It is not my practice to post reviews when my Kindle says I have read only 48% of the book in question.  I am making an exception hoping that things are going to improve.  Right now I am not hoping, I am praying...to the old gods, to R'hllor, anyone...that GRRM has become a factory operation, like Thomas Kinkade Painter of Light, and that he has a horde of apprentices racketing away at their keyboards, occasionally pausing so that He Himself can insert telling phrases like, "Words are wind," to lend authenticity to the product. At this stage of the "narrative" (I know, a jape), we have Tyrion penned up on "The Stinky Steward" with Penny (I used to know an irritating one I dubbed "Small Change," and I pass that along) and a sow named Pretty Pig.  Now that's harsh even for crossbowing your evil father in the gut. I think.  And it's not as though we haven't witnessed Tyrion's remorse for the deed again, and again, and again...  Right now this isn't A Dance With Dragons, it's a Plod With a Pig.  And achingly unreadable.  Thanked be fortune, it hath ben otherwise:  Asha, dead or alive, got a world-class shag out of young what's-his-name before the northmen arrived; I applaud the chapter which made Melisandre actually pretty sympathetic, which I did not previously believe to be possible-- still can't quite get the interplay of Mance Rayder and Rattleshirt, but hell, details-- and as long as I can quit thinking, "This is just like American Graffiti," with all the feckless adolescents cruising after the semimystical Blonde in the White Convertible, things are going along.  Sort of.  Except for this wish I have that someone (Daario is my candidate) would tie Dany up and tell the Unsullied to let those dragons loose after allowing sufficient time for prediction and handicapping on a city-wide basis.
  I am going to finish this book somehow.  My prediction is that there's no way all of these stories are going to wrap in only two more volumes.  Keep those apprentices typing and call Pizza Hut.
It is not my practice to post reviews when my Kindle says I have read only 48% of the book in question. I am making an exception hoping that things are going to improve. Right now I am not hoping, I am praying... to the old gods, to R'hllor, anyone... that GRRM has become a factory operation, like Thomas Kinkade Painter of Light, and that he has a horde of apprentices racketing away at their keyboards, occasionally pausing so that He Himself can insert telling phrases like, "Words are wind," to lend authenticity to the product. At this stage of the "narrative" (I know, a jape), we have Tyrion penned up on "The Stinky Steward" with Penny (I used to know an irritating one I dubbed "Small Change," and I pass that along) and a sow named Pretty Pig. Now that's harsh even for crossbowing your evil father in the gut. I think. And it's not as though we haven't witnessed Tyrion's remorse for the deed again, and again, and again... Right now this isn't A Dance With Dragons, it's a Plod With a Pig. And achingly unreadable. Thanked be fortune, it hath ben otherwise:  Asha, dead or alive, got a world-class shag out of young what's-his-name before the northmen arrived; I applaud the chapter which made Melisandre actually pretty sympathetic, which I did not previously believe to be possible-- still can't quite get the interplay of Mance Rayder and Rattleshirt, but hell, details-- and as long as I can quit thinking, "This is just like American Graffiti," with all the feckless adolescents cruising after the semimystical Blonde in the White Convertible, things are going along. Sort of. Except for this wish I have that someone (Daario is my candidate) would tie Dany up and tell the Unsullied to let those dragons loose after allowing sufficient time for prediction and handicapping on a city-wide basis. I am going to finish this book somehow. My prediction is that there's no way all of these stories are going to wrap in only two more volumes. Keep those apprentices typing and call Pizza Hut.