A Game of Thrones ⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐
A masterpiece that defined an era, and we're still waiting for the series to be completed. George, honestly... have mercy.
The first instalment of the epic series A Song of Ice and Fire by George R. R. Martin exploded onto the fantasy scene in 1996, from an author whose acclaim hitherto stemmed largely from science fiction (a shift for which he has been criticised—but we’ll leave that aside, as Martin tends to provoke grumbling regardless of his creative direction). Yet it swiftly established itself as a triumph of speculative literature. From the opening pages, the reader is immersed in a world so vividly realised, so intricately constructed, and so unflinchingly realistic, that detachment becomes nearly impossible—something one may come to regret thirty years on, as the series remains stalled at its fifth volume out of a planned seven, with little sign of imminent completion (there, I’ve joined the grumbling too).
Martin’s brilliance lies in his unparalleled gift for character creation. Every figure, from the honourable Ned Stark to the enigmatic Daenerys Targaryen, is rendered with such psychological depth and complexity that it is rare to find their like within the genre. Heroes and anti-heroes alike are not defined by simplistic notions of good or evil—they are human, real, and filled with contradictions.
The plot is unpredictable, dark, and utterly enthralling. In contrast to much of the fantasy canon—where narrative trajectories are often formulaic and virtue is predictably rewarded—Game of Thrones toys with expectation. Alliances are betrayed, beloved characters perish, and nothing is sacred. This daring narrative ethos heightens suspense and keeps the reader perpetually on edge. “What’s that? You’ve grown attached to this character? How quaint…” Martin seems to whisper, before dispatching someone you believed to be central to the story—often before the first book has even concluded. And he’ll do it again. And again. Stripping the reader of comforting certainties: everything is fluid, no character’s survival or comfort is assured in Westeros.
The world of Westeros is a masterfully constructed universe, replete with history, mythology, and political intrigue. Each kingdom, each family, each legend possesses depth and consistency, making the entire setting feel startlingly real—almost tangible. It is evident that Martin has poured decades of study and imagination into crafting such a dense and coherent world… or perhaps he found the cheat code to the Matrix and is simply downloading narratives. Though if that were the case, he might have finished the series by now. 😉
Game of Thrones is not merely a tale of kings and dragons. That would be banal, derivative, and altogether unremarkable—we wouldn’t be monitoring the author’s cholesterol levels just to divine whether he’ll live long enough to finish the sixth book (fifteen years, fifteen years!!!). The beloved "Throne-of-Thorns" (as one might affectionately misname it) is an exploration of human nature, of power, honour, and betrayal. It transcends the boundaries of fantasy to become a modern literary epic. (Homer, at least, managed to complete both the Iliad and the Odyssey, I’m just saying…)
A must-read for every lover of literature – not only of fantasy. George R. R. Martin did not merely write a book—nor even the extraordinary beginning of a singular saga:
he created a legend
.
Martin’s characters: vivid, human, unforgettable
One of the most striking achievements of Game of Thrones is the deep, multidimensional portrayal of its characters. In a world steeped in political manoeuvring, moral quandaries, and relentless upheaval, Martin’s creations are not caricatures or allegories—they are flesh-and-blood individuals, who breathe, rejoice, suffer, scheme, lust, possess questionable tastes, and occasionally sleep with their siblings. They are perhaps the most authentically human characters in the fantasy canon.
Ned Stark, Warden of the North, embodies honour and duty, yet his tragic arc serves as a reminder that being in the right does not necessarily ensure survival. His wife, Catelyn, both mother and fierce emotional warrior, moves through the story with strength and desperation, striving to shield her children in a world seemingly hell-bent on eliminating them—briskly or otherwise.
Daenerys Targaryen is arguably one of the most compelling figures: whether or not one sympathises with her (it matters little), she begins as a frightened girl and evolves into a symbol of power and rebirth. Her path is strewn with trials, yet her flame endures—both metaphorically and, indeed, quite literally. And by “trials”, one truly means “ordeals of mythic proportions”.
