Potter and dancing dragons sweep me away to other worlds, and argue for the series novel

It is fashionable amongst culturally literate types to bemoan the rise of the sequel and the series in popular entertainment. There's nothing original coming out of Hollywood any more, they moan, it's all about franchises with a number after the name.

It's a valid argument you can support with plenty of dire examples. But I'd counter that for every derivative, shortcut-taking series, there's an artfully crafted set where each new episode builds and improves upon the last. Indeed, our household library is dominated by series. From the classics of our childhood .... The Chronicles of Narnia for me, The Lord of the Rings for him ... through to the sequential adventures of Richard Sharpe, Didius Falco, Aubrey and Maturin, King Kelson or Brother Cadfael, there's something wonderfully compelling about set of characters and a fictional world that draws you in over multiple installments.

For lovers of those sorts of series, this was perhaps the biggest week in memory.

Fantasy writer (and fellow Medill School of Journalism graduate) George R.R. Martin has left his fans waiting six long years for the latest installment of his epic Song of Ice and Fire series. Often called "the American Tolkien", Martin developed a fascination for the English Wars of the Roses into a fantasy world with feudal families squabbling over a throne, augmented by a hefty dose of magic and mystery. Fans of the series ... and I'm a big one ... adore his complex plots, intense character development, Machiavellian political sensibilities and unabashed sexuality. In fact, I'd compare him to Russian writers more than Tolkien, as his vast numbers of characters and intricate, inter-related story lines remind me of the notes and family trees I sketched out in university to keep the details of Tolstoy's Anna Karenina and Sholokhov's Don series straight.

After multiple promised publication dates that didn't come to pass, Martin's fans were starting to think he'd never deliver the three books needed to finish the series. Then HBO turned the first novel, A Game of Thrones, into a mini-series that got rave reviews and brought even more fans to the franchise. Surely, Martin had to deliver now? Last Tuesday, he did. Thanks to the magic of technology I didn't even have to leave the house; I downloaded A Dance with Dragons onto my kindle a few hours after it officially came on the market. And I wasn't the only one: Random House reports selling 298,000 copies (including both print and digital) in the first publication day alone.

At more than 1,000 pages, and with a mid-week release, I couldn't give in to my usual instinct to read the latest installment of a beloved series from cover to cover immediately. So I'm pacing myself. (My Kindle informs me I'm 16% of the way through.) My initial impressions? Generally excellent. Plots are racing along with exciting twists and turns, old friends are returning with new nuances, mysteries continue to develop. I may have two early complaints. First: enough with the complexity, George. This is the time in a series to start bringing all those disparate plot lines together and start creeping towards a conclusion, not to introduce even more new things. At this point I'm willing to trust him that everything is for an ultimate purpose. Second: we're getting perilously dark. There's always been a streak of violence and realism in these books, but certain descriptions of violence in Dance make me wince as I read. Again, I trust they're for a purpose, but I hope the grit doesn't overwhelm the sweeping grandeur of the piece.

Despite those discomforts, this latest installment does everything I want a series book to do, namely bring me back into a familiar and fascinating world, and hang onto me so tightly that it's a trial to turn my attention back to reality.

Turn my attention to something else I did do this weekend, but it certainly wasn't reality. Because Martin's latest episode sat cheek by jowl with the release of the concluding Harry Potter film. I like A Song of Ice and Fire enormously, but I adore the Potter series. Like Narnia in my childhood, there's something that connects right to my soul. I'm not just reading a rippingly good plot, I am completely engaged in the characters. I honestly care about these people and what happens to them. (Which is why I suspect Martin will never have me in great, gasping sobs the way Rowling did as we peered into Severus Snape's dying memories.)

It seems like yesterday that I stood in the first-day-of-publication queue for Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, took it home and read for a solid 18 hours ... broken by one short night's sleep ... until I reached a shuddering, massively satisfying conclusion. In fact, it was just over four years ago, as my blog entry of 22.7.07 shows. It hardly seems much further back when I was pouring over still shots from the soon to be released first film, marveling at how perfectly the design team seemed to have brought the world in my head to life on screen. That, amazingly, was a decade ago. And now, it's all over.

I'm delighted to report that this franchise goes out with a bang. The only complaint I could possibly make is that it's just not long enough. A lot of plot detail ends up on the cutting room floor but, let's face it, the majority of people watching the film know those things anyway. What you get as a consequence is a roller coaster ride of constant action that puts you on the edge of your seat and could easily entice you to sit through the whole thing again immediately. The actors all deliver in perfect character and those familiar sets become even more magnificent as they come under attack in the climactic final battle. And all the emotion is there, made all the more poignant by the fact that, with both books and films done, you really are saying goodbye this time. I didn't sob quite as traumatically at Snape's death, but sob I did.

My fiance is one of those rare beings left untouched by the Potter phenomenon, having seen just the first film and read none of the books. He indulgently accompanied me, and even from his distant perspective he admitted it was an entertaining two hours.

To any fan who's invested more than a decade in this world, however, it will be far more than entertainment. It's an emotional journey that brings you joy, fear, tears, breathless anxiety, wonder and, ultimately, deep contentment. Emotions that are all the more intense precisely because of that multiple-episode commitment. That, when they're done well, is the magic of a series. They work their way into your soul in a way that few single works, no matter how great, ever can.