Some days are just slow. Not lazy, or laid back. Not even lackadaisical. Just slow.
I woke up and spent the beginning of my day reading ‘The Name of the Wind’ by Patrick Rothfuss. I bought the book secondhand on Tuesday. It’s Thursday and I’m 300 pages in.
I’ve had Rothfuss recommended to me many times, and I’ve picked it up in stores before, but always put it back. The main character’s name really put me off. I know it seems stupid, but I hate it when I don’t know how to pronounce character names.
Kvothe. I read it as Ki-vo-th. And it was cumbersome on the tongue. I put the book back on the shelf, and I ignored it every time I saw it.
But, on my visit to my favorite bookstore I found a copy and it was magnetic. The spine was well-creased, probably read multiple times before it was traded in. Those creases demanded to be touched.
I reached out, caressed the spine, and then pulled the book from its lonely spot on the shelf. I knew as I felt the weight of the book in my hands that I was going to buy it. There was magic in that book. Magic I couldn’t deny, though it didn’t keep me from trying.
Many of you are readers and writers, and you know what I’m talking about. Not every copy of a book is created equal. And though used books tend to hoard all the magic found in print, occasionally a new book is born with it.
I imagine that the criteria is different for every reader, but we all have it, and we all know when we’ve found a book that will be precious to us.
Firstly, ‘The Name of the Wind’ fits in my palm perfectly. The spine tucks into the flesh of my hand, my thumb locked into the ‘O’ in the author’s name at the top as my fingers curl comfortably around to the back cover.
That was the first moment, when I felt that jolt of satisfaction at the feel of the book. Then I flipped through the pages, their edges brushing against my thumb easily. No snags, no sharp edges. Just a smooth rush against the pad of my thumb.
And then the smell hit me. I knew then that I would not be able to put the book back on the shelf. The warm, soft smell of old books wafted up to me as the pages brushed past my thumb, hinting at a past filled with late nights and traveling in purses and cars. This was a book that had been cherished.
Finally, I opened it. I flipped its pages carefully, reading the title page, the dedication, and the acknowledgements, all while getting a feel for the pages themselves. They’re thin, but not brittle.
All these pieces came together to weave a magnetic magic, binding me to the book, just as the pages are bound to the spine. It was undeniable.
And so I tucked it under my arm and continued through the store with my friend, as she explored the shop for the first time. As we walked I mulled over all my reasons for not buying the book.
I can’t pronounce the character’s name. I don’t like “traditional” fantasy stories. I’m reading ‘The Dark Tower’. That pretentious guy at the Sanderson signing wouldn’t shut up about Rothfuss.
But, I knew, even as I tried to talk myself out of it, I would buy the book. I also knew that I’d start reading it that night. What I didn’t know was that I wouldn’t be able to put it down, or that all my preconceived notions were completely wrong.
Calling this book a ‘Traditional’ fantasy novel is so far from accurate, it’s laughable. As for the character’s name? Kvothe? He tells you how to pronounce it, and by page 300, I’ve got it down; ‘Quothe’.
To say I’m reading ‘The Dark Tower’ isn’t entirely truthful. ‘The Waste Lands’ hasn’t been cracked open in a while now. Somewhere in the story my interest faltered. And though I don’t intend to give up, I’m still struggling to find the motivation to pick it back up.
Now, as for the pretentious guy… Well, even jackasses can be right about things, they just tend to lord it over anyone who will listen.
I will say though, that everyone I’ve spoken with/overheard talk about Rothfuss praise him for his flowing and lyrical prose. And yes, for the genre, I think he’s definitely very poetic.
But, there haven’t been many lines that make me pause. Lines that force me to see the beauty in the language. Maybe I haven’t read far enough, or maybe I’m being too critical.
Now, don’t misunderstand me. I’m not criticizing the writing. He’s great, it’s crisp, flowing, and full of striking imagery. And it’s definitely not as spartan as authors I’m used to reading.
But, coming from a general fiction, and short story background, Rothfuss isn’t flowery, or even all that poetic. But, he’s not as cut and dry as Sanderson. Rothfuss’s words flow and have a life of their own, but not enough to take away from the story.
It’s kind of an ideal style. And I’m glad I’m reading it now, as I’m beginning my journey into the biggest world I’ve created.
I think that might be why my venture into ‘The Dark Tower’ slowed. A lull in the story coincided with the end of one novel and the beginning of another, and a venture into a totally new world and tone.
I wanted to read something gritty and sparse while I wrote ‘Cards’, but Jordinn’s story is totally different, and I think I needed help. I read Sanderson almost exclusively while writing ‘Vessels’, and though I don’t think my novel can even compare to something Sanderson wrote, I definitely took a lot of lessons from his prose.
In order to write Jordinn’s story, I needed to read a book that would teach me how. I think ‘The Name of the Wind’ is that book. At least for now.
Anyway, I’m supposed to hang out with a friend today, but she hasn’t responded to my texts yet. So, until she does, I’m going to be editing ‘Vessels’ and keep working on the new novel.
I wrote about 600 words on Tuesday while I waited for a friend, and though that is small progress, I want to keep the momentum going.
If you haven’t read Rothfuss, I recommend giving him a chance. So far I’ve found ‘The Name of the Wind’ highly addictive. It’s the first of three, and the third has yet to be released.
I’m already worried about the potential of having to wait.
Have a good day, Blogland!