“Ashore, the arms of the great trebuchets rose one, two, three, and a hundred stones climbed high into the yellow sky. Each one was as large as a man’s head; when they fell they sent up great gouts of water, smashed through oak planking, and turned living men into bone and pulp and gristle. All across the river the first line was engaged. Grappling hooks were flung out, iron rams crashed through wooden hulls, boarders swarmed, flights of arrows whispered through each other in the drifting smoke, and men died…”
- George R.R. Martin, A Clash of Kings
When I picked up George R.R. Martin’s Thrones, the first installment in his Song of Ice and Fire cycle, I had tempered expectations. That is to say, I really did not have any expectations at all. I’d watched the first ten minutes of the Game of Thrones television series and was intrigued enough by an early decapitation to try the first book.
A Game of Thrones was good in a way I had not expected. Never much for fantasy, I discovered instead a fascinating world of complex characters, unique weather patterns, and a social system besieged by its own tangled history. Yes, there were hints of magic that eventually became explicit, but there was also a tactility and earthiness to the proceedings. This was a book that took J.R.R. Tolkien’s tropes and did awful, terrible things to them.
About halfway through A Game of Thrones, a strange thing happened. I looked up and discovered I was hooked. I knew I was going to need the next volume right away. So I ordered it online.
Now, I should add, this was back in the day before free two-day shipping. Thus, when I finished A Game of Thrones, I did not yet have A Clash of Kings in my grubby hand. This led to that quintessential junkie’s moment, when you realize your stash is gone and your wallet is empty. I needed to continue the journey – and nothing else could fill that void. I tried reading a slim piece of literary fiction by Stuart O’Nan, but the stakes were too low. I tried reading a biography about George Washington, but all I wanted to do was learn more about the Mad King Aerys Targaryen.
It was a strange fate, to suddenly need something that, only shortly before, I did not know existed. The withdrawal symptoms hit me hard. I started refusing to eat anything that wasn’t skewered. I would only take liquids from a flagon, and those liquids had to be wine. I went to a Ren Faire and bought a sword – a sword! – and then I practiced with it, as though I were Syrio Forel, the First Sword of Braavos.
When the book finally came, it was like being a kid again, when reading was brand new and everything was unexpected and wonderful. My heretofore nonexistent expectations were suddenly cloud-high.
(I should note here that plot-points for A Game of Thrones must necessarily be discussed).
The thing about George R.R. Martin, though, is that he does not care about your expectations.
When A Game of Thrones ended, King Robert was gone, as was his Hand, Ned Stark, the man most thought would be our main hero. Robert’s “son” Joffrey, actually the product of incest between the brother-sister tandem of Jaime and Cersei Lannister, is now king. Due to Joffrey’s perceived illegitimacy, however, there is a scramble for the throne, with Robert’s two brothers (Renly and Stannis), the lord of the Iron Islands (Balon Greyjoy), and the now-Lord of Winterfell (Robb Stark), all vying for the seat of power (which is constructed of melted swords).
Rather than hopping right back into the machinations, Martin begins – as is his tendency – with a prologue starring unfamiliar characters in an unfamiliar setting. Here, that character is Stannis Baratheon’s maester, a man concerned about his lord’s newfound religiosity.
Once that throat clearing is done, Martin leads us back to the story left dangling at the end of A Game of Thrones. Ned Stark’s young, tomboyish daughter Arya, is led north by the ranger Yoren, disguised as a boy joining the Night’s Watch. Arya’s dimwitted sister Sansa is held captives by the Lannisters, and is subjected to brutal torments at the hand of Joffrey. In Stannis-land, the smuggler-turned-knight Davos watches uncertainly as his king falls under the spell of a priestess who serves the Lord of Light. Theon Greyjoy, the Stark’s ward from, returns to the land of his father, in preparation for an invasion of the north. All the while, the widowed wife of Khal Drogo, Daenerys, wanders the desert with her dwindling band of blood-riders and three dragons, birthed at the end of A Game of Thrones.
This is a summary that just scratches the surface of the overall plot. There is a lot going on, and Martin spends a great deal of time methodically putting his pieces into place, which often requires long journeys larded with dense expositions on various houses, their interlocking loyalties, and the burdens of the past that weigh upon them all.
The first time I read this, it all became a bit much. It is easy to get confused, especially if you don’t watch the show (which provides a streamlined and more-manageable version). Even rereading, knowing where it’s all going to go (at least, knowing how the show and the last book Martin has published ends), it requires concentration to keep all it all straight (though Martin does a decent job of giving you little nudges to help you recall how all the characters intertwine).
As with A Game of Thrones, A Clash of Kings is written in the third-person limited style, with alternating chapters from the viewpoint of nine characters, not including the prologue. Most are returning, though we are introduced to new blood in the person of former-smuggler Davos Seaworth (Martin loves his aptronyms!).
