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The Name of the Wind: The legendary must-read fantasy masterpiece (Kingkiller Chonicles Book 1) Kindle Edition
The lyrical fantasy masterpiece about stories, legends and how they change the world. The Name of the Wind is an absolute must-read for any fan of fantasy fiction.
'This is a magnificent book' Anne McCaffrey
'I was reminded of Ursula K. Le Guin, George R. R. Martin, and J. R. R. Tolkein, but never felt that Rothfuss was imitating anyone' THE TIMES
'I have stolen princesses back from sleeping barrow kings. I burned down the town of Trebon. I have spent the night with Felurian and left with both my sanity and my life. I was expelled from the University at a younger age than most people are allowed in. I tread paths by moonlight that others fear to speak of during day. I have talked to Gods, loved women, and written songs that make the minstrels weep.
My name is Kvothe.
You may have heard of me'
So begins the tale of Kvothe - currently known as Kote, the unassuming innkeepter - from his childhood in a troupe of traveling players, through his years spent as a near-feral orphan in a crime-riddled city, to his daringly brazen yet successful bid to enter a difficult and dangerous school of magic. In these pages you will come to know Kvothe the notorious magician, the accomplished thief, the masterful musician, the dragon-slayer, the legend-hunter, the lover, the thief and the infamous assassin.
The Name of the Wind is fantasy at its very best, and an astounding must-read coming-of-age adventure.
Readers adore The Name of the Wind:
'The quality of the writing breathes magic into even fairly ordinary scenes, and makes some of the important ones extraordinary' Mark Lawrence
'This is why I love fantasy so much . . . The writing style is smooth, the pacing just right . . . I would easily recommend this to anyone who enjoys fantasy, but also to people who enjoy great stories told wonderfully well' Goodreads reviewer, ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐
'For the love of God, if you haven't read this book and love these kinds of high fantasy novels, READ IT!' Goodreads reviewer, ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐
'The story is fantastic, the writing is amazing, and if you have a heart the main character will capture it' Goodreads reviewer, ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐
'Patrick Rothfuss is such a talented storyteller and there was never a dull moment throughout the entire book! . . . The Name of the Wind is a masterpiece and Patrick Rothfuss is a freaking genius' Goodreads reviewer, ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐
'This story was, simply put, excellent . . . Rothfuss has more than earnt his reputation. I'm so glad this book lived up to the hype . . . A jaw dropping five stars' Goodreads reviewer, ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐
'One of the best fantasy books of all time' Goodreads reviewer, ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐
'A legitimately wonderful story that is written beautifully . . . This should be one of the required reading books for any fan of fantasy' Goodreads reviewer, ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐
- LanguageEnglish
- PublisherGollancz
- Publication dateApril 18, 2010
- File size2069 KB
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What's it about?
The story of a hero told in his own voice, a tale of sorrow, survival, and one man's search for meaning in his universe, and how that search gave birth to a legend.Popular highlight
The day we fret about the future is the day we leave our childhood behind.16,082 Kindle readers highlighted thisPopular highlight
Besides, anger can keep you warm at night, and wounded pride can spur a man to wondrous things.8,245 Kindle readers highlighted thisPopular highlight
Fear tends to come from ignorance. Once I knew what the problem was, it was just a problem, nothing to fear.7,898 Kindle readers highlighted this
Editorial Reviews
Amazon.com Review
10 Second Interview: A Few Words with Patrick Rothfuss
Q: Were you always a fan of fantasy novels?
A: Always. My first non-picture books were the Narnia Chronicles. After that my mom gave me Ihe Hobbit and Dragonriders. I grew up reading about every fantasy and sci-fi book I could find. I used to go to the local bookstore and look at the paperbacks on the shelf. I read non-fantasy stuff too, of course. But fantasy is where my heart lies. Wait... Should that be "where my heart lays?" I always screw that up.
Q: Who are some of your favorite authors? Favorite books?
