*mouth hangs agape* I'll begin by saying that I have no idea where to begin.
As I've mentioned before, I'm late to the party in terms of pop culture phenomenon, so, naturally, I've only vaguely heard of some show called Game of Thrones on HBO, a channel I'm not even close to getting. At least when I was a kid, it sort of, fuzzily came through on one of the triple digit channels. I was also vaguely aware that the show had originated from a book, as most good movies and television shows do, this one by George R.R. Martin, specifically.
Earlier this year, my friend began posting on her Facebook how amazing the books were and how closely they followed them in creating the TV show. As she is a virtual Drink Wine and Gossip book club member, my interest was instantly piqued. The only difference was that she had seen the show and I had not, so I was going in completely unawares.
Like I said, I don't even know where to begin. I couldn't begin to tell you character or city names, or story lines that I enjoyed, that repulsed me - ok, Dany eating the stallions heart is up there - that stuck with me, or even how I really felt about it all. That's the thing with Game of Thrones; it's as if the book must be felt as opposed to read and processed. And I'll be honest - I'm totally addicted.
For one, the chapters aren't numbered, but rather labeled with a different character name, thus either consciously or subconsciously causing the reader to become fully absorbed rather than keep count. Which - let's be honest - is a feat in and of itself. Reading this book feels second to reading the Bible, which I only got to the apple part. There again, the feeling is the most important part.
Second, since each chapter is labeled with a different character's name, we're transported to a different world and unfolding drama, with different players, different follies, but all immensely interesting and fascinated. To say that Martin is the true epitome of fantasy is a great understatement. I often find myself marveling at the sheer level of his imagination. And my friend guessed he must have maps hung up everywhere in order to keep track of where everyone lives, comes, goes, was born, dies, rules, makes offspring, etc.
The gore is not of personal taste but I'm able to compartmentalize it that it goes with the times, and that it doesn't actual exist in the first place, as there really aren't wild wood people who hunt mortals and turn them mad. Ok, maybe in the South.
All I can say is that there are many fantastically good reasons why this book - and the others in the series that follow it - are on NPR's must-read list, as well as a few others, I'm sure. It, did, after all give me Book Hand (hand-cramp from holding books). I can't explain it. You just have to pick it up and figure it out for yourself.
Sunday, November 18, 2012
Thursday, November 15, 2012
Driven
After plowing through Abraham Lincoln Vampire Hunter with still some weeks of October left, I decided to keep with my spooky-genre and read W.G. Griffiths' Driven.
This book has been collecting dust on my shelf for almost a decade, surviving multiple cross-state moves and a dog who likes to eat books. So I brought it down, dusted it off, read the back, and started on the Driven journey, which was - as it happened - full of cheese.
Griffiths' novel reminded me a lot of a Dan Brown or James Patterson; short sentences, equally short chapters, and a great deal of pontificating. The main difference is that Griffiths' is no match for those seasoned authors, experts at weaving intrigue with mystery, drama, romance, and just enough horror to make the hair on the back of your neck stand up. But what I appreciated most about Driven is that the crux of the story wasn't to exploit the worst traits of the human population, as most of the horror genre seems geared towards. The culprit - spoiler alert that's easily accessible from reading the back cover - is a supernatural force, stronger than any human, that's been around since the beginning of the beginning.
Gavin Pierce is a police detective, taking the weekend off at pseudo Sea World with his grandfather, when a seemingly drunk driver causes a horrific accident that kills Gavin's grandfather and a host of others, his only calling cards being a lobster claw, too many empty beer cans to count, a dead passenger, and the crumpled mess that was the passenger's car. The most eerie and unexpected result, however, is that the driver manages to escape the carnage with barely a scrape or bruise. Clearly Pierce is dealing with something he never had to before.
Pierce quickly bands together a hodgepodge a civilian superheros to track, find, and apprehend the monster, including fellow detectives, a hypnotist, one lone survivor, a victim's sister-in-law, and a Reverend with a wooden chest he refuses to leave behind or let open.
The story is interesting, keeps you hooked, and winds you down a path of various unexpected, and sometimes obscure, pieces to the puzzle. There is, however, something lacking in the writing that reminds you of the first adjective-laden story you produced as a plucky 6th grader. The emotions are expressed in such a way that the reader almost feels forced to believe this is actually how the character is feeling.
The book has the appropriate amount of surprising twists, and the ending is a true mystery unless you're well-versed in the art of deliverance. It didn't leave me reeling, though; didn't leave me wanting more and I could give the book to charity and not wonder what happened to it days, months, or years from now. It didn't stick with me and there's a part of me that is disappointed I didn't spend my time reading something more Halloween-ish. Then again, any book I add to my done-reading list is a positive.
This book has been collecting dust on my shelf for almost a decade, surviving multiple cross-state moves and a dog who likes to eat books. So I brought it down, dusted it off, read the back, and started on the Driven journey, which was - as it happened - full of cheese.
Griffiths' novel reminded me a lot of a Dan Brown or James Patterson; short sentences, equally short chapters, and a great deal of pontificating. The main difference is that Griffiths' is no match for those seasoned authors, experts at weaving intrigue with mystery, drama, romance, and just enough horror to make the hair on the back of your neck stand up. But what I appreciated most about Driven is that the crux of the story wasn't to exploit the worst traits of the human population, as most of the horror genre seems geared towards. The culprit - spoiler alert that's easily accessible from reading the back cover - is a supernatural force, stronger than any human, that's been around since the beginning of the beginning.
Gavin Pierce is a police detective, taking the weekend off at pseudo Sea World with his grandfather, when a seemingly drunk driver causes a horrific accident that kills Gavin's grandfather and a host of others, his only calling cards being a lobster claw, too many empty beer cans to count, a dead passenger, and the crumpled mess that was the passenger's car. The most eerie and unexpected result, however, is that the driver manages to escape the carnage with barely a scrape or bruise. Clearly Pierce is dealing with something he never had to before.
Pierce quickly bands together a hodgepodge a civilian superheros to track, find, and apprehend the monster, including fellow detectives, a hypnotist, one lone survivor, a victim's sister-in-law, and a Reverend with a wooden chest he refuses to leave behind or let open.
The story is interesting, keeps you hooked, and winds you down a path of various unexpected, and sometimes obscure, pieces to the puzzle. There is, however, something lacking in the writing that reminds you of the first adjective-laden story you produced as a plucky 6th grader. The emotions are expressed in such a way that the reader almost feels forced to believe this is actually how the character is feeling.
The book has the appropriate amount of surprising twists, and the ending is a true mystery unless you're well-versed in the art of deliverance. It didn't leave me reeling, though; didn't leave me wanting more and I could give the book to charity and not wonder what happened to it days, months, or years from now. It didn't stick with me and there's a part of me that is disappointed I didn't spend my time reading something more Halloween-ish. Then again, any book I add to my done-reading list is a positive.
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