This is the most beautiful story I’ve read in years.
Think about that word, beautiful, and what it means to you. It could be a memory, a place, a loved one, an emotion.
It’s not the best analogy, but it’s the best I can do because The Slow Regard of Silent Things is in a class all of its own and it evokes a response that no other book has managed to elicit from me.
It is strange, it is gentle, it is true, it is heart-warming, it is poetic, it is pure Rothfuss.
I don’t know about you, but I fell in love with The Name of the Wind because of the attention to language and the sheer beauty of the story. Now imagine if Pat could concentrate only on those things and say “fuck it!” to conflict, action, and dialogue.
This is a story only he could pull off, and I can tell you that yes, yes he does.
This is one of those books you need to set aside some time for, brew a mug of coffee, and bundle up undisturbed.
I want you to read The Slow Regard of Silent Things to understand what a story is and what it isn’t. To explore the boundaries of language. To feel the cadence and the beat and the lilt and the rhythm of the words. To revel in one of the most fascinating characters the genre has to offer. To know that you are not alone in being a broken thing.
One last fun little tidbit: I got the real Rothfuss to sign my book, not that fake Pat fellow.