It’s strange to think that in the context of thousands and thousands of pages “less may be more”, and yet in regards to the land of Dorne Martin knew that it must be so. Dorne had been referenced from the very first book by numerous characters. It was a far away land, of heat, and sand. The last Kingdom to fall to the Targaryans Kings. The homeland of the doomed Princess Elia Martell, who one may describe as the ultimate of the many victims that surrounded the events of Robert’s Rebellion.
Last book Dorne was vaguely introduced through a minor character by the name of Oberyn Martelll. He was a famed fighter, and the younger brother of Elia. His presence in the book is mostly background, until he finds the opportunity to avenge the rape and murder of his sister. His fight with the Mountain was one of the most thrilling, and bleak events in a Storm of Swords, as Oberyn (more commonly referred to as the “Red Viper”) is killed, resulting in Tyrion’s own death sentence.
Although his death was certainly tragic, the reader had not been made to care a great deal about him. Our attention was on Tyrion’s fate. What would happen in Dorne was not our concern. A Feast for Crows remedies this fault. At long last we see the Southern promise-land in one of the most spectacular and surprising of all of Martin’s story lines. He manages to tell a story of love, duty, betrayal, and sullen regret in four brief chapters. He introduces an entire society and simultaneously makes you understand two of its most powerful political figures: Prince Doran (elder brother to Elia and Oberyn) and his daughter Arianne, who is just as willful as she is beautiful.
This story line is peculiar for many reasons, particularly the fact that Martin choose to tell this story in four chapters narrated by three different people. Thus the reader achieves a wider understanding of the circumstances because as we have learned through out the previous three installments (particularly with the POV of Sansa, Theon, and Circe) someone’s opinion can not always be trusted. And yet by splintering this small story with so many voices it achieved little continuity and created many questions. The story line literally opens up a new world of possibilities for Westeroes, for Danny, for the Martells, but at the same time I have to wonder, when the hell is Martin going to have the time or the space to elaborate on it. I don’t think there will be any Dornish chapters next book, and I don’t want this fantastic story thread just to hang over me like a leering promise.
I know it’s not my place to think about such things. Writing is best left to the writer, but I can’t help feeling that Martin is overstretching himself. Even if there is no limit to his abilities as a story teller, there is a limit to the number of pages his books can be both, practically and economically. And to be a bit crueler there is also a limit to the number of years he has to tell this story.
And yet even though this plot has me rather concerned I must say it was a joy to read. I loved Arianne’s POV. I loved her vigor, her selfishness, her total misunderstanding of her father. She felt exceptionally real – I could picture her eyes, her smile, her utter confidence of being. And I love how there is no tragedy to her. This girl will go on – being stuck in a tower will not end her being. She will fight another day, I don’t doubt it for a second.
On a slightly different note I also greatly enjoyed the chapter POV by Arys Oakheart because it was one of the cherished few moment of tenderness in a Song of Ice and Fire. It had all the nice things I have come to appreciate for their rarity, love, and sex, and want. But at the same time all of those were skillfully mingled with Arianne’s ambitions. Even through Ary’s blind lust for her you could taste the subtleties of her manipulations like honey. It was a wondrous thing to behold and it’s end was in perfect Martin fashion, grandiose, heroic, and yet ultimately futile.
I think these four chapters alone are a fantastic representation of Martin’s ability as a writer. They have that familial intimacy of a short-story, and yet they are just one little cog in the masterpiece of A Feast for Crows.
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