A: Hmmm.... How about I post that up as a list?
Q: What are you reading now?
A: Right now I'm reading Capacity, by Tony Balantyne. He was nominated for the Philip K Dick award this last year. I heard him read a piece of the first novel, Recursion, out at Norwescon. I picked it up and got pulled right in. Capacity is the second book in the series. Good writing and cool ideas. Everything I've like best.
Q: How did Kvothe's story come to you? Did you always plan on a trilogy?
A: This story started with Kvothe's character. I knew it was going to be about him from the very beginning. In some ways it's the simplest story possible: it's the story of a man's life. It's the myth of the Hero seen from backstage. It's about the exploration and revelation of a world, but it's also about Kvothe's desire to uncover the truth hidden underneath the stories in his world. The story is a lot of things, I guess. As you can tell, I'm not very good at describing it. I always tell people, "If I could sum it up in 50 words, I wouldn't have needed to write a whole novel about it." I didn't plan it as a trilogy though. I just wrote it and it got to be so long that it had to be broken up into pieces. There were three natural breaking points in the story.... Hence the Trilogy.
Q: What is next for our hero?
A: Hmm..... I don't really believe in spoilers. But I think it's safe to say that Kvothe grows up a little in the second book. He learns more about magic. He learns how to fight, gets tangled up in some court politics, and starts to figure unravel some of the mysteries of romance and relationships, which is really just magic of a different kind, in a way.
Patrick Rothfuss's Books You Should Read
The Last Unicorn
Neverwhere
Declare
Beatrice's Goat
Blankets
See more recommendations (with comments) from Patrick Rothfuss
From Publishers Weekly
Copyright © Reed Business Information, a division of Reed Elsevier Inc. All rights reserved.
From Bookmarks Magazine
Copyright © 2004 Phillips & Nelson Media, Inc.
From Booklist
Copyright © American Library Association. All rights reserved
Review
“The best epic fantasy I read last year.... He’s bloody good, this Rothfuss guy.” —George R. R. Martin, New York Times-bestselling author of A Song of Ice and Fire
“Rothfuss’Kingkiller books are among the most read and re-read in our home. It’s a world you want to spend lifetimes in, as his many fans will attest.” —Lin-Manuel Miranda, Pulitzer Prize-winning creator of Hamilton
“Rothfuss has real talent, and his tale of Kvothe is deep and intricate and wondrous.” —Terry Brooks, New York Times-bestselling author of Shannara
"It is a rare and great pleasure to find a fantasist writing...with true music in the words." —Ursula K. LeGuin, award-winning author of Earthsea
"The characters are real and the magic is true.” —Robin Hobb, New York Times-bestselling author of Assassin’s Apprentice
"Masterful.... There is a beauty to Pat's writing that defies description." —Brandon Sanderson, New York Times-bestselling author of Mistborn
“[Makes] you think he's inventing the genre, instead of reinventing it.” —Lev Grossman, New York Times-bestselling author of The Magicians
“This is a magnificent book.” —Anne McCaffrey, award-winning author of the Dragonriders of Pern
“The great new fantasy writer we've been waiting for, and this is an astonishing book." —Orson Scott Card, New York Times-bestselling author of Ender’s Game
“It's not the fantasy trappings (as wonderful as they are) that make this novel so good, but what the author has to say about true, common things, about ambition and failure, art, love, and loss.” —Tad Williams, New York Times-bestselling author of Memory, Sorrow, and Thorn
“An extremely immersive story set in a flawlessly constructed world and told extremely well.” —Jo Walton, award-winning author of Among Others
“Hail Patrick Rothfuss! A new giant is striding the land.” —Robert J. Sawyer, award-winning author of Wake
“Fans of the epic high fantasies of George R.R. Martin or J.R.R. Tolkien will definitely want to check out Patrick Rothfuss' The Name of the Wind.” —NPR
“Shelve The Name of the Wind beside The Lord of the Rings...and look forward to the day when it's mentioned in the same breath, perhaps as first among equals.” —The A.V. Club
“Rothfuss (who has already been compared to the likes of Terry Goodkind, Robert Jordan, and George R. R. Martin) is poised to be crowned the new king of epic fantasy.” —Barnes & Noble
“I was reminded of Ursula K. Le Guin, George R. R. Martin, and J. R. R. Tolkien, but never felt that Rothfuss was imitating anyone.” —The London Times
“This fast-moving, vivid, and unpretentious debut roots its coming-of-age fantasy in convincing mythology.” —Entertainment Weekly
“This breathtakingly epic story is heartrending in its intimacy and masterful in its narrative essence.” —Publishers Weekly (starred)
“Reminiscent in scope of Robert Jordan's Wheel of Time series...this masterpiece of storytelling will appeal to lovers of fantasy on a grand scale.” —Library Journal (starred)
From the Inside Flap
The Adem call me Maedre. Which, depending on how it's spoken, can mean The Flame, The Thunder, or The Broken Tree.
