Yesterday, I finished the book The Wise Man's Fear by Patrick Rothfuss. I was just as spectacularly written as the first. I couldn't put either of them down. Enthralling.
Which is good and bad.
The good part is that Mr. Rothfuss has written a truly entertaining book. The bad part is I'm left to figure out what to read next. I'm tempted to reread a fantasy series I read a few years ago even though I know I have books on my shelves I haven't read yet. I think I'm just in a well-written-fiction kind of mood. I want to read books that use the phrase "supple leather" rampantly in reference to boots. I want to read about a world where archery is pretty normal. Which means rereading.
I'll tell you why it means rereading. I have a voluptuous collection of books. More than anyone I regularly speak to. There is quite a variety of styles I enjoy. Memoirs. Fantasy. Mystery. Trashy. I'm in a mood for fantasy but lack a person to make me a recommendation. So I'm left to either peruse a bookstore and hope I come out with something worthwhile, trust a stranger's opinion, reread or take a break from reading until my mood for fantasy passes and I can read something else. Russell Brand's memoirs are sitting on my shelf collecting dust.
It could be that Kvothe has ruined me for all other men.
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