George R.R. Martin Might Be Rushing His Work
By Evan Waite and River Clegg
Exclusive new excerpts from “The Winds of Winter,” George R. R. Martin’s upcoming novel in his series “A Song of Ice and Fire,” suggest that the pressure to complete the highly anticipated book might be affecting the quality of his writing.
House Targaryen was not a real house, with a roof and walls, but in some ways it was.
Jon Snow looked down at his boots. They shone like rocks.
“Want to fight a dramatic battle against each other in that field?”
The dragon was big. Like, really, really big. As big as a . . . I don’t know, some very big thing.
The Faceless Men revealed that they had no faces. Also, that they were men.
She drew her sword, which is basically just a long knife.
Along the coast of Dragonstone rose stone watchtowers. The towers were nice in a way that’s kind of hard to describe. If you saw them, you’d be very impressed.
Then, in walked—that’s right—a fourth eunuch.
Daenerys pulled out her Dragon Flute, which is a flute she plays to summon her dragons, and which she’s had this whole time.
“Remember the Red Wedding?” Tyrion asked.
“No. Can you recap it for me?”
“Sure thing. At the wedding of Edmure Tully and Roslin Frey, Lord Walder Frey arranged the murder of Robb and Catelyn Stark, along with thousands of their bannermen, as revenge after Robb broke his agreement to marry one of Frey’s daughters. It was a big shock to everyone.”
Jaime Lannister looked down at his armor. It shone like rocks.
Through the abandoned farmhouse the winds of winter blew. Do you see what I did there, incorporating the title of the book into the prose? Pretty slick, huh?
“I enjoy schemes,” said Varys to no one in particular. “I’m good at them!”
Lady Melisandre intoned, “One day I will return, and the Lord of Light will be my sword. This is foreshadowing.”
Arianne cried tears from her eyes. The tears rolled down her cheeks, reached the bottom of her chin, and then dripped onto her shirt. The shirt was red and looked expensive.
To be clear, the Faceless Men I mentioned earlier have heads, just no faces on the front part. They haven’t been decapitated or anything like that.
Daenerys then realized that she probably didn’t need to spend so much time ruling that Egypt-looking place.
The wind whipping at her back, Brienne set sail across the—let’s check the map—Narrow Sea.
The fire was hot. Hot and orange.
Anyway, the good guys lost the battle. But, when you think about it, they also won. Like, in a moral way.
Cersei knew that sitting on a throne made of swords was unbelievably cool. The back pain was worth it.
Then Tyrion said, “[witty thing TBD].”
The ground thudded with her steed’s steady hoofbeats. It would be hours before she reached the mysterious Dornishman, whose letter beseeched her here this night. What did he want?
“Just a bit further,” she whispered into her stallion’s ear. “Then you can rest.”
She eyed the endless black of the night. “Then we can both rest.”
Long story short, she gets there and they screw.