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The Wise Man's Fear
by Patrick Rothfuss

Release Date: 1st Mar 2011
Publisher: Orion
ISBN: 978 0 5750 8141 3
RRP: £20.00

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This is the book of 2011. Whether you love Fantasy or not - this is a must read...

The epic tale of Kvothe the Arcane, the musician and warrior continues in The Wise Man’s Fear’s. Its prequel, The Name of the Wind, was jaw-breakingly good. So good, in fact, that we weren’t surprised that Rothfuss took his time to hone this latest offering – the fear of producing something less than its predecessor must have been almost overwhelming. What Rothfuss seems oblivious to, is his innate ability to craft a story so sumptuous, so utterly enthralling, that his fans would wait decades just to hear what he has to say next.

Day Two of Kvothe’s autobiographical account of his escapades leading up to his current circumstances, hiding from the world in a backwater village as a lowly innkeeper, launches us straight back into the depths of his fabled world. A young Kvothe is still at The University (barely), despite the various attempts of arch rival, Ambrose, to subjugate him. In the whirlwind of romantic longing for Denna, careful cultivation of his strange friendship with Auri, his studies, lute playing and the requisite nights of drunkenness with fellow scholars and friends; Kvothe manages to find time to stir up sufficient trouble for himself, so that he is gently encouraged to ‘disappear’ from the University for a while. His travels bring him to the Maer. A man widely believed to be richer than the King of Vint himself. A sick man, who despite all his cunning and astuteness, failed to perceive the truth behind his prolonged illness: poison. As invaluable as Kvothe makes himself to the Maer, his lack of social etiquette and courtly manners bring him perilously close to personal disaster and once again, he finds himself removed to a safe distance on a dangerous errand that will shape his future and his mould understanding of the world.

Meanwhile, back in ‘real’ time; Bast is as determined as ever to snap Kvothe out of his stupor, resorting to ever more volatile and dangerous methods to provoke the sleeping leviathan into shedding the meek persona he has crafted around himself. There is an undeniable sense of unease – a quiet listening for a danger half heard; like the beating of a drum banging out a steady, rhythmic warning: something bad this way is coming…

Rothfuss has produced a thick, chunky book that would normally incite trepidation and awe in a reader; but all we felt was immense gratitude and like a man reaching for water after a long trek in the desert; we soaked up the luscious detail, savoured the rawness of his newfound skills and greedily gulped down the tantalising glimpses of the man Kvothe is to become. As Kvothe, himself, has become so real to us that we feel, absurdly, that we would recognise him should he care to materialise in our own world and somehow wind up strolling nonchalantly down our street. And perhaps this is down to the autobiographical nature of the story itself; a story of a man. A wondrous man, certainly. An immensely clever and able individual, absolutely. But still: just a man.

Poetic, lyrical and with a subtle romanticism that puts contemporary romance novels to shame; Rothfuss’s writing is like a lover’s caresses, poignant, exhilarating and tender. He has fashioned the detritus of various civilisations, cultures, languages, social and spiritual beliefs to an improbable degree of intricacy that is simply stunning; both in beauty and sheer scope. Speculation that this series had the potential to become one of the greats based on the stature ofThe Name of the Wind could have been seriously damaged by a weak second novel, but even we had no idea that Rothfuss was capable of transcending Tolkein – but he has. Blasphemy? Usually, we’d be inclined to agree, but Rothfuss has not only created a masterpiece, but has then made it so accessible and so pleasurable to read, with not a single jot of tedium or humdrum, that we actually suspect he might be a bit of a wizard himself…


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