Reading The Name of the Wind

Have you ever read a 722 page novel in one sitting? Allow me to gush over a book I just finished reading called The Name of the Wind by Patrick Rothfuss. Ever heard of him or read his books? This was my first of many and here’s why:

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 the day. I have talked to gods, loved women, and written songs that make minstrels weep.
You may have heard of me.

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Most of the times when we hear accounts of heroic acts, it’s always passed down from witnesses or people who overheard the stories and so forth. A man happens upon an inn. He arrives at night and almost loses his life in an attempt to get shelter. It turns out that he is a scribe or what people would call a Chronicler. He is the guy who brings legends to life by telling their stories. He takes one look at the innkeeper and knows it’s Kvothe or Quothe, the red-sandy hair, and the eyes give him away and he wants to tell Kvothe’s story. So, Kvothe reminisces his early life, his adventures and all the Chronicler does is note everything down. This is fantasy like I never expected and before I go, I’ll leave you with a few snippets of it.

It is a word. Words are pale shadows of forgotten names. As names have power, words have power. Words can light fires in the minds of men. Words can wring tears from the hardest hearts.

Kvothe recalls his time at the University and there’s this statement he made about the administration that had me thinking what would happen if that were to be incorporated in Kenya?

Your next term’s tuition was based on your performance.

After his parents and their troupe were slain, he wandered the streets for years and when the Chronicler asks him how he dealt with the loss, he spoke of Four doors of the mind; sleep, forgetting, madness and death.

One thing did ring true of Kvothe, he was restless and his impatience and smart mouth got him into more trouble than he ever asked for. I know temper and fury. I’ve been caller a Simmer more often than I could drink coffee and if there’s a statement that lit up the Simmer in me, then it is:

Besides, anger can keep you warm at night, and wounded pride can spur a man to wondrous things.

I’m moving on to another book today. What are you reading this week and are there any epic fantasies you’d recommend?

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