AFFC Critique #1: The Nicknames
Greetings and happy holidays to all. Sorry for the delay in posting, but as you can probably understand, Joey and I have quite a busy holiday season, what with all the family functions, mall openings, and rehab reunions to attend. But as promised, here is the first in what will probably be many critiques on various aspects of The Incredible Bulk's second most-awaited "novel," A Feast For Crows, which is, in general, a pile of crap.
Of course, I’m not telling you anything you don’t already know, because if you are a regular visitor to our little blog, you probably tend to share the collective opinion that most of our readers have. Namely, that if ASOIAF was the Huxtable family, then A Feast For Crows would be the Vanessa. Not much to look at, not very entertaining, and generally a waste of time.
However, as a gift to ASOIAF and FTBG readers everywhere, I have generously forced my way through a second reading of AFFC, in order to elucidate to the world, and to GRRM himself, exactly why this book is so bad. George, if you are reading this, please pay close attention. While you may find Pesci and I to be little more than fruit flies on your Ho-Hos, I think that you should take note of what to avoid when you finally finish ADWD. (Since I'm sure you aren't even half-finished with it, there is plenty of time to enact these changes.)
So recently, I was sitting on my couch, watching the first season of Heroes and contemplating exactly how many hand-painted miniatures I would buy for Joey this Christmas. Joey loves his miniatures, yes he does, but only certain ones. I remember one year I bought him the entire Stark family, formed in glorious pewter and enamel, but he returned all of them and got himself seven different Cersei figurines. In fact, now that I think about it, Joey only likes Cersei figurines. Weird. And creepy, for that matter.
But, I digress.
As I was watching Heroes - not a bad show, I would say, I give that first season a B+ -- I was struck by a couple of parallels I could draw between it and AFFC. First, much like AFFC, and the rest of the series, there are certain characters and plotlines that are far more interesting than others. Some characters do interesting things and go interesting places, while others seem to have the same conversations and problems all the time, no matter at what point in the series you are following them.
However, what struck me more about season one of Heroes is how there are all these people with super powers -- basically comic-book heroes, as you probably know -- and all of them have names like “Matt,” and “Jessica,” and “Nathan.” No “Green Lantern,” no “Silver Surfer,” no “Namor, the Sub-Mariner.” Even though all of the characters of Heroes could easily have given themselves cool hero names, they didn’t.
Now enter AFFC, and my first criticism regarding what GRRM is doing in this terrible, terrible book: the ridiculous obsession with nicknames.
Page through AFFC for a moment - that is, if you haven’t shredded it and given it to a homeless man as insulation for his pants - and you will see what I mean. With limited exceptions, the chapters read something like this:
* * *
THE MAN WITH THE SLASHED VELVET DOUBLET
The Crow’s Eye waited quietly on the Seastone Chair, his eyes locked intently upon The Red Oarsman. Suddenly, the door burst open, and Andrik the Unsmiling strode into the room, red-faced and huffing, his velvet doublet replete with dripping rivulets of scarlet.
“Euron!” he shouted, his hand at his sword-hilt, a jeweled affair boasting a pommel shaped in the fashion of a fierce, sharp-toothed penguin.
“Call me Crow’s Eye,” said Crow’s Eye.
“My apologies,” said the Unsmiling, “I forgot myself. But the Sand Snakes have been spotted traveling upon Nimble Dick’s forgotten mountain path!”
“Have you alerted the Maid of Tarth?”
“Indeed, but Three-Tooth and the Queen of Thorns intercepted our raven to Shitmouth, and now The Sparrows clash with The Drowned Men at the orders of the Kingslayer!”
“Dear gods!” cried the Crow’s Eye. “Get me Wulfe One-Ear and Nute the Barber!”
“Indeed,” replied Andrik. “Shall I alert Ralf the Limper?”
The Crow’s Eye paused. “Which one is he? Is the Stonehouse?”
Andrik shook his head. “No, that’s the other Ralf.”
“I thought the other Ralf was the Maid!”
“No, that’s Qalf! Qalf the Maid!”
“Not Qalf the Thrall?”
“Nope, Qarl the Thrall.”
“Qarl the Thrall?” Euron stamped his foot. “Well then, which one is the Thrice-Drowned?”
“I think that’s the Old Grey Gull. Or maybe the blind guy. I forget.”
“Well then who the fuck is the Darkstar?!”
“I don’t know,” shrugged Andrik. “Some sort of 1994-era PC-based RPG? Whatever it is, it’s a pretty stupid name.”
Euron Crow’s-Eye slumped to the floor, his eyes dead and glazed. “Remember when the Imp and the Kingslayer and the Greatjon were the only people who needed nicknames?”
Andrik crossed to the foot of the dais, taking a seat next to his king. “I sure do,” he said, putting an arm around Euron’s shoulders. “Those were good times. Times where men could be men, with names like Robb, and Tywin, and Hodor.”
