The Name of the Wind

The Name of the Wind is a brilliant fantasy novel that is as deeply concerned with social inequality as it is in love with song and music. It’s mostly narrated by an unreliable man with an ego the size of an overgrown draccus, and whose melancholy imbues the story with an important dose of pathos: the tone makes it clear that, despite all his wondrous adventures and wonderful achievements, he’s not spinning a happy tale.

The prologue’s main purpose is not to introduce a character or setting but to build a somber mood: it goes on to describe the silence that permeates a certain inn, analyzing its layers to expose the sadness at its core. It guides the reader to focus on things that are absent, picturing a place without music, without energy, without crowds, where the few people drinking are anxious, avoiding certain subjects, while the innkeeper, with his methodical behavior, is taciturn and quiet, displaying the silence “of a man who is waiting to die.”

This innkeeper goes by many names but will be mainly referred to as Kvothe. He has red hair, a smart and witty pupil named Bast, and a whole lot of tales to tell. One day, he is visited by a man that calls himself the Chronicler and wants more than anything to hear and record Kvothe’s life story. But before that happens, the novel stretches its first act to give the readers time to immerse themselves into that world.

This is a world in decline. It’s painted to reflect Kvothe’s life: the adventure, the great deeds, the romance, the magic, the energy; they all belong in the past. The present holds only sadness and death. People talk about how things are worse now, how the roads are more perilous, how honest people are afraid to go out after dark. Now, there are not only bandits but also frightening creatures prowling the forests at night. This is important because it shows that Kvothe’s story will not have a happy ending: he may list many wonderful things and accomplishments in his tale, but the state of the world in these first chapters functions as a constant reminder that life in general just got worse – it may even hint that it got worse because of him.

The story is about what he did and why he did it. To make things even more intriguing, the Chronicler notices how despite his wisdom, strength, and the sheer number of secrets he holds and stories he has to tell, Kvothe is still very young: if you manage to look past his façade, you can see that he must not have reached even his third decade yet.

The innkeeper, however, is not the only one that displays signs of being more than he seems. His pupil, Bast, also sings lullabies from the perspective of an immortal and says “you people” when talking to his master. The Name of the Wind is built with a lot of similar characters – strange figures that hint at a larger, more mystical world.

There’s an unabashed love for music in the novel, with characters never losing an opportunity to sing a song or recite a poem. After the Chronicler faces some arachnidian monsters in the forest and is clearly in shock, he gives “a laugh that sounded slightly hysterical” and proceeds to sing a children’s song that the bizarre turn of events reminded him of: music is to where the characters turn to find a bit of warmth and solace in their lives – which is only proper as Kvothe is the main narrator and, for him, music is “like a memory of family, of friendship and warm belonging.” Music reminds him of a time when he was cared for and carefree, surrounded by people that loved him.

It’s no wonder, then, that the first part of Kvothe’s story is filled with music. He’s just eleven, but he’s bright, curious, and bold.  He lives with a wandering troupe, playing the lute, assisting them in plays, memorizing lines and verses. His parents are described warmly, and are often idealized: “The image of them gently swaying to the music is how I picture love in my mind even after all these years,” he states with a poignant sadness.

The Chandrian, dreadful beings that belong in scary fairy tales, are the villains of the story. Kvothe’s first professor, Ben, explains at the beginning that the fear they instill in others is so powerful because of their inscrutability. They are feared not only because they are deadly, but because people don’t get their motivations. It’s the mystery surrounding them that creates the terrifying effect: “A ghost wants revenge, a demon wants your soul, a shamble-man is hungry and cold. It makes them less terrible. Things we understand we can try to control. But Chandrian come like lightning from a clear blue sky. Just destruction. No rhyme or reason to it.” The reply from Kvothe’s father is excellent, “My song will have both,” as it further builds the foreboding aura of the Chandrian by opposing them to music.

Music becomes the bedrock of the narrative, with the characters being often related to it in a way that reflects their personality and narrative role. The Chandrian are the great villains, so they are characterized as anathema to music – they even kill people because of their songs. On the other end of the spectrum, we have the woman Kvothe falls in love with: the scene in which he presents her as the love of his life is emblematic because there is not a single physical description of her. It’s her voice that appears out of nowhere, singing, making it a part of his ballad, coming to his rescue to help him win an important award. We don’t know who she is and how she looks like yet, but we already get how important she is to Kvothe just because of her relationship with music.

Most side characters are developed in this manner: in an early scene, we are led to think Kvothe’s rival to win a girl’s heart is pathetic precisely because his skill with the lute is just alright: it’s nothing compared to the protagonist’s prowess with the instrument. Another rival that appears later in the story is made more wicked when he dares to damage the protagonist’s instrument, trying to ruin his performance. While the love of Kvothe’s life adds her voice to his song, his rival tries to mute it.

Most of the story is narrated in the first-person by the “innkeeper”, who treats it like a performance. When he is about the present the woman he loves, for example, Kvothe spends a lot of time coming back and forth between descriptions, arguing that not a single one would do her justice – when in truth he had already described her pages before without a fuss. But because this moment in the story is important, he acts as if she’s appearing for the first time. In other words, as a narrator, he’s more concerned with producing a certain effect than with being truthful.

