The "Humane" Narrative Pacing of George R.R. Martin's *A Game of Thrones*

Biographical aside: I finished my writing my dissertation prospectus, had it approved by my advisory committee, and then I circulated my approved document to my department. And so, that means I'm pretty much "go for launch" as far as my dissertation is concerned. This feels really good.

To celebrate, I allowed myself to fully indulge in a long fantasy novel, George R.R. Martin's, A Game of Thrones. I've been spending about 2 or 3 hours a day reading this monster. And, in spite of that, I'm still only about two thirds of the way through it. The slow pace by which I'm moving through A Game of Thrones has given me pause. Thus, I want to reflect this morning on "narrative pacing" in the "contemporary" fantasy novel (i.e. mid-1990s to today).

Fast and Slow Narrative Pacing

What do I mean by "narrative pacing"? I mean, the speed by which the narrative of the novel is related. Better to just give some examples of what I'm thinking: a fantasy novel with fast narrative pacing would have lots of crisis events very quickly. For example, in the first 3 pages there might be a fight; or the villain might make an appearance; or the major psychological conflict of the protagonist might be related. A fantasy novel with slow narrative pacing would have very few crisis events in the opening pages. Lots of time would be spent on characterization, the description of environment, the establishment of ambiance.

This distinction between slow narrative pacing and fast narrative pacing is very simplistic and I'm not suggesting we can easily fold any book into this framework. It is useful, I think, to consider how quickly a story is told. To do so throws into focus something very interesting George R.R. Martin does.

I'm not done with the novel yet, but I can tell you this: its narrative pace is very, very slow. The predominant narrative mode of the story is what I like to call the "cafe scene," by which I mean a scene that consists of a lot of folks talking about what's happening, very often over beverages (tea, ale, coffee, etc.) Indeed, the vast majority of the plot in A Game of Thrones is related, I think, through dialogue among the characters. You learn who each character is, what kind of character they are, what their desires are, where they are going, etc. etc., through their spoken words, their "direct discourse" (as narrative theorists would call it). Indeed, we might think about A Game of Thrones as a collection of dialogues as opposed to traditional novel.

There's something interesting about dialog, and this is connected to temporality. Dialog unfolds in a kind of "real time." Let me explain by highlighting an extended passage. Tyrion Lannister is yelling at his nephew Joffrey for not offering condolences to Catelyn Stark:

"You get yourself to Lord and Lady Stark, and you fall on your knees in front of them, and you tell them how very sorry you are, and that you are at their service if there is the slightest thing you can do for them or theirs in this desperate hour, and that all your prayers go with with them" (88, Bantam Edition)

As you read this the scene is mentally actualized in your mind in a specific temporal fashion: you're forced into the role of the "listener" of this dialog; thus, you, as reader, are forced into same temporal positon as the two folks having dialog, Joffrey and Tyrion. Let me try to make things clear by offering a contrast. You won't find this line in A Game of Thrones:

"Tyrion chastised Joffrey for 10 years. The boy grew up to hate him."

The temporal perspective here is much wider. The amount of years that are narrated are not connected to a basic human perspective. Here we've adopted a kind of "historical" stance.

Conclusion

What strikes me about A Game of Thrones is how it always seems anchored in that specific, human temporality. The events unfold--this is a strange way of putting things--in real time. We become "embedded" in the human perspectives of the characters. Martin does this very well. But, I think this is a narrative characteristic of much of the contemporary fantasy coming out now. That's why these novels are getting to be so very huge.

The Moral Maturity of *Game of Thrones*

So last night my wife and I purchased a blu ray edition of Game of Thrones, a fantasy drama television series produced by HBO based on the first novel in A Song of Fire and Ice, a series of low fantasy novels by George R.R. Martin set in his fantasy world, Westeros. I'd seen the series before and loved it. Last night we watched the first episode, titled, "Winter is Coming."

Let me get the obligatory recommendation out of the way: if you haven't seen this show and you like fantasy and drama, I recommend it. Highly recommend it. It's subtle fantasy. It's nuanced. It's more about the characters and their struggles with personal circumstances and less about sorcerers and orcs and magical rings.

I'm inclined to compare the show to Peter Jackson's The Lord of Rings. I want to say, "if you like LOTR, then you'll love Game of Thrones." For most people this may be true. For some, it wouldn't be true at all. Why? Martin's work (and by extension, the show) is very dark in comparison to LOTR.

In LOTR good and evil are quite clearly defined. The bad guys look like bad guys. The good guys look like good guys.

Things aren't that simple in Game of Thrones.

