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Life According to Nobody

At this point, everyone and their dog knows about Game of Thrones. If they haven't read the books or watched the TV show, they've at least had to listen to their friends and family droning on about the Red Wedding and Jon Snow and blah blah blah...

I feel like I'm flogging a dead horse, talking about it on here, but I promised I would review the books I have read, so review it I shall. In case you had any doubt, it's incredible. I'm not what you'd call an avid reader and the though of 780 pages of battles, rape and murder isn't really my literature of choice. I loved the TV show, and I mean loved it. The first few seasons (which are made up of the plot from Book 1) sucked me in to this fantasy world.

George R.R. Martin has this amazing talent of switching between the narrative of the characters to make to story flow seamlessly along. The world of Game of Thrones is vast with so many different families, houses, kingdoms, tribes and races, but Martin breaks it up into manageable chunks by switching between the perspectives of 7 of the main characters. Catelyn, Eddard, Arya, Jon, Tyrion and Daenerys are all of different ages, houses, histories and opinions and, by exploring each character's plot line, the author is able to describe the world in such depth without burying us in endless dull details.

We learn of the history of the Seven Kingdoms, of the Old Gods and the New, what lies beyond the wall and the feuds between great houses whilst falling in love with so many characters. Good old Georgey manages to slaughter almost every character you grow attached to within seconds of them finding a place in your heart. Even though I already knew what was going to happen, I still felt the wave of emotion sweeping over me as Ilyn Payne unsheathed Ice on the step of the Sept of Baelor. The way  George R.R. Martin writes makes the characters come alive.

Now, we all know how complicated the plot is and I can admit, I'm a little lost when it comes to who is claiming what in the show. But having it in words in front of you with a handy dandy map at the start of the book really helps you understand who the seven thousand different knights are and who their allegiances are to. Eve if you've seen the show, I'd still recommend reading the books. There's so many tiny little important details that are glossed over in the TV show that are emphasised in the books. READ THEM!!

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[It's been a while since I put pen to paper and actually wrote something. I've been busy with exams and boys and sunshine but yesterday I just sat down and let the metaphorical juices low. It might be the start of nothing but I got it down on paper, which is a lot betther than anything else I've done recently]

It was a normal summer evening. Flora sat by the river, dropping stones into the flowing water and watching them sink down. Her cotton tunic clung to her as the [burning] sun fell below the tree line. Looking around, she gently began to peel off the layers of clothing from her damp skin. Slipping off her undergarments, she waded slowly into the cool water. As the icy liquid lapped around her waist, she sucked in her breath, plunging her body under the crystal clear water. She forced her eyes open, looking around as the water rushed through her hair. Her mother had always warned against swimming in the river. “Those currents shall sweep your feet from under you and carry you down to the Dark Lake,” she’d say, a stern look in her eyes. Flora had assure her that she had a sure footing but her mother had forbade her to go down to the river, in spite of Flora’s [arguing].
 She had still managed to sneak out of the castle walls, telling her handmaidens that she was going down to the stables to feed her mare. The Shanta and Lyra despised the stench of horses that stuck to your clothes, along with the foul manner of the peasant stable boys. Flora didn’t mind it. She had walked straight out of the castle gates, without a problem, telling anyone who asked that her handmaidens had arranged a carriage to take her in to town to visit the Great Market.
A school of sticklebat streamed past her, splitting around her waist and momentarily engulfing her in a blanket of slippery red scales. She stretched her fingers out, reaching for the tiny fish as they darted away, slipping into that undercurrents that carried them away. Then the familiar stinging began. She felt her heart begin to beat faster in her ears and throat, a fire beginning to burn in her lungs as her body struggled for air. Reluctantly, she placed her feet on the smooth, mossy riverbed and pushing her body out of the cool water. She took a deep breath as her body hit the surface, shivering as the cool breeze brushed against her wet skin. She opened her eyes, seeing the vibrant amber sky as sunset loomed. It was getting late, mother would be looking for her. She couldn’t stand another lecture from mother. She turned back to the bank of the river to where her clothes had laid.
A young man, only a few years older than her stood on the bank, pinching her undergarments between thumb forefingers, inspecting them with half-curiosity, half-pleasure. Flora yelped, ducking her head under the water, once more and throwing her arm over her breasts, blushing. She heard a voice, muffled by the water in her ears. She peaked only her head out of the water, taking care to cover the rest of herself with her hands as she grew increasingly aware of how transparent the water around her was. “Goodness, fair maiden, I’m so terribly sorry,” the boy stuttered. He had spun around, his back facing Flora. “I swear by the gods I didn’t know you were there. I was not watching you. I was just walking along the riverbank with my dog. I meant not any harm. I found your clothes and then you appeared… without clothes.”
A giggle escaped Flora’s mouth. She waded out of the river and stood over her clothes. “May I please have my undergarments,” she laughed. The boy had forgotten to drop them as he had turned around, flustered at the sight of the naked girl.
“Good gods, yes, of course, I’m sorry. Here.” He craned his arm around, taking care to close his eyes as he handed Flora the cloth. Flora looked around as she pulled her clothes back on.
“I don’t see a dog,” she remarked, pulling her tunic over her head. “You may turn around.”
“Yes, you see, he ran off and I was loo-” the boy froze as he turned around to look at Flora. “You’re- you’re Lady Ringwell. Oh gods help me. I’ll be hung. Forgive me m’lady.” He bowed low, before dropping to her feet. “Pray, believe me, I was not peeping. Please don’t take my head.”
Flora laughed again, “Lady Ringwell is my mother. I’m simply Flora. Mother tells me I’m not fit for the label of a Lady. And don’t worry, your head is safe on your shoulders. Do stand up. You’ll dirty your clothes in the mud. What may I call you?”
“Tom,” he said, rising to his feet but keeping his head bowed low.
“Of course it is,” Flora chuckled, running her fingers through her auburn locks and tying them back from her face loosely with a ribbon from around her wrist. “Peeping Tom.”
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I READ A BOOK


Now, as a future English Literature major, this shouldn't be as remarkable as it is. I've talked on here before about my lack of drive to read as I went through high school. But I did it. I got back in to reading and my eyes have been opened to the absolute joy that is escaping from my dull, mundane life into the exploits of characters and other people.

Now, if you're planning on getting back in to treading after taking what feels like a life-long break, may I strongly suggest you don't start it with non-fiction. Non-fiction is renowned for being dull and boring and factual and an absolute drag and why, when trying to convince yourself to read again, would you start with that? In saying this, the first book I read when I started reading again was non-fiction. I know, I know, I read the previous sentence too. Bear with me.


Let me introduce you to Dr. Henry Marsh. He is the 'leading British neurosurgeon, and a pioneer of neurosurgical advances in Ukraine' and, in my opinion, a little bit of a hero. He wrote a book called Do No Harm about his life, his career and, most interestingly, the human brain.

Now, as a little kid, I'd always dreamed of being a doctor. I think most of us do at some point, but as I grew up I began to realised that dream was little more than and idle fantasy. The human body has always fascinated me but I just didn't have the brains or the dedication to pursue a career in medicine. Also the blood *shiver*.

But Mr. Marsh really managed to grasp my attention. He describes complex neurological phenomena with ease and slips in endearing anecdotes about his family and his patients at the same time. The doctor opens our eyes to the political struggle between management and medical staff in hospitals, the painful experiences bot patients and consultants must go through in their medical lifetimes and simultaneously leaves us in awe of the work him and his colleagues do, working on the most fragile, complicated organ in our body.

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About Me

About Me
I'm a twenty-something English and Philosophy Student bumbling through life, throwing words into the void

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