The Name of the Wind by Patrick Rothfuss


The “The Name of the Wind” is a fantasy novel by Patrick Rothfuss, an epic tale, continuing still, to be told in three parts, one for each day, one in each book, and the one to be told to you today is the very first of the trilogy.

To call the “The Name of the Wind,” an introduction to the life of Kvothe would be fair but inaccurate, since the plot beholds a long journey of how a child from a troupe Edema Ruh became one of the greatest magicians, an infamous legend, whose instances in folk lores were innumerable and significant. It is long but incomplete and little is known of the world that Kvothe belongs to; it is convenient to say that Kvothe is primitive to each and every account the story presents. There are reasons to why the description of civilization, that of other characters is lesser in comparison to the elicitation on Kvothe himself. The storytelling by Patrick Rothfuss is ingenious, crisp and cares to retain readers for long hours accredited to the precise diction, unrestrained prose, and effortless flow, but because its a narrative, it lacks exploration, and the only exploration in the world, in the story and in characters  one witnesses is that done by Kvothe, and no matter how long it be, one man is definitely not an eye to the whole world. Even though the plot changes gears from first person to a third person narrative, back and forth, it still limits the world and characters to what Kvothe has to say about them. But still, Kvothe did have a lot to say (so did Patrick Rothfuss), and the 700 pages of novel stand testament to it solemnly.  Continue reading

Sins #1

Lust Lechery

Sociality pelted along,
as civilizations throve, rugged,
with customs, portfolios,
establishing beliefs,
spurring right-wrong,
world though beauteous
shunned to colossal lechery,
reasons must I tell?

Though lust not lechery,
to think not act,
indulges not a potent opposite,
but must I tell,
neither attraction, nor love,
craving bodily amazement,
like addicted to the living
like a mere object,
to ideate thoughtful orgasms,
isn’t ill and stupendous?

Though might stand confusion,
amidst horrid dubieties,
if lust were love, attraction,
were marriage,
but must I tell
though not bound to church,
is sanctity of free will,
decorum of consciousness,
to heed too much
to something,
as if world is blank,
never is righteous.

Starting Over

“Oh Look, it started raining mother”, Adriel spoke with sheer happiness. He was convinced that this would put on hold or even better call off their plans to meet Dr. Len, but finding surprises has always been his strong suit.

She did not reply, he called out one more time, but still she did not reply.

He went in to look.

Kaya had been working hard as a mother and a receptionist in an ad agency. Things have been hard and life a little difficult after Josh died. It happened that morning, that dark morning, that’s how she describes it. She loved nature and knew the drill which it’s various associates namely, sun, moon, trees played every year, every season, every month, but after that day, she barely remembered as to why she was so in love with nature, why she ever thought of sun as god’s ultimate gift to earth, and hailed trees that only belong to the soil,  pretending to sacrifice their movement to foster mankind.  May be her doubts were an aftershock or may be she never really understood how rough things are around, outside her small solicited heaven. But she had reasons to believe, to blame and curse nature for it’s role in the misfortune, for she felt cheated, felt unsafe, for she had lost her husband to the dark morning, when the sun was playing, hiding behind clouded shackles, dim, and trees meant to stand, lied proudly on ground, silently as his car hit the trunk on road and rocketed off the hill, the repercussion an aftermath, a tragedy. A man died that night and so did the belief of safe havens. Continue reading