My friend said he asked because he was
keen to read something absurdly epic, something that would take him a
year or more to complete, something that would hold his attention and
reward him for the effort. “Well,” I said, “Jordan's series is
slated for completion this summer. Martin apparently has two more
books to go. They're likely to be over 1,000 pages each, and he is a
notoriously slow writer, getting slower with age. At 63 it's
anybody's guess if this thing will reach a satisfactory conclusion.”
Advantage: Robert Jordan.
That last advantage is critical, I
think. I have no appetite for epic fantasy, but if I did, nothing
would peeve me more than reading 4,197 pages of sword and sorcery,
only to be denied the closure the author kinda-sorta had fixed in his
mind, but couldn't get down on paper because, well, he reached an age
when plans and grand literary trajectories get scuttled by the fella
in the bright nightgown.
The posthumous completion of The Wheel
Of Time is an interesting story, by the way. Jordan took the epic's
closure very seriously — which you'd have to, if you were going to
hammer out 12 phone-book sized tomes, with the intention of adding at
least two more to bring the story to its end. When it became obvious
his declining health would not permit him the honour, Jordan wrote the
concluding paragraph and worked backwards from there. When he was too
weak to write, he narrated his plans to his family, who recorded him.
And when he finally died, his wife sifted through the best candidates
for the work ahead, and settled on a 31-year-old Mormon missionary,
who was a fan. You can read how that happened, here.
In a recent Rolling Stone interview,
Martin shrugs off that scenario. He's 63, in apparent good health —
expects to be around for two more decades, in fact — and he intends
to write those damn books himself. So how far along is he?
“Not as far as I'd like. It's going
to be another 1,500-page book, and I have about 200 pages done.”
Here's hoping his fans have a more
religiously jaded, sexually obsessed version of Brandon Sanderson
ready to fill his shoes.
 | |
| George, starting at the beginning. |
2 comments:
Ive not read Game of thrones, but I've gotten very addicted to the TV series. Watched 6 hours in one go the other day, just could not stop watching.
But if you were to ask me why I like the series so much, I would have a hard time explaining it. What is the appeal of watching made up history and politicking from people and countries that don't actually exist?
If you try and put the appeal into words, I think it just sounds like a waste of time. And perhaps it is. But why can't I stop watching?
The RS interview is interesting stuff (and not available on-line, alas). Here's a bit that pertains, I think, to your question:
You know, I think about the purposes of fiction sometimes, and how what we remember becomes part of our lives. I have a few pictures of my third-grade class; I recognize myself and a couple of my close friends. But who the hell are these other kids? I don't remember their names.
I never saw the green light at the end of Daisy's dock or the parties on Gatsby's lawn, but they seem more vivid than things that I actually lived. If we are the sum of our experiences, as I believe we are, then books are a more important part of my life than my actual life. That's what I try to do with my own fiction: fill the stories with imaginary people who will become more real to my readers than the people in their lives.
This stuff might be "made up," but it must also be exploring the grammar of human experience, to be so compelling.
Post a Comment