The Wise Man's Fear VIII

There wasn’t any snow on the ground, but the early morning air was chill as the cloaked and hooded figure moved through the forest, brushing aside the fir branches as he went. Eventually the trees thinned and the figure stepped from the pale blue of early morning into a warmer, richer, light.
The cloaked figure smiled fondly and ran one hand over the iron lamppost. Then sighed and walked past it, moving deeper into the forest. After the better part of an hour he found a clearing where a small stream cut through the thick grass, making a gentle sound as it rolled over the stones.
Still wearing his hood, the figure looked around for a long moment. Then he spoke: “Aslan,” he said, and though he did not speak loudly, his voice was strangely resonant, striking the air like a bell. “Aslan.” He looked around, drew a breath, and squared his shoulders. “Asl–.”
“You cannot bid me come,” came a deep, sweet voice from the edge of the clearing. It was like distant thunder laced with honey. “Neither can you bid me go.”
“Of course not,” the cloaked man said. “You’re not a tame lion.”
There was a low, throbbing sound that almost sounded like a purr, and a lion padded softly out of the trees, his huge feet making no noise in the grass. The sun came out from behind a cloud, warming the air, and when it struck the huge animal he shone as if made from molten gold.
“Nice entrance,” Kvothe said pushing back his hood. His hair caught the sun as well, shining like copper and fire. He looked younger than his voice sounded, a boy just on the verge of becoming a man.
“I will admit,” Aslan said. “I did not expect you to come here.”
Kvothe unclasped his cloak and lay it carefully on a nearby tree and looked back up at the lion. His clothes were threadbare, only a half step away from being truly ragged. “I thought we should talk.”
“We are to fight,” Aslan said. “It strikes me as odd that you should come here and give me the advantage of the home ground. It seems your best hope would be hold your ground, force me to come to you, so you might catch me with some trick or trap.”
Kvothe smiled. “That reminds me of a joke,” he said. “How do you catch a unique lion?”
The lion cocked his head.
“You neek up on it,” Kvothe said with a straight face.
Aslan’s tail stopped its restless motion. He turned his head slightly to look behind himself.
Kvothe continued, “How do you catch a tame lion?”
The lion turned back to look at him, but said nothing.
Kvothe gave a slightly embarrassed smile. “Tame way.”
There was a moment of silence, and then the clearing was filled with a low thrumming noise that could conceivably be the sound of a lion chuckling.
“It’s been a long time since anyone told me a joke,” Aslan said, then shook out his great golden mane. “But we still have to fight.”
“We do,” Kvothe agreed. “Though it might be more accurate to say that we are forced to come into conflict.”
“And you know you cannot win, especially here,” Aslan continued. “The only question is how much you might hurt me before the end.”
Kvothe shook his head seriously. “No, the real question is how much will winning cost?” The young man smiled a small, sad smile. “Believe me, this is something I have some personal experience with.”
“I… I don’t know if I follow you,” the lion said.
“If we fight, you’ll kill me,” Kvothe said matter-of-factly. “You’ll win, but there will be a cost.”
“You would bring your death curse upon me?” Aslan said.
“That’s Harry Dresden,” Kvothe said, obviously irritated. “Come on now. Except for point of view and a respect for thermodynamics we really don’t have much in common.”
“Oh,” Aslan cleared his throat. “Right. Sorry.”
“There’s nothing I could do to you if I lost,” Kvothe said. “And honestly, I’m not sure I’d want to. I’m not really one of those ‘from hell’s heart I stab at thee’ types.’”
“Actually,” Aslan said, “From what I’ve heard, you’ve…”
“Don’t believe everything you hear,” Kvothe interrupted, his eyes narrowing. “My point is this: if you kill me, there will never be a second book.”
Aslan was silent for a moment. “So you’re threatening me with reprisal from your fans?”
Kvothe shook his head again. “You’re missing my whole point. I’m not threatening you at all. I’m just saying that if you kill me now, people will never get the chance to read the rest of my story.”
Aslan looked thoughtful. “And the result is…”
“Despair,” Kvothe said. “Terrible despair in the hearts and minds of thousands.” He gave the lion a frank look. “You’ve always struck me as the sort of person…”
“Lion.”
“Sorry… You’ve always struck me as the sort of lion that was trying to make people happy in the long run. Not the sort that would actively cause despair.”
Aslan lifted one huge paw from the ground and then pressed it down again. He cleared his throat. “Tricky.”
Kvothe nodded. “Your books are all finished. You’re immortal in ways more important than the obvious. I’m not quite there yet.” He sighed. “That’s why I figured we should talk.”
After a long moment, the lion looked up. “So what’s the other option?” his voice was low and uncertain.
“Forfeit,” Kvothe said. “Just walk away.”
“*You* could forfeit,” Aslan pointed out.
Kvothe shook his head. “It’s not in my nature to give up or walk away. I’m psychologically unable to back down from something like this. Hell, I’m a short step from feral.” He ran his hands over his ragged clothes, half embarrassed.
Then he made a sweeping gesture to the huge lion. “You, on the other hand, are a noble creature. You have a precedent for martyrdom. It’s consistent with your character. You better than anyone know that sometimes the only way to win is to concede.”
Another pause, then Aslan spoke. “You’ve thought about this a lot, haven’t you?”
Kvothe smiled again, and for a moment his face was almost boyish. “It’s all stories,” he said. “That’s what I do.”
Aslan looked up and swished his tail. He drew an impossibly long, deep breath. “Fine. Fair enough. I concede.”
Kvothe sagged with relief. “Thank God.”
“You’re welcome,” the lion said as he turned his massive head and began to walk from the clearing.
“Um…” Kvothe said. And for the first time since he came into the clearing he looked unsure of himself. “Before you go…. I was wondering…. Could I?”
Aslan gave a great gusty sigh that was more amused than exasperated. “Very well.”
Kvothe stepped closer to the lion, moving hesitantly. Then he raised his hands slowly and sank them deep in the thick golden mane. He leaned forward and gave the huge lion a hug, burying his face in the lion’s fur.
After the space of a deep breath, Kvothe pulled his face away, but left his hands where they were. “I’ve wanted to do that forever,” he said softly, his voice a little choked. “My mom used to tell me your stories.”
“I would lick your face,” Aslan said gently. “But it looks like it’s been a while since you’ve washed it.”
Kvothe laughed and stepped back from the lion.
“When is the second book coming out, by the way?” Aslan asked. “I’ve been waiting frikking forever.”
“Soon,” Kvothe said.
“What does that mean?” Aslan said. “In a couple months? Sometime this year?”
“I call all times ’soon’” Kvothe said.
Another deep, thundering chuckle. “I suppose I deserve that,” Aslan said, and turned to pad silently out of the clearing, where he was quickly lost to mortal sight.

