Sometimes I wish I wrote less so I had more time for reading. I'm a book worm in the true sense. But one can't hope to make a career of reading, so oh well. Duty calls.
Today is a perfect, drenching rainy day, and this just arrived in the mail yesterday. All one thousand pages of it. Impeccable timing.
I finished Patrick Rothfuss's The Name of the Wind a couple weeks ago and immediately ordered the sequel, The Wise Man's Fear. So far, this series is proving to be my favorite kind of read: the kind I enjoy so much that I refuse to step back from it and look at it critically. I just want to be a fan, to read and enjoy and soak it in and not worry about analyzing it for a second. Sure, I could talk metaphors and language and themes, but suffice to say Rothfuss is a beautiful writer who handles first and third person deftly, creates complex characters, and tells a story in true epic fantasy tradition. I'm so glad I took a chance on these books; they were such a good recommendation.