Here is the thing, I always manage to get myself embroiled in some sort of covert conspiracy… no, not really. I do however manage to pick up books at stores which turn out to part of a 20 book series and that’s just as bad in my book…er, books.
The neverending series particularly lamented about in this blog is of course the legendary Wheel Of Time which along with many dead (and suicidal) readers has claimed the life of its creator. When Robert Jordan (yes, the writer and cause of all my pain) said he would write till his coffin lid was nailed shut, I just thought it was an amusing thing these writer types are inclined to say. How was I to fathom that he literally would conk off, pardon my French, before he could write the final and crucial books of the cycle. His successor (thank God his books were popular enough for the publishers to select a person to finish the series!) has done a decent job I suppose but the wait is damnable! Enough rant about that. Calm. It is, I admit my love of the fantasy fiction genre which is the root cause of all evil here. I haven’t seen any good fantasy books which are stand alone apart from a few by Tolkein and well, one Tolkein can have your head reeling in multiple dimensions and worlds for weeks so every chapter might as well be a series.
I thought I had struck gold with this one book I picked up last week called Daughter of Smoke and Bone by Laini Taylor only to be put firmly in my place when the book ended ever so abruptly and I was staring at the release date of the sequel Days of Blood & Startlight. I tried convincig myself that it was no George R.R. Martin (oh, don’t even get me started on that old geezer) or even a Jonathan Stroud (yaii Bartimaeus!) and I could live without reading about some stupid angel/demon saga but the truth is harsh. Harsher than fantasy fiction at any rate, orcs notwithstanding. I – who have bought Paul Hoffmam’s The Last Four Things in hardback after reading The Left Hand of God cannot talk myself out of anything. Not anything stupid that is. Coming back to George Martin. So like Robert Jordan – Martin is old. Like may die mid book OLD. Like RJ he plans to keep writing till he is inspired to do so but unlike Jordan who had an end in sight and had left copious notes and guidelines on his magnum opus, Mr Martin has not a clue on what the fate of GOT looks like. Joy!
Here’s to good health of sexagenarions and good medical care in USA (go Obama!) on whom after next January, all my hopes and dreams will lie!
Must get back to work.