Kvothe vs Jaime Lannister

It was midmorning, and the autumn sun was hot as Jaime Lannister opened the door of the Waystone Inn. The place was oddly quiet, and he peered through the door, one hand resting lightly on his sword.
The taproom was empty except for a dark-haired young man lounging behind the bar. “Can I help you?”
Jaime stepped inside. “I’m looking for the owner. We have… business.”
The young man stood up straighter. “He’s stepped out for a moment. You’re Jaime?”
Jaime frowned slightly as he looked the young man over. “I am. And you are?”
“Bast.” The young man said with a grin. “He said I’m to make you comfortable if you showed up early. He shouldn’t be more than an hour or two. Can I get you something to drink?”
Jaime moved to sit at the bar. “I don’t suppose you have any decent wine out here in the ass end of nowhere?”
“What do you mean by decent?” Bast asked.
Jaime waved a hand dismissively. “Why don’t you bring out your best bottle? I’ll tell you if it’s something worth drinking.”
Bast looked offended as he headed down the basement stairs, returning a moment later with a dusty bottle.
“Something off the top shelf, I hope,” Jamie said.
“Something from behind the shelf,” Bast said proudly. “I can’t keep track of what the wines are called in these parts, but I’m guessing when you hide a bottle, it’s the good stuff.”
Bast worked a corkscrew and opened the bottle with a deft flourish. Then he brought out a tall wineglass, poured an inch of deep red wine into it, and held it out with an ingratiating smile.
Jaime made no motion to take it. “You drink half.”
Bast glanced down at the glass, then back up, his smile fading. “It tells you a lot about a man when he says something like that.”
Jaime showed his teeth in a sharp, joyless expression that had the shape of a smile. “It says a lot about you,” he said smugly, “that you aren’t willing to drink it.”
Bast gave a dismissive sniff, picked up the glass, and took a mouthful of the dark wine. Then he raised his eyebrows and made an appreciative noise as he picked up the bottle and eyed the engraving on the neck. “I can see why he hid this one,” Bast said, pouring more into the glass. “That’s just lovely.”
Jaime shrugged. “Ah well,” he said. “You know what they say. Better safe than sore,” he held out his hand.
Bast brought the glass close to his chest, his blue eyes icy. “This is my drink now.” He took another sip of the wine. “Rude guests go thirsty. Drink your own piss for all I care.”
Jaime’s expression went dark. “I’m not here for you,” he said. “But killing you wouldn’t be far out of my way.”
They stared at each other for a while across the bar. After a moment, Bast set the bottle down hard on the bar. “Fine,” he said, nudging it so it slid forward. “I won’t insult you by offering you a glass or anything. I could poison that, too. You’ll just have to drink it right from the bottle…” Bast grinned. “Like an unlettered cretin.”
Jaime picked up the bottle. “Boy,” he said. “If it makes you feel brave to show your teeth to me, go right ahead. But I’ll only tolerate so much.” He took a drink straight from the bottle, paused, and took another slower drink as if to make sure of something. He looked surprised. “Well, that is good, isn’t it?”
Bast nodded and took another sip.
“Did he say when he’ll be back?”
Bast looked down at his feet. “A couple hours,” he said with an odd tone in his voice. “He wasn’t expecting you until noon.”
“Don’t look so glum, boy,” Jaime said. “Look at the bright side. In a couple hours I’ll be on my way and you’ll be the owner of this fine inn.”
Bast looked up and his eyes were anxious. “I don’t suppose I could convince you to call this off?”
Jaime gave a humorless laugh and took another drink. “Good lord, boy. Why on earth would I do that?”
“Human decency?” Bast said.
Something about this struck the golden-haired man as funny, and he erupted into a great belly laugh that lasted for nearly a minute. Eventually he trailed off, wiping the water from his eyes. “You just earned yourself a tip, boy.” He shook his head in disbelief and took another drink.
“It’s just that…” Bast began.
“Look, boy.” Jaime leaned forward onto the bar. “I can tell you’re a talker. You probably learned that from him. I hear he’s got a silver tongue on him. Talked his way right out of the fight with the god-lion.” He gave Bast a serious look, his eyes hard as flint. “But that isn’t going to do him any good here.”
Jamie took another drink from the bottle before continuing. “You see, I’ve done some asking around. Your Kvothe has a bit of a reputation. Clever, quick. Devil with a sword. Strong as a bear. He can call down fire and lightning.” Jaime shook his head. “But I think all that is just stories. And the parts that aren’t just stories, he lost long ago.” He looked around the empty inn. “He wouldn’t be hiding here if he still had a scrap of power to call his own.”
Bast looked dejected, but he didn’t say anything.
“I’ll offer him a chance to surrender.” Jaime said magnanimously. “As thanks for this excellent bottle of wine.” He took one last drink and pushed it away from himself on the bar. “That’s enough of that. Start to turn my head, otherwise.”
“He might surprise you.” Bast said.
“With what?” Jaime said, laughing again. “That sword has dust on it, and his magic’s gone from what I hear. His silver tongue isn’t any good on me. He doesn’t even play music any more. What’s left?”
“I need to show you something,” Bast said. “Come here behind the bar.”
Jaime turned his shoulders, then frowned, looking down at his feet.
“Never mind,” Bast said, starting to walk around the bar. “I’ll come over to you.”
“Why can’t I move my legs?” Jaime said, his voice quiet and incredulous.
“Sethora,” Bast said simply. “It tends to start with the legs. You can probably still move your arms. But be careful or you’ll….” Jaime turned on his stool and toppled messily to the floor. “…Yeah. You’ll do that.”
Jaime writhed a bit, turning onto his side. Moving his arms sluggishly he managed to pull a long knife from his belt and throw it at Bast as came out from behind the bar. But the throw went wild and sunk into one of the thick-timbers of the tables.
Bast approached where the big man lay, stepping gracefully as a dancer. He stayed well out of arm’s reach through the man’s final struggles, waiting until he saw the tall man’s breathing grow stiff and labored.
“It was in the wine,” Bast stepped close and brushed the man’s golden hair out of his eyes. “I can’t believe you managed to drink so much of it. You must have the constitution of an ox.”
“But you…” Jaime’s mouth shaped the words though he lacked the breath to say them.
“You think I wouldn’t drink poison for him?” Bast asked. “Then you don’t know anything about him.”
Bast met the man’s glassy eyes. “You’re right. He’s not what he used to be. He’s lost everything. No magic. No music. No joy. No hope. You know what he has? You know what’s left?” Bast leaned closer, his voice low and vicious. “Me!” He practically spat the word, his eyes were wild. “He has me!”
The young man stood, took a fistful of the tall man’s golden hair, and began to drag his limp body across the floor.

Unpublished Excerpt from The Wise Man's Fear

Occurs in and around Kvothe's encounter with Puppet.

