MY NAME IS KVOTHE
I have stolen princesses back from sleeping barrow kings. I burned down the town of Trebon. I have spent the night with Felurian and left with both my sanity and my life. I was expelled from the University at a younger age than most people are allowed in. I tread paths by moonlight that others fear to speak of during day. I have talked to Gods, loved women, and written songs that make the minstrels weep.
You may have heard of me.
So begins a tale unequaled in fantasy literature–the story of a hero told in his own voice. It is a tale of sorrow, a tale of survival, a tale of one man’s search for meaning in his universe, and how that search, and the indomitable will that drove it, gave birth to a legend.
I had put off reading The Name of the Wind for years because of how much everyone seemed to enjoy it; after finally giving it a read, I can understand why people liked it, but I can’t say that I loved it.
The first third of the story was, by far, the most interesting to me: I loved the Edema Ruh, the magic system, and the demonic/faery lore. Unfortunately, after that, the story struggled to progress – there were too few noteworthy incidents to merit the 300+ pages leading up to the end and, while the writing was compelling enough that I never felt bored, I kept waiting for something to happen. The secondary characters weren’t fleshed out (especially the women); while I understand that Kvothe, himself, is narrating the story, it definitely would have benefitted from a more well-developed cast. As for Kvothe: I found him to be entertaining, though the fact that he was so good at everything removed any intrigue or element of surprise since it was just expected that he would excel at anything he attempted on the first try.
All in all, the story was compelling enough for me to enjoy it, although I did have problems with the characters and the pacing. Perhaps I would have enjoyed this completely if it were ~200 pages shorter.