My name is Kvothe, pronounced nearly the same as “quothe.” Names are important as they tell you a great deal about a person. I’ve had more names than anyone has a right to. The Adem call me Maedre. Which, depending on how it’s spoken, can mean The Flame, The Thunder, or The Broken Tree.

So begins the grandiose blurb for Patrick Rothfuss’ debut The Name of the Wind. It made quite a splash when it came out in 2007, but since I am perpetually behind the times I didn’t get to it until this month. I wavered over reading it because the blurb told me next to nothing about the plot, and I wasn’t sure if I would like the voice–it sounded too arrogant to me.

This is the story of Kvothe’s life, told by his older self, in hiding from the world as an unassuming innkeeper in the middle of nowhere. He is still a young man, but haunted and broken, and I was instantly moved to wonder what ordeals befell a man of such power and stature. He is discovered by the Chronicler who persuades him to tell his story, to counteract the legends and lies that have sprung up in his abscence. Kvothe tells of his childhood as a member of a traveling troupe, his time as a street urchin after the murder of his parents, his admission and studies at a University of Magic. He tells of the passions of his life: mastering magic, hunting his parents’ killers (the semi-mythical Chandrian) and his love, Denna.

This book is well-written and finely-detailed, but my interest in it waxed and waned. A strain of elitism in the opening chapters irked me, where more “enlightened” characters feel superior to the superstitions of priests and peasants. The character of Kvothe came perilously close to being a Mary Sue (a Martin Steve?): he was a child prodigy at music, magic, stagecraft, and pretty anything he set his mind to.  I half-expected Kvothe to bring together a gang of plucky child-thieves in Tarbean where he ended up after his parents were murdered.

However, Kvothe grew to be a more sympathetic character, gifted but flawed. I was moved by his struggles to overcome his desperate poverty. So many of the risks he took were not only due to arrogance (though there was some of that), but also so he could feed and clothe himself and pay his tuition. I was both exasperated by and interested in his relationship with Denna–exasperated by his effusions over her, interested because their later interactions were warm, wary and witty; a potent mix. The most magnetic pull for me was exerted by the older Kvothe, the one on the other side of the ordeal, the one telling the story. What can I say? I’m a sucker for wounded characters.

Plotwise, this book meandered. As the first third of Kvothe’s story, there was no real resolution. I cannot fault the writer for having a 2,000-page story to tell, but it was an unsatisfying experience for me as the reader. The threads of the story have barely come together by the end, and my ambivalence toward this 600-page volume makes it unlikely that I will read the next 1200 pages. I’m in a minority, though, because most other people love this book. I offer a link to a more positive review to balance my own (see, I’m ambivalent enough about this book to do just that *grin*).

I discovered Mistborn by Brandon Sanderson in December, one of my most exciting book finds of the year. It has an awesome premise (what if the prophesied hero failed to defeat the Great Evil?), an original and very cool magic system and appealing characters. It has adventure and romance, sacrifice and danger, armies and heists, grand balls and desperate missions, martial-arts-style magic and so much more. I loved Vin’s character arc–how she went from being this beaten-down street urchin to a confident courageous young woman. The sequel is wending its way to my mailbox soon (squee!).

Nathalie Mallet’s The Princes of the Golden Cage and The King’s Daughters draw inspiration  from non-medieval Western European sources. The first is set in an Arabic/Persian-type culture, complete with harems and eunuchs and a Grand Vizier. Prince Amir is one of the Sultan’s many sons, confined to the Golden Cage with his brothers until the Sultan chooses a successor. Amir has tried to be as unobtrusive as possible, avoiding politics and duels to the death as his brothers vie for their father’s favor. But now a mysterious force is murdering his brothers one by one and Amir is dragged in the thick of it…especially since he is looked upon as a suspect.

The sequel finds Amir in the northern Russian-inspired land of his beloved Princess Eva, where he sets about committing terrible faux pas and investigating the kidnappings of Eva’s sisters. I like Mallet’s willingness to be ruthless with her characters’ lives and emotions. The twist at the very end is something I did not expect, but makes total sense in hindsight. I’m looking forward to the next installment.

I finished Unseen Academicals (Terry Pratchett) in the nick of time–on New Year’s Eve. I found it to be more ponderous and less witty than I am used to in a Pratchett novel. Not to say it wasn’t good, but it didn’t feel as sparkly and pithy as most of Pratchett’s novels are. Still, Pratchett’s signature style–his humor, intelligence, and way with words–is stamped all over it. I love how he holds the Discworld up as a mirror in which we see ourselves.