“Where are we going, anyway?” I asked Wilem as he led us through the dark shelves of the Archives.
“He's down in the lower levels,” Wilem said as he turned to descend a long flight of stone steps. Countless years of shuffling feet had slowly eroded the grey stone of the steps until they were noticably worn at the middle, making them look bowed like heavy-laden shelves. As we started down, the shadows from our hand lamps made the steps look smooth and dark and edgeless, like an abandoned riverbed worn from the rock.
I recognised an open doorway that led away from the main stairwell, and I tugged on Wilem's sleeve. “Detour,” I whispered.
Wilem hesitated, then shrugged, knowing what I meant without asking. Simmon must have guessed too, as he made no move to question why we were stepping off the stairs at this particular place.
We were well underground now, about thirty feet beneath the Archives at my best guess. The stone hallway looked just the same as any other piece of the Archives: high ceilings and smooth, grey stone walls. If a person got turned around, he might even forget that he was underground, as lack of windows meant nothing in the windowless building.
As we approached we saw a pair of Scrivs slipping away, the light from their brighter, whiter sympathy lamps disappearing quickly around some bend of passage hidden in the shelving. I didn’t doubt that they were here for the same reason we were.
The three of us finally came to a stretch of wall that stood strangely empty. Shelves crowded every available piece of space above or below ground in the library, setting this place apart from all others in the building.
Here was the four-plate door. This is what we had come to see.
It was made of a great square piece of grey stone. It wasn't that large, everything said, perhaps seven feet on a side, but it gave an impression of vast solidity and weight. Its frame was a single seamless piece of stone that snugged so closely to the door that a sheet of fine paper could almost be slid through the crack between them. Almost.
It had no hinges. No handle. No window or sliding panel. Its only features were four bright copper plates set flush with the face of the door, which was flush with the frame, which was flush with the wall surrounding it. You could run your hand from one side of the door to the next and barely feel it.
In spite of these notable lacks, the stone was undoubtedly a door. It simply was. It felt like a door. Each of the copper plates had a hole in its center. Though they were not shaped in the conventional way, they were undoubtedly keyholes. It sat still as a mountain, quiet and indifferent as the sea on a windless day. This was not a door for opening. It was a door for staying closed.
In the center of the door, between the hard copper plates, a word was carved into the stone:Valaritas.
I set my fingertips against the middle of the door, running them across the word I didn’t understand. A word I hadn't been able to find in any grammar or dictum in the Archives.
As I've already told you, I discovered the door on my first trip into the Archives. Later, when I had asked Simmon and Wilem what was behind it, they had laughed. Actually, Simmon had laughed. Wil simply gave a smile that was nearly a laugh and asked me the same question in return, offering to give me a full gold mark if I could show him the answer.
I soon found out that most students would give more than that. I knew I would. Everyone had a guess as to what was behind the door, and there were at least a hundred stories about it. It was generally agreed that the masters could open the door. Some believed that those who became full arcanists were taken inside after they had earned their gilthe. Perhaps as a reward, perhaps as a final rite of initiation. Only one thing was certain, none of the students knew what lay behind it, and all of them wanted to.
Of all the University’s secrets, I suspect this one was wondered over most. But while most students' interest in the four-plate door faded in light of the thousand more accessible secrets the University provided, I never tired of it. When I finally managed to sneak into the Archives, this was the first place that I had come.
And every time afterward. No matter how hurried or tired or busy or busy I was, I was drawn back to the door again and again. Each time some part of me was sure that this would be the time I might find the door ajar. Or with a key still left in one of its locks. Or perhaps the great piece of grey stone would simply swing open to the pressure of my hand.
It is fair to say that I have a gentle madness where secrets are concerned. If something is kept from me, I cannot help but pursue and uncover it. But this particular secret drew at me more than any other. The University is the heart of all civilization. The Archives is the heart of the University. What then, lay here, in the heart of the Archives? What was Valaritas?
Setting my palm against the deep grooves of the letters, I gave a hesitant push. I had forgotten that Simmon and Wilem were behind me. My only thought was that this was it. This would be the time it opened. It would.
It didn’t. I rapidly remembered myself and dropped my hand to my side. Either my friends hadn't noticed, or they were too polite to mention it.
We had discussed the frequently over the last several months, grousing about the unfairness of it all. Sometimes we would take our best guesses about what was behind it, about who had access, about the reasons the Masters kept so hush about it.
“Maybe Valaritas is the name of a place,” Simmon said softly.
We nodded, guesses were never questioned or ridiculed. Later, perhaps, they might be discussed. But not now, not here. It would be like laughing in a church.
"Come on," Simmon said at last. "If you're going to meet Puppet we should go now. He was fine when I stopped down before, but you know how quick that can change."
"Actually, I don't know," I said.
"I do," Wilem said. "We should go."
We faded back from the door, heading back to the stairwell, our red lamps throwing long shadows into the dark.
* * *
“The most important thing is to be polite,” Simmon said in a hushed tone as we made our way through the tall shelves of the Archives. Our sympathy lamps shot bands of light through the shelves and made the shadows dance nervously. “Unfailingly polite, but don’t patronize him. He's a bit—odd, but he’s not an idiot. Just treat him like you would treat anyone else.”
“Except polite,” I said sarcastically, tiring of this litany of advice.
“Exactly,” Simmon said seriously.
“Are you sure he’s going to be there?” I asked, mostly to stop Simmon’s henpecking.
“He’s always there. I don’t think he leaves his chambers very much.”
“He lives here?"
Neither of them said anything, merely watched their feet as their shoes scuffed one step after another. That seemed to be answer enough.
Wilem led the way down a short flight of stairs, then through a long stretch of shelf-lined hallway. Finally we came to an unremarkable door tucked in a corner behind a set of shelving. If I hadn’t known better I would have thought that it was nothing more than one of the countless reading holes scattered throughout the stacks.
“Just don’t do anything to upset him,” Simmon said nervously.
I assumed my best martyred expression as Wilem knocked on the door. The handle began to turn somewhere between the second and third knock. It was opened a crack, then thrown wide. Puppet was framed in the doorway, taller than any of us. The sleeves of his black robe billowed strikingly in the breeze the opening door made.
He stared at us haughtily for a moment, then looked puzzled and brought a hand to touch the side of his head. “Wait, I’ve forgotten my hood,” he said, and kicked the door closed.
Odd as his brief appearance had been, I’d noticed something more disturbing. “Great Tehlu,” I hissed to Simmon. “He’s got candles in there. Does Lorren know?”
Simmon opened his mouth to answer when the door was thrown open again. Puppet filled the doorway, his dark robe striking against the warm candlelight behind him. He was hooded now, with his arms upraised. The long sleeves of his robes caught the inrush of air and billowed impressively. The same rush of air caught his hood and blew it partway off his head.
“Damn.” He said in a distracted voice. Sliding backward, the hood settled half on, half off his head, partially covering one eye. He kicked the door shut again.
Wilem and Simmon remained straight-faced. I assumed the same expression and refrained from any comment.
There was a long moment where all was quiet. Finally a voice came from the other side of the door. “Would you mind knocking again? It doesn’t seem quite right otherwise.”
Obediently, Wilem stepped back up to the door and knocked. Once, twice, then the door swung open and we were confronted with a looming figure in a dark robe. His cowled hood shadowed his face, and the long sleeves of his robe stirred in the wind.
“Who calls on Taborlin the Great?” Puppet intoned, his voice resonant, but muffled from the deep hood. “You! Simmon!” There was a pause, and his voice lost its dramatic resonance. “I’ve seen you already today, haven’t I?”
Simmon nodded. In spite of his calm demeanor, I could sense the laughter tumbling around in him, trying to find a way out.
“How long ago?”
“About an hour.”
“Hmmm.” The hood nodded. “Was I better this time?” He reached up to push the hood back and I noticed that the robe was too big for him, the sleeves hanging down to nearly his fingertips. When his face was out from the shadow of the hood I saw that he was grinning like a child playing dress-up in his parent’s clothes.
“You weren’t doing Taborlin before.” Simmon admitted.
“Oh.” Puppet seemed a little put out. “How was I this time? The last time, I mean. Was it a good Taborlin?”
“Pretty good,” Simmon said.
Puppet looked at Wilem.
“I liked the robe,” Wilem said. “But I always imagined Taborlin with a gentle voice.”
“Oh.” He finally looked at me. “Hello.”
“Hello,” I said in my politest tone.
“I don’t know you.” A pause. “Who are you?”
“I am Kvothe.”
“You seem so certain of it,” he said, looking at me intently. Another pause. “They call me Puppet.”
“Who is ‘they?’”
“Who are they?” He corrected, raising a finger.
I smiled. “Who are they then?”
“Who were they then?”
“Who are they now?” I clarified, my smile growing wider.
He mirrored my smile in a distracted way and made a vague gesture with one hand. “You know, them. People.” He continued to look at me in the same way I might examine an interesting stone, or a type of leaf I’d never seen before.
Another pause as he continued to methodically look me over. “What do you call yourself?” I asked to fill the silence.
He seemed a little surprised, and his eyes focused back onto me in a more ordinary way. “That would be telling, I suspect,” he said with a touch of reproach. He glanced at the silent Wilem and Simmon. “You should come in now.” He turned and walked inside.
The room wasn’t particularly large. But it did seem out of place, nestled deep in the heart of the Archives. There was a deep padded chair, a large wooden table, and a pair of doorways leading into other rooms. There were books, of course, stacked on shelves and bookcases. A pair of drawn curtains against one wall surprised me. My mind fought off the impression that there was a window behind them. The room was lit with candles, long tapers and thick dripping pillars of wax. Each of them filled me with a vague dread at the thought of open flame in a building filled with thousands and thousands of precious books.
And there were puppets. They hung from shelves and pegs on walls. They lay crumpled in corners and under chairs, some were in the process of being built or repaired, scattered among tools across the tabletop. One wall was covered in shelving that was full of what seemed to be small puppets at first, but soon revealed themselves to be figurines, each cleverly carved and painted in the shape of a person.
On his way to his table, Puppet shrugged out of the black robe and let it fall carelessly to the floor. He was dressed plainly underneath, wrinkled white shirt, wrinkled dark pants, and stocking feet. Without the robe or hood I realized he was older than I'd thought. His face was smooth and unlined, but his hair was white and thin on top.
