The Slow Regard of Silent Things

Strangely beautiful and bravely unorthodox.

I hesitate to rate/review something so very experimental and artistic, but Rothfuss' work deserves discussion. The author does give fair warning in the Forward, proclaiming this is an odd book—one you may not want to read. (That's not just some reverse-psychology gimmick. The man is being honest!) If you haven't at least read The Name Of The Wind and share this reader's interest in the enigmatic character of Auri, you really shouldn't read this story. Not only will it not make sense, but you won't have the tender patience required to appreciate it.

How is the book unusual? Lets start with the dialogue. That is to say... there is no dialogue. Readers begin, dwell, and end exclusively in the eccentric (and sometimes erratic) thoughts of a sprightly young woman who lives in almost complete self-imposed isolation. It could be said that this story has only one character, but that's not entirely true. Auri's disheveled state of mind is such that she spends her days touching, rearranging, and appeasing the collection of inanimate objects she seems to feel intensely responsible for.

The best way to look at this story is in terms of a character study. The object of this study is a brilliant-yet-broken waif who teeters between near-clairvoyant insight and what this reader can only suppose to be tragic mental instability. From the very first page, you may note it takes some effort to adjust to Auri's mind. (Hint: Trying to make sense of her thought processes will only befuddle you. Just go with it.) Her thoughts are often lyrical, but also child-like and disjointed—following a logic all her own. Her behavioral patterns come off as a sort of Obsessive Compulsive Disorder meets frenetic Feng shui. And her gentle, well-intentioned nature is nothing short of endearing. This is a lovingly written character, unlike any this reader has encountered before. From very early on, I had the sense that she's special to Rothfuss. (The author's note at the back certainly backs this up.)

I can't rightly explain it, but I have this nagging impression that Auri is sort of...the daughter of his heart. And with that in mind, I have to see it as an honor that Rothfuss was willing to share her with his readers.

Side Note:
Adding a vaguely Neil Gaiman sort of feel, this book includes an assortment of black and white illustrations. This reader found them to be a lovely bonus to the storytelling.

My one dissatisfaction would be that we never come much closer to understanding WHY Auri is so broken. The nearest we come to a flashback into her past is the fleeting mention of Alchemy and Chemistry principles she was once taught.

In The Name Of The Wind it became clear that Auri is not only reclusive in the extreme, but she has an aversion to sharing personal information. That's all fine and well. But to me, it seems dissonant to think a person—even a mentally ill person—could completely avoid sharing personal information with themselves. Granted you have things like Multiple-Personality Disorder that fragment the consciousness in the name of self-protection, etc... I'm certainly not arguing that this lack of backstory can and must be blamed on the unsoundness of Auri's mind. But it becomes clear that she isn't completely detached from whatever shattered her in the first place. (i.e. Auri at one point spends and entire day weeping, but we as the readers are never privileged with any explanation as to why.)

Something awful must have happened to her—that much is clear. But this book was about showing Auri in her natural element, not explaining how she ended up there.