“Hodor,” repeated Euron.
“Hodor,” agreed Andrik the Unsmiling. “Now, it’s all Pinchface this and the Bastard that-“
“Even the chapter titles,” mumbled the Crow’s Eye. “I mean, it used to be so easy, naming chapters after characters’ first names. But now…who ever heard of calling a chapter ‘The Princess in the Tower,’ or ‘The Soiled Knight’? It’s all so…so…”
“…confusing?” finished Andrik, his meaty hand rubbing deep into the flesh of Euron’s shoulders, kneading the aches from his muscles.
“Yes!” gasped Euron, arching his back. “Confusing! Why the hell does everyone need a goddamn nickname?! I can’t keep any of it straight.” He sighed. “Maybe I’ll just give it up. Just get on my ship, the Fury, or the Golden Storm, or the Besmirched Splasher, or whatever retarded name I’ve given it, and just go off somewhere new.”
Andrik stroked Euron’s hair softly. “You know I’ve always liked traveling too,” he whispered softly, and their eyes met, deep rippling pools of glistening cobalt, and suddenly Euron felt Andrik’s Lips, the Lips of Storm-Born Love, pressing hard against his, and he surrendered to his hidden passions, kept hidden away for so many long, hard journeys…
* * *
Okay, you get the point, I’m sure. As Joey knows, I already have issues with GRRM’s naming system. The fact that everyone’s last names telegraph what they do (The Redwynes make wine! The Starks come from someplace cold and empty! Arthur Dayne really likes daytime!) is a pretty simplistic and, in my opinion, amateurish writing strategy. However, I will let that go, and accept that this vast, complex world of Westeros maintains such a hamfisted naming system.
But even though I’m willing to accept such a system does not mean I am looking to suddenly delve into the fantasy novel equivalent of G.I. Joe. What the fuck is up with all the nicknames? It’s not enough that AFFC throws an almost entirely new cast of characters at its readers, after they have spent about 2,000 pages reading about a fairly well-contained cast of characters, with peripheral characters moving in and out with regular pacing. Now, we not only have a new group of people about whom we are supposed to care - but don’t, for exactly the reason stated in the previous sentence -- but everyone has two or three different names or nicknames, so the whole thing reads like a Russian novelization of a DC Universe convention.
I mean, the Sand Snakes? Really?
Side note: Here is a great comment on the NAB, one of the few criticisms (or semi-criticisms, in this case) that managed to slip through. Thanks to LJ visitor allmenmustserve for pointing it out in our comments section.
Of course, I’m not telling you anything you don’t already know, because if you are a regular visitor to our little blog, you probably tend to share the collective opinion that most of our readers have. Namely, that if ASOIAF was the Huxtable family, then A Feast For Crows would be the Vanessa. Not much to look at, not very entertaining, and generally a waste of time.
However, as a gift to ASOIAF and FTBG readers everywhere, I have generously forced my way through a second reading of AFFC, in order to elucidate to the world, and to GRRM himself, exactly why this book is so bad. George, if you are reading this, please pay close attention. While you may find Pesci and I to be little more than fruit flies on your Ho-Hos, I think that you should take note of what to avoid when you finally finish ADWD. (Since I'm sure you aren't even half-finished with it, there is plenty of time to enact these changes.)
So recently, I was sitting on my couch, watching the first season of Heroes and contemplating exactly how many hand-painted miniatures I would buy for Joey this Christmas. Joey loves his miniatures, yes he does, but only certain ones. I remember one year I bought him the entire Stark family, formed in glorious pewter and enamel, but he returned all of them and got himself seven different Cersei figurines. In fact, now that I think about it, Joey only likes Cersei figurines. Weird. And creepy, for that matter.
But, I digress.
As I was watching Heroes - not a bad show, I would say, I give that first season a B+ -- I was struck by a couple of parallels I could draw between it and AFFC. First, much like AFFC, and the rest of the series, there are certain characters and plotlines that are far more interesting than others. Some characters do interesting things and go interesting places, while others seem to have the same conversations and problems all the time, no matter at what point in the series you are following them.
However, what struck me more about season one of Heroes is how there are all these people with super powers -- basically comic-book heroes, as you probably know -- and all of them have names like “Matt,” and “Jessica,” and “Nathan.” No “Green Lantern,” no “Silver Surfer,” no “Namor, the Sub-Mariner.” Even though all of the characters of Heroes could easily have given themselves cool hero names, they didn’t.
Now enter AFFC, and my first criticism regarding what GRRM is doing in this terrible, terrible book: the ridiculous obsession with nicknames.
