If Ferris Bueller Could Kill You With His Mind

I feel a little shameful that it took me this long to read Patrick Rothfuss’ second book in the Kingkiller series, “The Wise Man’s Fear.” Especially since the book came out back at the beginning of March and I‘d been eagerly awaiting it since its original expected release date of fall 2008. To be fair, “The Wise Man’s Fear” is nearly a thousand pages long, and I am one tiny woman who works forty hours a week building toys for Christmas day.

There is a direct correlation between how much I enjoy a book and how little sleep I get during the time period in which I am reading it. Back in the days of “Harry Potter,” I did my best to finish the book the same day I purchased it, staying up once until dawn. I knew that if I didn’t finish right away, then I was doomed to days of un-productivity until it had been consumed. I admit, I was a little relieved to finally finish all 994 pages of “The Wise Man’s Fear,” because frankly, I was starting to get a little punchy from exhaustion.

If I were to go out on a crazy limb, I would guess that Patrick Rothfuss is as obsessed with reading fantasy literature as I man. He seems to know exactly what the nerd audiences are screaming for, as well as what’s been rehashed and reinvented to the point of decomposition. There’s nothing worth than storylines so boring and old that they smell like retirement home.

Rothfuss has drawn from the full spectrum in building his worlds and characters. The story follows a young red-headed lad named Kvothe. Don’t ask me how to pronounce that, because when I read funky names in books, I usually just change them to something boring like Kevin or something. So Kevin grows up with a band of traveling performers, his parents get killed by an evil spirit posse called The Chandrian. After living on the streets for awhile, Kvothe (Kevin) convinces the local wizard school to not only take him in, but also pay for his tuition, and teach him how to murder bandits using lighting powers, all before the age of sixteen. When I was that age, I was still trying to figure out how not to feel awkward in a tank top.

The twists and turns never end with Rothfuss. In typical fantasy epic fashion, poor Kvothe’s adventurous lifestyle never ends. In all 994 pages, I’m not sure you can ever go two chapters without someone wanting to stab, or drown, or mutilate the lad. Unlike, other fantasy series like “Harry Potter” or George R. R. Martin’s “Game of Thrones,” in two books, I can’t remember anyone important ever dying, save for a few key people at the beginning who start of Kvothe’s life quest. If I had to say something negative about the book, is that Kvothe is almost too good at everything. Even when he sucks at things, there really never is any consequences. Everyone always forgives him. No one ever quite succeeds in killing him, or cutting off his thumbs or sucking the life force out of his body. He’s like the Ferris Bueller of fantasy novels.

Something else that tells me this book (forgive me Patrick Rothfuss) was most definitely written by a nerd, is that all the women are incredibly beautiful, and Kvothe is constantly getting it on with all of them. His female school chums are hot. The warrior maidens who teach him ninja skills are hot. The villainous money lender who threatens to kill him is hot. Not to mention the super hot sex fairy that pulls young, virginal Kvothe into the fae world. Sheesh! At least Harry Potter had a little competition for Cho and Ginny!

Yet, like all these fine ladies, I suppose I have been charmed by young Kvothe, too. I only hope it won’t be another three years before Rothfuss puts our favorite red head’s life in danger once again.