Dear Mr. Rothfuss,
I absolutely fell in love with your first book, The Name of the Wind. In fact, I still find myself dreaming stories in the universe you created.
I was going to wait until your third book was published before starting The Wise Man’s Fear, but boredom and graduation got the best of me and I bought it last week, full price.
The first 267 pages I read out of sheer spite. I was really hoping that our protagonist would graduate, or even get a small vacation, in the first hundred or so pages, but alas. For the next fifty or so pages I actually enjoyed myself, but when you had Kvothe arrested and taken before the iron law over some outdated technical nonsense, and furthermore attributed it to the unassailable social influence of his nemesis, I just had to write. Seriously, it’s getting old.
A character who is constantly down on his luck gets quite annoying after a while. It takes one from that feeling of warm sympathy when we can truly identify with the unlucky hero, to plain irritation at his idiocy, and from there to irritation at the god of his universe: you. You are in charge of his luck and it’s simply gone beyond credible. I should not be aware of the author’s hand in the story, only taken along for the ride by it.
Blah. I hope your third book is better, but I’m glad to be relieved of a pressing desire to read it.
PS. I got it in April.