all fictions
I hate you! (it's not against the rules!)
- Location
- Mons Regius
- Pronouns
- He/Him
Yes really.Really? Cause it seems like it's done nothing but deconstruct shit from start to finish in the books.
"Men's lives have meaning, not their deaths" is the closest we've gotten to an overarching thesis statement for ASOIAF, along with Septon Meribald's Broken Men speech and Ellaria Sand's speech about the futility of vengeance. It reaches all the way back to the first book, to Ned (who turns out to not be the protagonist after all) and his shocking demise. So many readers have interpreted that moment, as well as the Red Wedding two books later, as being indicative of nihilism on GRRM's part. Everything is chaos, honor gets you killed and is therefore worthless, "power is power." But this is not so.
Ned's legacy is not his death, it is his life. The children determined to find each other again because Dad taught them to stick together and be brave, the vassals who have set out to rescue and restore those children in his name ("the Ned's little girl"), the memory both in-universe and IRL of a decent man who treated his servants like human beings worth listening to and who was determined to protect the young and innocent…all of this is the meaning of Ned Stark, not that he ended up as a head on a spike.
Heck, let's go even further, to Waymar Royce's brave last stand against the Others in the series' opening pages. We didn't think that highly of Waymar Royce at first: he's a jumped-up noble brat that is wearing the wrong clothes for ranging and don't listen to his companions' advices. But when it mattered most, the guy went down with real courage, standing his grounds against monsters from a thought-to-be mythical past, demonstrating there's more to him than bluster and arrogance.
This is why I think ASOIAF is more reconstructive than deconstructive, not tearing the genre apart so much as reminding readers of why it was worth falling in love with in the first place. It's not that being the hero is stupid, it's that being the hero is hard, and you might fail at it. But that doesn't mean the attempt is worthless.
The true mark of a hero is facing a situation in which you will not be rewarded for doing the right thing–it might even get you killed–but you do it anyway, to emphasize that heroism means something more than being the main character and ending up on top at the end.
Many books in the fantasy genre promised social rewards for doing the right thing. In book after book, if you were good—and in these books, it was easy as (hot) pie to be good—you would be king, and the land would prosper because of the king's goodness. ASOIAF argues that it is not easy to be good, and that the rewards for being so are not automatic, but that this only makes it all the more powerful if you choose to do the right thing anyway. ("No chance, and no choice.") It's also about divorcing doing the right thing from social rewards and status–the former does not automatically lead to the latter, and achieving the latter doesn't mean you've accomplished the former. Like Jaime learning to separate external honor from internal honor, and thus deciding he is going to be honorable according to himself, not how others view him. It's also like Stannis telling Jon that he intends to let the wildlings through the Wall despite the certainty that this will hurt his prospects with the Northern nobility because "when the cold winds rise, we shall live or die together." There's an immense catharsis to be found in these moments, in which characters discover what their values really are when the pretense of being rewarded for them is stripped away.
It's a very existential brand of romanticism. The truest of all knights is Brienne of Tarth, and she's not even a knight. The truest of all lords is Davos Seaworth, born a nobody in Flea Bottom.
"No chance, and no choice" from Brienne VII in AFFC is probably the best example in ASOIAF. Brienne is heavily outnumbered by Rorge's band of psychos 7-to-1 and knows she is almost certainly screwed if she steps out from the shadows and challenges them. She could very easily hide, let them inflict horrors on the kids at the inn at the crossroads, and move on safe and sound when they're gone. But despite having "no chance," she takes them on anyway, because in order to be the true knight she wants to be despite everyone telling her she can't, she has "no choice" but to defend those kids to the last breath. After all, the knightly oaths say: "I charge you to be brave, I charge you to be just, I charge you to defend the young and innocent." Like her ancestor Dunk, she's "a knight who remembered his vows" while technically having never taken those vows–this is the author separating the values of knighthood from the social systems in which they're embedded. Being a knight isn't automatically a good thing, but striving for the ideals of knighthood is. Gregor may have been anointed by the crown prince himself, but "he was no true knight" where it counts.
We fall in love with these things for a reason, after all, and both Sansa's and Sandor's stories make clear that GRRM is after more than detached, bloodless deconstruction. After all, Sansa could be seen as a stand-in for the fantasy reader, specifically an uncritical reader. Her fall-into-knowledge over the course of AGOT is so dramatic and devastating because she starts out in a bubble, and that bubble is explicitly fueled by songs and stories. In other words, fantasy has left her unprepared for the likes of Cersei and Joffrey. As such, after her beloved handsome prince forces her to watch her father executed after promising her that he would show mercy, Sansa is "reading" the world around her differently, wondering how she ever could have loved Joffrey. But what makes this more than a miserable grimdark grind, however, is the conclusion Sansa draws from this experience. She does not become Cersei, determined to imitate the unjust systems that have brought her low; she does not become Littlefinger, thinking only of what she is owed and creating more victims in the process. Instead, she gradually realizes that she must live up to the values expressed in the stories and songs, even–especially–if the world around her (particularly the institutions and individuals in power) does not. "If I am ever queen, I'll make them love me," for example, or even more powerfully, "he was no true knight." The latter is what sparks Sandor's own gradual reformation, because what Sansa is saying there is that the corrupt institution of knighthood, that which anointed Gregor and thus convinced Sandor that the values of knighthood he'd worshiped were a lie, has no monopoly on what it really means to be a true knight.
The reconstruction is thus also about people seeing that the world they believed in isn't real, and believing in it anyway, in hopes that in doing so, they can make it real. (They don't always succeed, but the point is that they try.) From "a knight who remembered his vows" to "a king who still cared," from "my people…they were afraid" to "no chance, and no choice."
Finally, the simple fact is, bad guys are not winning. Come FeastDance, all the ruthless characters have managed to get themselves in a comfortable position, but it is precarious as a result of their ruthlessness: everyone hate the Freys and they are killed left and right by outlaws and piemakers; Tywin got killed by his youngest son, while Cersei is alone after driving away allies due to her paranoia; Roose Bolton is stuck in a snowbound castle while people die mysteriously and many Northmen plan to betray him due to his idiot bastard son abusing "Arya Stark". This puts a pretty hole in the belief that, in ASOIAF, you have to be ruthless and have no honor to reach your goals.
In short, GRRM is a romantic at heart, and a careful reading shows it clearly. The showrunners failed to notice it and got only stuck on the "dragons, blood and tits" part.
EDIT:
2013 Sydney Opera House Interview said:Winter is coming... All men must die... But I don't necessarily think that makes it a pessimistic world, or perhaps not any more pessimistic than the real world that we live in. And we're here for a short time, and we should be conscious of our own mortality. But the important thing is love and compassion and empathy with other human beings is still possible. Laughter is still possible, even laughter in the face of death. The struggle to make the world a better place. We have things like war and murder and rape, horrible things that still exist in the world, but we don't have to accept them. We can fight the good fight, I think, the fight to eliminate those things. So there is darkness in the world, but I don't think we necessarily have to give way to despair. One of the great things Tolkien says in Lord of the Rings is despair is the ultimate crime, that's the ultimate failing of Denethor, the steward of Gondor, is that he despairs of ever being able to defeat Sauron. We should not despair, we should not go gentle into that good night. So winter is coming, but light the torches and drink the wine and gather around the fire, we can still defy it.
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