If you are a fantasy buff, you couldn’t have missed the new book by George R.R. Martin, A dance with dragons. Neither could I. I had been waiting for it patiently for what seemed like an eternity. I wolfed down the first four books of the Song of Ice and Fire series and was hungry for more. Although the fourth book didn’t make quite the splash in my puddle like the first three.
When the fifth book finally hit bookstores, I got it on my Kobo e-reader and delved into the world of … well, dragons, of course. The dragons have visibly grown; so did violence, bloodshed and adult content. Please don’t take me wrong, I am not against all these things if they are vital for making characters believable and moving the story forward. In the fifth book, unfortunately, I observed very little movement. For about 200 pages, I had been waiting patiently for the plot to take some unexpected turn. Then I waited some more. Not much was happening though, save for violence, bloodshed and sex. My attention waning, I was dragging through the book with no reprieve in sight from the fictional folks’ bleak existence and torment. I pitied them — and myself for having to read this that seemed to have lost any glimmer of hope or any positive emotion. When I got to the scene where one of my favourite characters gets brutally murdered, my ‘wiring’ shorted out. What remaining curiosity I had left to get me through the rest of the book was gone without a trace. I put the book aside to never open it again. I don’t care if the character gets resurrected in the next book by some magic. As far as I am concerned, he is dead. And so is my infatuation with the series.