Thursday, May 19, 2011
A Game of Thrones (21/28)
The more I listen, the more I feel the grip tightening around my heart. Yet there is nothing I can do.
Theoretically, it makes no sense --- If he does not finish the series, I, no, we will still have whatever he will have written, which is fantastic and amazing and unbelievable. Isn't that good enough?
I can sympathize with people who are angry at him, who perhaps even hate him. One often forgets that he has to make the story up, word by word, out of nothing, and instead tends to fall into the illusion that this world and these people already exist in full, and that his brain is merely a portal between that world and this and that all he needs to do is to drag it out of this portal.
Nowadays Mr. S is exacerbated by me. "I have warned you," he says, rolling his eyes, whenever I heave a long, forlorn sigh. "GRRM is poison."
"Too late," I dismiss him with a shrug or a sob.
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