When I read a book, I want to be sucked in to the point where I want to finish work and run home so I can sit and read. I’ll get annoyed every time someone wants my attention, because damn it all, I have a book that must be read! A great book will do that too me every time I read, no matter what page I start on. A great book will suck up a whole summer’s day. A great series, though, can take me weeks.
Recently I re-read Patrick Rothfuss’s Kingkiller Chronicle (two books so far, more coming), and marveled at how easy it was to slip into his world without question. It was as easy as picking up any of Lois McMaster Bujold’s, even though the two can hardly be compared in any other way. Bujold, like Laurie R. King, mastered the art of stand-alone series. Rothfuss has fantasy high drama down nicely.
This weekend I picked up A Game Of Thrones (book one of the series by George R.R. Martin). This book came out when I moved to Chicago, and on the recommendation of a friend, was my first book purchase. It was interesting. I got the rest from the library instead of the bookstore, and now as I re-read it … It’s kind of boring. Slow, and paced oddly. It’s not investing me in the world as much as I was in Kvothe.
Maybe it’s because Martin makes a habit of saying “You like this character? DEAD!” all the time. Maybe it’s too much like the Wheel of Time series, that dragged on and on… Or worse, it’s like reading David Eddings. Yes, they make for real characters, but they’re all stereotypes of 70s and 80s fantasy. Like Mercedes Lackey. They all can write. I’ve read amazing stories by them! But they take the easier road of death, pain, and trope. I’m still enjoying the books, but I don’t feel like I can’t put it down.
I guess I just need to stalk Rothfuss to finish the next book in his series!