The Name of the Wind

Review ebook The Name of the Wind

I’m sorry, Mr. Rothfuss. For realz, actual sorry. Honestly. I tried giving your book two stars out of pity, since I so wanted to like it and I’d feel bad about giving it one star and dragging down your average rating. Though you don’t appear to need my pity. Your book has the highest average GR rating (4.49) of any of the book I’ve read. I finally dropped my rating down to one star because it’s just a steaming pile of crap and I couldn’t take the embarrassment of having posted a two-star rating I’m sorry, Mr. Rothfuss. For realz, actual sorry. Honestly. I tried giving your book two stars out of pity, since I so wanted to like it and I’d feel bad about giving it one star and dragging down your average rating. Though you don’t appear to need my pity. Your book has the highest average GR rating (4.49) of any of the book I’ve read. I finally dropped my rating down to one star because it’s just a steaming pile of crap and I couldn’t take the embarrassment of having posted a two-star rating on something so awful.

Mr. Rothfuss, you probably don’t give a shit about my rating since, judging from your GR biography, you appear to be very comfortable in your own academic, geeky skin. And that is totally cool. I’m an academic, geeky type myself. Not as geeky as you. You are really geeky. Like I said: that’s cool. Anywayz, for a long time I gave you two stars since a couple of my most favorite people (my brother and his fiancé) both love your book. One star for each of them. But, like I hinted, the book is pretty bad. So are you and me good? No hard feelings? Awesome. I don’t take shit too personally, either. So now I’ll get down to ripping your book, knowing we can still be friends.

In the interest of full disclosure, I faithfully admit that this book goes in my DNF shelf. I made it 162 pages in (I was reading it on the Kindle app on my iPhone and made it to § 3154, but with little arithmetic I determined that was the equivalent of page 162 in the mass market paperback). I just couldn’t finish it. I gave it a good honest try and eventually found myself reading only so I wouldn’t have to admit to my brother that I didn’t like it enough to finish. But that isn’t a good reason to spend my time—something we have precious little of in our short lives—reading something I dislike and not getting paid for it. So I’m sorry, bro. I tried. (Yes, my brother is one of my GR friends and will likely see this review.) Now on to the reasons I couldn’t finish the book.

Most of The Name of the Wind is written in the first person; it’s the autobiography of Kvothe, who has a number of things in common with “The Most Interesting Man in the World.” Kvothe is reciting his life story to a scribe while his male companion, Bast, looks on.

FOOTNOTE

There are several interesting facts pertaining to Kvothe and Bast. First, Bast is described as “sharp and delicate, almost beautiful, with striking blue eyes.” Second, Kvothe and Bast run a bed-and-breakfast. Third, Bast follows Kvothe around like a puppy dog. Fourth, Bast likes to tuck Kvothe into bed and watch him sleep. Fifth, Bast cries like a little girl when he hears something sad. Finally, Bast apparently can manifest himself as some sort of goat-man creature. Do you see where I’m going with this? Kvothe runs a bed-and-breakfast, in which a very sensitive and beautiful man follows him around and occasionally turns into a goat. Bed-and-breakfast and goat-men: what could be sexier? Not that there’s anything wrong with that. I believe everyone should have the freedom be who they were born to be and I have several close friends who happen to be gay; I’m the last person who would have a problem with Kvothe and his beautiful male companion getting frisky (goat-style, of course). I only mention the implied homoerotic connection because Kvothe (a.k.a. The Most Interesting Man in the World) is supposed to be a lady-killer. No, not a psycho rapist murderer, you freaks. A lady-killa. A Lover of Women. I suppose that’s not necessarily inconsistent; perhaps Kvothe swings both ways. Let’s all say it together, now: not that there’s anything wrong with that.

END FOOTNOTE

Not all of the book, however, is written in the first-person. First-person narrative is reserved for Kvothe’s recitation of his life story. The remainder of the book, particularly the scenes of Kvothe manhandling his lover in front of the scribe (Bast said Kvothe leaves bruises), are written in the third-person. I’ll address my displeasure with the third-person sections first.

Let me clarify at the outset that I have no problem with the writer switching between first-person and third-person narrative. I recognize it can be a powerful tool and it serves the structure of this story quite well. The book begins in the third-person, then as Kvothe tells his life story it switches to first-person, then back to third-person for occasional interludes. My problem is with the author switching his narrative voice within the third-person sections. The academic geek is all over the place in that regard. Sometimes he writes a scene in third-person subjective, other times third-person objective. Some passages read like third-person limited, others third-person omniscient. At points the author seemed to switch voice page to page, or even paragraph to paragraph. In one especially irritating scene he even threw in a hint of first-person for a paragraph or so. Maybe if I’d kept reading I would have found a scene or two in second-person, just for good measure. The switching of narrative voices was confusing and frustrating.

