I really enjoyed the first three books in the Song of Ice and Fire series.  I'd even call the first book addictive.  Martin is a mediocre writer--one small step above Stephen King--but he's a fantastic storyteller--also one small step above Stephen King.  His characters may not always be believable, but they are entertaining and sometimes complex.

Unlike most readers, I don't lament that Martin killed off some of his heroes.  Good persons die sometimes.  Sometimes it's their very integrity that kills them.  His courage in killing lead characters is commendable, and it's in any case realistic.  If you can't handle protagonists dying sometimes, you're not ready for a novel; stick to fairy tales.  I know, once you begin to identify with and like a character, it's disrupting to have him removed from the picture.  Fortunately, Martin has plenty more protagonists where those came from.

Which leads to the first major problem with this book.  As other reviewers said, it plods along, a cornucopia of distracting side plots and trivial characters.  Martin refuses to conclude the narrative in the fourth book simply because he wants the revenue from another book and a fifth season on HBO.  The result is a ponderous, sometimes boring, and meandering 1000 pages that should have been 400 at most, and should have wrapped up the story.  Martin is insulting his readers by giving them trash.  My advice is, don't accept it.  Read the first three books, which are good, and stop there.  Yes, you'll slightly resent the half-finished story.  But if you can enjoy the journey without feeling compelled to see the destination, it will pay off for you.

The second problem is the writing.  The first three books were competently written for a fantasy series.  He was always obsessed with describing food in intricate detail, which is a little bizarre and a waste of time for all but the vicarious glutton.  He was never an original or eloquent stylist.  A Feast for Crows multiplies his vices.  It feels rushed and sloppy.  He repeats tiresome and nonsensical locutions in hopes of sounding exotic.  For example, his characters are constantly saying "it makes no matter," and Martin himself repeatedly describes dresses as a "confection," as if he'd forgotten he'd done it before.  It was stupid enough the first time.  There are even places when Martin loses track of who is speaking and confuses his own characters.  Again, Martin's lack of attention insults his readers.

In short, one reader's advice: If you enjoyed the first three books, stop reading there and invent your own conclusion to the series.
I really enjoyed the first three books in the Song of Ice and Fire series. I'd even call the first book addictive. Martin is a mediocre writer--one small step above Stephen King--but he's a fantastic storyteller--also one small step above Stephen King. His characters may not always be believable, but they are entertaining and sometimes complex. Unlike most readers, I don't lament that Martin killed off some of his heroes. Good persons die sometimes. Sometimes it's their very integrity that kills them. His courage in killing lead characters is commendable, and it's in any case realistic. If you can't handle protagonists dying sometimes, you're not ready for a novel; stick to fairy tales. I know, once you begin to identify with and like a character, it's disrupting to have him removed from the picture. Fortunately, Martin has plenty more protagonists where those came from. Which leads to the first major problem with this book. As other reviewers said, it plods along, a cornucopia of distracting side plots and trivial characters. Martin refuses to conclude the narrative in the fourth book simply because he wants the revenue from another book and a fifth season on HBO. The result is a ponderous, sometimes boring, and meandering 1000 pages that should have been 400 at most, and should have wrapped up the story. Martin is insulting his readers by giving them trash. My advice is, don't accept it. Read the first three books, which are good, and stop there. Yes, you'll slightly resent the half-finished story. But if you can enjoy the journey without feeling compelled to see the destination, it will pay off for you. The second problem is the writing. The first three books were competently written for a fantasy series. He was always obsessed with describing food in intricate detail, which is a little bizarre and a waste of time for all but the vicarious glutton. He was never an original or eloquent stylist. A Feast for Crows multiplies his vices. It feels rushed and sloppy. He repeats tiresome and nonsensical locutions in hopes of sounding exotic. For example, his characters are constantly saying "it makes no matter," and Martin himself repeatedly describes dresses as a "confection," as if he'd forgotten he'd done it before. It was stupid enough the first time. There are even places when Martin loses track of who is speaking and confuses his own characters. Again, Martin's lack of attention insults his readers. In short, one reader's advice: If you enjoyed the first three books, stop reading there and invent your own conclusion to the series.