"The Flame" is obvious if you've ever seen me. I have red hair, bright. If I had been born a couple of hundred years ago I would probably have been burned as a demon. I keep it short but it's unruly. When left to its own devices, it sticks up and makes me look as if I have been set afire.
"The Thunder" I attribute to a strong baritone and a great deal of stage training at an early age.
I've never thought of "The Broken Tree" as very significant. Although in retrospect, I suppose it could be considered at least partially prophetic.
My first mentor called me E'lir because I was clever and I knew it. My first real lover called me Dulator because she liked the sound of it. I have been called Shadicar, Lightfinger, and Six-String. I have been called Kvothe the Bloodless, Kvothe the Arcane, and Kvothe Kingkiller. I have earned those names. Bought and paid for them.
But I was brought up as Kvothe. My father once told me it meant "to know."
I have, of course, been called many other things. Most of them uncouth, although very few were unearned.
I have stolen princesses back from sleeping barrow kings. I burned down the town of Trebon. I have spent the night with Felurian and left with both my sanity and my life. I was expelled from the University at a younger age than most people are allowed in. I tread paths by moonlight that others fear to speak of during day. I have talked to Gods, loved women, and written songs that make the minstrels weep.
You may have heard of me.
So begins the tale of Kvothe-from his childhood in a troupe of traveling players, to years spent as a near-feral orphan in a crime-riddled city, to his daringly brazen yet successful bid to enter a difficult and dangerous school of magic. In these pages you will come to know Kvothe as a notorious magician, an accomplished thief, a masterful musician, and an infamous assassin. But The Name of the Wind is so much more-for the story it tells reveals the truth behind Kvothe's legend.
About the Author
Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.
A Silence of Three Parts
It was night again. The Waystone Inn lay in silence, and it was a silence of three parts.
The most obvious part was a hollow, echoing quiet, made by things that were lacking. If there had been a wind it would have sighed through the trees, set the inn’s sign creaking on its hooks, and brushed the silence down the road like trailing autumn leaves. If there had been a crowd, even a handful of men inside the inn, they would have filled the silence with conversation and laughter, the clatter and clamor one expects from a drinking house during the dark hours of night. If there had been music...but no, of course there was no music. In fact there were none of these things, and so the silence remained.
Inside the Waystone a pair of men huddled at one corner of the bar. They drank with quiet determination, avoiding serious discussions of troubling news. In doing this they added a small, sullen silence to the larger, hollow one. It made an alloy of sorts, a counterpoint.
The third silence was not an easy thing to notice. If you listened for an hour, you might begin to feel it in the wooden floor underfoot and in the rough, splintering barrels behind the bar. It was in the weight of the black stone hearth that held the heat of a long dead fire. It was in the slow back and forth of a white linen cloth rubbing along the grain of the bar. And it was in the hands of the man who stood there, polishing a stretch of mahogany that already gleamed in the lamplight.