Perhaps the author saw his story as being so epic and/or complex that a third-person omniscient narrator was called for throughout. I certainly understand the advantages of an omniscient narrator that can relate some scenes from one character’s point of view and others from a second character’s point of view, and so on. But that theory doesn’t fit The Name of the Wind. With most of the book, indeed the real meat of the story, being written in the first-person, the third-person sections are a minority and seem almost incidental, merely setting the stage and creating some dynamic/juxtaposition. And the theory doesn’t explain why some scenes are told from the points of view of everyone present (a voice that strikes me as pompous and unreal) while other scenes are described objectively, from nobody’s point of view. Still other scenes alternate points of view paragraph by paragraph, or even sentence by sentence, and at a couple of points I wasn’t entirely sure who’s thoughts I was reading. Such constant switching without an obvious purpose or pattern made the omniscient narrator (if that’s what was intended) seem unreliable.

Now on to the bulk of the book: Kvothe’s first-person account of his life story. Kvothe’s account actually read much smoother than the third-person interludes. Without the worry of mixing up his voices, the author did a much better job on the first-person narrative. Indeed, Kvothe’s story incorporates some fair (not horrible, not great) drama, suspense, and sentiment. Portions are even quite quotable. The Author was thoughtful and observant in his telling of Kvothe’s story, relating events and thoughts with which I could identify and pointing out a few things I wouldn’t have thought of. Unfortunately, for the reasons set forth below, those good qualities were not sufficient to demand my continued attention.

Many passages in Kvothe’s story felt lazy, unnecessary, unintended, or unoriginal. A few things were just plain weird. For example:

–> Kvothe asks his father a question and the father makes a big deal about wanting to answer with a poem, but after five lines he forgets the rest. Setting aside that the five remembered lines were some shitty poetry, why is the rest forgotten? If the poem was important, then the author should have taken the time (or sought the help) to craft something decent for the father to recite. If the poem was not important, why have the father recite a poem at all? A pointless poem only serves to clutter the prose.
–> As a boy Kvothe watched his parents make out so he could learn kissing technique. That’s weird.
–> Speaking of Kvothe watching his parents, he has some sort of Oedipal affection for his mother. It shows in a few places but never more so than when he describes his mother as “slender, fresh, and bright, pale and smooth-skinned in the firelight.” I have trouble reconciling the Oedipus Complex with “The Most Interesting Man in the World.” Unless I just misunderstand one or the other?

2ND FOOTNOTE

What I find especially interesting is my suspicion that the author was not consciously creating the Oedipal attraction. Similarly I suspect the author was not consciously creating the romantic connection between Kvothe and Bast. Maybe if I’d finished the book I would have found out that Kvothe was a gay man who masturbated to the memory of his mother. But I doubt it.

END 2ND FOOTNOTE

–> Kvothe declares that he will “sum up” a certain magical principle and begins with his “first” point. He then expounds upon that first point, but never reaches a second point, nor a third or fourth. The explanation merely peters out.
–> Kvothe’s father sets up a dichotomy between poetry and music that I don’t believe exists. (I admit that’s only a disagreement rather than a problem with the writing.)
–> In several places there was a lack of creativity with turn of phrase. One passage uses the phrase “there are times” too many times.
–> The author uses the definite article in a number of places were the indefinite article would have been more appropriate. In the passage I marked as an example, Kvothe talks about going “deeper into the city” without any prior mention of having entered any city, much less being on the verge of going deeper into it.
–> In another place, a beautiful metaphor was ruined when the author spelled out his meaning explicitly. Some metaphors are more powerful if left implied, resting behind the words for the observant reader to find on his own. In this instance, it went from beautiful metaphor to so-so analogy.

I also have a much more fundamental, underlying problem with the entire storyline. That is the quality of Kvothe as a character. He’s portrayed as a superhuman hero with a towering intellect and dazzling physical prowess. Kvothe can do nothing wrong; no puzzle is too difficult and no problem too big to handle. He can thrive under any circumstance and no lady can resist his advances (neither can beautiful goat-men, for that matter). He wins over the most cynical skeptics and his knowledge of the arts and sciences is without equal. Kvothe advises kings and kills demons. He can even run a clean and comfortable bed-and-breakfast. Kvothe, himself, is his own story’s deus ex machina. And that, to me, it is the ultimate expression of unimaginative writing. Supposedly Mr. Rothfuss wrote The Name of the Wind over the course of a decade or more. You’d think, with all that time to contemplate and mull over his book, he could come up with something more interesting than (ironically) “The Most Interesting Man in the World.”
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