Those
of you who have heard of Patrick Rothfuss are probably squee-ing right now. As
you should.
Let me explain:
He’s the best.
The first time I heard about him, a friend was wearing a shirt with the cover
of his book on it. (How often does that happen? With books that haven’t been
turned into a movie or a series?) Another close friend told me Kingkiller
Chronicles was the best fantasy ever.
I glared and asked him what about Tolkien.
He told me Kingkiller Chronicles was the best fantasy of the decade.
The thing is; for some reason I am always reluctant to read or see things when
people tell me they are totally awesome- like Harry Potter, or Doctor Who.
Luckily I know myself enough to then watch or read these things anyway. But
these books are big. I mean more-than-700-pages-big.
I read the Kingkiller chronicles anyway.
But to say that I have read them feels wrong; I devoured them. I woke up, read,
ate, took care of basic hygiene, and read deep into the night until my eyes
were sore. That was pretty much it. Then when I finished them I was left with
the gaping black hole where the last part of the trilogy was supposed to be.
It’s fair to say that since then I’ve changed my ways and am now a devote fan
of all his work. Same with this one, which is very different from his other two
books although it is set in the same world. Really, the only flaw of this book
is that it is not the third book every fan is dying to read.
This book is about Auri, a character we fans have met before. She’s adorable in
her own, mysterious way. She’s like a pixie- that’s the best way I can describe
her. She’s intriguing in her own way, so the book has a satisfying quality
because we finally get a peek behind the curtain as we see her go on with her
daily business in the Underthing. To think this is mundane couldn’t be further
from the truth.
Like it says in the introduction, this book probably isn’t for everyone. You
might want to read Name of the Wind
and Wise Man’s Fear first. But I’d
advise you to read those anyway. Because it really is the best fantasy of the
decade.
Until next time,
Bejoes
When
I packed for New Zealand, I knew I had to bring a few books. Last time I went
on a holiday it was to America for two weeks, and I was stupid enough to bring
just one book with me- which I finished before I even saw a plane. And
unfortunately there aren’t that many bookstores on Hollywood Boulevard
(actually, the only one I saw only sold one book and that was because it was a
scientology book.)
So I brought several. I brought one travel-sized library book which was really
not my style so I never bothered finishing it or reading the first 100 pages, I
brought Name of the Wind, and I
brought this one. (And I bought The Woman
Who Went to Bed for a Year at the airport, so technically, I brought 4.)
The blurb on the cover didn’t really say much. It’s about a girl who talks
about her past, and you get the sense that she had to go through some tough
stuff. You get intrigued. You get sucked in because the writing style reads
easily.
You get to know this girl. You start to know her likes and dislikes. Her
personality.
And then, about two hundred pages in if I recall correctly, she mentions
something out of the blue and your perspective of things just shift. Drastically.
That’s skilful writing.
(And no, I really can't say anything else. That would be spoiling.)
I am probably going to recommend this book to everyone I know.
Until next time,
Bejoes
Let
me give you a look into my mind.
Responsible part - Okay Bejoes,
you’re 100 pages in a library book and you’re taking a tiny one with you. Going
on a three-week holiday will only make you be slightly behind on schedule by
the time you get back.
Irresponsible part - Sure.
*arrives at airport*
Irresponsible part – OH LOOK BOOKS
suffice to say that the mini challenge of finishing the year with reading every
genre in our library has been thoroughly thrown out of the window. But I just
can’t regret it, because the books I read these past few weeks are fucking
awesome.
The Woman Who Went to Bed for a Year could be described as chick lit, which
would make it the first of its kind I actually like. It’s brought to you by Sue
Townsend, who also wrote the Adrian Mole series (haven’t read those yet, sorry,
but I’ve heard they were good).
Meet Eva, housewife and mother of twins, who decides she’s had enough of
cleaning up after her family and of their ungratefulness. She promptly dumps a
bowl of spaghetti on her sofa and crawls back in her bed. She astounds her
husband, her mother and mother-in-law, and soon the whole world with her
stubbornness to leave the bed. She uses the time to think, which made me feel
like this was an allegory of a caterpillar slowly morphing into a butterfly. We
see her deal with her children, who both have a high IQ but low EQ, her husband
who is far from ideal or even good, and the troubling/troubled strangers who
see her as an angel sent from heaven and are determined to get in her bedroom.
It’s not a typical chick lit novel. But that’s probably why I like it.
Until next time,
Bejoes
