Every so often, a book calls to you. That was how I felt when I first read The Name of the Wind by Patrick Rothfuss a few years back. I loved this book so much I dreamed about it. I loved it so much I refused to read the sequel because I wanted to save it for later, since no one seems to know when the Third book of the Kingkiller Chronicles will be released.
A year ago I bought the special ten year anniversary edition of The Name of the Wind because I absolutely love beautiful books. The anniversary edition is hardcover and has both beautiful maps and illustrations. It is heavy, it is thick, and it is still my favourite.
I decided to reread this book last month, because I was in that epic fantasy super-giant book mood I get into every so often. And I loved it all over again. For me, The Name of the Wind is the kind of book I read without checking to see what page number I’m on. I just read. And then before I know it I’m at the end of the book. All too soon.
My favourite part of the book is the mystery around the Chandrian. Kvothe, though, is just a great character. And Rothfuss’ writing is so spectacular that in my dreams it is like I’m actually living on the streets of Tarbean myself (not such a great place to me if it were real).
Have you ever read The Name of the Wind? If you haven’t, I highly recommend it.