who says words so beautifully
that if he only speaks their name
women give themselves to him
- Leonard Cohen
I'm going to do something irritating and review the second book in a trilogy without having reviewed the first, but don't worry: I'm not going to talk too much about the plot. What I'm going to do instead is tell you why you should be reading Patrick Rothfuss's Kingkiller Trilogy (despite the uberdramatic name) even if long fantasy trilogies aren't really your thing. My sister made me read this one; our relationship has progressed to the point where I am no longer the sole bestower of wisdom and Good Reads advice, which is sort of depressing but also means I read things I otherwise might pass over. I read myself to death on high fantasy in high school and have left the genre largely alone ever since.
I was therefore pleased to discover that this is not your everyday derivative dragons-and-swords high fantasy, even though it features both dragons and swords. This is a (young) man narrating his memoirs, over the course of three nights, to a scribe. The protagonist, Kvothe, does dance perilously close to the realms of Perfect Awesomesauce Fantasy Hero, but is saved from it because his narrative voice is so very human: he's funny, dry, emotional, perceptive and angry by turns, and although the trilogy is indeed all about this one person, it's tribute to Rothfuss's powers of invention and lively writing that you never get sick of Kvothe's company. And the retrospective narrative technique means that there's an inbuilt curiosity about trajectory that keeps the pages turning: how did he get from there to here? We want to know. We really want to know. We wish the book would stop it with the enticing fucking hints. (Not really.)
Although this isn't an ensemble piece by any means, there's a large cast of characters that dance in and out of the story, and I think they might be my favourite thing about the entire trilogy, because they have lives. They're all recognisably complicated people who sometimes interact with Kvothe and sometimes are off doing their own thing. Even if they serve a very particular purpose for Kvothe and for the plot, the reader never feels like they're looking at some stock characters who have been dragged onstage in order to serve this sole purpose. I am particularly fond of the way Rothfuss portrays women (he's a blatantly feminist writer in a way that comes across on occasion as a mite too self-aware, but is still vastly better than the alternative, and very refreshing to see in the genre of male-authored fantasy fiction), and also Kvothe's university friends and their quirks and relationships.
In fact, the majority of the first two books revolve around Kvothe's life at the University, with the result that it kind of feels like Pamela Dean's Tam Lin fell into the hands of Raymond E. Feist and was subjected to a makeover: sure, there's adventure and myth and magic, but there are also long swathes of delightful academic time wherein people study for exams and geek out over weird subjects and get annoyed with their teachers and then go and get drunk. I love it. The greatest and best worldbuilding that Rothfuss has done is in this academic arena: all of the areas of study have been thought out and described beautifully, and their applications are fascinating, and they never come across as easy. Sometimes you have to study until your head aches. Sometimes things come easily, but sometimes you just don't have the knack for it.
The Wise Man's Fear also sees Kvothe leave the University on a sort of enforced gap year, during which this Penny Arcade comic happens (see also: the quote at the top of this review). Oh, and he also learns some crazy ninja skills and comes a bit closer to solving the mystery of his parents' death, which is related to a lot of dark mythology and a possible secret society (there's that plot I wasn't going to tell you about). Another very intense piece of worldbuilding is done here, and that's the people of the Adem, who communicate emotion and nuance via their hands rather than their faces, and have a warrior code and a matriarchal society structure that are impeccably thought out and effectively delivered. I could have read about that society forever; there's so much imagination put into their crreation that you can almost feel it coming off on your fingers as you turn the pages.
There's one more thing that I was so, so impressed to see in these books, and that's the treatment of money. There are a lot of stories where people rise from poor beginnings, and a lot of stories where it's just assumed or handwaved that the characters have enough money to live and to go and do whatever the plot needs them to do. What Rothfuss illustrates wonderfully is just how fucking difficult it is for poor students living hand-to-mouth. Kvothe never has enough money; not through fault (usually), but because he has neither family nor savings, and his tuition is expensive, and it's hard to hold down decently paid work and study like a maniac at the same time. It's a story that rings true with me and I think would with a lot of people -- not wanting to insult friends by not going out with them, but wondering how the hell you can get away with not buying a meal. Praying that no sudden misfortunate requiring money to fix it will come along, because you have no safety net. Borrowing. Pawning. Making compromises. Making do. For all that Kvothe is a talented, brilliant person, he has to work bloody hard just to stay afloat in his own life, and I always appreciate it when an author is brave enough to do that to their darlings.
This wasn't so much a review as a very long recommendation, but there it is: read The Name of the Wind and The Wise Man's Fear, and then prepare to sit around waiting for the third book along with the rest of us.
