I'm one of those people who've read all the books. But, it should be quickly noted, I'm not one of those fuss-budgets who invest a lot of energy in analyzing how the show differs from the book then complaining about it. What a tiresome, pedantic way to spend your time. Take a nap, man. Refuel the brain. Go read "Sir Gawain and the Green Knight."
Revolutionary concept: the show might be better than the books! Which were both fabulous works of High Fantasy and, at the same time, cautionary tales on managing scope, focus and point-of-view. Book One was great -- really outstanding. Book Two (who can remember all those names) was better than good. And from there, a call went out across the land ...
My kingdom for an editor!
Which, alas, went unheeded. Books 3-5 would all have been better had they been 20% shorter. And I'm a guy who likes to wallow in the stuff, so I don't mind long books. But it felt, during the dark days of Book Four, that George R. R. Martin -- not to be confused with Geoffrey V. V. Raymond, author of The Keldish Song -- was writing in circles, looking for a way to move forward but going backwards instead.
One man's opinion.
The good news is that the books are now vigorously taking their own path. So enough with the literary scolds. The other good news is that the new season starts on Sunday. Exciting.
By this time, everybody worth their weight in Valyrian steel knows who Jon Snow's mother and father are (and they are not, in reverse order, Ned Stark and some barmaid). Perhaps if you invited him to dinner one night he'd tell you ...
The only question now worth asking is whether Syrio Forel, the First Sword of Braavos, is alive and kicking, one of the Faceless Men.
Which would be grand. Unlikely, but grand.
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