![]() They were in love.” I stopped there and waited, my eyes wide with excitement. Not only that, but he didn’t kidnap her, they ran away together. “His parents are really Rhaegar and Lyanna. The words tumbled out quickly, my mouth no longer able to contain them from sheer adrenaline. One night, when my then-boyfriend came home from work, I greeted him at the door, bursting to tell him about this incredible theory I read about. In the meantime, as I did with Harry Potter, I flocked to online forums to participate in discussions and text analysis. Its follow-up, A Dance with Dragons, was still four years away, although at the time readers had no word on when, if ever, it would appear. This was in the fall of 2006, almost two years after the publication of A Feast for Crows. To this day, I still cheer when Viserys gets his gold crown and the absence of Lady Stoneheart from the television adaptation broke my own heart. A lifetime of emotions swept through me as I devoured the series: I wept when Ned lost his head and fell in love with Tyrion and Brienne in equal measure. The paper reminded me of onionskin, the font small and precise. The books were behemoth dense volumes of carefully constructed lineages and battlefields ravaged by war. This wasn’t just a fantasy series, it was a fantasy series. During the day I would swap Snape theories with co-workers, then during the evenings dive deep into the online discussions scattered across Internet forums.īut then I started reading A Game of Thrones and this was something completely different. I had only recently moved down to Kentucky from my home state of Ohio in order to live with my boyfriend and found a job working the coffee shop counter at a Barnes & Noble, proudly proclaiming my Slytherin status. I had read fantasy novels before, although they were certainly more lighter fare: like others, I was desperately waiting for the seventh and final book of the Harry Potter series, due out the following year. The palace intrigues and century long feuds captivated my imagination, as did the courtly love and drama of Henry VIII and his six wives.ĭivorced, beheaded, died. Real Tudor history, not the creative license version Gregory took (although, despite any and all inaccuracies, I still tend to revisit both Boleyn girls on an annual basis). This last reference was a call out to my most recent reading binge: just a few months before, I had picked up Philippa Gregory’s The Other Boleyn Girland fallen down the rabbit hole of Tudor history. It’s like the Wars of the Roses but with dragons.” The shelves sagged under the weight of the epic fantasies that stood staunchly like a row of guardians. “I think you’ll like it,” he said, pulling his copy from the wooden bookcase in the corner of his bedroom. It was my ex who first suggested I read George R.R. ![]()
0 Comments
Leave a Reply. |
AuthorWrite something about yourself. No need to be fancy, just an overview. ArchivesCategories |