Patrick Rothfuss, You Bastard: A tale of love and death by books.

Hi Keddah,

I don’t even know where to begin. There are so many things floating around my head. First, let me say that this will – at a point – be a gushy post about my fiancé. I don’t usually get gushy on social media but sometimes it just comes out. Second, I had every intension of doing the 50 book challenge this year and have failed miserably because of this series I’m about to talk about. Third, this post MAY in some convoluted universe contain a spoiler but not really. Fourth, Andrew is the ABSOLUTE PITS.

According to my Goodreads [click the link – be my friend], I began reading The Name of the Wind (NOTW) on March 9th. This book series has consumed me since then. I have only read EIGHT books this year, but if you count the fact that I’ve not only read both NOTW and its follow up, Wise Man’s Fear, but also listened to the audio books twice – you can up my book reading/listening to 12 – which DOESN’T EVEN COUNT. (Frame of reference: these books are big enough to kill someone and the audio books are over a day and a half long AND WORTH EVERY SECOND)

These books – and audiobooks – are so incredible. My obsession with them is nearing my obsession with Harry Potter and, due to the fact that they are new and shiny, might even be surpassing it. BUT HERE’S THE RUB: THERE ARE ONLY TWO IN THE TRILOGY OUT RIGHT NOW, AND MY BRAIN WILL NOT LET ME DO ANYTHING ELSE UNTIL IT’S FINISHED. Which is why Andrew, apart from being the love of my life, is THE BIGGEST ASSHOLE I’VE EVER MET.  HOW COULD YOU DO THAT TO A PERSON???

A: “Babe, I’m reading this book it’s so great – OH MY GOD THIS BOOK IS AMAZING – YOU SHOULD TOTALLY READ THIS BOOK – OH MY GOD READ IT NOW” /myes, I will torture my fiancé with this unfinished book series and watch her fail at her book challenge just so I can have someone to go, “RIGHT?!?!” with when she reads something and dies/cries/laughs/panics/passes out because of anxiety.

S: “Uh-whatever okay fine” /opens book /leaves the planet until the last installment is done

This post is getting a little HP5. I’m sorry but my pure infatuation with these characters and their stories HAS PUT ME IN A STATE OF ALL CAPS. I cried, had a mild panic/anxiety attack, laughed hysterically NUMEROUS TIMES while reading these books. THEY ARE JUST SO GOOD.

There are so many characters that I love but one in particular has my whole heart. Simmon. His friends call him Sim. Kvothe (the main character) says of Sim:

“Simmon, for example, had a great deal to offer. He was a gemstone in the rough. Not stunning at first glance, but with a great deal of worth beneath the surface. Sim was tender, kind and attentive as any woman could care for. He made Fela deliriously happy. Sim was a prince.”

(I’m reading this now and it makes me fucking uncomf as hell that he says WAS. Sim WAS a prince?!? HOW DARE YOU. WHAT THE HELL PAT, I THOUGHT WE WERE FRIENDS – DON’T WAS SIMMON – OKAY – I KNOW THIS IS GOING TO BE A SAD BOOK BUT COME ON GIVE US SOMETHING)

And this part – EVERY TIME I READ IT I CRY (there are a lot of parts like that to be fair – Patrick likes to hit you straight in the feels). It goes like this [the //’s are where there is a break between the paragraphs – wordpress makes it look extra stupid when the breaks are there]:

“I saw Fela turn her head to look at Simmon, almost as if she were surprised to see him sitting there. // No, it was almost as if up until that point, he’d just been occupying space around her, like a piece of furniture. But this time when she looked at him, she took all of him in. His sandy hair, the line of his jaw, the span of his shoulders beneath his shirt. This time when she looked, she actually saw him. // Let me say this. It was worth the whole awful, irritating time spent searching the Archives just to watch that moment happen. It was worth blood and the fear of death to see her fall in love with him. Just a little. Just the first faint breath of love, so light she probably didn’t notice it herself. It wasn’t dramatic, like some bolt of lightning with a crack of thunder following. It was more like when flint strikes steel and the spark fades almost too fast for you to see. But still, you know it’s there, down where you can’t see, kindling.”

And this fucking kills me! How! How did Patrick Rothfuss, that wonderful and amazing bastard, LOOK INTO MY LIFE AND STEAL A MOMENT. I remember so clearly that moment with Andrew – YOU WERE THERE, EVERYONE WAS, WHEN HE SAID HE WAS CANADIAN. I remember exactly where I was in the room, exactly what he looked like, AND I REMEMBER FLINT STRIKING STEAL. AND IT JUST – HHHNNG – it makes the butterflies in my chest go all stupid and weird and I want to spend all day snuggling up to Andrew AND WHAT I’M TRYING TO SAY HERE IS THIS. I’M GOING TO BE THE ASSHOLE THAT ANDREW WAS TO ME AND TELL YOU TO READ THIS GODDAMN BEAUTIFUL, PERFECT, AMAZING, LIFE CHANGING BOOK NOW. You will not be disappointed.


P.S. There’s another part that I’m sharing with you now but I’m not going to tell you why. Other than the fact that it’s beautiful beyond all measure:

“No, listen. I’ve got it now. You meet a girl: shy, unassuming. If you tell her she’s beautiful, she’ll think you’re sweet, but she won’t believe you. She knows that beauty lies in your beholding.” Bast gave a grudging shrug. “And sometimes that’s enough.” // His eyes brightened. “But there’s a better way. You show her she is beautiful. You make mirrors of your eyes, prayers of your hands against her body. It is hard, very hard, but when she truly believes you…” Bast gestured excitedly. “Suddenly the story she tells herself in her own head changes. She transforms. She isn’t seen as beautiful. She is beautiful, seen.”

/drops the mic.


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