A major theme of that novel and this show is how morality is not not black and white but more gray (to say nothing of the fact that a major confrontation in the show is between "The Night's Watch"--who wear all black--and "White Walkers"--who are, umm, white). The major conflict of the show is not some glorious battle between good and evil, between a dark lord and an angel; rather, it's a civil war.

Martin has a way of making you hate someone, and then making you love that that same character. It explodes your moral paradigms I think. Just as quickly as you turn a character into a monster, they become a human again. I call this "moral maturity."

The moral maturity of this show allegorically resonates to the extent that the novel (and show) end up focusing on some pretty serious, "adult" themes. As in the novel, sex is all over the place in the show. I have a hunch on that point, though; I get the sense that HBO producers--enjoying their "premium cable" affordances--throw in graphic and sometimes gratuitous sex just for the sake of it sometimes.

 Neither here nor there. Not only is the show mature in terms of graphic sexual material, it's mature in terms of its moral material. Adult in content. Adult in theme.

A Review of "A Game of Thrones: The Board Game"

So, I really enjoy George R.R. Martin’s, A Song of Fire and Ice. I also enjoy the HBO’s adaptation of A Game of Thrones. And so, I was somewhat excited when my sister-in-law, Beth, got a copy of Fantasy Flight’s A Game of Thrones: the Board Game (2nd edition). It took us a while to get around to it, but last night Beth, my wife Nicole, and I gave it a try.

Sidenote: It should be made clear: this isn’t the board game adaptation of the HBO adaptation of A Game of Thrones. This is a board game based on the novel, and so folks coming to it expecting film stills from the HBO production—images of Sean Bean and Emmy-award winning actor Peter Dinklage—will be disappointed (not that there’s anything wrong with the HBO production. It’s great! I’m looking forward to season 2.)

A brief historical excursion: 

In the past I’ve tended to be less of a “boardgamer” and more of an RPGer. Although I’ve preferred tabletop roleplaying games since I started playing them, I’ve also greatly enjoyed strategy games like Risk, Axis and Allies, Squad Leader, and Shogun. But about seven years ago, after I graduated from undergrad, I made contact with a really great group of boardgamers through a co-worker of mine. They introduced me to all sorts of boardgames: The Settlers of Catan, Ticket to Ride, Puerto Rico (yes, the game, not the country).

Since then, I’ve been eager to play more "euro" board games. Of late, my favorite game is Arkham Horror, published by Fantasy Flight Games. This is a great game set in the world of H.P. Lovecraft’s fiction and Cthulhu Mythos.

Back to the game:

Which reminds me: A Game of Thrones: the Board Game is published by Fantasy Flight Games. When I learned this, I was excited, because they have a very good reputation as a game company and their version of Arkham Horror is so fun.

Let me be up front: I loved the game. I think it has great potential for “cloak and dagger” intrigue (alas, not much of this happened with just 3 players).

Unlike other strategy board games, like, say, Axis and Allies, the point is not simply to build armies and deploy battle tactics. You could conceivably win this game by taking no military actions whatsoever. Also, the battle mechanic in this game is somewhat simplified, making players consider alternatives to victory.

That’s another important element of the game: it’s diceless. There is no random element, other than a few decks of cards that generate events each turn. I love that. I like the idea of diceless games.

I’m sure everyone who has played the Risk has experienced this irritating phenomenon: when you attack, say, Madagascar with 30 armies and your opponent--the dice having been bespelled by dark sorcery--defends with one army. Yeah. Statistics. Kind of silly.

There’s something to be said about diceless games: you can’t claim the dice were in your favor or they were against you. If you win, you win; if you lose, you lose.

Another thing that has to be noted about this game is the artwork. It’s beautiful! The tokens, the figurines, the cards, the game board map: all of it is just so-detailed, skillfully drawn, and truly captures the essence of Martin’s continent of Westeros.

I’m sure this artwork has been doctorted up digitally (who doesn’t do this these days?). And yet, theres that raw “brush stroke” quality to the artwork that is missing in a lot of the contemporary gaming art I encounter.

One last thing that makes this game fun: in spite of it being a cloak-and-dagger, stab-eachother-in-the-back sort of game, there is also a mechanic that forces you to occasionally come together in the name of Westeros: the wildling attack. There are some pretty horrible consequences for a wildling victory. This is a great additon for a game like this, I think. Taking out your enemy becomes more of a moral dilemma when you know they are all that’s seperating you from the hordes to the north.

Conclusion: 4.5 stars out of 5. 

By the way, here’s a link to my Boardgame Geek profile. I’m new on there, and so I’d be eager to make any connection! Jason's Board Game Geek Profile