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I had fallen off on reading fantasy novels for nearly a year. A year is enough to make one forget. But a couple of months back, when my schedule was clearer than it had been for months, I decided to read a novel, before I forget the appeal and the memories I made in the past. I visited the library, went straight to the fiction section, looked at the volumes on the shelves, both fresh and musty, and finally set my eyes upon a boxset. The first book, lying in slight disarray, read the title “A Game of Thrones”. I recalled the hype and buzz the TV adaptation had created when it first dropped years ago. I took it home with me and had the time of my life.

A Game of Thrones is the first book of A Song of Ice and Fire, a classic low fantasy medieval world with an unusually large concentration of the politics of the royal court, something I wasn’t accustomed to reading. After a gripping prologue, the story slows its pace, taking its own time to build its world and flesh out its characters. This beginning follows classic and predictable fantasy tropes, which put me into a cozy armchair of nostalgia, watching the familiar flow of a river of words. And then I am jerked out of my comfort, the river runs rapid and white with froth, as the story drops bombshell after bombshell, the plot escalates, stakes rise and things spiral out of control. But through all this, the world remains ever vast and expanding, balancing the necessary explanations of the birth of a fantasy with the thrill of a gripping plot.

A Game of Thrones is a must read for anyone fond of fantasy and also makes for a brilliant gateway into the genre. I am now reading through the second volume, A Clash of Kings, and the story just keeps getting better as it goes, a promising sign for a positive review coming soon.