I started reading ‘ A game of thrones’ whilst I was off work and, although I don’t care for fantasy novels generally, I’m utterly addicted.
Yes, it’s macho. Yes, it glamourises wife-beating and the exploitation of women – and there isn’t a character who doesn’t despise the disabled, but the characterisation’s so good, I’m champing at the bit to see what happens to every single one of them next. The plotting’s taut – so taut, in fact, that reading it, one focuses on the colourful language and naming conventions, while the storyline leaps and gouges its way forward.
I’ve heard China Mieville’s work described as ‘the wizard of Oz’ as written by Irvine Welsh, well this is ‘Lord of the rings’ as imagined by Charles Bukowski.
It’s funny. Just when mainstream cinema’s losing sight of storyline in favour of excessive special effects, plotting in literature seems to be having a renaissance.
now, why not read the novel that started it all? 1919 (inside)
It’ll be our secret – mum and dad need never know!