
constructed a social landscape. Looking now at a map of Westeros, the
names of cities, rivers, and castles bring to mind the characters who
live in or near them. I can’t really tell you anything about what
Casterly Rock looks like, for example, but just mentioning it evokes the
wealth of detail that Martin has invested in the Lannister family and
the twists and turns of their fortunes. The Lannisters are perhaps the
series’ most prominent family, but by the end of the fourth book well
over a dozen noble families have been sketched out in impressive detail.
The variety in personality, character, and history is impressive and
gives Martin’s Westeros a different and possibly greater sense of
solidity than the traditional naturalistic approach.
The other aspects of the world are considerably weaker. The society
seems reasonable enough, but various references to the ancient past ask
us to believe that technology levels have been roughly unchanged for
thousands of years, and further that not just one but almost every
society is historically self-aware of their progression throughout this
time. Each of the four seasons lasts for years, but after the first
book it is hardly mentioned and I frankly almost forgot about it.
Agriculture and economic planning don’t seem to be any different from
generic feudal despite this massive climatological difference.
Although initially confined to a few children, the series rapidly
expands to encompass a large set of viewpoint characters, and this works
better than in most pluralistic narratives, probably because Martin is
more willing to kill off minor characters and thus prevent his cast from
becoming too unwieldy at least until the fourth book. After a
seemingly good guy/bad guy approach, Martin shades in a surprising
degree of nuance as the series progresses. That Tyrion would be a fan
favorite character was obvious from the start, but I was particularly
impressed by the handling of Jaime Lannister. Not every character is a
success, to be sure (if I never read anything more from Cersei’s
viewpoint I won’t complain) but I don’t have many complaints with the
characterization. Except for the youngest, the Stark children all act
about five years older than they actually are, but that’s par for the
course (I’m looking at you,
Ender’s Game).
Then there’s the plot. Ah, the plot. Goodness. Where to begin?
I think most of the series’ fans would point at the plot as being its
strength. I can see why they might like it, but I’m going to call it a
disaster. Oh, it’s not an unmitigated failure, but a tragic one, for
there’s a good story somewhere in all this quicksand trying to claw its
way out. It pulls the reader in, keeps them going through the four
massive books that have been published so far, and amounts to nothing.
To understand this, think about just what it is this series is about.
You see, in the prologue of
A Game of Thrones, some throwaway
characters venture past a great wall to patrol the wilderness of the far
north. For millennia, we learn, the Night’s Watch has manned this wall
against evil, but for long centuries this threat has been dormant, the
people shielded by the wall have become decadent, and the Watch is now
too weak to reliably stand against bandits, much less a terrifying
supernatural evil. But now there are signs that evil might be stirring!
Kill the throwaways and bam, cut to chapter one. I think it’s safe to
call this an extremely conventional way to begin a fantasy novel. The
ur-epic fantasy,
Lord of the Rings begins with the shadow of the
past stirring once more, and its Mordor was once carefully guarded
before its watchers became lax. Since then thousands of fantasy books
have begun this way, and I have read dozens of them, as have most of
Martin’s audience. But I don’t think any of those books took Martin’s
approach to developing this story in the rest of the first book: never
mention it again in any way.
All right, that’s a slight exaggeration, but not by much. He spends
more time on Daenerys, a young princess in exile who must overcome all
manner of obstacles both internal and external before she can start
walking down the road toward reclaiming her throne, but this well-worn
storyline is also strictly a sideline item. The second book,
A Clash of Kings,
even spends a little time on a King who is increasingly led down dark
paths by a foreign sorceress, but this too gets only a little space in
the ongoing story. Any one of these stories, properly developed, would
be enough for a fantasy novel and probably an entire trilogy.
Incorporating them all would definitely make for a lively fantasy
series. Mind you, anyone who has read a reasonable amount of fantasy
can sketch out roughly how these stories will evolve. For example,
although a few people sound the alarm most deny the existence of the
ancient evil despite increasingly clear evidence, then it sweeps down
and everyone is very sorry they didn’t listen earlier, and it seems like
it is too late and all civilization will perish, but just at the
bleakest moment some enterprising individuals manage to win an unlikely
victory. Despite his reputation as an innovator, Martin doesn’t appear
to be deviating from the standard storyline here. Yet by the end of the
fourth book, after 1.3 million words and nine years, the ancient evil
has only just begun to sweep anywhere, and the other plotlines are even
further behind. And no wonder: I don’t know how much of all those words
went into developing them but I think fifteen percent would be a very
generous guess.
Instead, most of the series has been devoted to the titular game of
thrones as countless nobles struggle for power in Westeros. Unlike the
plotlines I just described, this main thread does not follow normal
conventions. It is almost completely without structure. Events happen
one after another without any kind of cohesion. It’s not that they
don’t make sense…everything seems fairly logical and Martin proves to be
a very inventive spinner of intrigue and conspiracy. Yet this all
proceeds outside of the narrative structure that has characterized
western literature for centuries. There is no development, there is no
sense of progression of any kind, there is no climax. It’s the plot
equivalent of someone banging an endless series of chords, each
unrelated to the next, on a piano. Now I readily admit to being far
more interested in the way stories are constructed than the average
reader, but I think this has many important downsides even for those who
aren’t consciously aware of the dissonance.
