The Iron Throne is not based on the famous George R. R. Martin novels. In fact, The Iron Throne by Simon Hawke precedes Game of Thrones and was a title in a line of books intended to support a game called Birthright. Birthright was a 2nd Edition Advanced Dungeons & Dragons product that allowed players to assume the role of nobles, kings, and emperors within a dynamic political situation. Gamers were required to manage the economy as well as military campaigns while still going on a typical quest or dungeon delve. I own the game as well as the intriguing PC version of Birthright published by Sierra long before it was subsumed by Vivendi and later, Activision. I share the game background because Hawke has done such a great job of interweaving the political, the fantastic, and the personal in The Iron Throne
As one might expect from a story with “throne” in its title, The Iron Thone is about a usurper and a civil war over control of an emperor’s throne. And even when that war is settled, for better or worse, the throne is threatened by hordes of inhuman monsters (It is, after all, based on a Dungeons & Dragons world. And wherever there are imperial conflicts and conflicting visions of power, there will be people whose ambition threatens their very survival. I like the phrase, “…who saw only the prize at the end of the journey and not the toll one paid along the way.” (p. 254) The Iron Throne features siblings who are at odds (although not always the main belligerents in the war) and an intriguing cast of traitors (obviously a matter of perspective, though the novel clearly sees one side as traitorous), some involuntary but others with an anchor of past resentments forming their ulterior motives.
There is even a modern counterpart to the politics in this novel—Goebbel’s “Big Lie” theory or, a more cynical person during the 2020 presidential campaign might call it one party’s entire approach to winning an election. It is described in The Iron Throne as follows: “Repeat something often enough or loud enough, and people eventually come to accept it. Or at least, some people. And now it appeared that his father had managed to convince himself, as well.” (p. 249) One wonders, since the book was published in 1995 if the “Read My Lips” of 1992 was still ringing in the author’s mind. Regardless, he has pictured the current political strategy of at least one set of candidates in 2020 very well.
The basic political schemes and the descriptions of the logistics and strategic maneuvers of war would be quite acceptable in a purely historical novel, but of course, in an AD&D universe, these considerations have been enhanced (or complicated) by magic. Birthright as both game and novel setting handles magic as the game has since its early roots. Modern editions aren’t quite as restrictive to mages as 2nd Edition was, but the basic principle described in the following conversation still applies. “’You mean a spell, once used, is always forgotten and must be learned again before the spell can be used anew?’ asked Aedan. ‘Such is the nature of magic,’ the mage replied. He raised his eyebrows in surprise. ‘Do they not teach you such things?’” (p. 114) Naturally, such a “law” in the novel and “rule” in the game serve similar purposes. In the novel, it means the mage doesn’t have to use the same solution to every problem or have the readers asking, “Why didn’t she just use her X spell again?” In the game, it requires the player to use the available memory slots (sounds almost like a computer) to build a variety of useful spells in the mage’s “memory.” That way every situation isn’t handled in the same way in either form of the universe.
Magic, though, can symbolize power well- or ill-used. As one character indicates, it can also be a positive metaphor for life: “To pursue the ways of knowledge is to forever be a student, learning the same lessons over and over again. It is a never-ending process, and the reward of it is the process itself. We forget too easily, and must always learn again. The study of magic is an apt metaphor for life; when one stops learning, one begins to die.” (p. 129)
For me, though, what sets The Iron Throne above many fantasy novels (even some historical fiction) is Hawke’s use of moral choices. In more than one way, Hawke illustrates the cost(s) of sexual promiscuity versus the nature of love (as well as the cost(s) of love). I won’t delineate how Hawke does so because at least one such love affair has significant consequences to the plot. I also liked how Hawke demonstrated how one’s ego might fool oneself—even in philosophy. “As a Fatalist, he had believed in nothing greater than himself. And when he lost his belief in himself, he was left with belief in nothing.” (p. 293)
Unless one finds an old copy of the PC game or a used copy of the table-top game and a group of retro-gamers willing to play 2nd Edition Advanced Dungeons & Dragons), the Birthright background is probably irrelevant to you. As fantasy with a rich tapestry of humanity and “history,” The Iron Throne has outlived its promotional usefulness for the game, but it hasn’t outlived being worth reading.