A Dance with Dragons [Import] [Hardcover]

George R. R. Martin (Author)

Product Details

• Hardcover: 704 pages
• Publisher: Harper Voyager (2011)
• Language: English
• ISBN-10: 0002247399
• ISBN-13: 978-0002247399
• Product Dimensions: 9.4 x 6.1 x 2.8 inches
• Shipping Weight: 3.2 pounds
• Average Customer Review: 2.8 out of 5 stars  See all reviews (1,606 customer reviews)
• Amazon Best Sellers Rank: #1,573,514 in Books (See Top 100 in Books)

More About the Author

George R.R. Martin sold his first story in 1971 and has been writing professionally since then. He spent ten years in Hollywood as a writer-producer, working on The Twilight Zone, Beauty and the Beast, and various feature films and television pilots that were never made. In the mid '90s he returned to prose, his first love, and began work on his epic fantasy series, A Song of Ice and Fire. He has been in the Seven Kingdoms ever since. Whenever he's allowed to leave, he returns to Santa Fe, New Mexico, where he lives with the lovely Parris, and two cats named Augustus and Caligula, who think they run the place.

Customer Reviews

Most Helpful Customer Reviews

1,801 of 1,971 people found the following review helpful:

3.0 out of 5 stars These dragons don't dance, they stumble., July 14, 2011

By 

Kate Morris "now with 52% more minty freshness" (Barrie, Ontario Canada) - See all my reviews
(REAL NAME)   

This review is from: A Dance with Dragons: A Song of Ice and Fire: Book Five (Hardcover)

In "A Dance with Dragons," George R.R. Martin seems to have ripped out a page from his own self-written guide to writing a good story, and replaced it with a page from Robert Jordan's version - and in both cases, the change was very much for the worse.

The page he borrowed could charitably be called "Setup," or "Preparation," or even given some grandiose description about the "careful movement and positioning of critical pieces on a game board." In practical terms, though, it comes down to "Delay," "Pointless Stalling," and would be more accurately summed up as "an entire book about multiple characters wandering slowly across the world to approach - but never reach - a place in which something interesting has the potential to happen." For example, everyone's favourite dwarf has a simple goal: he wants to throw in his lot with the dragon queen, offering her whatever advice and wisdom he can. A noble goal, that, and one that would do a great deal to move the story along - his cynicism would open her eyes about some pretty important things. But does he make it to her? Not in this book! No, he's far too busy being packed into barrels like Bilbo the hobbit, swapping tales with cheese lords, being lost, found, sold, and bought, falling in with slaves and signing paper for sellswords, and even being saddled with a plucky lady-dwarf sidekick who continually tells him that he should stop causing trouble and just focus on making the big people laugh, because that's what dwarves are for. In Westeros during the previous four books, he was known and feared as Tyrion of House Lannister, Halfman to the wild mountain tribes, former Hand of the King, unsung hero of Blackwater Bay, the Imp, kinslayer and Kingslayer both; in Essos during this book, all he really manages to do is play a lot of Stratego, reminisce about a previously-unmentioned happy boyhood of gymnastics training in the art of dwarfish capering, and fall convincingly off a trained pig.

The same song is sung throughout the book: nobody actually *gets* anywhere. In Meereen, Daenerys mopes, sighs, tosses her braids, and moons over a pretty boy. On the Wall, Jon Snow hems, haws, asks everyone within earshot for advice on what to do, then completely ignores all of the advice to do something entirely different while complaining about how nobody supports him. Stannis grits his teeth, Melisandre misinterprets prophecies, Dolorous Edd makes comments about mules. A new character is introduced who represents either the most vibrantly crimson scarlet of red herrings, or George R.R. Martin on waterskis leaping majestically over a great white shark; the jury's still out on the kid, but it *is* safe to say that he spends half the book marching determinedly in one direction before abruptly turning around and charging off on completely the opposite course.

And then, there's the issue of the page missing from this book, the page that had elevated the first three books so high above the likes of Goodkind or Jordan. It's the page called "Caprice," or "Injustice," or maybe "Nobody is Safe." It's the page on which he knowingly and thoroughly subverted the standard fantasy tropes of good triumphing over evil, of all death being either deserved (if the deceased was a bad guy, like for instance an orc) or deeply meaningful (a sacrifice, like Boromir dying to protect the hobbits). The previous books used that page, and used it well. No character was sacred: anyone could die at any time, for any reason - or for no reason at all - because the world was a cruel and merciless and fickle place, and justice and honor and fair treatment were exceptions rather than rules.

In "A Dance with Dragons," though - and in "A Feast for Crows," to an extent - that page is notably absent. The Onion Knight, by this point, has gone through more lives than the average cat; while I have great fondness for the character, I almost wish Martin *would* kill him off just so the poor soul could rest. Whenever Arya gets a knife pressed against her throat, it turns out to be a well-meaning rescuer offering her a haircut. Mance dies then reappears good as new, Catelyn died and reappeared (somewhat the worse for wear, in her case), ghosts from the past pop up alive and well and living in the Westerosi equivalent of Paris. At this point, I'm more than half-expecting Khal Drogo to ride up on a skeletal horse and say "Hey Dany babe, I busted out of the nightlands, let's cross the poison water before my afterlife parole officer finds out I'm here." A Song of Ice and Fire has gone from "Nobody is Safe" to "Every Main Character is Totally Safe at this Point," and the suspense is just *gone*.

So, after all that, do I regret reading "A Dance with Dragons"? No. The sad truth is, even a mediocre George R.R. Martin book is better than most of the other offerings in the genre. My thoughtful boyfriend bought it for me on iBooks the very hour it was released, and I'm sincerely grateful that he did, and I'll buy and enjoy the next one just as promptly.

