I decided to delve into the fourth volume of the Game of Thrones series and I’m wondering how many heads, arms, and other body parts have been hacked off since the first volume. It would make a pretty large stack. And why am I still reading? Strong characters and a compelling story, I guess, although both of these features feel slightly more thin in this book compared to the first three.
I enjoyed the concept of the religion in which new devotees (usually young men) are literally drowned in the ocean and then dragged back in from the surf and resuscitated. Those who survive are truly born again and have a common rite of passage. The description of the high priest of the Drowned God, though, got to be a little overbearing. He lives in a driftwood house, he eats seaweed soup, he goes out and stands in the surf for inspiration, he can’t stand being away from the coast, and the author doesn’t say this, but he’s probably got the world’s biggest seashell collection … okay, we get the point.
No worries, though. Soon we’re back to head chopping and brutal, complicated, political machinations. Newt Gingrich wouldn’t last more than a few minutes in this maelstrom. Even Jesse “The Body” Ventura, former wrestler and former governor of Minnesota, would be doomed.