He cleared a chair for me by carefully removing a small string puppet from the seat and finding it a place on a nearby shelf. He then took a seat at the table, leaving Wilem and Simmon standing behind him. To their credit, they didn’t seem terribly disconcerted.
Digging a little in the clutter on the table he brought out an irregularly shaped piece of wood and a small knife. He took another long, searching look at my face, and began to methodically carve curls of wood onto the tabletop.
Oddly enough, I had no desire to ask anyone what exactly was going on. When you ask as many questions as I do, you get a feeling for when they are appropriate and when they are not.
Besides, I knew what the answers would be. He was one of the talented, not-quite-sane people that had found a niche for themselves at the University. The University had more than its fair share of eccentric characters. Not because it attracted them, but because it made them.
Let me explain. The rigors of Arcanum training tend to do unnatural things to student’s minds. The most notable of these unnatural things is desirable: the ability to do what most people call magic and we call sympathy, sygaldry, alchemy and the like. Believing that wax dolls are real people and playing ‘seek the stone’ are not normal things for a mind to do.
Some minds, such as mine, take to it easily. Other minds have more difficulty, and when those are pushed too hard, or in the wrong ways, they break. I was all too aware of the fact that a mile north of the University there was a place called Haven. A pretty name, for an asylum. It was full of those who pushed themselves too hard in their studies and broke under the strain.
Students rarely spoke of Haven. When they did, it was with a nervous bravado. They referred to it as the Rookery, or the Crockery. It was place for broken pots that could not take the heat of the flame.
But between these two extremes lay a great many students. Most minds don’t break when put under the Arcanum’s stresses, they simply crack a little. Sometimes these cracks show themselves in small ways: facial ticks, stuttering. Some students became forgetful, others remembered things that hadn’t happened at all. Some students heard voices, others grew sensitive to light.
I guessed Puppet was a student who had cracked years and years ago. Not enough to send him to the Crockery, but enough that couldn't function anywhere else.
“Does he always look like this?” Puppet asked Wilem and Simmon. A small drift of pale wood shavings had gathered around his hands.
“Mostly,” Wilem said.
“Like what?” Simmon asked.
“Like he’s just thought through his next three moves in a game of tirani and figured out how he’s going to beat you.” Puppet took another long look at my face and shaved another thin strip of wood away from the block. “It’s rather irritating, really.”
They both craned to get a better look at me. Wilem barked a laugh. “That’s his thinking face, Puppet. He wears it a lot, but not all the time.”
“What’s tirani?” Simmon asked.
“A thinker,” Puppet mused. “What are you thinking now?”
“I’m thinking that you must be a very careful watcher of people, Puppet,” I said politely.
Puppet snorted without looking up. “What use is care in watching? What good is watching for that matter? People are forever watching things, carefully looking around. To no use. They should be seeing. I see things that I look at. I am a see-er.”
He looked at the piece of wood in his hand, then to my face. Apparently satisfied, he folded his hands over the top of his carving, but not before I glimpsed my own profile, cunningly wrought in wood. “Do you know what you are, what you are not, and what you will be?” He asked matter-of-factly.
It sounded like a riddle. I thought about it briefly before giving up. “No.”
“A see-er,” he said with certainty. “You are a see-er because that is what E’lir means. But you are not really a see-er, not yet. Now you are a look-er. I guess you will be a true E’lir at some point. If you learn to relax.” He held out the carved wooden face. “What do you see here?”
It was no longer an irregular piece of wood. Now the gnarled piece of birch held the angles of my face. My features, locked in serious contemplation, stared out of the wood grain. I leaned forward to get a closer look. “Well...”
Puppet laughed and threw up his hands. “Too late!” he exclaimed, looking childlike for a moment. “You looked too hard and didn’t see enough. Too much looking can get in the way of seeing, you see?” Puppet set the carved face on the tabletop so that it seemed to be staring at one of the recumbent puppets. “See little wooden Kvothe? See him looking? He is so intent. So dedicated. He’ll look for a hundred years, but will he ever see what is in front of him?” Puppet settled back in his seat, and looked around in a contented way.
“E’lir means see-er?” Simmon asked. “Do the other titles mean things too?”
“Since you are a student, with full access to the Archives and all its varied secrets, I imagine that you can find that out for yourself,” Puppet said. His attention focused on a string-puppet on the table in front of him. He lifted it off the table and lowered it carefully to the floor so as not to tangle its strings. It was a perfect miniature of a Tehlin priest.
“Would you have any advice as to where we could start looking for that?” I asked, playing a hunch.
“Renfalque’s Dictum.” Under Puppet’s direction, the Tehlin-puppet raised himself from the floor and moved each of his limbs, almost as if he were stretching them after a long sleep.
“Renfalque? I’m not familiar with that one.”
Puppet responded in a distracted voice. “It’s on the second floor in the southeast corner. Second row, second rack, third shelf, right hand side, red leather binding.” The miniature Tehlin priest walked slowly about the floor around Puppet’s feet. Clutched tightly in one hand was a tiny replica of the Book of Path, perfectly fashioned, right down to the tiny spoked wheel painted on its cover. The three of us watched Puppet pull the strings of the little priest, making it walk back and forth before finally coming to sit on one of Puppet’s stocking-clad feet.
After a minute or two of this, Wilem cleared his throat respectfully. “Puppet?”
“Yes?” Puppet replied without looking up from the Tehlin at his feet. “You have a question. Or rather, Kvothe has a question and you’re thinking of asking it for him. He is sitting slightly forward in his seat. There is a slight furrow between his brows, and a pursing of the lips that gives it away. Let him ask me, it might do him good.”
I froze in place, catching myself doing each of the things he had mentioned. I sat stiffly for a while, trying to remember how exactly to sit naturally in a chair. Puppet continued to work the strings of his little Tehlin. It made a careful, fearful search of the area around his feet, brandishing the book in front of him before he peered around table legs and into Puppet’s abandoned shoes. Its movements were uncanny, and it distracted me to the point where I forgot I was uncomfortable, and felt myself relax.
“I was wondering about the Amyr, actually.” My eyes remained on the scene unfolding at Puppet’s feet. Another marionette had joined the show, a young girl in a peasant dress. She approached the Tehlin and held out a hand as if trying to give him something. No, she was asking him a question. The Tehlin turned his back on her. She laid a timid hand on his arm. He took a haughty step away. “I was wondering who disbanded them. Emperor Nalto or the church.”
“Still looking for something,” he admonished me, but more gently then before. “You need to go chase the wind for a while, you are too serious. It will lead you into trouble.” The Tehlin suddenly turned on the girl. Trembling with rage it menaced her with the book. She took a startled step backward and stumbled to her knees. “The church disbanded them of course. Only an edict from the Pontifex in Atur had the ability to affect them.” The Tehlin struck the girl with the book. Once, twice, driving her to the ground, where she lay terribly still. “Nalto couldn’t have told them to cross to the other side of the street, let alone disband.”
Some slight motion drew Puppet’s eye. “Oh dear me,” he said, cocking his head toward Wilem. “See what I see. The head bows slightly. The jaw clenches in irritation, but the eyes aren’t fixed on anything, aiming the irritation inward. If I were the sort of person who judged, I’d guess that Wilem had just lost a bet. Don’t you know that Tehlu and church both frown on gambling?” At Puppet’s feet, the priest brandished the book upward at Wilem.
The Tehlin then brought its hands together and turned away from the crumpled woman. It took a stately step or two away and bowed its head to pray.
I managed to pull my attention away from the tableau and look up at our host, “Puppet?” I asked, “You spend a lot of time in the Archives, don’t you?”
I saw Simmon give Wilem an anxious look. But Puppet didn’t seem to find anything odd about the question. The Tehlin at his feet stood and started to dance and caper about. “Yes.”
“Do you think it odd that there is so little information about the Amyr in the stacks?”
“Oh certainly,” he said without looking up from the marionette at his feet. “There should be scads of books, barrows full.”
“About how many?” I asked on impulse, leaning slightly forward in my chair.
“There should be....” he closed his eyes briefly, then opened them. “Roughly six hundred twenty volumes devoted to their explication.”
“How many are there?”
“Fifty or so that give them a mention, but books where they are the main subject of discourse?” He closed his eyes again. At his feet, the Tehlin lost its animation for a moment. “Eight.”
I was quiet for a moment while I wondered what strange calculus had gone on behind his closed eyes to give him such specific numbers that he mentioned with such nonchalant belief. Somehow, I found myself trusting his estimates.
I was struck by a sudden idea. “Puppet,” I asked, “Do you know what is behind the locked door on the floor above this one? The large stone door?”
The Tehlin stopped dancing and Puppet looked up. He gave me a long, stern look. His eyes were serious and absolutely, perfectly sane. “I don’t think the four plate door should be of any concern to a student of your standing. Do you?”
I felt myself flush. “No sir.” I looked away from his eyes.
The tension of the moment was broken by the muted sound of the belling tower striking the hour. Simmon cursed softly, “I’m late. I’m sorry Puppet, I’ve got to go.”
“Don’t worry yourself over hasty good-byes.” Puppet told him as he stood and went to hang the Tehlin on the wall. “It’s time I got back to my reading, regardless.” He moved to the padded chair, sat, and opened a book. “Bring this one back some time,” he gestured in my direction without looking up from his book. “I have some more work to do on him.”
Wilem, Simmon, and I filed out the door, murmuring our good-byes. Puppet was already reading and did not make any response. Wilem closed the door, separating the three of us from the cozy candlelit quiet of Puppet’s rooms. Wordlessly we moved down the hall a ways from the door before we spoke.
“So that’s Puppet,” I said blandly. “Interesting fellow. Bit of a character.”
“You could say that,” Wilem said dryly.
“I’ve got to go,” Simmon said anxiously. “I’m already late for observation. We're still on for...” He looked around nervously. "... for tonight?" I nodded and he hurried off in the quick walk that was the closest thing to running that was allowed in the Archives.
Meanwhile, Wilem dug an iron drab from his purse. He held it out to me, his expression vaguely sour.
“Giving up so easy?” I teased, vaguely surprised. “You don’t have anything for proof but that guy’s word, and unless you hadn’t noticed, he’s one short step away from a long stay in the Crockery.” We reached the stairwell and started to climb.
Wilem’s frown deepened. “I know some people who would say the same thing about you,” he said with more than a hint of reproach. “Puppet’s word is good enough for me.”
Slightly embarrassed, I took the coin. “I’m still curious. I’m going to look a little more into the Amyr. If I find out he was wrong I’ll own up to it.”
Wilem shook his head. “Puppet isn’t wrong about the Archives. I’d bet a silver talent against your drab that what you find backs him up.”
“Oh.” I pocketed the coin. “I don’t think I’ll take that bet.”
He flashed a brief, white grin at me. “Too bad.”