What was immediately noticeable to readers of the first book in 1996
was the way they had no idea what was coming next. Why should they?
Long experience has taught us how plots work in almost all fiction, but
here was a book that was resolute in ignoring these conventions. To be
sure, the immediate result is a fairly refreshing feeling of suspense.
But these narrative conventions exist for a reason. Although
A Feast for Crows
has other shortcomings, I think one of the biggest reasons it wasn’t as
well received as the first three books was that without a sense of
where the narrative is going, the reader doesn’t feel any momentum.
Since there’s no plotline developing and advancing towards a climax, the
reader realizes there’s no reason why the intrigue surrounding the
throne of Westeros can’t go on indefinitely. And if the plot goes on
indefinitely, then the individual events are completely deprived of
meaning. In particular, one realizes that the characters can’t win any
victory that won’t just be undone by further events two hundred pages
later, so why bother rooting for them at all? When all is said and
done, whoever is left standing in the ruins of Westeros will be swept
aside by Daenerys and Jon Snow as they confront the evil out of the
north, so isn’t this something of a waste of time?
Incidentally, I believe this was also how Martin got the reputation
as a killer of main characters. Floating in a vacuum of story, readers
latched on to what they assumed were main characters only to have them
unexpectedly swept aside. Initially, Eddard Stark and his son Robb
seemed like central characters, yet with the benefit of hindsight even
from a position only halfway through the series, it’s obvious they are
bit players. In a typically sized fantasy novel, they’d have a page or
two of screen time. In fact, the actual main characters of the story,
like Daenerys, are just as bulletproof as any normal story’s
protagonists.
The unpredictable and unstructured nature of the central plotline has
a literal realism to it and I’m tempted to see it as a bold artistic
statement on Martin’s part, but alas all the evidence points to this
being an unintended effect. This was originally supposed to be a
trilogy, after all, but has defied every prediction its own author made
regarding its eventual length and publication schedule. Martin surely
was writing a conventional fantasy novel about an ancient evil and an
exiled princess but somehow got distracted by what probably was summed
up in some original one page outline in about one sentence (“Westeros
monarchy weakened by infighting and succession problems”). Having
fallen in love with what was supposed to be a bit of window dressing, he
has continually expanded its role within the series even though it
threatens to completely drown out what the series was supposed to be
about in the first place. Is it any wonder that he has suffered from
the contemporary genre’s most famous case of writer’s block? I’m sure
that long ago he planned what would happen to Daenerys and the Night’s
Watch, but now he feels obligated to give equal time to characters like
Brienne who are likable yet serve little purpose to the central
narrative and are instead dragged through increasingly arbitrary
make-work scenes to keep them available for some later bit of relevance.
Although I’ve been critical, I will defend Martin of one charge
frequently lobbed at fantasy authors. I don’t think he’s stretching
things out to make more money. The typical pattern for fantasy series
is to start out with an exciting and action packed first book and then
to become ever more bogged down in extra viewpoint characters and
minutiae. Although it’s true
A Feast for Crows is somewhat
bogged down like this, really Martin deeply invests himself in the
minutiae right from the start, and even the fourth book moves at a
faster clip than typical doorstop fantasy. Likewise, where typical slow
fantasy seems to get stuck always approaching but never reaching some
critical point, Martin blasts through critical points all the time. The
central plotline is a meat grinder that constantly chews up minor
characters, spits them out, then pulls in more. If there’s a record for
the fictional work that kills the most named characters then this
series is right up there with the
Iliad.
I’m glad I read
A Song of Ice and Fire but less because of the
story itself and more because I find it interesting how unbalanced the
story is. On one hand, it’s probably a testament to how a work that
does one or two things really well can become extremely popular even if
it does other things very poorly. Writing about
Wheel of Time, Adam Roberts
attributed some of its popularity
to “fans who want to know every atom of the imagined world” and I think
something similar is at work here. On the other hand, I think that the
series’ weaknesses get magnified as the story goes on even if the
quality of the books remains constant, leading me to suspect the series
will never be again be as popular as it was when
A Storm of Swords
came out. Unfortunately for Martin, I think the series will only get
harder and harder for him to write as he tries to provide some sort of
climax and closure that justifies the endless profusion of aimless
detail he’s provided so far. I’m even a lot more skeptical that HBO can
successfully translate it into an effective television show, although
being forced to provide an abridged version might end up being
beneficial.
Hopefully I’m wrong and Martin eventually manages to both finish the
series and somehow produce a satisfying second half in the process, but I
won’t be holding my breath. Fortunately, looking back at the writers
bearing Martin’s influence who I mentioned before, it seems like they
have each taken something good about the series, amplified it, and then
coupled that with a more conventional narrative structure (“conventional
narrative” sure sounds like an insult, but that’s why reading Martin
has been so helpful…breaking convention is a risky thing). Even if I
never read any more of this series (the most likely possibility I’m
afraid) I will at least be able to read other books that continue down
the trail Martin blazed.