The man had true-red hair, red as flame. His eyes were dark and distant, and he moved with the subtle certainty that comes from knowing many things.
The Waystone was his, just as the third silence was his. This was appropriate, as it was the greatest silence of the three, wrapping the others inside itself. It was deep and wide as autumn’s ending. It was heavy as a great river-smooth stone. It was the patient, cut-flower sound of a man who is waiting to die.
CHAPTER ONE
A Place for Demons
It was Felling Night, and the usual crowd had gathered at the Waystone Inn. Five wasn’t much of a crowd, but five was as many as the Waystone ever saw these days, times being what they were.
Old Cob was filling his role as storyteller and advice dispensary. The men at the bar sipped their drinks and listened. In the back room a young innkeeper stood out of sight behind the door, smiling as he listened to the details of a familiar story.
“When he awoke, Taborlin the Great found himself locked in a high tower. They had taken his sword and stripped him of his tools: key, coin, and candle were all gone. But that weren’t even the worst of it, you see...” Cob paused for effect, “...cause the lamps on the wall were burning blue!”
Graham, Jake, and Shep nodded to themselves. The three friends had grown up together, listening to Cob’s stories and ignoring his advice.
Cob peered closely at the newer, more attentive member of his small audience, the smith’s prentice. “Do you know what that meant, boy?” Everyone called the smith’s prentice “boy” despite the fact that he was a hand taller than anyone there. Small towns being what they are, he would most likely remain “boy” until his beard filled out or he bloodied someone’s nose over the matter.
The boy gave a slow nod. “The Chandrian.”
“That’s right,” Cob said approvingly. “The Chandrian. Everyone knows that blue fire is one of their signs. Now he was—”
“But how’d they find him?” the boy interrupted. “And why din’t they kill him when they had the chance?”
“Hush now, you’ll get all the answers before the end,” Jake said. “Just let him tell it.”
“No need for all that, Jake,” Graham said. “Boy’s just curious. Drink your drink.”
“I drank me drink already,” Jake grumbled. “I need t’nother but the innkeep’s still skinning rats in the back room.” He raised his voice and knocked his empty mug hollowly on the top of the mahogany bar. “Hoy! We’re thirsty men in here!”
The innkeeper appeared with five bowls of stew and two warm, round loaves of bread. He pulled more beer for Jake, Shep, and Old Cob, moving with an air of bustling efficiency.
The story was set aside while the men tended to their dinners. Old Cob tucked away his bowl of stew with the predatory efficiency of a lifetime bachelor. The others were still blowing steam off their bowls when he finished the last of his loaf and returned to his story.
“Now Taborlin needed to escape, but when he looked around, he saw his cell had no door. No windows. All around him was nothing but smooth, hard stone. It was a cell no man had ever escaped.
“But Taborlin knew the names of all things, and so all things were his to command. He said to the stone: ‘Break!’ and the stone broke. The wall tore like a piece of paper, and through that hole Taborlin could see the sky and breathe the sweet spring air. He stepped to the edge, looked down, and without a second thought he stepped out into the open air....”
The boy’s eyes went wide. “He didn’t!”
Cob nodded seriously. “So Taborlin fell, but he did not despair. For he knew the name of the wind, and so the wind obeyed him. He spoke to the wind and it cradled and caressed him. It bore him to the ground as gently as a puff of thistledown and set him on his feet softly as a mother’s kiss.
“And when he got to the ground and felt his side where they’d stabbed him, he saw that it weren’t hardly a scratch. Now maybe it was just a piece of luck,” Cob tapped the side of his nose knowingly. “Or maybe it had something to do with the amulet he was wearing under his shirt.”
“What amulet?” the boy asked eagerly through a mouthful of stew.
Old Cob leaned back on his stool, glad for the chance to elaborate. “A few days earlier, Taborlin had met a tinker on the road. And even though Taborlin didn’t have much to eat, he shared his dinner with the old man.”
