So it's been awhile since I last decided to expel a myriad of thoughts across the Internet via this form of medium more commonly known as "Blogging". And admittedly, it has been difficult for me to come up with a good, lung-expanding rant which I can give voice. But no matter how you perceive that it's just complaints. And whining. Dressed up pretty with a heavy layer of make-up, much like your average teenage whore out on a Friday night.
With such thoughts in mind, I decided that it would be better to do have a more positive little piece of ranting for the rest of the world to consider. Without further ado, here's one of the first book reviews I've had the heartfelt pleasure in crafting in many a year.
Title: The Name of the Wind
Author: Patrick Rothfuss.
" 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 the day. I have talked to Gods, loved women, and written songs that make the minstrels weep.
My name is Kvothe. You may have heard of me."
With such a stunning summary emblazoned across the back cover, small wonder that picking up this book and settling down is one of the best choices I've made in the last couple of years. With well over six hundred pages to give it a thickness with much promise when one starts delving into the world created by Patrick Rothfuss. It leaves you craving for the next book in the series (Translation: Write faster Mr. Rothfuss, WRITE FASTER!)
For those who haven't had this book shoved into their faces by fellow lovers of well-crafted fantasy novels which sweep you off your feet and into another world with nary a whisper of complaint, clearly you need a higher class of friends to throw books your way. Be careful if they do throw it... it could lead to a concussion.
If I had my arm twisted to give a comparison, I would suggest that this in some ways is a much more grown-up, sensible version of the Harry Potter series. Except with far more traits involving wickedly delicious humour, pranks, a higher class of romance, well-timed sense of the theatrical, and elegantly situated world-shaking Doom looming over the horizon than J.K. Rowling could possibly shake a corkscrew wand at. Should you make it past the first sixty pages without being undeniably sucked into this masterpiece than I surely pity you. Oh what are you doing still reading this blathering review of mine?! Go forth and read it! Borrow it from your well-stocked library! Take it off a friend! Bludgeon them with it's hefty weight if necessary. Then sit down with a few hours to spare and be entertained!