It’s been seven years sinceGeorge R. R. Martinpublished his last proper fantasy novel.
Now this decade has almost passed with no release date for part 6.
The notepad fills with incidental detail, enough to fill 10 old castles' secrets.
Credit: Bantam
Fire & Bloodis very different from the mainline Westeros novels.
Martin’s snappy dialogue co-exists with declamatory pronouncements.
One character gets sliced “from crest to gorget.”
And Ser Forrest Frey, we learn, is a “most puissant knight.”
This is a softly meta text, nominally written by Archmaester Gyldayn, a scholar from Oldtown’s Citadel.
Like any good (fictional) historian, Gyldayn hat-tips toward his (fictional) research material.
He quotes primary-source legal documents written by untrustworthy officials and memoirs full of probable lies.
He references popular songs mythologizing long-ago events and dismisses commoner folklore with a ring of truth.
Martin is a nut for history, with a special fascination for the grinding necessities of governance.
So this is the kind of novel where godlike dragon-riders discuss tax reform.
But there’s an addictive quality to the prose that’s outright gossipy.
Fire & Bloodis most clearly the story of the Targaryen family in Westeros.
(A second volume is planned, ha!)
You witness multiple generations rise into ruin and fall into legend.
We track their offspring’s offspring through the decades.
There are simpleton monarchs with no head for politicking, and devious keeners chessmatching quadruple-backstabs.
The obvious comparison here is J.R.R.
Tolkien’s perspective doesn’t always stay god’s-eye mega-macro, and shifts personal in the more character-focused stories.
But then the second paragraph zags into anoppositeopposite approach, undercutting the conventional wisdom it only just established.
“True scholars know that such dating is far from precise,” the text says.
“Even the start date is a matter of some misconception.”
Every fragile notion of Ned Starkian heroism gets thrown out the metaphorical window overlooking the metaphorical spike pit.
Good intentions fail because accidents happen.
Monstrous individuals surprise you with acts of nobility, and noble characters do something unforgivable.
Initial motivations get lost in the bloodbath.
Nobody who wins ever gets to feel victorious.
This all might sound “deconstructive,” lately a beloved critical phrase for any geeky property.
Orworse!“realistic.”
The commanding voice ofThe Silmarillionis its own heavy-metal kick.
The scope ofFire & Bloodtakes this structure even further.
Was Aegon II a hero, a druggy dunce, or a pawn-ish mama’s boy?
There are central characters who remain profoundly unknowable.
There’s such a detail-drunk quality to the writing here, though, and a fabulous forward motion.
Certain incidents resemble classically burly fantasy stuff: airborne dragon duels, swordplay diplomacy.
There are throwaway images so surreal they could only properly exist in this half-sketched, heavily described format.
The narrative turns gory, full of murder, warfare, epidemics of sexual assault.
You wonder if Martin’s gotten more sensitive to the political readings of his work.
Really, the deep-history perspective is theonlyway to tell this story.
In direct narrative form, this would be unbearable.
I wonder, too, if Martin’s up to something especially sneaky here.
There’s something transcendently offputting about the Targaryens themselves.
Tricky to graft any of our own cultural readings onto this saga, maybe.
And other regions outside Westeros can look hazy in this regard.
Parts of this book were published before, as breakaway novellas.
Rereading them here adds context (sothat’swho everyone was descended from!
Sometimes Martin will pause for a luscious Dungeonmaster-ish character summary.
There’s Racallio Ryndoon, the purple-haired pirate kingpin who bathes in lavender and rosewater.
And did I mention Racallio Ryndoon?
“Get back to Jon and Dany and Arya!”
is an implicit rallying cry, onethe show has happily answered.
Is that the direction Martin’s story is going in too?
I have no clue.
He can seem way more interested in Arianne Martell.
Some readers worry about his writing pace.
I don’t think the greatness of A Song of Ice and Fire depends on an ending.
In this book, bleak finality preludes new beginnings, and golden-era joy preludes dissipating tragedy.
Whoever “wins” will find that the real problems start the moment they sit on the Iron Throne.
Few rulers last long up there.
Heavy stuff, butFire & Bloodflies.
Here’s a character from one person’s fantasy continent dreaming up herownfantasy continent.
We never quite find out what happens to Alys.
Maybe she finds her wonderland.
Or maybe she does the next best thing, and writes it into a book.GRADE: A
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