After I finished reading, I looked up and didn't know what to do with myself. I kept holding the book, which was still warm, and flipped back through the pages hoping to find some morsel I'd missed. It was not a simple craving; this damn book put an emptiness in me I need to fill. Yeah, that's how much l like The Name of the Wind—it's become an organ.
The Name of the Wind is the origin story of a legendary figure, Kvothe, narrated by the man himself. Actually, it's only one third of his story, as the book is the first "day" of a big autobiography that'll take Kvothe three days to tell—he's apparently that kickass. The whole book is a flashback in first-person POV, with a few third-person interludes throughout Kvothe's narrative that show what's happening in Kvothe's present time.
I've been hankering to write this review for months now, but wanted to flesh out my thoughts and figure out just why I'm so captivated. Because it's strange, I have some really big issues with the book, especially with the characters, especially with Kvothe. But somehow—this is the strangeness—despite these
gripes, the story as a whole works so inextricably well; in fact, I don't even care about them now, the book's so good. There's dark sorcery at work here: parts are adding up to more than their sum :O Patrick Rothfuss is cheating somehow, but I'm happy to let him get away with it.
—
First, my main beef: Kvothe annoys me to no end, right from the very beginning. I was reading the back cover:
I have stolen princesses back from sleeping barrow kings. I have 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.
and the instant I read the last line of the blurb, I was like, oh
barf, seriously? What a douche. I have to put up with this self-centered prat—from a first person POV to boot!—for the entire book?
But as it turns out, it's a good thing Kvothe's the main character. This means more screen time for other, more likable facets of his character to show up. As the story takes us through Kvothe's childhood and adolescence, I see the sparks of his natural curiosity as he travels with his parents' troupe; I learn about the dark, fierce depths of his will to survive as a city urchin (this part is pretty hardcore—he sees a boy getting raped, but does nothing so as to avoid revealing his hidden shelter); and finally, I understand why, as an underdog University student out to prove himself in a mean world, he has to wear his pride and confidence like armor.
I warm up to Kvothe I admit. I still cringe and want to sock him in the face sometimes, but for the most part, I get where he's coming from, enough to overcome—well, at least distract me from—my disgust for his arrogance.
The other characters in the cast though are pretty crappy. They are the victims of being in the same book as
Kvothe. They are not going to be as well-drawn because frankly, their existence only matters in how they relate to Kvothe.
Let me talk a second about Denna, Kvothe's love interest. Denna just sucks. That's it. There's really nothing else to say about her because she's a complete and utter object in the story. Yeah, like a chair. I have faith (repent!) though, that Rothfuss has bigger plans for her later on in the trilogy.
Kvothe's friends and teachers and miscellaneous people all just fall like dominos around him. No one can stand against him as a viable rival, even the specifically casted Archenemy Ambrose. I actually can't wait to read how Ambrose will get Kvothe expelled from the University in the next book.
I do like Bast though. Bast is Kvothe's dandy apprentice. He's dark, charming, mysterious, and a demon prince. Or son of one, I'm not sure. And okay, he's fae, not really a demon, but whatever. His relationship with Kvothe is fascinating and I bet there are lots of slashfics about the two.
—
Ordinarily, my immediate and involuntary aversion to
most of the characters in the book would be a deal-breaker. I'm not talking about vague and trivial issues here, like the ever-popular "problems with pacing" or "the author doesn't trust the reader." So why did I keep reading? Why should you keep reading?
Because of the prose, the magic, and the world-building.
Here's a passage to read:
Then, waiting, I heard the silence pouring from them. The audience held themselves quiet, tense, and tight, as if the song had burned them worse than flame. Each person held their wounded selves closely, clutching their pain as if it were a precious thing.
Then there was a murmur of sobs released and sobs escaping. A sigh of tears. A whisper of bodies slowly becoming no longer still.
Then the applause. A roar like leaping flame, like thunder after lightning.
After a while of reading this kind of prose, I don't even
see the words anymore; there's just this torrent of images and emotions flooding my brain.
Rothfuss puts these words to good use. His world-building is fine and patient. I learn and see new things about the world alongside Kvothe. The first-person view pays off in spades here. When Kvothe goes down to explore the underground ruins under the University, with its secret hallways, high galleries, and huge machinery covered in dust, I wanted to write a fanfic right there. Almost.
Now I finally get to talk about the magic. Magic comes in two flavors: there's the almost scientific, utility magic called sympathy (the name rocks) taught in classroom lectures, and then there's the recondite, super mysterious naming that gives the book its title and doesn't make sense even when a character tries to explain it. I love this. With sympathy, Rothfuss lets us in on how magic works so we can follow along and really understand the scenes that use it. The downside to this is that sympathy loses its mystery and exoticism since we get so familiar with it. Rothfuss solves this and reengages our sense of wonder with naming, a rare form of magic we only see a few
times. And those few times are wicked cool.
—
As great as the writing, world-building, and magic are, they're like little pebbles on the pro side and they don't nearly balance out my, uh, boulder of distaste for the characters on the con side. There's a final reason why I like this book so much. It's a big something-else, the strangeness I can't articulate. It throws the whole awkward scale metaphor out the window—there's no weighing of good and bad things about the book anymore, there's just AWESOME.
I'll try to explain what I mean. The Name of the Wind is about the nature of stories. This theme pops up when I wonder what's up with the weird story-in-a-story structure, or when Bast mentions that Denna wasn't as good-looking in real life as Kvothe makes her out to be. And the whole thing with the true bad guys, the Chandrian, and how they murdered Kvothe's parents for the song they were writing. All these details point to something grand and unifying, and knowing this, it just comforts me so much, that there's something more and whole in these books and Patrick Rothfuss knows what he's doing.
Alright, I give up, I can't fully explain it. Dang you Rothfuss for ruining my book report! *fist shake* Please just read it everybody and see for yourself. 