“Right sensible thing to do,” Graham said quietly to the boy. “Everyone knows: ‘A tinker pays for kindness twice.’”
“No no,” Jake grumbled. “Get it right: ‘A tinker’s advice pays kindness twice.’”
The innkeeper spoke up for the first time that night. “Actually, you’re missing more than half,” he said, standing in the doorway behind the bar.
“A tinker’s debt is always paid:
Once for any simple trade.
Twice for freely-given aid.
Thrice for any insult made.”
The men at the bar seemed almost surprised to see Kote standing there. They’d been coming to the Waystone every Felling night for months and Kote had never interjected anything of his own before. Not that you could expect anything else, really. He’d only been in town for a year or so.
He was still a stranger. The smith’s prentice had lived here since he was eleven, and he was still referred to as “that Rannish boy,” as if Rannish were some foreign country and not a town less than thirty miles away.
“Just something I heard once,” Kote said to fill the silence, obviously embarrassed.
Old Cob nodded before he cleared his throat and launched back into the story. “Now this amulet was worth a whole bucket of gold nobles, but on account of Taborlin’s kindness, the tinker sold it to him for nothing but an iron penny, a copper penny, and a silver penny. It was black as a winter night and cold as ice to touch, but so long as it was round his neck, Taborlin would be safe from the harm of evil things. Demons and such.”
“I’d give a good piece for such a thing these days,” Shep said darkly. He had drunk most and talked least over the course of the evening. Everyone knew that something bad had happened out on his farm last Cendling night, but since they were good friends they knew better than to press him for the details. At least not this early in the evening, not as sober as they were.
“Aye, who wouldn’t?” Old Cob said judiciously, taking a long drink.
“I din’t know the Chandrian were demons,” the boy said. “I’d heard—”
“They ain’t demons,” Jake said firmly. “They were the first six people to refuse Tehlu’s choice of
the path, and he cursed them to wander the corners—”
“Are you telling this story, Jacob Walker?” Cob said sharply. “Cause if you are, I’ll just let you get on with it.”
The two men glared at each other for a long moment. Eventually Jake looked away, muttering something that could, conceivably, have been an apology.
Cob turned back to the boy. “That’s the mystery of the Chandrian,” he explained. “Where do they come from? Where do they go after they’ve done their bloody deeds? Are they men who sold their souls? Demons? Spirits? No one knows.” Cob shot Jake a profoundly disdainful look. “Though every half-wit claims he knows....”
The story fell further into bickering at this point, about the nature of the Chandrian, the signs that showed their presence to the wary, and whether the amulet would protect Taborlin from bandits, or mad dogs, or falling off a horse. Things were getting heated when the front door banged open.
Jake looked over. “It’s about time you got in, Carter. Tell this damn fool the difference between a demon and a dog. Everybody kn—” Jake stopped midsentence and rushed to the door. “God’s body, what happened to you?”
Carter stepped into the light, his face pale and smeared with blood. He clutched an old saddle blanket to his chest. It was an odd, awkward shape, as if it were wrapped around a tangle of kindling sticks.
His friends jumped off their stools and hurried over at the sight of him. “I’m fine,” he said as he made his slow way into the common room. His eyes were wild around the edges, like a skittish horse. “I’m fine. I’m fine.”
He dropped the bundled blanket onto the nearest table where it knocked hard against the wood, as if it were full of stones. His clothes were crisscrossed with long, straight cuts. His grey shirt hung in loose tatters except where it was stuck to his body, stained a dark, sullen red.
Graham tried to ease him into a chair. “Mother of God. Sit down, Carter. What happened to you? Sit down.”
Carter shook his head stubbornly. “I told you, I’m fine. I’m not hurt that bad.”
“How many were there?” Graham said.
“One,” Carter said. “But it’s not what you think—”
“Goddammit. I told you, Carter,” Old Cob burst out with the sort of frightened anger only relatives and close friends can muster. “I told you for months now. You can’t go out alone. Not even as far as Baedn. It ain’t safe.” Jake laid a hand on the old man’s arm, quieting him.
