Tuesday, January 19, 2010
The Name of the Wind
"Read to me" Kyle pleaded one evening. We often read to each other before going to sleep. It is a ritual I love and hope to continue for years to come. His choice of book however, was not one that particularly interested me. A fantasy novel. One of those novels which only true geeks read. A book that you might see at a Dungeons and Dragon tournament. I might be geeky, but I draw the line somewhere, and preferably further away from those social outcast classifications than closer. But Kyle insisted, so I conceded, like I do every time he gives me those melt your heart looks. I just can't resist those eyes.
The book was called, "The Name of the Wind." by Patrick Rothfuss
And it wasn't too bad. Which was the closest I could come to say that I enjoyed a fantasy novel.
When he finished the novel, I willingly began to read the novel for myself only after days of persistent prodding by my husband.
I should clarify. I don't really hate fantasy novels. In fact, I like the idea of a new world, even a fantasy one. The prejudice I have against this genre is the style in which it is written. Generally they use a lot of bland unnecessary descriptions and one dimensional characters. BAD WRITING. But after reading this book, I have come to the conclusion that not ALL fantasy books fall under this category. Yes, I admit I was wrong! It doesn't happen often, but I admit it when it happens :)
This author writes beautifully. I aspire to string together words to make music on paper as he does. Seriously, I LOVE his writing style. And the story: captivating, riveting!
"The strings felt strange against my fingers, like reunited friends who have forgotten what they have in common. I played soft and slow, sending notes no farther than the circle of our firelight. Fingers and strings made a careful conversation, as if their dance described the lines of an infatuation.
Then I felt something inside me break and music began to pour out into the quiet. My fingers danced; intricate and quick they spun something gossamer and tremulous into the circle of light our fire had made. The music moved like a spiderweb stirred by a gentle breath, it changed like a leaf twisting as it falls to the ground, and it felt like three years Waterside in Tarbean, with a hollowness inside you and hands that ached from the bitter cold."
One day, I will write in a way that will inspire others. Maybe it will be tomorrow, maybe in ten years, but someday!
(Pick up the book if you get a chance, you wont regret it)