But even though this book was good enough, it can't help but suffer by comparison to the others. On its own merits, I rated "A Dance with Dragons" 3/5 stars; compared to the magnificence of the first three, though, it's more like a 1.5/5.

578 of 629 people found the following review helpful:

3.0 out of 5 stars Honest review from a fan, July 14, 2011

By 

Lucas Diego (Redding, California) - See all my reviews

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This review is from: A Dance with Dragons: A Song of Ice and Fire: Book Five (Hardcover)

So, to lighten the blow a little first, I will make it clear that I am a GRRM fan and a fan of the Song of Ice and Fire series. Like many others, I think the first three books were some of the best fantasy books ever written. They held my interest like few others, took directions many other writers would not dare to take and had me itching to read the next. I'm a fan who checked on the status of this book at least a couple dozen times through each year to see how the progress was coming and I'm a fan who also believes in a writer taking the time he or she needs to do it properly.

That said, Feast for Crows and now, Dance with Dragons (and I really hate to say this) bored me, and honestly, while I wouldn't mind reading how the story ends I really don't care that much if the series is finished or not at this point. I may just be a lowly customer, reader, and fan so what would I know about editing, story-building, etc., and GRRM may be the professional writer and it went through professional editors but for all the good narrative style and use of language and description, it seems they made a cardinal writing sin:

Not keeping the story moving.

I believe at this point in a book series' life, the story needs to be picking up faster and faster. You need downtimes of course, and a little exposition in each book to get everyone up to speed again is a good thing...but not through the majority of the book.

I really feel that Feast for Crows and Dance with Dragons are books that shouldn't have been written. I understand that the author originally planned a time skip by five years after Storm of Swords and honestly, I felt that would have been better. Between the two books, I just felt very little moved forward in terms of the actual story.

Of course, there will be many and probably the majority disagreeing with me and that is their full right to do so. We're all entitled to our opinions. If you loved Feast for Crows and Dance with Dragons or just love to soak up everything you can from the story's world, then that's awesome. I wish I could have enjoyed them as much as you. I really do.

But I didn't.

618 of 674 people found the following review helpful:

2.0 out of 5 stars THE EMBITTERED READER, August 24, 2011

By 

kehnonymous - See all my reviews

This review is from: A Dance with Dragons: A Song of Ice and Fire: Book Five (Hardcover)

(why yes, I am mocking GRRM's stylistic excess as part of this review)

He broke his fast with boiled neeps, and shivering stew, washed down with a flagon of Dornish ale. The grease from stewed salt pork clung to his gristly beard as he donned a slashed velvet doublet of purple satin, emblazoned with the crest of Ser Eddard Bauer. Over his smallclothes, he wore black pantaloons. He clambered into his Honda and began the short journey west, bearing northwards along the interstate. He turned left, edging his way past opposing traffic. If I look back, I am lost.

His office was a dull brown keep that sat astride the Crown Road. His desk was hidden behind a soundproofed beige cubicle and was lined with a faux wood finish. Reek, reek, it rhymes with teak.

He had finished A Dance with Dragons not a noonsday before and wondered if in truth he had finished the entire series. George R. R. Martin is so constipated from the fawnings of his lickspittles and self-indulgent side stories that he's not like to drop another turd of a novel anytime soon, if the last decade has told it true, he thought to himself.

He smirked at his own witticism. "It is known" he said aloud to himself.

To tell it true, he had enjoyed several parts of the novel. Jon Snow's first chapter was strong, as were the Bran and Davos chapters. He'd not expected that. Many of the early story arcs had glistened wetly with promise but of these Martin had written little and less as the book wore on. Of Dany's aimless navel-gazing, there'd been much and more. Asha and Victarion vied for the distinction of the most pointless Greyjoy POV. Ariane Martell had twisted her teats for naught, for her brother Quentyn's chapters proved to be as useless as nipples on a breastplate. Gods be good, he thought, the fat man teased us with Feast's Dorne chapters for.... this?

And Jaime... that had been the cruelest jape of all. Best that Martin had left out his sole chapter. Though, given the masturbatory excess of Dance's prose, Martin could have learned a thing or two from a man who'd had to make do without his sword hand.

The epilogue was a satisfying end to an unsavory meal, but even the most succulent lemoncake doesn't salvage a bland and unfilling meal of gruel. In truth, it should've been left in A Feast for Crows, along with Cersei's chapters. At least then at least one of the novels from the last ten years would've amounted to more than a mummer's farce.

He set down his copy of A Dance with Dragons with an unsatisfying thud. Words are wind, he mused. Speaking of which... He raised a leg and broke his word. It smelt of stale bacon grease and mashed neeps.

By then, his bladder was full to bursting from the morning's coffee, so he headed to the latrine before he pissed his smallclothes. Reek, reek, it rhymes with leak. Along the way, he passed the receptionist from the adjoining office. She was a pretty brown-haired thing, a woman of about four-and-twenty, fully flowered.

"Where do whores go?", he asked her.

She slapped him.

He entered the men's bathroom and undid his breeches. The urinals were crofted from gleaming white porcelain and bore the seal of American Standard. Whilst it received his golden stream of the morning's piss, he contemplated how this was a metaphor for how Ser Martin had raised the leg and done the same to the continuity of A Song of Ice and Fire and the first three books.

He angrily composed an e-mail to Martin's editor whilst zipping up his breeches. He was only a man grown, unskilled in the ways of editing, but such was his wroth.

You know nothing, Anne Groell...