For the past few months I, like many, many other self-professed geeks, have been anxiously waiting for the premier of HBO’s Game of Thrones. This is quite a turn for me as when I first attempted to read Game of Thrones years ago I put it away, dissatisfied. And now that I have read Ms. Ginia Bellafonte’s review perhaps I know why.
It’s because Mr. Martin didn’t include enough sexy scenes to capture my interest. Apparently I can’t read or watch anything associated with the fantastical genre without at least one pants dropping incident every few minutes. HBO knows this and so out of a fear that their action filled, heady political drama where bad guys turn into good guys and good guys into bad guys would be scorned by all the womefolk leaving their poor husbands and boyfriends to watch alone in the dark, they added all this extra bed jumping.
The true perversion, though, is the sense you get that all of this illicitness has been tossed in as a little something for the ladies, out of a justifiable fear, perhaps, that no woman alive would watch otherwise. While I do not doubt that there are women in the world who read books like Mr. Martin’s, I can honestly say that I have never met a single woman who has stood up in indignation at her book club and refused to read the latest from Lorrie Moore unless everyone agreed to “The Hobbit” first. “Game of Thrones” is boy fiction patronizingly turned out to reach the population’s other half.
Forget the fact that when I first put down Game of Thrones I did it precisely because I had reached the moment where a certain blonde haired queen and a certain blonde haired boy were canoodling inappropriately. Nevermind the fact that I’ve watched Lord of the Rings, Harry Potter, the Never Ending Story, Legend, and other sex-free fantasy films many, many times over and never once thought to myself “You know what this needs? Nekid people.”
And forget the fact that I stopped reading Laurell K Hamilton because what started off as a kickass urban fantasy series with tightly woven plots turned into porn.
No, apparently I am to blame for all the sex that turns up in fantasy and sci fi films. All those fanboys would have been perfectly content for Princess Leia to wear a 3 piece suit and a parka sitting on Jabba’s pedestal but women would have stormed out of the theatres. I am absolutely incapable of sitting through complex plots and subtle politics unless there is at least one bare chested man humping a girl in the corner. I’m sorry men. I didn’t realize I was ruining your cinematic experience. Had I banded together with the rest of the fairer sex and agreed to watch James Bond, Total Recall, Lara Croft and Pirates of the Caribbean even if it only appealed to your sensibilities, perhaps I could have saved you the trauma of watching all those pointless one night stands, the parade of breasts, and Keira Knightly in a corset. Oh if we had only known! I am so sorry that Brad Pitt hooked up with Helena Bonham Carter in Fight Club, that Labryinth’s producers decided to put David Bowie–
Hmm. Actually, Bowie’s pants probably are our fault.
And now that we know that women don’t read or watch fantasy–that we’d rather read Lorrie Moore (for all the gratuitous bird sex?) I suppse you men are safe to come out of the closet. You are the true readers of Twilight afterall . Twilight Moms? You mean Twilight Dads, right? All those Patricia McKillip books, the Lois McMaster Bujold, the Catherine Asaraos–written by men for men. Apparently my brother puts them in my library for me in case he ever randomly drives 500 miles to come peruse them.
Ender’s Game, The Name of the Wind, Dragonriders of Pern–I merely use them to throw at my TV whenever they pre-empt my planned viewing of Buffy the Vampire Layer with something stupid like Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind.
Disclaimer: Ms. Bellafonte does admit that there are ‘some women’ who read Martin’s books, she’s just never met one. I don’t know who she hangs out with, but I wonder if even they would state that they only watch Mad Men for the f***ing.