Westeros [Q&A]Patrick Rothfuss Chat Thread

2012-05-17 Admissions Interview

Part I at Pat's Blog

Part II at Tor.com's Rothfuss Reread

Kingkiller art by Nathan Taylor

The Name of the Wind movie poster

Amyr

*fan colored

Amyr

The Name of the Wind recap

TV Tropes*

The Kingkiller Chronicle

The Name of the Wind

The Wise Man's Fear

Interviews

LA TIMES 3-28-2012

HC: So if you were to make a list, what would be the top five fantasy clichés that people should avoid?
PR: Boy, it’s hard to limit it to just five…
1. Prophecy. I don’t ever want to read another novel about “the chosen one.”
2. The helpless damsel. I’ve known a fair number of damsels in my day. The vast majority of them don’t need saving.
3. Elves with bows who live in trees. Dwarves with axes who live in caves. It was fine when Tolkien did it, but that was 60 years ago. It’s time for us to move on.
4. Brooding vampires. Any sort of vampire should probably be avoided at this point. The genre is kinda overrun.
5. Dragons. As above.

Patrick Rothfuss interviews Terry Brooks interviews...

Though honestly, I’m not much for planning my stories out ahead of time. At least not in a formally outlined way. I have the shape of them in my head, and then I just run with it, making changes as the story develops.
The downside is that I have to do a lot of revision to make things hang together properly. Plus things happen like my novellas turning into novels. But the upside is that I leave the door wide open for something wonderful to happen. Some of the best parts in my books haven’t been part of my original plan.

thistlepong · April 26, 2012

User Reviews:

Neth Space

Pat's Fantasy Hotlist

The Wertzone

Posts

Will there be a second trilogy?

Contrast this with almost every public statement from the author over the last few years. Grains of salt and whatnot.

