I forgot about the way the last Game of Thrones book ended, but thanks, internet, for reminding me on every platform.
I may not have seen the last two seasons of the show, but those books, man…they are not for the easily distracted. I’m not even halfway through A Storm of Swords again, and that’s 1100+ pages in its mass market paperback form…so ultimately, I’m not even halfway done rereading the series.
Granted, while I don’t have the insatiable “must know what happens next!” prodding me along…I can take the time to better appreciate just how thoroughly Martin has plundered other stories to find embellishments and plot points for his own books. He’s really got just about everything…
It’s difficult to think that there could ever be a resolution that ties all the many, many loose ends together.
Taking a break from the series after this book…that’s how incredibly long it is…
Going to try out a follow-up book to All Quiet on The Western Front and see if it’s any good. The reviews I read are pretty mixed, and I am a little wary because A) it’s a translation, and those are always hit-or-miss to begin with and B) the main character of All Quiet is dead…so yeah. Who knows? Still. I had the curiosity, so once I make it through the 500+ pages left in this current GoT book, we’ll see what that curiosity’s got me into.
I think that…aside from the GoT being so gruelingly long, I am reading it much more slowly this time around because of work. I feel like I don’t have enough time for…well, anything, really. Last week I logged almost 50 hours…I am thinking this week won’t be as many, but all these kids wanting to see some dinosaurs…ridiculous.
And this stuff, too:
Paris (trying to fill out paperwork for a register): What’s her name? What…what…what is it? Emma?
Me: No, you ask that question second.
Me: Yes. You know: who, what, when, where, why, and how.
Paris: Oh, right. But I answered my question.
Me: Emma, right? Wanna know something fun? She didn’t know I was a manager.
Paris: What?! When did you find that out?
Paris: Man. What did she think you were?
Me: I cannot even guess.
Paris: …a Nazi.
Me: I can’t fault her for that, assuming that by “Nazi”, we mean someone whom we feel compelled to obey without knowing why…
Me: What? No.
Paris: You did tell her to never wear big earrings again by way of a graphic anectdote about someone’s earrings getting caught on stuff and ripping right out of their ears. Who tells someone that?
Me: The earrings were outside the uniform guidelines.
Paris (busts out fake accent): You vill obey ze guidelines! I vill have order or I vill have your ears!
Me: Ow. My feelings.