Having read through the entire series several times now, it is interesting to go back and attempt to discuss these characters objectively, since they have become like old friends (even the bad ones). Tyrion was great from the jump, but others, such as the self-righteous Catelyn Stark, the dull damsel-in-distress Sansa Stark, and the utterly disconnected Daenerys Targaryen, are simply not that pleasant or fun (though they evolve with time).
The alternating viewpoints serve an important purpose by defining the boundaries of the story and limiting its scope. Without confining the novel to nine narrators, the plot would simply explode like an overloaded blender. I totally understand why Martin has chosen to craft A Song of Ice and Fire in such a matter.
That being said, the structure has severe drawbacks. I first noticed these drawbacks in A Game of Thrones, but I was so dazzled and under the spell of discovery I didn't really care. In A Clash of Kings, they become more noticeable. As is often the case, once I started noticing, I couldn’t stop.
First off, let it be said that A Song of Fire and Ice is filled with awesome characters. In the first volume, I loved the bluff and blustery King Robert, the sly, ever-shifting Varys, the charismatic Kingslayer, Jaime Lannister, and the silver-tongued Baelish. In A Clash of Kings, some of these surviving characters, such as Varys, have important roles. Others, such as Jaime Lannister, almost disappear. Meanwhile, new figures spring up in supporting roles. (Such as the mysterious Jaqen H’ghar, who speaks in the third person and is very particular in the promises he makes). Unfortunately, the best characters (in my opinion), the ones who glitter with the most wit and inventiveness, disappear for long periods of time.
In their place we are stuck with the nine men, women, and children chosen by Martin to convey his epic tale, but who are hampered with some serious liabilities. Sansa, who spends the whole book as a captive, is a cipher. In the first book she was in love with Joffrey because the plot forced her to be in love with Joffrey, so that she would have a motivation to unwittingly betray her father. In the second book, she’s no longer in love, but she’s just as dimwitted. She keeps getting beaten for saying stupid things, but that doesn’t stop her from continually saying stupid things. The counterargument to this critique is that Sansa is just acting as any thirteen-year-old child. In that case, it is valid to question why Martin felt the need to have children shoulder the burden of an adult story.
(As I mention in my review of Fire and Blood, Martin displays certain weird predilections in his novels that show up so often they form a disturbing pattern).
The character deficits are underscored by Martin’s decision to highlight indirect, rather than direct action. Because his story is told through only nine characters, you end up looking at the wide world of Westeros as though through a pinhole. You only learn what is before the faces of these nine people. Thus, there are huge swatches of the story you never witness firsthand. You never learn much about Renly Baratheon or Tywin Lannister, except when the main characters come into contact with them. Everything you find out about Stannis comes from the perception of Davos, who often as not is not in Stannis’ presence. The viewpoint characters, oddly enough, often seem to exist only to tell us what more important characters are doing.
The ultimate consequence of Martin’s narrative style is that much of the action in the first two-thirds of Kings is hearsay. It consists of one character telling another character about something that happened. A lot of times, these conversations are really interesting. More often than not, they concern a battle that has been fought off-page. Once this happens three or four times, without any actual battles happening on-page, I started to get annoyed. Allegedly, the land of Westeros was engaged in “the War of the Five Kings.” Unfortunately, I wouldn’t know that, because I’m stuck with Sansa in King’s Landing.
Things get more wizardly in this second installment, which I thought might cause me to lose interest (I’m here for the swords and ale, not the magic). The gods are still indifferent, but sorcery has entered the picture. The overarching system is not exactly consistent, but more importantly – for me – is remains grounded, and the drama flows through the characters, not their superpowers.
While this was certainly a slower read than I expected, the final third of the novel forgives all sins. There are unexpected plot developments and shocking surprises and twists and turns and some people die and some people don’t and the stakes seem real and there is wildfire and swordplay and a castle siege and a naval battle and enough blood to slake the thirst of any fantasy reader. It is an incredible late-inning surge. When I finished, I was awed by Martin’s genius. All the talking, all the dense plotting, all those wasted pages of Theon receiving oral sex and then hitting on his sister are forgotten as the various storylines collide in an epic manner. Say what you will about Martin, but he knows (or at least, knew) how to make a long-game pay off.
A Song of Ice and Fire was originally conceived as a trilogy; in that sense, A Clash of Kings is the perfect middle book. It delivers a damn fine action sequence while leaving the main characters in precarious cliffhanger situations. In that way, it’s a bit like The Empire Strikes Back, right down to the weird brother and sister stuff.
Unlike The Empire Strikes Back, however, it does not have a lofty reputation. Indeed, it tends to be a bit forgotten. It lacks the freshness and air of originality of A Game of Thrones. And though it neatly avoids the morass of irrelevancies and dead-ends found in A Feast for Crows and A Dance With Dragons, it pales before the masterpiece that is A Storm of Swords. Still, it is a worthy entry, if only for its showcasing of how to effectively set up a big sequence, and then allow it to pay off.
This is a feature sadly lacking in this series’ later entries.