“Just take a sit,” Graham said, still trying to steer Carter into a chair. “Let’s get that shirt off you and get you cleaned up.”
Carter shook his head. “I’m fine. I got cut up a little, but the blood is mostly Nelly’s. It jumped on her. Killed her about two miles outside town, past the Oldstone Bridge.”
A moment of serious silence followed the news. The smith’s prentice laid a sympathetic hand on Carter’s shoulder. “Damn. That’s hard. She was gentle as a lamb, too. Never tried to bite or kick when you brought her in for shoes. Best horse in town. Damn. I’m...” He trailed off. “Damn. I don’t know what to say.” He looked around helplessly.
Cob finally managed to free himself from Jake. “I told you,” he repeated, shaking a finger in Carter’s direction. “There’s folks out lately that would kill you for a pair of pennies, let alone a horse and cart. What are you going to do now? Pull it yourself?”
There was a moment of uncomfortable quiet. Jake and Cob glared at each other while the rest seemed at a loss for words, unsure of how to comfort their friend.
The innkeeper moved carefully through the silence. Arms full, he stepped nimbly around Shep and began to arrange some items on a nearby table: a bowl of hot water, shears, some clean linen, a few glass bottles, needle and gut.
“This never would have happened if he’d listened to me in the first place,” Old Cob muttered. Jake tried to quiet him, but Cob brushed him aside. “I’m just tellin’ the truth. It’s a damn shame about Nelly, but he better listen now or he’ll end up dead. You don’t get lucky twice with those sort of men.”
Carter’s mouth made a thin line. He reached out and pulled the edge of the bloody blanket. Whatever was inside flipped over once and snagged on the cloth. Carter tugged harder and there was a clatter like a bag of flat river stones upended onto the tabletop.
It was a spider as large as a wagon wheel, black as slate.
The smith’s prentice jumped backward and hit a table, knocking it over and almost falling to the ground himself. Cob’s face went slack. Graham, Shep, and Jake made wordless, startled sounds and moved away, raising their hands to their faces. Carter took a step backward that was almost like a nervous twitch. Silence filled the room like a cold sweat.
The innkeeper frowned. “They can’t have made it this far west yet,” he said softly.
If not for the silence, it is unlikely anyone would have heard him. But they did. Their eyes pulled away from the thing on the table to stare mutely at the red-haired man.
Jake found his voice first. “You know what this is?”
The innkeeper’s eyes were distant. “Scrael,” he said distractedly. “I’d thought the mountains—”
“Scrael?” Jake broke in. “Blackened body of God, Kote. You’ve seen these things before?”
“What?” The red-haired innkeeper looked up sharply, as if suddenly remembering where he was.
“Oh. No. No, of course not.” Seeing that he was the only one within arm’s length of the dark thing, he took a measured step away. “Just something I heard.” They stared at him. “Do you remember the trader that came through about two span ago?”
They all nodded. “Bastard tried to charge me ten pennies for a half-pound of salt,” Cob said reflexively, repeating the complaint for perhaps the hundredth time.
“Wish I’d bought some,” Jake mumbled. Graham nodded a silent agreement.
“He was a filthy shim,” Cob spat, seeming to find comfort in the familiar words. “I might pay two in a tight time, but ten is robbery.”
“Not if there are more of those on the road,” Shep said darkly.
All eyes went back to the thing on the table.
