Reading George R.R. Martin’s A Clash of Kings. Loving it of course.
I’m at that stage, halfway through, where I just want to burrow into my bed and do nothing else but read read read! Not eat, not sleep, not take care of kids. Well, that won’t work, will it? So I’m reading a lot, interspersed with a bleary-eyed emergence from my room to get supper.
Well, maybe it’s not as bad as all that, but you know how it is.
I am continually struck by how skillful George is. As I’m reading, pulled inexorably along by the story, another part of me is standing back going, hmmm, I could learn a lot from this. The series is so grounded in historical reality, and George takes no prisoners and you really don’t know who’s going to die. It’s the perfect combination of fantasy and horror and history. His world-building and -conveying is the best I’ve read in years. And his characters. He has strong women and strong men and flawed people and people trying not to be flawed. They feel fleshed out and consistent but contradictory in a good way. Gosh, I wish I could do that.
I’m in, and I love it.