Patrick Rothfuss presents me with a conundrum.
Longtime Fabulist readers will remember that I took a somewhat dim opinion of his debut novel and took to the blog to voice said opinion. I stand behind my previous conviction – The Name of the Wind is sloppy, indulgent and highly overrated.
The more I hear about the actual man, the bearded legend, however, the more I start to admire him.
It's things like this, this and this, that make me feel as though I've personally insulted someone's who's a fast-growing and power stable in the nerd community. Every time I catch an appearance by the man, I want to follow his career all the more, despite the fact that, so far, the only work of his I've actually read I openly detested.
Is it possible to hate the book, but love the man? The reverse is certainly true of Orson Scott Card and Ender's Game – perhaps Wise Man's Fear will somehow surprise me and I can call his work a wash.
Man, am I replete with nerd world problems as of late.
Showing posts with label the name of the wind. Show all posts
Showing posts with label the name of the wind. Show all posts
Tuesday, August 27, 2013
Tuesday, January 22, 2013
The Name of the Wind
If you've been paying attention to my Goodreads widget in the corner (because, I mean, who hasn't?), then you'll probably have noticed that I've been reading like an absolute fiend. Or, well, at least, in comparison to my previous reading habits. Goodreads has honestly done wonders for increasing my reading – gamification seems to work on me.
However, my weirdly specific standards don't appear to have slackened as a result of all this extra input. I continue to find myself frustratedly re-structuring sequences in my head as I read them, complaining aloud why "this exposition is even here" or that "this should be the introduction to the character" and so on.
In an effort to air those grievances, I've turned to you, blog of old, and hope that you'll be receptive.
Book: The Name of the Wind
Author: Patrick Rothfuss
Rating: One star
Despite all the Rothfuss love, I simply couldn't digest this one. I did read the entire thing, all its prodigious length and I had one serious grievance that more or less prevented me from enjoying the novel (barring the goddamn übermench protagonist syndrome, which infects the entire book, to the point of causing me to laugh aloud at its absurdity) and I may receive some heat for this one, from all of you spambots reading this.
The framing device, of the tale being chronicled by the aptly-named Chronicler, basically doesn't function. Putting aside tiny impracticalities (like where the fuck does he get all the paper and ink?), the fact that Kvothe would painstakingly explain to this seasoned scribe that every single goddamn syllable that comes out of his mouth is 100% vital and must not be edited or trimmed or primed or anything and then Rothfuss procedes to write the most rambly, long-winded poorly structured excuse for a narrative imaginable, boggled my mind. Very early on, Rothfuss informs you, through Kvothe, that he's the perfect storyteller and how dare anyone take issue with his structure, pace, dialogue, exposition, any of it. If anything, this had the opposite effect on me – whenever the story began to drag, I noticed it ten times more, recalling Kvothe's early caveat and growing that much more impatient with Rothfuss' aimless meanderings.
That doesn't even take into account the sheer implausibility of the whole enterprise. He's recounting seemingly every conversation he's ever had in his entire life, word-for-word. I'd assume he was exaggerating or paraphrasing, but he makes it clear, at the very beginning that nothing is exaggerated and everything is verbatim. It drove me bonkers – not to mention the, like, three times in which Kvothe recounts a story someone else recounted to him, including that story's inner dialogue between characters. That's like, triple hearsay, for fuck's sake, and we're supposed to believe that it's flawless execution? On one occasion, Rothfuss uses it as worldbuilding, explaining the theology behind his world's major religion. Not only is that sloppy exposition for Rothfuss, it's even sloppier for Kvothe, who's recounting that fucking information to two people (Bast and Chronicler) who already fucking know that.
The story itself was decent, had a few moments of enjoyable worldbuilding, but, even without the maddening supposition that it was a perfect narrative, I would have thought it was too long and too wandering.
I'm reading Wise Man's Fear, mostly because I've heard it's even more ludicrous, particularly in the KVOTHE IS SO COOL department, but I'm gonna wait a good long while before that.
Woof. That was longer than I intended. Next time, I'll complain about John Scalzi!
However, my weirdly specific standards don't appear to have slackened as a result of all this extra input. I continue to find myself frustratedly re-structuring sequences in my head as I read them, complaining aloud why "this exposition is even here" or that "this should be the introduction to the character" and so on.
