Speaking Of Tendentious Multithousand Page Fantasies Written For An Audience Of Salaried Adolescents
HBO's adaptation of George R. R. Martin's Game Of Thrones premiers Sunday. Set your clocks, and your hearts, for this once in a lifetime event Popehat readers.
Unlike Ken (who I know is counting the seconds until Sunday night), I enjoy Atlas Shrugged as much as I enjoy A Game Of Thrones, which is to say, I enjoy it mildly. Rand's followers compare her work favorably to that of Plato and Dostoevsky. Martin's followers call his work C. S. Lewis for adults, or Tolkien meets the Wars of the Roses (and therefore, implicitly, Shakespeare). To call any of these comparisons a stretch is to be kind. At least Rand knew how her book would end (with a 78 page speech) before she wrote it.
Martin is just stringing his audience along. When he dies, his fans will compare A Game of Thrones to Schubert's Unfinished Symphony.
But as long as we understand that going in (we surely do four books in), that's entertainment!
Now where is my twelve hour adaptation of Cryptonomicon? That would be art.
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