From there Kvothe must make his way as an urchin, before he manages – miraculously – to gain entry into the University of the arcanist that had travelled with his father’s family so many years ago. Kvothe is left as an orphan after his father’s study into the Chandrian unwittingly brings their attention down upon his family. There are a few tropes found in The Name of the Wind, but none are exploited to the point where you are remembering other stories.
Kvothe is not only relating his life story in a tale to the Chronicler (book one is Day One of the storytelling), but spent his early life as an Eduma Ruh a travelling and performing group of people, gypsy-like in their lifestyles but with much more focus on their literary and musical talents. Storytelling, in fact, seems to be a thread that will soon be picked up in the sequel, The Wise Man’s Fear (to be released sometime in 2009). This includes everything from a more academic style of magic then is normally employed all the way through to making storytelling and music a large part of the story. The universe in which this story is set is beautifully and articulately created. The story wraps around Kvothe’s life just as you would want, exploring his journey from childhood into adolescence, and a little of the way into maturity.
Autobiographical for the most part, it starts, finishes, and occasionally reverts to a narrative telling of the interview from whence the autobiographical information springs. The book, which is essentially an autobiography of a once famous now reclusive musician, arcanist and adventurer named Kvothe, is revolutionary – to my eyes at least – in its storytelling method. The Name of the Wind, Day One of the Kingkiller Chronicles, quickly made its way into my top fantasy series list. More than groundless, they could even be called vaguely offensive to Rothfuss who proved himself in his first mass market literary outing to be nothing short of a genius. This also had me a little worried, as I am becoming more and more wary of new authors. The book is called The Name of the Wind, and it is written by a new author, Patrick Rothfuss. Thankfully, twice this theory has fallen by the wayside. Maybe it is my own great arrogance (or maybe one of many), but I just figure that – unless they are of a special few – I am the better judge of books. When friends hand me books to read, I am always suspicious of whether the books will be any good.
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