Theories of Note: All hail Jumbles for organizing and formatting this monster list

Laurian is Netalia Lackless
word
word
fionwe1987
Gaston de Foix
Pufferfish123
Denna is Netalia Lackless
AverageGuy
thistlepong
Sylvester
jumbles
Location of the Waystone Inn
Kuenjato
Lord of Starfall
Kvothe Loses His Name and His Skill with His Hand
TeaSpoon
AverageGuy
AverageGuy
Jurble
AverageGuy
stumpzapper
Master Ash is Cinder
Slick Mongoose
Slick Mongoose
wrathofdog
wrathofdog
Who's on Third
tze
jumbles
Master Ash is Bredon
Gaston de Foix
Two Dwarves Jousting
RogueSock
Rhaegar's Son
Chronicler is a Loeclos
Two Dwarves Jousting
Kote Means Disaster
Slick Mongoose
Lackless Rhymes
griffitt
Watson-Crick
thistlepong
Vordare
jumbles
Sylvester
jumbles
Loeclos Box Holds a Scrael
TeaSpoon
TeaSpoon
TeaSpoon
Kvothe is Amyr-like
TeaSpoon
TeaSpoon
The Tahl are the singers
AverageGuy
Copper
jaerken
mdcclv
thistlepong
AverageGuy
Rhinta, Rhinna, Rhinata, and Rhintae
alekhia
Gaston de Foix
Haliax and the Four Doors of the Mind
TeaSpoon
The House That Jax Built
TeaSpoon
Auri is Princess Ariel
thistlepong
Auri's Taborlinesque Gifts
thistlepong
Bast's and Felurian's Relationship
nonman_erratic
Denna Sweet-Eater
cypselus
Elodin is Manet
unJon
Haliax and Iax
SkiesOfAzel
Kvothe is a Chandrian
thistlepong
jumbles
El'the Means Listener
Damon
thistlepong
TeaSpoon
Kvothe is Like Tehlu & Pals (whom I will refer to as Angels for short)
john
The singers are the Angels
nonman_erratic
Sylvester
The Ruach, Adem, and Edema Ruh
thistlepong
AverageGuy
Banjo Fiend
stumpzapper
Skarpi Namer
unJon
Who's on Third
Alchemy Interpretation
lanceschaubert
Merihathor
Merihathor
Merihathor
Merihathor
lanceschaubert
jumbles - not interpretation; just lists instances of alchemy
lanceschaubert
singers Just Sing About the Chandrian
unJon
Name is a Key
Jurble
jumbles
Valaritas is a Sleeping Barrow King
Skia
Laclith
TheValyrianDragonlord
Skarpi, Sceop, and Hespe's Tinker
thistlepong
The Broken House is the Mortal World
thistlepong
The Loeclos Box is Made of Rhinna Wood
thistlepong
The Nameless Ring is for Denna
lanceschaubert
Caudicus is Cyphus
thistlepong
Kvothe Steals the Moon
Rhaegar's Son
The Nameless Ring is Copper
zottel
Denna and the Moon
Merihathor
Re'lar Loki
jumbles
Denna and the Wind, Kvothe and the Broken Tree
Angeleyes
Tinkers
Thaykora
Thaykora
Ben Wanted Kvothe to Remember the "Not Tally a Lot Less" Song
Kettricken
The Cthaeh is Encanis
Merihathor
Bredon is the "Stick by the Maer"
Watson-Crick
Bredon is Aculeus Lackless
Spaceman Hobbes
tze
tze
Sceop Means Speaker
RobMRobM
Sim Betrays Kvothe
thistlepong
Princess Ariel is Roderic's Daughter
Gaston de Foix
Dagon is a Chandrian
jumbles
jumbles
Abenthy Teaches Kvothe Yllish Knots
jumbles
The Eolian is Gone
jumbles
Devi is the Demon Kvothe Tricked
jumbles
jumbles
Ambrose is the Penitent King
thistlepong
Puppet is Amyr
jumbles
Dagon is Amyr
harvv
jumbles
The Cthaeh is Hespe's Tinker
jumbles
jumbles
Kvothe's Friends Are Dead
Kmmontandon
jumbles
Alveron is the Penitent King
gaillard
Lorren is Adem
jumbles
Geoffrey and Denna are Siblings
jumbles
The Nameless Ring is for the Moon
jumbles
Denna and Copper
Kmmontandon
Selitos is the Cthaeh (Loeclos Box Holds Obsidian)
thistlepong
Kvothe's Rings and Angel Wings
jumbles
Kvothe and Tehlu
jumbles
jumbles
jumbles
jumbles
Kvothe has a Knack with Locks
bradd
jumbles
Viari is Amyr
jumbles
Imre Founded by Amyr
jumbles

thistlepong · April 26, 2012

Last Post from previous thread:

CapedCrusader says:

I agree, a depressing ending would suck.

I understand that it would be unrealistic for the good guys to always win,get the girl, etc...but I hate the new trend of things going terribly wrong for the "good guys".

I don't want Rothfuss to turn into another GRRM.

Sci-2 · April 26, 2012

Come on, you know Sim dies. Even if Pat's got a fair hand with prostitutes, there's no way the great tragedy isn't Kvothe's betrayal of the bromance. The Chandrian all live. Kvothe's a bit player in a drama that broad.

Really, you don't think Cinder dies? He at least gets majorly hurt, even maimed, is my guess. Kvothe's deux-ex-machina has to do with the Name of the Wind. Somehow this will help him at least injure Cinder.

And you're right, Sim or Wil will die. Probably Sim, at which point Kvothe can sex Fela and make the eight. ;-)

two_by_two · April 26, 2012

Caped Crusader posted:

for Kvothe's sake, I really hope she isn't some loose whore. Kvothe deserves better than that.

Sorry this is kind of an older post, but man there is so much wrong with that sentiment. Basically, Denna's doing what she has to survive. Whether that is selling her most readily available commodity - her body - or working for a kind of shady character, we absolutely cannot and should not make that kind of judgment call on her. In addition, if anyone is the "loose whore" in this relationship, it's Kvothe. You're holding Denna up to an absurd and unreasonable double standard.

I could go on, but it would devolve into mindless ranting and keyboard smashing. Just... think about that, okay?

Sci-2 · April 26, 2012

In addition, if anyone is the "loose whore" in this relationship, it's Kvothe

Oh man, if we can have a discussion about depiction of women and sex in Wise Man's Fear....I have some opinions.

jumbles · April 27, 2012

1. In WMFc57, Bredon says to Kvothe, "Then, when your star grows ascendant in the Maer's sky, I may find myself in possession of an unexpectedly useful friend." Who else made stars? Shapers.

2. Master Ash: Both he and Puppet have white hair. Also, when Kvothe asks Puppet what he calls himself, he replies, "That would be telling, I suspect" (WMFc40). The only other time "would be telling" shows up is in NotWc72 when Denna refuses to outright confirm that Master Ash is rich. Also, Manet is Master Ash. Both are old, and Manet demonstrates "a pair of remarkably light feet" when he dances in WMFc5.

3. Maybe the Chandrian's purpose is to erase themselves from history because they spoke to the Cthaeh and they want to halt the Cthaeh's influence.

4. IF Kvothe became a Chandrian, and IF his name is locked in his chest, maybe that protects him from Haliax's control like in the story Kvothe tells about Chronicler in WMFc47.

5. In NotWc70, Kvothe is talking to Devi about the two hired men who jumped him. He says, "I think they were really after blood." Maybe he was right, but they just wanted some of his blood without actually killing him. His blood my be useful if he really is the "son who brings the blood."

6. Tinkers seem to have power similar to the Cthaeh's, but have the opposite purpose (as long as they aren't insulted).

7. Here (external link) TyranAmiros suggested that Imre was founded by the Amyr because Ademre was founded by the Adem and Imre could have been Amyre at one point. This may be supported by Cob saying "Amary" instead of "Imre" in NotWc88.

8. More evidence that Elodin is Manet. Fela works with cut tile in the Fishery (NotWc62), she does Fishery work for Elodin (NotWc68), and Manet works with tile (NotWc64).

Edited to give more direct link and identity of the Tor commenter.

