A random bookshop raid a fortnight ago netted a copy of the Patrick Rothfuss novel The Name of the Wind and since then I've been eagerly anticipating getting into this major new fantasy series. The book smelt right, the back cover blurb was evocative, and the cover art was mysterious. So I started.
100 pages in and there was no magic yet. The main characters were introduced and the narrative consisted of a older guy recounting his early life to a chronicler. So straight away I knew that whatever adventures were to come, the protagonist survived.
200 pages in and the older guy turns out to be a hero, a polymath of unlimited talent in every area ranging from learning languages to crafting lanterns and horseriding. His life consists of a series of incidents showcasing his unnatural intelligence and uncanny ability to do the right thing. A mediaeval MacGyver / Harry Potter hybrid.
300 pages in and now it's clear that the story is going nowhere. Rather than an epic adventure, we're hearing about the hero enrolling at university, attending lectures and dating hotties. Not exactly a triumph of the imagination. Tolkien had more creativity in one toenail than this author's lifetime of writing.
...
700 pages. I can't wait to get through the last few pages. I only hope the hero dies some miserable death before it's over as some sort of consolation for having to put up with him for so long. An infallible protagonist with
This review aptly sums up my feelings about the book. I'll just add that
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