Random non-fiction reads: Celtic Mythology (one of David’s college books from his not-quite Celtic Studies minor), Salt: A World History (very entertaining, but heavy on the recipes and tangents into the fishing industry) and The Bronte Myth (author Lucasta Miller sifts through the biographical material to trace the development of the half-truths and enigmas surrounding the Bronte sisters. I was disappointed at the lack of attention paid to Anne, but this exploration of how biographies are molded by their authors’ agendas, including those of Charlotte attempting to redeem the characters of her deceased sisters, is very readable and interesting).

That’s it for December! Any good books you read?

I may not have blogged much in October, but I sure made it through a lot of books! I attribute this partially to the fact we moved the baby out of our room and into his own, thus allowing me to read in bed again. But only partially. I just like books a whole lot.

I snapped up the second and third Crosspointe novels by Diana Pharoah Francis. I like that each novel can stand alone, featuring new characters having their own adventures as part of a larger series arc. I found The Black Ship to be the more self-contained of the two (and, as an aside, amused that once again I found myself reading nautical fantasy and just as lost amongst all the technical jargon as I ever have been). In spite of his prickliness, I found Thorne to be a sympathetic protagonist and I was rooting for him the whole way. There was something deus ex machina-ish about Lucy Trenton’s infrequent appearances and the romantic subplot (if I can call it even that–it was so slight) felt very shoehorned in. What I liked best was how the crew of the black ship, faced with terror after terror (and yes, I enjoyed how things went from bad to worse to worst) forged a bond through it all. I eagerly moved on to The Turning Tide, but found it harder to get into. The multiplicity of the POVs made it hard for me to get behind any one character, and the singleminded (narrow-minded) perspective of the male love interest (save the female at all costs) just annoyed me. This book also felt incomplete, or at least, a bit incidental, because nothing seemed resolved on a personal or global level. I’m glad to know that there is a fourth book because I have a lot of questions!

I would probably not have come upon The Magicians (by Lev Grossman) on my own if the librarian hadn’t pointed it out. Think of it as a grown-up, grittier version of Hogwarts. An academically gifted student, Quentin has spent all his life feeling as though life was meaningless. The only way he can forget the loss is by burying himself in a series of kids’ books about Fillory (if you think Narnia, where siblings from our world have adventures in an other, you won’t be far wrong). When he follows a letter into an alley and finds himself taking an entrance exam to Brakebills, a college for the magically talented, he feels like he’s found his purpose. However, he finds that even magic loses its charm, until he learns that Fillory is a real place–and he can have a chance to go there. Grossman can’t resist swiping at Harry Potter (at one point a character remarks that magic is not being about waving wands while yelling made-up Latin), but he builds on, extrapolates from and opposes and turns on their heads the works of  Rowling, Lewis and Tolkien. I found that a pall hung over the whole book, as Quentin searches for a purpose, and finds that even magic cannot enchant him forever. He is not a hero, not a go-getter, and he makes some poor choices, and I felt that he never rose above that and learned something.

Also finished Storm Front, the first of the Dresden Files. How soon can I get hold of the next one? Just the fact that it does not romanticize vampires gives it an automatic ten plus points in my book. Dresden’s voice fits comfortably in the genre, and while the setting is unusual, the mystery conventions are nicely kept. Fun read.

My non-fiction reads were Into Thin Air, about the Mt. Everest climbing disaster, and A Charlotte Mason Companion by Karen Andreola for homeschooling resources.

What about you? What have you been reading recently?

August was yet another low-volume reading month. Writing, planning school, doing school, looking after my brood and occasionally doing a load of laundry and sweeping a floor or two should leave me hours and hours to devote to pleasure reading, right? Right?

Ha.

Okay, so I did read three books. Ta-da! Here they are:

Ship of Magic by Robin Hobb: I tore through most of this in a day or two, then lost interest in it for a while. I think I immerse myself in a book for far too long, and need to come up for air and get some distance before diving back in. I get like this over movies and such, too, *cough*BSG*cough*.

