Avid book reader. Lover of fantasy, contemporary fiction, short stories and non-fiction. This blog is a work in progress - and it will likely always be that way.
The Name of the Wind reads like you are taken along on a flow of words. Sometimes it's just a tiny, cozy breeze, but it can develop into a big storm before you realize it. It's beautiful.
I read this book together with some buddies I really enjoyed discussing books with it the past, yet this one, I couldn't.
This one, as soon as I got into it, I wanted it to be all mine. Not to be disturbed, not to be analysed, not to be the subject of a guessing game. I just wanted to read it, and have the words flow to me, and me alone. Thàt's how much I liked it.
Rothfuss seriously impressed me with his writing style. It's gorgeous, it's full with metaphors, but contrary to most authors who try this style, Rothfuss understands the art of writing metaphorically without slowing down the rhythm of the story.
At the start of this book, we meet the main character as an adult and he tells his story to a chronicler. Rothfuss uses that storytelling frame to his advantages and puts in a lot of interesting moves to keep us interested: plenty of foreshadowing and remaining mysteries. But he also breaks the main story with present-time moments, which come abruptly and often seemingly at the wrong time. Kind of like well-timed commercial breaks during your favourite primetime series - just at the
wrong right moment to build more tension, and make you want to stamp your feet and read more, and more.
There's one part I particularly enjoyed: Kvothe's stops his story, remarking that there has been one thing lacking so far: girls. So as a reader you know, there is an important development coming. But then he introduces not one, but three girls. So which one will it be? The one that scares easily, the one with the golden voice, or the one he saves from the evil bully? It takes a while before that is really clear, and it’s wonderfully done.
But that’s not the best part yet. There is one scene in particular that just had me mesmerized:
Kvothe is about to play for a big audience for the first time in a long time. The song is actually a duet, but he's alone. He's sitting on stage, playing the first parts, hoping all along someone in the audience will join and sing the girl's part. The wait, the agony, and then the golden voice that swoops in. Playing on a lute that's missing a string, forgetting the world around you, forgetting that there is an audience, and just playing, singing. I've been there too, it's a beautiful place to be in.
Just like reading this book was a beautiful place to be in.