Okay, so I’m not usually one to get emotional when reading, but The Name of the Wind just hit me in a way I never expected. I just finished Chapters 55 and 56 and, honestly, I had to put the book down for a bit because I was overwhelmed.
I can’t even pinpoint exactly what it was that got to me. Maybe it’s the way Rothfuss writes these intimate, quiet moments that feel so raw and human. Or how Kvothe’s struggles, especially in these chapters, feel both deeply personal and universally relatable at the same time. It’s like he’s dealing with something so simple, yet the weight of it is enormous.
Those chapters feel like a gut-punch without being overly dramatic, you know? There’s something about them that quietly digs under your skin and makes you reflect on your own life in ways you didn’t see coming. Maybe it’s just me, but there was a vulnerability in Kvothe’s character during these scenes that really tore me apart.
Has anyone else had a moment like this with a book? Like, you’re reading and suddenly it’s too much, but in the best way possible?
by Pajtima