Back at the end of July, I was on vacation with my family. We rent a cottage right on a lake in Maine and it’s usually a chill time. The cottage is big enough so my family and I aren’t tripping over each other, those who like to swim can enjoy the lake, and there are some really comfy sofas and armchairs to just sit and read all day.
Near the end of the week-long vacation, I was in the middle of Patrick Rothfuss’s The Name of the Wind and… I haven’t picked it up since.
This book was recommended to me probably about three to four years ago, by now, by a co-worker when I was working at Barnes and Noble. Thick fantasy books are generally right up my alley, and I like Rothfuss’s writing style.
But, despite being in the middle of the 700+ page book, the story itself hasn’t captured my attention. I was reading it without really knowing why. There’s nothing bad about the book, but I have yet to feel that pull towards the main character and his story, to know why I should care. Judging by a few of the side characters’ reactions to the main character, the MC is an incredibly smart dude, especially when it comes to the universe’s magic.
Like, that’s nice, but I still don’t know why I’m reading the character’s biography.
While I’ll definitely finish the book eventually, it’ll probably stay on the back burner for a little while longer, especially since I bought about half a dozen new books within the past couple of trips to Barnes and Noble. I need a bigger bookshelf.