The Name of the Wind by Patrick Rothfuss
What follows is a gush of a review…but I really did like the book. So, allow me to gush for just a moment.
I had heard that The Name of the Wind was a good read, but I had no idea how much I would end up enjoying it. I seemed to keep bumping into Patrick Rothfuss’ inaugural work in his Kingkiller Chronicle: at the bookstore, friends’ recommendations, best epic fantasy lists…
Let me tell you, the hype is all true. The Name of the Wind was as enjoyable a fantasy as any I’ve read in the last couple decades. With subtle and simple eloquence, The Name of the Wind seduced me, immersing me in a world and a story that felt both alien and familiar, real and fantastical. Rothfuss’ writing is so good coming out of The Name of the Wind was more jarring and difficult than going into it. Coming to the last page and closing it, while satisfying, left me longing for more, longing for the next book, to know what would happen to Kvothe–Rothfuss’ tenacious hero–next. I really enjoyed the novel, and I started recommending it to others, as well. I was eager to read the next book.
Be warned, however, that Rothfuss is not a fast writer, and this is only the first in a trilogy that is as yet incomplete. The Name of the Wind came out way back in 2007; the sequel, The Wise Man’s Fear, came out in 2011; and the last, The Doors of Stone…well, it hasn’t yet come out. And there’s no anticipated date for it, either. I hope the wait is worth it, because I hate waiting.
In the meantime, I’m eager to jump into The Wise’ Man’s Fear, and I will as soon as I can find a gap in my reading schedule. Rothfuss’ world is complex, fully realized, and beautiful, with its own mythologies, magic, science, culture, economics, politics, and geography. It’s a wonderful story and I can’t wait to enjoy the poetry of it more.
The Name of the Wind
Kingkiller Chronicle #1
Fantasy
DAW
March 27, 2007
662
DAY ONE: THE NAME OF THE WIND
My name is Kvothe.
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 a tale unequaled in fantasy literature—the story of a hero told in his own voice. It is a tale of sorrow, a tale of survival, a tale of one man’s search for meaning in his universe, and how that search, and the indomitable will that drove it, gave birth to a legend.
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