Page through AFFC for a moment - that is, if you haven’t shredded it and given it to a homeless man as insulation for his pants - and you will see what I mean. With limited exceptions, the chapters read something like this:
* * *
THE MAN WITH THE SLASHED VELVET DOUBLET
The Crow’s Eye waited quietly on the Seastone Chair, his eyes locked intently upon The Red Oarsman. Suddenly, the door burst open, and Andrik the Unsmiling strode into the room, red-faced and huffing, his velvet doublet replete with dripping rivulets of scarlet.
“Euron!” he shouted, his hand at his sword-hilt, a jeweled affair boasting a pommel shaped in the fashion of a fierce, sharp-toothed penguin.
“Call me Crow’s Eye,” said Crow’s Eye.
“My apologies,” said the Unsmiling, “I forgot myself. But the Sand Snakes have been spotted traveling upon Nimble Dick’s forgotten mountain path!”
“Have you alerted the Maid of Tarth?”
“Indeed, but Three-Tooth and the Queen of Thorns intercepted our raven to Shitmouth, and now The Sparrows clash with The Drowned Men at the orders of the Kingslayer!”
“Dear gods!” cried the Crow’s Eye. “Get me Wulfe One-Ear and Nute the Barber!”
“Indeed,” replied Andrik. “Shall I alert Ralf the Limper?”
The Crow’s Eye paused. “Which one is he? Is the Stonehouse?”
Andrik shook his head. “No, that’s the other Ralf.”
“I thought the other Ralf was the Maid!”
“No, that’s Qalf! Qalf the Maid!”
“Not Qalf the Thrall?”
“Nope, Qarl the Thrall.”
“Qarl the Thrall?” Euron stamped his foot. “Well then, which one is the Thrice-Drowned?”
“I think that’s the Old Grey Gull. Or maybe the blind guy. I forget.”
“Well then who the fuck is the Darkstar?!”
“I don’t know,” shrugged Andrik. “Some sort of 1994-era PC-based RPG? Whatever it is, it’s a pretty stupid name.”
Euron Crow’s-Eye slumped to the floor, his eyes dead and glazed. “Remember when the Imp and the Kingslayer and the Greatjon were the only people who needed nicknames?”
Andrik crossed to the foot of the dais, taking a seat next to his king. “I sure do,” he said, putting an arm around Euron’s shoulders. “Those were good times. Times where men could be men, with names like Robb, and Tywin, and Hodor.”
“Hodor,” repeated Euron.
“Hodor,” agreed Andrik the Unsmiling. “Now, it’s all Pinchface this and the Bastard that-“
“Even the chapter titles,” mumbled the Crow’s Eye. “I mean, it used to be so easy, naming chapters after characters’ first names. But now…who ever heard of calling a chapter ‘The Princess in the Tower,’ or ‘The Soiled Knight’? It’s all so…so…”
“…confusing?” finished Andrik, his meaty hand rubbing deep into the flesh of Euron’s shoulders, kneading the aches from his muscles.
“Yes!” gasped Euron, arching his back. “Confusing! Why the hell does everyone need a goddamn nickname?! I can’t keep any of it straight.” He sighed. “Maybe I’ll just give it up. Just get on my ship, the Fury, or the Golden Storm, or the Besmirched Splasher, or whatever retarded name I’ve given it, and just go off somewhere new.”
Andrik stroked Euron’s hair softly. “You know I’ve always liked traveling too,” he whispered softly, and their eyes met, deep rippling pools of glistening cobalt, and suddenly Euron felt Andrik’s Lips, the Lips of Storm-Born Love, pressing hard against his, and he surrendered to his hidden passions, kept hidden away for so many long, hard journeys…
* * *
Okay, you get the point, I’m sure. As Joey knows, I already have issues with GRRM’s naming system. The fact that everyone’s last names telegraph what they do (The Redwynes make wine! The Starks come from someplace cold and empty! Arthur Dayne really likes daytime!) is a pretty simplistic and, in my opinion, amateurish writing strategy. However, I will let that go, and accept that this vast, complex world of Westeros maintains such a hamfisted naming system.
But even though I’m willing to accept such a system does not mean I am looking to suddenly delve into the fantasy novel equivalent of G.I. Joe. What the fuck is up with all the nicknames? It’s not enough that AFFC throws an almost entirely new cast of characters at its readers, after they have spent about 2,000 pages reading about a fairly well-contained cast of characters, with peripheral characters moving in and out with regular pacing. Now, we not only have a new group of people about whom we are supposed to care - but don’t, for exactly the reason stated in the previous sentence -- but everyone has two or three different names or nicknames, so the whole thing reads like a Russian novelization of a DC Universe convention.
I mean, the Sand Snakes? Really?
Side note: Here is a great comment on the NAB, one of the few criticisms (or semi-criticisms, in this case) that managed to slip through. Thanks to LJ visitor allmenmustserve for pointing it out in our comments section.