George R. R. Martin would like you to know that he bought a dictionary of archaic Scottish English in the six years it took to write this book, and he learned a lot of cool words from it.For example, did you know “leal” was used instead of loyal? It’s true! Also, you can use “neeps” to refer to rutabaga or turnips. And we already know that the word “teats” is awesome, of course, but let’s not forget the marvelous utility of the word “cunt!” It can refer to a woman’s body part, the woman herself, or just be a general exclamation of frustration in any situation where a woman might be involved to the slightest degree!
So, if you’re as excited about these words as you were to read about “groats,” “nuncles,” and “valonqars” in 2005, make sure to pick up A Dance with Dragons. George is so excited about this new batch of words that you are sure to get your money’s worth! Cunt leal cunny cunt leal teats neeps neeps cuntcuntcunt.
Okay, for real, now. I kept my hopes at a reasonably low level after the massive letdown that was A Feast for Crows, and it’s a good thing I did, because there is no appreciable difference between that book and this one. On one hand, that’s kind of a good thing; these two books started as one book, and inhabit the same chronological space in the overarching story while encompassing two different groups of main characters. A radical shift in the writing would have been jarring. However, setting aside the problem of this format slowing the overarching story down to a crawl, the consistency also means that the same infuriatingly bad writing in A Feast for Crows is slathered all over this one, as well, which distracted me from the truly gripping story underneath.
The War of Five Kings is all but over, but the stage is being set for the return of House Targaryen, which could change everything. Daenerys Targaryen struggles to maintain her hold on the slaver city of Meereen, while enemies descend on her from all sides and her famed dragons grow increasingly hard to control. A number of potential suitors race across the narrow sea to her, hoping to win her hand and tip the balance in Westeros: Victarion Greyjoy of the Iron Islands, Quentyn Martell of Dorne, and a young sellsword boy who hides a powerful secret. Even Ser Jorah Mormont hopes to once again reach the exiled queen, with none other than Tyrion Lannister in tow. Meanwhile, Jon Snow keeps his eyes fixed beyond the wall, balancing a tenuous grasp on the Night’s Watch command with the need to do anything it takes to defend against the horrors that are coming with the winter. And, let’s see… Bran’s up in the north learning how to be the best skinchanger ever, while Arya’s still in Braavos learning how to be awesome.
In other words, lots of Going Important Places and Saying Important Things, and not much else. There’s plenty of action interspersed in the various chapters and settings, but most of it is subdued; we’re back to intrigue and foreshadowing as we build up to what promises to be a huge denouement in the final books. The problem is, Martin has established himself to be a master at world-building and writing on a large scale, but as the last book proved, he’s god-awful at writing dialogue and creating small, intimate scenes. Unfortunately, dialogue and intimate scenes make up the lion’s share of this book. So, even though most of these chapters are still pretty interesting, they don’t move the story forward too much, and showcase some of the worst aspects of Martin’s writing.
As I mentioned above, Martin continues his maddening habit of suddenly introducing archaic words that don’t mesh at all with the rest of the prose, and repeating them until you want to use the book to bash your own face in. He also continues to invent new clichés that didn’t exist in the books before, and throw them around like confetti. In this book, people aren’t speculating on anything’s worth in groats anymore, but they all agree that “words are wind.” It’s not just the Westerosi who mutter this gem at any given opportunity; people across the sea, who supposedly speak entirely different languages, are also prone to blurting it out whenever anybody promises anything to anybody else. Also, it’s apparently in fashion to point out that nipples on a breastplate are useless. That one shows up at least twice, and then… spoiler alert!… somebody finds an actual breastplate… with nipples on it! Ha ha! Ha. Meanwhile, expect Tyrion to basically repeat two things for the entire book. Considering how great a character he has been to this point, this is particularly depressing.
The sex scenes, frequent as ever, continue to range between somewhat odd and painfully bad. Well, at least this time Martin isn’t obsessively fixating on the differing sizes and colors of women’s nipp… oh, wait, there it is. And… yup. There’s another passage, a few chapters later. Sigh.
I know I’m nitpicking, but there are bigger issues at play, too. Entire story threads in this book are completely unnecessary. One particular character winds their way through the book, doing nothing much of note, and then suddenly dies at the end after accomplishing one thing of pertinence to the story. This is something that could have been handled in a single chapter. It could have been an aside in someone else’s chapter, for crying out loud. While stuff like this is good flavor text, it takes up a lot of space without adding much.
I’m being harsh, but I really do like this series, and since Martin is king of the fantasy world right now, there’s no point in lobbing softballs. I think Martin has started to believe his own hype. These books have become famous for their grittiness, and for no character being safe and no happy ending being guaranteed. It seems like Martin just assumes, by this point, that he can please the fans that have those expectations by just writing in as much casual violence and pointless sex as he can, and ending every chapter on a cliffhanger. Moreover, the series is starting to suffer from the same affliction that can be observed in every successful popular fiction series: once an author starts raking in wheelbarrows of money, nobody wants to suggest that their manuscripts need editing anymore. According to Clarion West, this man teaches other writers how to write fantasy and science fiction. It’s therefore somewhat alarming to observe that he not only didn’t recognize that his two most recent thousand-page novels should have been three-fifths of a single manuscript (at best!), but that he feels the best way to establish a leitmotif is with unrelenting, context-free repetition. The fact that things go wonky when he strays from that repetition (“womb” is not a synonym for vagina, George) doesn’t do much to reassure me. And nobody seemed to have the courage to point these things out to him. Or, more likely, nobody cared, since this book was bound to be a bestseller anyway, regardless of whether it is actually good.
So, with me ranting full bore about this book, is it safe to assume I hated it? Sigh. No. I devoured it, just like the rest of the series. Once again, it must be said that underneath all of the stupid crap is a solid, engrossing, intricate story. It’s tightly plotted, despite the sudden meandering pace, and the themes are smart, realistic, and consistent, even if they are poorly presented. This series is visceral. Each page is alive with textures, smells, sounds, and a sense of unflinching reality. There are important messages in this story, about the nature of power, the arbitrary whims of fate, and the ambiguity of concepts like morality and justice. And though I’m sick to death of Martin’s cliffhangers, there are a couple of jaw-dropping moments in A Dance with Dragons that promise big things in the next books.
It bears repeating that this book is basically the second half of A Feast for Crows, six years or no six years, and thus deserves the same rating I gave that one. I’m not done with this series. I’m still a fan, and I need to know what happens next. I still think anybody who reads fantasy should read the first three books in this series, at least. But this book and the one before are badly written. It’s as simple as that. Not bad enough to ruin the series, but bad enough to pale in comparison to the previous books. I’d be lying, though, if I said I didn’t like it enough to tear through it and wait in anticipation for the next one.
The nice thing about all of this, as my wife and I often joke about, is that I get to be a fantasy hipster, now. While the newcomers rave about Game of Thrones and buy the reprinted paperbacks with the HBO logo on the cover, I get to smooth my moustache, crack open a Pabst Blue Ribbon, and declare that I was into Game of Thrones before it was big, and was already disappointed with it before you ever heard of it.
Verdict: 2.5 / 5, plus extra credit for being gripping despite its massive shortcomings.
No comments:
Post a Comment