martes, 2 de diciembre de 2014

The Name of The Wind

The Name of the Wind

Patrick Rothfuss

Told in Kvothe's own voice, this is the tale of the magically gifted young man who grows to be the most notorious wizard his world has ever seen. The intimate narrative of his childhood in a troupe of traveling players, his years spent as a near-feral orphan in a crime-ridden city, his daringly brazen yet successful bid to enter a legendary school of magic, and his life as a fugitive after the murder of a king form a gripping coming-of-age story unrivaled in recent literature.


Well the style is very interesting very classic, but me in particular I didn't really liked the book, I don't know if maybe it was too slow for me or maybe it just wasn't my type of book.

I really do hear great things about this book and all but it's not a book for everyone because we try it in my readers circle and only one of us liked the book.

Now you must know that this it's not a lite reading because it has up to 700 pages and it's only the first book.

If you're brave enough to read it and like it, I will leave here an excerpt of the book so you can decide reading it or not.

Hope you enjoy the book and when you read please leave a comment =)


Excerpt :

A Silence of Three Parts

It was night again. The Waystone Inn lay in silence, and it was a silence of three parts.
The most obvious part was a hollow, echoing quiet, made by things that were lacking. If there had been a wind it would have sighed through the trees, set the inn’s sign creaking on its hooks, and brushed the silence down the road like trailing autumn leaves. If there had been a crowd, even a handful of men inside the inn, they would have filled the silence with conversation and laughter, the clatter and clamor one expects from a drinking house during the dark hours of night. If there had been music ... but no, of course there was no music. In fact there were none of these things, and so the silence remained.
Inside the Waystone a pair of men huddled at one corner of the bar. They drank with quiet determination, avoiding serious discussions of troubling news. In doing this they added a small, sullen silence to the larger, hollow one. It made an alloy of sorts, a counterpoint.
The third silence was not an easy thing to notice. If you listened for an hour, you might begin to feel it in the wooden floor underfoot and in the rough, splintering barrels behind the bar. It was in the weight of the black stone hearth that held the heat of a long dead fire. It was in the slow back and forth of a white linen cloth rubbing along the grain of the bar. And it was in the hands of the man who stood there, polishing a stretch of mahogany that already gleamed in the lamplight.
The man had true-red hair, red as flame. His eyes were dark and distant, and he moved with the subtle certainty that comes from knowing many things.
The Waystone was his, just as the third silence was his. This was appropriate, as it was the greatest silence of the three, wrapping the others inside itself. It was deep and wide as autumn’s ending. It was heavy as a great river-smooth stone. It was the patient, cut-flower sound of a man who is waiting to die.


El Nombre del Viento

Patrick Rothfuss


Bueno el estilo es interesante muy clásico, a mí en lo particular no me gusto mucho el libro, pero no se quizás lo halle muy lento o quizás solo no era mi tipo de libro.

He escuchado muchas críticas buenas acerca de este libro pero no es un libro para todo el mundo la verdad, una vez lo probamos en mi círculo de lectura y solo a una le gusto.

Ahora deben saber que no es ningún libro suave para leer tiene unas 700 páginas y eso es solo el primer libro.

Si eres lo suficientemente valiente para leerlo y hallarle el gusto, les dejo por aquí un adelanto del libro y ustedes decidirán si leerlo o no.

Espero les guste el libro y si lo leen por favor dejen un comentario =)



«He robado princesas a reyes agónicos. Incendié la ciudad de Trebon. He

pasado la noche con Felurian y he despertado vivo y cuerdo. Me expulsaron de

la Universidad a una edad a la que a la mayoría todavía no los dejan entrar. He

recorrido de noche caminos de los que otros no se atreven a hablar ni siquiera de

día. He hablado con dioses, he amado a mujeres y he escrito canciones que

hacen llorar a los bardos.

»Me llamo Kvothe. Quizá hayas oído hablar de mí.»

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