This book, like the Assassin trilogy, has the detailed worldbuilding  I’ve come to associate with Robin Hobb. Her settings, which include a lot of cultural, historical and political detail, feel very real to me. Unlike the Assassin trilogy, this book follows the storylines of four or five characters as they intersect and weave in with each other. The plot follows the fortunes of the Vestrit family, as their newly-wakened liveship Vivacia is taken from Althea Vestrit, who expected to inherit it, and given over to Kyle Haven, Althea’s brother-in-law. While Kyle coerces his son Wintrow to stay on board as a blood member of Vivacia’s family, Althea works to win back the ship. On land, Althea’s mother and sister try to keep the family afloat while reining in Malta, Kyle’s headstrong daughter. And the pirate Kennit cruises the waters in search of a liveship to capture and call his own…

The plot is nice and twisty and I liked the characters, even though there were times I wanted to shake them by the shoulders. It ended on a cliffhanger (of course!), so I need to head to the library to pick up Mad Ship.

Blood and Iron by Elizabeth Bear: Oh, this is the book that was giving me an inferiority complex a while ago *grin*. Gorgeous writing and intriguing premise, but I felt like I was viewing the story from behind a thick glass window. All this  emotional intense drama happened, but it came at me as if from underwater, all muffled and robbed of impact. I felt the same way about All the Windwracked Stars but I cannot resist Bear’s writing. I’ll be back for Whiskey and Water.

Reclaiming Childhood by William Crain: A timely reminder to enjoy children for who they are instead of pushing them to learn adult skills, and always looking forward to the next (parent-determined) developmental leap. It’s a call to meet children’s needs where they are right now, and to trust them to know what skills they’re ready to practise. He paints a rather rosy picture of childhood though. For instance, in his “Child as Naturalist” chapter, he talks about how their experience in nature makes children connected to the earth, and desire to protect and nurture and live peaceably with it. He obviously hasn’t seen my children –both whom love being outside–”kill” a maple sapling by whacking it with the largest sticks they could find.

What books did you read in August?

So, er, I must’ve spent all month watching Battlestar Galactica or goofing off or something, because I only have two books in my reading roundup for July: In Darkness Hid by Jill Williamson and Teatime for the Traditionally Built by Alexander McCall Smith.

The McCall Smith books fill a need in me for a place where life is slower, more thoughtful, more rooted in the things of nature, in the waiting for rain, in cattle, in gardens eked out in a dry land. Even though there are evil-doers in the books (they are shelved with the mysteries, after all), a sense of honesty and simplicity and innocence pervades the series.

In Darkness Hid is one of the offerings by shiny new micropublisher, Marcher Lord Press, devoted exclusively to Christian speculative fiction. This is a genre dear to my heart, and I’m thrilled to see it getting such attention. I was pleased with the quality of the book, both in the cover design and production (it didn’t fall apart on me like I’ve heard horror stories of other POD books). It started off like your typical medieval fantasy, but Williamson did a good job bringing the setting alive with details, even the messy ones–the moths flickering around the torches, the dyer’s daughter trampling cloth in a tub of dye and urine, peasant boys who haven’t had baths in ages (*grin*). In a world where half the country has been shrouded in darkness for many years, Achan Cham, an orphan with no knowledge of his origins, and Vrell Sparrow, a duchess disguised as a boy, are linked through a magical gift known as bloodvoicing. The story is competently told, with some usual and some unusual fantasy fare, and enjoyable. The Christian elements were present, but not heavyhanded. I love the idea of ever-present darkness and I hope to explore those parts of the country in the sequels.

I’ve had a hard time getting into fiction much these days. I’m craving nonfiction–how-tos and manuals, books that have a more direct application to all the stuff in my life. Educational resources top the list, with art idea and creativity books not far behind. But I’m being good and started Elizabeth Bear’s Blood and Iron today, just a couple days before it’s due back at the library. I think I’m going to have to renew!

Alma Alexander’s post on reviewing writers (as in, writers who review other writers’ books, not the reviewing OF writers) popped up in my RSS feed as I was putting together my June reading roundup. It was timely because I always get this squeamish feeling before posting up reviews that are less than glowing. I like a lot of books, but I LOVE very few of them, and I’m not the sort to call a book “good” unless I really mean it. However, as a wannabe author, am I really brash enough to critique the works of people so far ahead of the game? Writers who have a lot more skill than I do? Writers that I might some day actually *gulp* meet?  Writing a novel is hard work. Knowing that, having experienced that, shouldn’t I be kinder towards other books?

One solution would be to not review books at all, but then you’d have a monthly list of books with no commentary. Or, I could review only the books I liked, and stay nothing about the ones I didn’t. So far, I’ve chosen to post my (tempered) reviews and stand behind my (tempered) opinions.

What say you? Do you read book reviews? What do you look for in a review? Do the rules of the reviewing game change if the reviewer is also a writer? If you do vent about books that push your buttons the wrong way, do you choose to not name them?