I went through it quite quickly, and as it ended, I wanted more.
Of course, the book was Game of Thrones, by George R. R. Martin.
I tried to look for the sequel (back then, the song of ice and fire was claimed to be a trilogy) in Finland, and came up with nothing. I was discouraged, and gave up, thinking I'd never get to see the dragons grow up.
My sister and her husband were living in England at the time, and we went for a visit. I, of course, had to check out the book stores, and there they were, waiting for me.
I bought these two straight away, since I figured I couldn't fit more in my suitcase. The next day, I went back and bought the next part, too, thinking I'd carry it in my hands if I had to.
By then it was pretty clear this was no trilogy. After finishing what I'd found in England, the fourth part came available in Finland, too.
And then the wait began.
I read all five books twice while waiting for Uncle-George to finish the rumoured last part. And while I waited for it to come out in paperback (it took 8 months, can you believe it?), I went through the tales of my favourite characters.
A week ago, I finally got to order the last part. And on Saturday, I brought it home.
I still haven't dared open it. I've waited for it for so long, and I'm afraid I'll dribble coffee on it. Somehow, I just want to lock it up in a safe, and crack the door sometimes to admire it.
I won't do that, though. Books are meant to be read, not looked at.
The song of ice and fire is well praised, and not in vain. It's enchanting, magical, breathtaking in all it's glory. As a writer, I am envious of the way Uncle-George paints incredible scenes and fabulous dresses, as a reader I'm enthralled in the tale. It is a true master piece. I only wish it is a tale which will never end.