Between two fighters, the third one always wins.....

Ever since I began reading The Mystery of Edwin Drood by Charles Dickens, A Game of Thrones by George R.R. Martin, sitting on my bedside table, has been taunting me to the point of unending annoyance. So much so that my eyes were crossing over Dickens’ words multiple times as I attempted to fall into the mystery, that, apparently would have to be set aside while I saw what all the fuss was about within the pages of Thrones.

When I first acquired A Game of Thrones, I did not realize the breadth of the pages that were to sit before me: approximately 840 with small typeset words. Notwithstanding the fact that I must squint to read the words, and read them slowly so as not to become cross-eyed, the strong graphic descriptions and raging violence is unflinching, and makes me cringe.

And, if impartial truth must be known, there is so much background information and too many characters to meet that I’m careworn to absorb it all. It is all so overwhelming, and I am none too patient to continue, so having lost my momentum with The Mystery of Edwin Drood, thanks to A Game of Thrones, I am now going to set these two aside as I do believe that the old adage is true: 'best served cold'.

In the meantime, I’ve decided to go on a little trip with Peter and Max.