After finishing “The Name of the Wind
“, Patrick Rothfuss’s first part of a trilogy of massive books, I said I wouldn’t read the next two. His hero, Kvothe, narrates the central story all about himself and I kept waiting for the other shoe to drop. The primary conflicts emerge mainly because people do not recognise just how RIGHT he is all the time. So I kept waiting, in vain, to find that he was spinning some elaborate yarn, or that there would be some other character to enter the story, Life of Brian style and say – “He’s not the Messiah, he’s a very naughty boy
My feelings faded, I picked up book 2 – “The Wise Man’s Fear”, and so far nothing to tell me my initial thoughts were incorrect. It’s not bad – his writing is engaging and there’s enough mystery to keep me turning the page, but that doesn’t stop me from wanting to smack that constant smugness off of Kvothe’s face.
You’re JUST A NAUGHTY BOY.