Product details
- ASIN : B003HV0TN2
- Publisher : Gollancz; New e. edition (April 18, 2010)
- Publication date : April 18, 2010
- Language : English
- File size : 2069 KB
- Text-to-Speech : Enabled
- Screen Reader : Supported
- Enhanced typesetting : Enabled
- X-Ray : Enabled
- Word Wise : Enabled
- Sticky notes : On Kindle Scribe
- Print length : 676 pages
- Best Sellers Rank: #95,613 in Kindle Store (See Top 100 in Kindle Store)
- #823 in Coming of Age Fantasy eBooks
- #1,277 in Coming of Age Fantasy (Books)
- #1,418 in Urban Fantasy (Kindle Store)
- Customer Reviews:
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About the author
Patrick Rothfuss had the good fortune to be born in Wisconsin in 1973, where the long winters and lack of cable television encouraged a love of reading and writing.
After abandoning his chosen field of chemical engineering, Pat became an itinerant student, wandering through clinical psychology, philosophy, medieval history, theater, and sociology. Nine years later, Pat was forced by university policy to finally complete his undergraduate degree in English.
When not reading and writing, he teaches fencing and dabbles with alchemy in his basement.
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If you are looking for something akin to Harry Potter or the Magicians, but better written than both, something where a young boy goes to learn magic, but you're looking for a more significantly epic fantasy world, this will be a perfect fit for you!
The main character Kvothe is the kid with untapped powers that Harry Potter made familiar but Potter wasn't original either. He's a combination of a genius, quick learner, musical prodigy, and hopelessly incompetent with girls. I know all the people reading this are international gigolos who have to chase off Playmates with a stick, but I related to the awkward kid with a first crush who wanted with every fiber of his being to talk to the girl he liked and couldn't find the right words in the thousands of hypothetical dry-runs that worked through his mind. That was definitely a humanizing touch for a kid that might have been much more inaccessible to a reader due to his overall excellence. There were some criticisms of Kvothe being too perfect, but early and often he fails to do things he should, does things he shouldn't, and suffers consequences for them all, both internal and external.
The writing style sets this book apart from the breathless action of pulp D&D style fantasy books, and for me seemed to be what I would describe as luxurious. We were taken along in the story with sufficient attention to details and world-building, but not overlong and overdrawn descriptions of every blade of grass, like a relaxing boat ride down a lazy river. Certain aspects, the history, the mode of magic in Kvothe's world, etc. got more attention but always added breadth and depth without overburdening the reader. Other times, Kvothe's life meandered down roads and pathways that didn't lead to the forging of a fantasy novel hero, just like real life. However, I was turning the pages every bit as fast as a pulse-pounding hack-and-slash story, but it was just to sink deeper into the world being woven around me. At least through the first book, it seems to have less world-building backstory than Game of Thrones, and wayyyy less than Tolkien, but I'm all the more glad for it. It's all fine and good to create your own syntax for elven, or dwarvish, or Klingon, but nobody's going to pretend that at 12 years old they knew what the hell Tolkien was talking about all the time. This was a nice, interesting, easily-consumed story that never felt burdensome or like a slog through x number of pages to get to a "good" part.
If I had to nit-pick this book, just to appear fair, I'll give you 3 nits. First, it would be that the author falls victim to the fantasy-trope belief that in order to portray 'foreign lands' and people from them, there has to be a bunch of unpronounceable consonants jammed together to form a person or place name, or fragments of a language, and throw in some unaccountable apostrophes for good measure. I could care less if I never have to skip over another nonsense name like Cthystler'rn in a fantasy novel again. There are a handful of these in this book, but they never really take center stage or leave you in the lurch for not trying to decipher that gibberish. Second, sometimes the young Kvothe is frustrating in his impotence when trying to express his love for his off-and-on girlfriend, and you really think he's a putz, but his obliviousness never strays outside the realm of the believeable. Third, and possibly the most troubling (but not to me) is that by the end of the book you've done a lot and been on a lot of adventures, but nothing has really brought you noticeably closer to the overarching mystery that is the reason for the story in the first place. The lore of the Chandrian is doled out in such tiny morsels you really don't know much more at the end than you did at the start. In this aspect it definitely reads like the first book of a trilogy, but at 750 something pages it had plenty of heft and there's no way they could have trimmed it down without losing the charm and the luxury that I liked so much in the first place. Make of that what you will.
