Over the last month or so, I’ve been reading my way through George R.R. Martin‘s A Song of Ice and Fire*, a projected series of six books. The books so far are A Game of Thrones, A Clash of Kings, A Storm of Swords and A Feast For Crows. The action of these fantasy novels centers on the continent of Westeros (almost an analog to Great Britain) and presents the struggles of various warring factions vying for control of the kingdom and/or the world in general. While magic is an element to these stories, it is use is very limited. For the most part, battles are fought through sword and shield or secrets and betrayal.

That said, there are a few observations (spoiler-free) that must be made:

– George R.R. Martin is head-over-heels in love with heraldry. No banner’s device is overlooked and no knight takes the field without a thorough description from helm to vambrace to greaves. Helms shaped like rams, breastplates encrusted with rubies and steel is rendered in every color of the rainbow. Like Skittles. Skittles of death.

– Martin likes to fête his characters. Fasts are broken every morning, and wine is always at the pour. Onions are often on the menu, always roasted crispy and always leave the consumer’s fingers and/or beards dripping with grease. As a result, the books leave me with a ferocious need to grill something.

– Much like watching a James Bond film, it is an easy game to read the books in anticipation of one character or another making mention of that books title … or the title of any previous or subsequent book. For the most part, these title-drops are subtle. At other times, there is almost a Horatio Caine vibe. “That’s how you play the game … of thrones.” YEAHHHHHHHHHH!

– Along similar lines, Martin’s career history as a television writer manifests hardcore in the novels’ Prologues. Without fail, you’re brought in media res into a situation that seems perfectly ordinary. Three men are wondering in the snowy woods. An elderly adviser is studying his books. Somebody is grilling onions with greasy fingers. But by the end of the Prologue, things have gone from mundane to HOLY CRAP, backs are against the wall, blood is spilled, and OMGWTF-is-that?!? :cue theme music and opening credits:

– And lastly, it is in the reader’s best interest to forget how young Martin’s protagonists are. At the beginning of A Game of Thrones, the Stark children range from toddler to early teenager. And when the hard knocks of life start kicking them around, Martin gives them little to no quarter. In a futile effort to avoid protestations of “But they’re just kids!”, Martin describes their ages as “three-and-ten” for 13 or “six-and-ten” for 16 and so on, but to no avail. As for me, I just imagine that years must surely be longer in this imagined world. You know, like they’re living on Mars or something.

I’m on Book Four, about 25% through — the Kindle is lovely, but I miss page numbers — and I know full well that Book Five has yet to see the light of day, or even a publication date for that matter. But for all of the recurring tropes, I’m consuming these books like popcorn.

Buttery, salty, bloody popcorn.

* – Be careful with the Martin and Wikipedia links, lest ye be spoiled for plot points.