In an effort to air those grievances, I've turned to you, blog of old, and hope that you'll be receptive.
Book: The Name of the Wind
Author: Patrick Rothfuss
Rating: One star
Despite all the Rothfuss love, I simply couldn't digest this one. I did read the entire thing, all its prodigious length and I had one serious grievance that more or less prevented me from enjoying the novel (barring the goddamn übermench protagonist syndrome, which infects the entire book, to the point of causing me to laugh aloud at its absurdity) and I may receive some heat for this one, from all of you spambots reading this.
The framing device, of the tale being chronicled by the aptly-named Chronicler, basically doesn't function. Putting aside tiny impracticalities (like where the fuck does he get all the paper and ink?), the fact that Kvothe would painstakingly explain to this seasoned scribe that every single goddamn syllable that comes out of his mouth is 100% vital and must not be edited or trimmed or primed or anything and then Rothfuss procedes to write the most rambly, long-winded poorly structured excuse for a narrative imaginable, boggled my mind. Very early on, Rothfuss informs you, through Kvothe, that he's the perfect storyteller and how dare anyone take issue with his structure, pace, dialogue, exposition, any of it. If anything, this had the opposite effect on me – whenever the story began to drag, I noticed it ten times more, recalling Kvothe's early caveat and growing that much more impatient with Rothfuss' aimless meanderings.
That doesn't even take into account the sheer implausibility of the whole enterprise. He's recounting seemingly every conversation he's ever had in his entire life, word-for-word. I'd assume he was exaggerating or paraphrasing, but he makes it clear, at the very beginning that nothing is exaggerated and everything is verbatim. It drove me bonkers – not to mention the, like, three times in which Kvothe recounts a story someone else recounted to him, including that story's inner dialogue between characters. That's like, triple hearsay, for fuck's sake, and we're supposed to believe that it's flawless execution? On one occasion, Rothfuss uses it as worldbuilding, explaining the theology behind his world's major religion. Not only is that sloppy exposition for Rothfuss, it's even sloppier for Kvothe, who's recounting that fucking information to two people (Bast and Chronicler) who already fucking know that.
The story itself was decent, had a few moments of enjoyable worldbuilding, but, even without the maddening supposition that it was a perfect narrative, I would have thought it was too long and too wandering.
I'm reading Wise Man's Fear, mostly because I've heard it's even more ludicrous, particularly in the KVOTHE IS SO COOL department, but I'm gonna wait a good long while before that.
Woof. That was longer than I intended. Next time, I'll complain about John Scalzi!
Saturday, November 17, 2012
Day 16
Dreadfully behind, as always, but catching up. I wrote 3,200 words today without breaking a sweat and while it's perhaps naive to think I can continue at such a pace the rest of the month, I hope to at least catch up that way.
A little math tells me Cutthroat is like to actually clock in around 57,000 some words, but as Stall Draft 5 has got to be finished by December 5th, I have no time to dawdle around and finish the book. Cutthroat's gotta be down on November 30th like everybody else, 57,000 words or no.
A wiser man than me would say I've bitten off more than I can chew. A wiser man'd be right.
Ran another D&D session. A pair of them, actually, but they constitute as one mega-session in the recap, so enjoy! Not every session you get to push a PC into a vat of molten steel, eh?
Past 60% on Name of the Wind and still can't fathom it. It's settled down some, but the sheer, baldfaced arrogance of the whole premise drives me bonkers at every turn. Love to discuss further, but really oughta finish the book and my book first.
Sunday, November 11, 2012
Day 11
Still behind, but that was inevitable. Ain't likely to catch myself up in overnight. For now, at least until Tuesday, I'm just gonna keep pace – then I worry about closing the gap.
Alternatively dungeoncrafting and power-writing today. As I predicted, the NaNoWriMo "don't nitpick, just write" mentality is an ill fit for me. I feel as though I'm typing blindfolded and I bet most NaNos (WriMos? NoWrims? What's the demonym there? Nanners?) don't even anguish as much as I'm doing now. It's probably good for me, but boy do I not enjoy it.
Also listening to the Name of the Wind audiobook. Only 27% through that, so grain of salt, but I can't tell if I'm just a cynical bastard or if it's a truly terrible book. A more detailed review to follow in a month or two, when I probably finish the thing.
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