I held out on ordering the second book in the trilogy due to some of the negative reviews, I'll have to grudgingly call them 'haters', that indicated that The Name of the Wind starts losing focus partway, or midway, or most-way through, but I didn't see that to be true at all. It was really a delightful read all the way through, and I wish I had more time to read more of it at each sitting. I did indeed order the second book in plenty of time for it to be here waiting for me, and I am anxious to get started on it asap.
Bottom line: A definite 5 star book with a nice story in a world you won't mind soaking into for a while.
That said, this book has problems. Pacing is one of them; the sequence at the University goes on way too long and probably could have been cut by at least a third. (And the ending of the book suggests that part isn't over yet and we'll see even *more* of it in the next one.) But his biggest problem lies in his characters, in particular, Kvothe. As I read further through the book, Kvothe began to irk me more and more. He was just too good at too many things. He could pick up extremely complicated branches of magic that normally took months of study in seven days. He was the only one who knows anything about anything (thinking in particular of Denna eating the resin here). Only he could fix whatever problems appeared, whether it was saving a girl from a burning fire, or fighting and killing a dragon (which he does single-handedly, with no help from the bumbling townsfolk). Whenever troubles loomed--for example, threatened with punishment for breaking the rules--he was always able to slide out of them easily. Everyone whom he needed to impress was bowled over by his charm or else intimidated by him. As the book went on, I found myself rooting for him to fall flat on his face just once, and that's never a good thing. (Also, not Kvothe, but Kvothe-related, Bast *really* p***ed me off in his final scene with Chronicler.)
A secondary problem (but possibly related to the first) lies in Rothfuss's female characterization. Although I'll read books with heroes of both genders, I do enjoy strong, well-developed female characters whenever I find them. Unfortunately there really weren't any of those here. Rothfuss's female characters are pretty much interchangeable. They're all young or youngish, beautiful or at least attractive, friendly and playful when interacting with Kvothe, and bowled over by Kvothe's charm. (Two out of four female characters also get to be "damsels in distress." Whee.) Since the University admits female students, why not at least have one female master? An elderly scholar-woman would have at least been a different character type. Denna is delineated by the writer as this extremely special, unearthly woman, but she's largely a nonentity. What makes Denna different from Fela, really, except that she comes and goes mysteriously and apparently she's extremely beautiful? (It would have been more interesting if Denna had been a fairly average-looking young woman but Kvothe was so in love with her that *to him* she looked that beautiful.) During the few moments when the plot picked up, Kvothe's romantic nattering with Denna started to get on my nerves. You guys are tracking a dragon that might be a danger to the town; can we please stay task-oriented here?
Actually the more I think about it, the more it's not just his female characters that are flat. Just about everyone who's not Kvothe comes across as a non-entity. The masters are all pretty much interchangeable, except for the hostile one whose name I'm blanking on at the moment; same goes for the students, except for his avowed enemy Ambrose. The one-dimensionality of the supporting characters enhances Kvothe's more grating characteristics. Some have called Kvothe a Gary Stu, and while he's not an egregious example (think Rhapsody of the Rhapsody series), he does have Gary Stu-ish tendencies. I would call him a borderline example, one which isn't helped by the narrative's tight focus on him and, again, the lackluster supporting cast. I wonder if the real problem is that Patrick Rothfuss simply has not yet mastered the intricacies of characterization, particularly on a scale as large as the one on which he is attempting to work here. He has definitely set himself an ambitious project, and his craftsmanship might not yet be quite up to the task of pulling it off.
I'm giving this book four stars on the strength of the prose style and the world building, which really is well-done; as I said earlier, the sympathy magic system was especially fascinating. I'd never seen anything like it before and I was very impressed by it. However, I probably will not continue on with this series. Kvothe may be better developed in the later books; Denna may develop a personality; but I'm just not interested enough to stick around to find out.
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Reviewed in India on February 2, 2024