Kv0th3 · April 27, 2012

1. In WMFc57, Bredon says to Kvothe, "Then, when your star grows ascendant in the Maer's sky, I may find myself in possession of an unexpectedly useful friend." Who else made stars? Shapers.
2. Master Ash: Both he and Puppet have white hair. Also, when Kvothe asks Puppet what he calls himself, he replies, "That would be telling, I suspect" (WMFc40). The only other time "would be telling" shows up is in NotWc72 when Denna refuses to outright confirm that Master Ash is rich. Also, Manet is Master Ash. Both are old, and Manet demonstrates "a pair of remarkably light feet" when he dances in WMFc5.
3. Maybe the Chandrian's purpose is to erase themselves from history because they spoke to the Cthaeh and they want to halt the Cthaeh's influence.
4. IF Kvothe became a Chandrian, and IF his name is locked in his chest, maybe that protects him from Haliax's control like in the story Kvothe tells about Chronicler in WMFc47.
5. In NotWc70, Kvothe is talking to Devi about the two hired men who jumped him. He says, "I think they were really after blood." Maybe he was right, but they just wanted some of his blood without actually killing him. His blood my be useful if he really is the "son who brings the blood."
6. Tinkers seem to have power similar to the Cthaeh's, but have the opposite purpose (as long as they aren't insulted).
7. Here (external link) someone suggested that Imre was founded by the Amyr because Ademre was founded by the Adem and Imre could have been Amyre at one point. This may be supported by Cob saying "Amary" instead of "Imre" in NotWc88.
8. More evidence that Elodin is Manet. Fela works with cut tile in the Fishery (NotWc62), she does Fishery work for Elodin (NotWc68), and Manet works with tile (NotWc64).

1. You do realize no one is making stars, it is just a figure of spech?

2. So, your theory is that Puppet and Manet are Master Ash???

3. And if that is the case, then why eactly do they not simply let the Amyr catch them?

4. He is planning to murder them, and instead becomes one of them? Doubtful.

5. How would anyone know that he is the son who brings the blood, even if it is true?

6. OK, that one is plausible... Though I think it is an exaggeration. Cthaeh is supposed to know everything that will result from what it says, while tinkers are more limited. It could be a knack...

8. And now that I read the last one, I conclude that this is a prank post.... Or else I missed something very major.....

bradd · April 27, 2012

jumbles - Wow, I like number 3... I haven't seen that argument before. I have a hard time believing that the Chandrian kill people who speak/sing about them because its hard to come up with a motive but that's an interesting idea. I think it's safe to say that the Chandrian and the Cthaeh are on opposite "sides" so there's probably a good chance that their purpose is in contradiction to his. Number 7 is interesting too - with Imre/Belen being the site of an old university and the new one it kind of makes sense that's where the Amyr would hang out. Although saying that... Lanre is linked to Belen (when he saved the city from a surprise attack) and if MT is at the other end of the great stone road then maybe there's a Chandrian link to Belen/Imre (being opposite sides of the 4C and opposite "sides" of Chandrian/Cthaeh)? Nice work though :)

two_by_two · April 27, 2012

8. And now that I read the last one, I conclude that this is a prank post.... Or else I missed something very major.....

Pretty damn major, I should say.

It's a meme on this forum to assume all characters are Manet and find evidence supporting this. It started off sometime in I believe thread #4 with... I think Skarpi being Aleph, and then someone decided Manet was Aleph instead, and then someone decided that they were both Aleph, and then someone else decided that they were actually just the same person, who was also Abenthy, who was also Elodin... etc, etc, etc. The site's search function isn't working for me right now, so I can't link you back to the actual content, but it's pretty good stuff.

Oh man, if we can have a discussion about depiction of women and sex in Wise Man's Fear....I have some opinions.

Yes please. I'd be totally down for that.

thistlepong · April 27, 2012

Yes please. I'd be totally down for that.

Seconded.

thistlepong · April 27, 2012

It's a meme on this forum to assume all characters are Manet and find evidence supporting this. It started off sometime in I believe thread #4 with...

unJon in Thread II, sir! A mere seven days after publication.

Sci-2 · April 27, 2012

Seconded.

Heh, well, my initial view was the depiction of women tank the novel, but I think it's more certain scenes. Pornoskitch has a review with cats that was pretty good at enumerating the flaws.

Off the top of my head:

- Almost every woman is attracted to Kvothe, no matter the age difference.

- Felurian, who near as I can tell is really skinny, somehow is the most beautiful woman. She, however, is a fuck-doll given sentience whose purpose is item drop and info dump. She's also a serial rapist/killer, but it's okay because she didn't mean it she just likes sex....so she deserves to live but the other rapists who are mortal deserve to die?

- Denna is some strange fantasy beauty, maybe a former sex worker but maybe not. Strangely the book touts her strength and independence then makes sure she needs Kvothe to save her, over and over.

- Auri is the crazy girl trope, nothing new there. Note she also lacks any real agency, she might as well be some character you can meet in an adventure game.

- Fela is gifted at math and magic, but more importantly she has big boobs and ends up with Sim *after* Kvothe is dead, because no one can ever choose to not be with Kvothe unless he's not in the room. Also, Fela naturally ends up with the "Nice Guy", her final purpose as hot girl to be a reward to Sim for being a nice person.

- Devi is competent, perhaps the one truly independent woman in the novel. And she offers to sleep with Kvothe. Because Kvothe naturally has to have at minimum the chance to sleep with every hot girl...except for Auri, who is the Virgin to Denna's Whore in the Virgin/Whore dichotomy.

- Kvothe saves women who have been raped. These women have no other point in the story but to serve as a way for Kvothe to be both hero and vigilante. We also learn women who aid and abet rapists are worse than men.

- Kvothe is supposedly a traumatized youth (15) whose never been in a relationship and was incredibly lonely....but he never develops any attachments or has any confusion about spending what may have been a year or more just with Felurian.

thistlepong · April 27, 2012

Really, you don't think Cinder dies? He at least gets majorly hurt, even maimed, is my guess. Kvothe's deux-ex-machina has to do with the Name of the Wind. Somehow this will help him at least injure Cinder.

Kvothe is .08 of a Taborlin

I dunno. The story allegedly says tricked a demon and fought an angel, possibly killed one. So far we haven't seen Taborlin defeat the Chandrian. He mostly escapes from them and kills their minions.

jumbles · April 27, 2012

1. You do realize no one is making stars, it is just a figure of spech?
2. So, your theory is that Puppet and Manet are Master Ash???
3. And if that is the case, then why eactly do they not simply let the Amyr catch them?
4. He is planning to murder them, and instead becomes one of them? Doubtful.
5. How would anyone know that he is the son who brings the blood, even if it is true?
6. OK, that one is plausible... Though I think it is an exaggeration. Cthaeh is supposed to know everything that will result from what it says, while tinkers are more limited. It could be a knack...
8. And now that I read the last one, I conclude that this is a prank post.... Or else I missed something very major.....

A couple of parts were meant to be humorous, yes. For the most part though, I had a serious desire to add thoughts to the discussion. These are just thoughts though. I don't believe that either Puppet or Manet is Denna's patron for example.

thistlepong · April 27, 2012

I can't do 'em all now, so my hedge is gonna be looking at them at a time or something.

- Almost every woman is attracted to Kvothe, no matter the age difference.

I think there's an upper limit if you remove Felurian from the set. But it's a good point. We get one of the few random names when he returns to the University. Meridan's only characteristic is that she wanted to have sex with Kvothe and is disappointed she didn't.

I think he owns this, but like everything else doesn't care. He wanted Kvothe to be a rockstar: guitar, leather jacket, fancy hair. So, if Denna doesn't think so little of herself that she goes slumming with him, will that mitigate the swarm or reify it?

