Only a week or two ago, I was writing about how hard it is for me to get emotionally invested and interested in fiction because I was always picking it apart. I can never really get too involved with what’s going on, because I see it as a piece of writing first and a story second.
And yet, so soon after that entry, I found one of those rare books that shut up that part of my brain. It has kept me paying attention to the story being told and not how it’s being told. I started Game of Thrones yesterday and I can’t stop reading it. It’s got pretty much everything I ask for in a book: well written, likeable characters that are also flawed human beings, multiple plotline, each one interesting enough on its own to hold my interest, politics and blood and violence and jaded cynicism and dark undertones and dark overtones. It’s just got everything.
It’s not just a great story, it’s a great story told well. I want to never stop reading it in fact, something that only happens occasionally with books like The Name of the Wind and anything China Mieville writes. I’m embedded in this world that George R.R. Martin has created and I’m glad that I decided to try it out. Now, I need to get back to it.