Since Elizabeth bravely shared her traumatic Port-a-Potty experience at Sasquatch, I thought that it was only fair that I dish on my own most embarrassing moment of the past six months.
So I had been hearing good things about A Song of Fire and Ice by George R.R. Martin for AGES. I bought A Game of Thrones about three years ago on the strength of several trusted book friend recommendations, but I just couldn't make it past the first fifty pages. First of all, there's the author's name. Seriously - he just HAD to go by both Rs? Couldn't he just use one? I mean how obvious of a Tolkien imitator was this dude? My BS meter was not pleased.
And then there was the book itself. It started out all right, but I kept getting caught up by the (SPOILER ALERT) incest in the first 50 pages. EWWWW. I mean really. So I stared and stopped it about three times and then mentally consigned it to the permanent "will never finish" pile, along with War and Peace and Pillars of the Earth.
But then the HBO series came out and people kept raving about it and I got curious. I should note that I am constitutionally incapable of watching something based on a book without reading the book first. And I really wanted to watch that damn show. So I picked up A Game of Thrones determined to do better this time. And I found that once I got past the first fifty page, I was hooked.
Martin is a fabulous storyteller - able look at every situation from multiple points of view; to keep his characters consistent enough to be believable, yet changeable enough to be fascinating; and to weave a plot of ever-increasing complexity without ever losing me as a reader.
And that's where we run into problems. I made my way through the first and second books at a relatively brisk pace, but when I got to the third (my personal favorite) I was a little obsessed. I had just started it and happened to have an entirely free rainy Saturday, so I huddled up in bed to do some serious reading. And I didn't stop until I finished eight hours later. Which was great until I got up and realized that walking was a bit of a challenge because I'd strained my back rather painfully. Due to reading a Tolkien knockoff for eight hours straight in bed. What's worse is that it took me about five days to fully recover and I did not think of a suitable cover story quickly enough. Ahem, so that's the nerdiest injury I've ever sustained and one of the nerdiest I can imagine happening.
Elizabeth is all heart and told me that getting injured in a Ren Faire joust would be worse. I think she's right.
Anyhow, that was a long way of saying, the hype is right. You should totally read A Song of Fire and Ice so you can join me in waiting impatiently for the next installment and praying fervently for the continued health of Mr. Martin. Even if I do still think the extra R is bunk.
So I had been hearing good things about A Song of Fire and Ice by George R.R. Martin for AGES. I bought A Game of Thrones about three years ago on the strength of several trusted book friend recommendations, but I just couldn't make it past the first fifty pages. First of all, there's the author's name. Seriously - he just HAD to go by both Rs? Couldn't he just use one? I mean how obvious of a Tolkien imitator was this dude? My BS meter was not pleased.
And then there was the book itself. It started out all right, but I kept getting caught up by the (SPOILER ALERT) incest in the first 50 pages. EWWWW. I mean really. So I stared and stopped it about three times and then mentally consigned it to the permanent "will never finish" pile, along with War and Peace and Pillars of the Earth.
But then the HBO series came out and people kept raving about it and I got curious. I should note that I am constitutionally incapable of watching something based on a book without reading the book first. And I really wanted to watch that damn show. So I picked up A Game of Thrones determined to do better this time. And I found that once I got past the first fifty page, I was hooked.
Martin is a fabulous storyteller - able look at every situation from multiple points of view; to keep his characters consistent enough to be believable, yet changeable enough to be fascinating; and to weave a plot of ever-increasing complexity without ever losing me as a reader.
And that's where we run into problems. I made my way through the first and second books at a relatively brisk pace, but when I got to the third (my personal favorite) I was a little obsessed. I had just started it and happened to have an entirely free rainy Saturday, so I huddled up in bed to do some serious reading. And I didn't stop until I finished eight hours later. Which was great until I got up and realized that walking was a bit of a challenge because I'd strained my back rather painfully. Due to reading a Tolkien knockoff for eight hours straight in bed. What's worse is that it took me about five days to fully recover and I did not think of a suitable cover story quickly enough. Ahem, so that's the nerdiest injury I've ever sustained and one of the nerdiest I can imagine happening.
Elizabeth is all heart and told me that getting injured in a Ren Faire joust would be worse. I think she's right.
Anyhow, that was a long way of saying, the hype is right. You should totally read A Song of Fire and Ice so you can join me in waiting impatiently for the next installment and praying fervently for the continued health of Mr. Martin. Even if I do still think the extra R is bunk.
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