Sci-2 · April 27, 2012

I can't do 'em all now, so my hedge is gonna be looking at them at a time or something.
I think there's an upper limit if you remove Felurian from the set. But it's a good point. We get one of the few random names when he returns to the University. Meridan's only characteristic is that she wanted to have sex with Kvothe and is disappointed she didn't.
I think he owns this, but like everything else doesn't care. He wanted Kvothe to be a rockstar: guitar, leather jacket, fancy hair. So, if Denna doesn't think so little of herself that she goes slumming with him, will that mitigate the swarm or reify it?

I get the books play into a fantasy, I think it was a [sexual] fantasy that gutted the book's literary value. Rothfuss is a gifted storyteller, perhaps one of the best to come along [for fantasy] in awhile given how scenes that should be boring can breeze by, but the quality of characterization (somewhat understandably minimal given the Kvothe focus) just dies.

I have a better opinion of the novels than Happy Ent, who seems to think they are garbage dressed in emperor's clothes, but a lot hinges on Doors of Stone producing anything of merit in terms of characterization/pacing/resolution. I sort of doubt the women, besides Denna, will be gain any agency what-so-ever in the limited space.

It's not exactly bad, being a tie-in novel grade series, just seemed like more was going on at first.

stumpzapper · April 27, 2012

Heh, well, my initial view was the depiction of women tank the novel, but I think it's more certain scenes. Pornoskitch has a review with cats that was pretty good at enumerating the flaws.
Off the top of my head:
- Almost every woman is attracted to Kvothe, no matter the age difference.
- Felurian, who near as I can tell is really skinny, somehow is the most beautiful woman. She, however, is a fuck-doll given sentience whose purpose is item drop and info dump. She's also a serial rapist/killer, but it's okay because she didn't mean it she just likes sex....so she deserves to live but the other rapists who are mortal deserve to die?
- Denna is some strange fantasy beauty, maybe a former sex worker but maybe not. Strangely the book touts her strength and independence then makes sure she needs Kvothe to save her, over and over.
- Auri is the crazy girl trope, nothing new there. Note she also lacks any real agency, she might as well be some character you can meet in an adventure game.
- Fela is gifted at math and magic, but more importantly she has big boobs and ends up with Sim *after* Kvothe is dead, because no one can ever choose to not be with Kvothe unless he's not in the room. Also, Fela naturally ends up with the "Nice Guy", her final purpose as hot girl to be a reward to Sim for being a nice person.
- Devi is competent, perhaps the one truly independent woman in the novel. And she offers to sleep with Kvothe. Because Kvothe naturally has to have at minimum the chance to sleep with every hot girl...except for Auri, who is the Virgin to Denna's Whore in the Virgin/Whore dichotomy.
- Kvothe saves women who have been raped. These women have no other point in the story but to serve as a way for Kvothe to be both hero and vigilante. We also learn women who aid and abet rapists are worse than men.
- Kvothe is supposedly a traumatized youth (15) whose never been in a relationship and was incredibly lonely....but he never develops any attachments or has any confusion about spending what may have been a year or more just with Felurian.

- Some dudes just get chicks. It makes no sense, but they do. Apparently Kvothe is one of them, but I'll agree that the sex fantasy seemed to go a little overboard. Didn't really ruin the book for me though, just seemed a bit juvenile. However, Kvothe is what, 16? This was one of the more realistic parts of the book for me, since if at 16 I was taught sexomancy by an eternal sex goddess I would have done nothing but chase tail.

- Felurian IS sort of an info dump, but I thought Kvothes time in Fae was an interesting way of him learning some facts about the world. As for Fellurian being a rapist Kvothe makes a point of saying he felt sorry for her because she doesn't have any control over nature. Imagine someone dying every time you got horny. Besides, she's Fae. They don't play by (or really consider) human rules and morality. Bast maks this point several times.

- Denna is a survivor rather than a hooker-with-a-heart-of-gold or a damsel-in-distress. She doesn't like being beholden to anyone or possessed. Yeah, she's probably had sex for money, but she's also run cons and done concerts. She does what she needs to to survive. Kvothe has a pretty nasty personal history too if you count his time in Tarbean, where he stole, conned, assaulted, and even lit someone on fire. And as far as I can recall the only two times he's saved Denna were when she ate the Denner resin (which she never would have found if Kvothe hadn't gone searching in the woods) and during her asthma attack (which I will admit was a bit corny).

- Never thought of Auri as the Manic Pixie Dream Girl but now that you mention it I kind of see it. We don't know yet though that she has no agency. I think one of the failings of most trilogies (including this one) is that they are the middle children of a series, and serve more to set up the third book than stand alone. Auri's character may play a huge role in The Doors of Stone but we won't know how meaningful her scenes are until the book is released. That being said I think she's a fun and interesting character that if nothing else serves as a foil to show Kvothe's caring and protective nature when the rest of the time he's sort of being a self-centered bastard.

- Fela started to fall in love with Sim before Kvothe left for Vintas. When they are in the library searching for information on a Gram Sim surprises Fela with poetry he wrote on the fly, and Kvothe mentions he saw the first spark of love in her reaction. Granted, with Kvothe out of the picture Sim probably had a better chance, but Fela was already starting to fall for Sim before Kvothe's exodus.

- Devi is flirtatious and only offers to sleep with Kvothe one time when she knows he has access to the library and at the height of a heated negotiation. She's obviously attracted to him, but well, he's supposedly an attractive guy. Just because she always flirts with him doesn't mean she's going to jump into bed with him. If he got back from the Fae and she suddenly couldn't keep her panties on I'd agree with you.

- I'll agree that the whole saving-the-girls thing was a bit over the top. But I believe the point of the episode was Kvothe acting like an Amyr (hence the doctor telling Kvothe that they were alike: when something gets infected you cut it off fast for the greater good) {an aside: anyone else think the doctor could be an Amyr?}. I think this episode was a bit ham handed but the point wasn't about sex at all. As for the women being worse because they know better, that was a hard-as-nails character speaking, not Rothfuss (and while I may not totally agree with her, I do see her point).

- People who have had traumatic experiences often have trouble forming relationships. And earlier you accused Felurian of being a rapist. If a rapist had kidnapped you (and I don't think Felurian is a rapist) and used you for sex for a year I think you might have trouble forging relationships as well. However, Kvothe had trouble forming relationships before he got the the Fae, probably for the same reason Denna doesn't like to be beholden to anyone: they both spent time on the streets scraping to survive and trust does not come easily. I think one of the underlying themes of the books is that Kvothe has all these gifts and skills but in the end doesn't know how to use them properly. That includes forming lasting relationships despite the fact that he's attractive, confident, charming, and skilled. Just look at him in the frame story. He doesn't seem like some guy bragging about all of his sexual conquests; he's a young man that looks like he's been through the wringer and is filled with nothing but regret.

Look, I'll grant that a lot of the relationship/sex stuff in WMF is over the top and some times even poorly written. But I think you're overstating the sexism/misogyny of the series a bit and looking for ill-intent where there is none.

Edited for spelling

Sci-2 · April 27, 2012

Excellent post. Just to be clear, I don't think there is "ill-intent" on Rothfuss's part.

My issue is the dramatic dip, IMO, in quality between NotW and WMF, which in part is the female characters.

Felurian charms men to have sex with her, knowing it will kill them. If she were a male fae Kvothe would have murdered her for being a rapist. Granted, this slanted view on Kvothe's part might be pointing to Kvothe's troubling morals (which I don't think Rothfuss endorses).

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