“Honestly, I’ve never been very interested in a straight-up movie deal,” said Patrick Rothfuss, author of The Kingkiller Chronicle. But now he’s got a movie deal combined with TV shows, video games, bobble head dolls, and underwater theme park off the coast of Iceland. (I may have gotten a few of those details mixed up.)
Lars reviewed the two existing novels earlier this year, The Name of the Wind and The Wise Man’s Fear.
She sat down on the floor again beside her bed. She closed her eyes. She almost stayed there, too, all cut-string and tangle-haired and lonely as a button.
Patrick Rothfuss, author of the Kingkiller Chronicles, consisting so far of The Name of the Wind (which I reviewed here) and The Wise Man’s Fear (which I reviewed here), has us waiting for the third novel in the series. But he’s given us a shorter work to fill in the time, a novella called The Slow Regard of Silent Things, about a minor character in the novels.
The minor character is Auri, a little girl who lives in what she calls “the Underthing,” a complex of crumbling utility tunnels and archaeological ruins buried under the University. The hero of the novels, Kvothe, visits her from time to time, bringing her food. She is tiny and beautiful, shy as a deer, and quite mad.
The Slow Regard of Silent Things takes us through several days in Auri’s life, in which she carries on the routines that are so important to her, continues her explorations of her environment, and prepares for an anticipated visit from “him” (who is, we assume, Kvothe).
This is a strange story, in which nothing of significant happens, except in Auri’s mind. It’s deathly important to her that everything in her world be “right.” Every object must be placed where it “wants to be.” She is strict about how things must be done, even at the cost of great discomfort to herself. She suffers, very obviously, from Obsessive Compulsive Disorder, but hers is a humble lunacy. There is no trace of selfishness in it. Auri sees herself as a servant to all, small and unnoticeable. It’s terribly, terribly important to her not to be noticed. A hint is given, at one point, about the trauma that made her what she is.
Author Rothfuss makes, both at the beginning and the end of the book, personal “apologies” for the kind of story he has provided. “You might not want to buy this book,” he writes in his foreword. He explains that it contains no action, and only one character, so it’s not everybody’s cup of tea.
What it is, of course, is a literary story within the fantasy genre. And it’s a splendid one. Auri is tragic, glorious, and adorable, and the language is lapidary.
Highly recommended though (as Rothfuss tells us) you may have trouble understanding it if you haven’t read the Kingkiller books yet.
Let me say this. It was worth the whole awful, irritating time spent searching the Archives just to watch that moment happen. It was worth blood and the fear of death to see her fall in love with him. Just a little. Just the first faint breath of love so light she probably didn’t notice it herself. It wasn’t dramatic, like some bolt of lightning with a crack of thunder following. It was more like when flint strikes steel and the spark fades almost too fast for you to see. But still, you know it’s there, down where you can’t see it, kindling.
I have already reviewed Patrick Rothfuss’s first novel in the Kingkiller Chronicles, The Name of the Wind. I liked it very much, especially for the masterful writing, but was worried about where the author might take the story.
My fears (wise man that I am) were validated in The Wise Man’s Fear, the second book in the series. The author went some places I didn’t want him to go. And yet he didn’t drive me away, and I want to read more.
Each book in this trilogy involves a single day in which Kote the Innkeeper tells his life story to a character known as the Chronicler. Kote is in actuality Kvothe the Kingkiller, a figure of legend in his own world and time. A poet, a singer, a warrior, a magician. Now he has retired from the world, but he will tell his story for these three days. No more.
The first book told us how Kvothe, born to a family of traveling performers, lost his parents, survived for a time homeless, and finally found entrance to the place he dreamed of – the great institution known as the University.
In The Wise Man’s Fear we follow him as he struggles with poverty, the regulations of the school, and the enmity of a fellow student who uses magic against him. He hones his powers, slowly mastering magic, but eventually finds himself in a place where taking a hiatus from his studies is a good idea. Continue reading ‘The Wise Man’s Fear,’ by Patrick Rothfuss
Over Christmas someone suggested I read Patrick Rothfuss’ The Name of the Wind, first installment in the Kingkiller Chronicles, saying that all the young fantasy fans are talking about it these days.
They could be talking of worse things.
The Name of the Wind is a fantasy, of a refreshingly original sort. It’s similar to the Harry Potter books, but more mature in orientation.
The hero is Kvothe, literally a legend in his own time. World famous as a musician, a warrior, and a magician, he has retired from the world when we meet him in this book, keeping an inn in a remote town. When the character called the Chronicler encounters him, he doesn’t recognize him at first. But when he does, he manages to persuade Kvothe to tell him his life’s story so that he can write it down. Three days are reserved for the project, and each day’s narrative forms the text of one book in the series.
Kvothe tells us of his childhood as a traveling player, the tragedy that takes his family away, his years as a beggar, and at last his acceptance at the University, the greatest learning institution in a world where magic and technology are just poles on a single continuum.
There he makes friends and enemies, reconnects with the love of his life, breaks many rules, and begins to acquire the reputation that will make him the greatest figure of his time.
Fascinating, well written, and well-charactered, The Name of the Wind is very good reading. The author may take the story in ways I don’t like in the future, but for now I liked what I read.
Generally suitable for teens and up.