Knights? Castles? Dragons? Check, check and… check. What can I say? I read fantasy novels now. FANTASY NOVELS.
Last week I divided my afternoon commutes equally between cursing Clipper and reading George R. R. Martin’s A Game of Thrones. Considering I spent most of my life avoiding all things fantasy-related (read: LOTR), I would say that this is a big deal.
The verdict? Turns out I had nothing to be afraid of. Fantasy is GREAT. Or at least A Game of Thrones was. For some reason I imagined entering a no man’s land of sorts, filled with grotesque characters, wizards and goblins, dwarfs and flying unicorns… which there was some of, but not at the expense of a seriously engaging plot and enough twists and turns to put Dan Brown to shame.
A Game of Thrones is written from the point of view of several characters, whose stories overlap and weave together to create a rich, intricate story that is nothing short of action-packed. I let out enough gasps last week to fill this year’s quota. And then some.
The only thing deterring me from reading the rest of Martins’ A Song of Ice and Fire series is my embarrassingly low fear-threshold. I blame an overactive imagination and a childhood spent watching one too many episodes of Walker, Texas Ranger. Maybe when I stop having nightmares that a stable boy is creeping up my staircase to murder me with a cleaver I can start on Book 2…