And of course, Tyrion Lannister: a phenomenon of a character, the dwarf who entered the world by killing his mother (and, in doing so, extinguished any chance of a functional relationship with his father), armed with his razor wit, biting humour, and a perpetual struggle against prejudice. He emerges as the series’ most beloved protagonist (and if not, one might assume you’re outside the target demographic of ages 15 to 60). His journey to prove his worth in a world that constantly belittles him is both moving and inspiring.
Admittedly, such emotional connection might seem obvious when it comes to the “sweethearts” and “heroes” of the tale—but even the most loathsome figures, such as Joffrey Baratheon (not so much a boy as a sentient pile of revulsion) or Cersei Lannister (rarely has a female character in fantasy so stirred within me the urge to smash her teeth in by way of morning greeting), are portrayed with such care and psychological realism that the reader cannot help but feel fascinated by their complexity. And, quite remarkably, no one is entirely good or entirely evil (except perhaps Joffrey, who is an irredeemable sadistic psychopath, full stop)—and this is Martin’s storytelling genius.
A Clash of Kings ⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐
It is 1998. The internet still runs on PSTN speeds, the most popular search engine is... Yahoo! (with AltaVista following close behind), and a mere two years have passed since the publication of A Game of Thrones—a blink of an eye, really, if one considers that waiting for new works by Martin feels akin to the passage of geological epochs. It is at this moment that A Clash of Kings, the second volume in the A Song of Ice and Fire series, makes its appearance. A masterful elevation of the narrative, building upon the already megalithic foundations laid by the first book. As the balance of power in Westeros collapses, Martin plunges readers into the maelstrom of a world where many kings lay claim to the same crown—and none appears even remotely inclined to yield an inch of land or authority. In short, things descend into glorious chaos, much to the reader’s benefit. I shall elaborate further in the next paragraph, as this one has aged.
The book broadens its canvas even more than its predecessor, carrying readers across frozen wildernesses, perilous seas, and ancient cities, while delving deeper into already beloved characters. The voices multiply, the narrators become more complex, and each chapter is a move in a grand, intricate game of strategy.
One of Martin’s greatest triumphs lies in his ability to sidestep the genre’s clichés. His protagonists are never one-dimensional—they are human beings facing desperate dilemmas, making sacrifices, and, often enough, paying the price for their choices. If you’re wondering what a stereotypical character with kindergarten-level dilemmas looks like, try reading Salvatore (“Should I save my mother, the purest soul to have ever walked this earth, or honour the wishes of a hellish monstrosity that wishes to devour her soul? Oh, such torment… AHHHHHHH”). Returning now to authors whose readers possess a brain cell count in the triple digits or higher, we should note that in A Clash of Kings, magic begins to reemerge—tentatively, yet relentlessly—in ways that are intriguing, beguiling, or at times grotesque (some readers have questionable tastes; no judgment here).
As with the first book in the series, this is far from a mere fantasy tale. It is a psychological drama, a political thriller, and a philosophical exploration of what power, faith, and survival truly mean. The title A Clash of Kings is no accident—it depicts an age in which every king may seem legitimate, but... none is indisputably suitable. Some are quite blatantly unsuitable. Others… less (blatantly) so.
Avoiding Manichaean binaries and simplistic moral oppositions, the novel offers a world in which notions of good and evil are murky and ever-shifting—depending on perspective and the gradual revelation of new facts. What Martin offers the reader is neither easy nor comforting. You will traverse hazy terrain—in every sense, including the ethical—and you will be accompanied by that unpleasant voice, already awakened by the first book, whispering: “this will not end well...” more often than you’d like. But ultimately, this uneasy feeling is what binds you to the narrative and leaves you wandering, glassy-eyed, once each volume ends, hoping the next one will be published soon (feel free to laugh out loud).
If I were to summarise in just a few lines: it is a captivating chapter in an epic that refuses to let go. For those who have not yet read it, A Clash of Kings promises a journey filled with twists, political gamesmanship, and characters who will linger in your mind long after the final page—just as happened with A Game of Thrones. Now, if you have NOT read A Game of Thrones...
a) PLEASE, HURRY
b) What exactly are you doing reading this review???