Kvothe builds a very specific image of himself: the type of character that is great – not great, perfect – in everything he does. His first teacher, Ben, is quick to realize how special his pupil is, pointing out to his parents how their kid, despite his age, is able to grasp complex concepts, memorize long lists without effort, master difficult skills in no time, and so forth. Save the eventual self-depreciative comment – which seems almost malicious in its blatant attempt to conceal his arrogance – Kvothe is very kind to himself. He leads us to sympathize with his plights, feel his hurt, cry alongside him, be mad at his enemies. He’s clearly aware of his genius and he makes no attempts to diminish how impressive he is at everything.

In other stories, this kind of protagonist would be a problem. He could come out as insufferable, and his infinite skill could prevent conflicts from arising. Here, he works because of a simple decision: the narrative launches Kvothe head-on into poverty.

Tragedy strikes, forcefully removing the protagonist from his somewhat comfortable life and turning The Name of the Wind into a mix of revenge and coming-of-age story. In the blink of an eye, Kvothe becomes a poor, homeless boy, with no one to turn to for help. Some chapters have the sole function of painting how hard his situation is. The power is in the details: suddenly, there are more explanations about currency and descriptions of the types of coins and jots that serve as money. There’s a focus on math, with the protagonist constantly converting currencies, adding and subtracting small values to find out if he’ll be able to eat that day. There are observations on the weight of coins and the harrowing feeling that comes when you have none.

Kvothe doesn’t become “oh, I can’t buy that top-of-the-line flying broom” poor, he becomes “if I don’t work myself to death I will starve to death” poor – that is if he can even find work. And here is the thing about poverty: it’s a bottomless hole that no amount of skill, wit, and hard work can help you climb out of alone. A person usually can’t do it by themselves, they need outside help – from the State, family, or friends – and a good dose of luck. If Kvothe hadn’t been born in a better life, come across a certain man, and decided to keep a specific object, he would have never been able to escape his life as a homeless kid in the maze-like fetid city of Tarbean – even though he’s fearless, resourceful, and a genius. Luckily for him, those things happened and he had that object, so he’s able to gamble his way into a University, where he still has a hard time surviving.

The University in The Name of the Wind is no Hogwarts. It’s not a warm, welcoming place: the fact that Kvothe is prohibited from playing music on its grounds is telling. The University is completely indifferent to the protagonist, being framed as a constant source of worry to him. Unlike Harry, Kvothe has no fortune to help him pay his tuition. This means that unlike the other students, such as his friends Simmon and Willem, he has to work, gamble, and risk his life every single day to be able to pay for the privilege of an education.

Kvothe is very reckless in a lot of scenes. In part, because he’s arrogant and likes to show off, but in part, because he needs to be: if he doesn’t risk it all to earn some coin, his life in the University is over. And, as a narrator, Kvothe is always reminding us of what returning to that kind of poverty entails: sleeping in the rain, begging for food, worrying every day about starving, police brutality, and the casual unkindness of more privileged people.

This means that his enemies become much more dangerous. Kvothe’s has his own Snape – Master Hemme – and his own Draco – Ambrose – but the blows he takes from them are much more hurtful due to his financial condition. In a poignant scene, Kvothe is going to be whipped because of an infraction, and the man who’s going to do the whipping advises him not to take his shirt off because it would make the blows sting a bit less. The boy, however, has only one shirt and can’t afford to ruin it.

And if his University friends are not mentioned much – they never grow to be a Rony or Hermione here – it’s precisely because Kvothe doesn’t have much time to spend with them, being too worried about securing his future. He can’t go hang out with his friends and build relationships because he’s too busy trying to survive.

The Chandrian may be the big villains of the story, but it’s poverty the main antagonist in The Name of the Wind. Sure, defeating the mythical beings is the protagonist’s goal, but it’s still a distant, intangible one: the Chandrian couldn’t care less about Kvothe. Poverty, on the other hand, is much more irksome, it’s ever-present, threatening him in the most varied ways every single day of his life. It makes Kvothe starve, feel pain and loneliness. It’s frequently the thing that makes him get into trouble; what stops him from having time to study or get information on his enemies; it’s what separates him from the woman he loves. It’s always there blocking his path and, more often than not, it proves to be more than a match for the boy’s brilliance.

Since we are using Harry Potter analogies, Kvothe mixes Harry’s protagonism with Hermione’s intelligence and Fred and Jorge’s sheer lack of sense. He’s often concocting some ludicrous plan that is sure to go awry: sometimes the goal is to teach his rivals a lesson, but sometimes it’s just to earn a few coins so he can pay off his debts – which, of course, only increase.

Kvothe also displays a great deal of empathy towards others, although he initially struggles when it comes to the girl he loves. Among other things, this world’s magic system revolves around the power of names. If you know the true name of a certain thing, you can control it. It’s fitting, then, that her real name is never revealed: she goes by many, which further reinforces her elusiveness in the narrative. The protagonist is always looking for her but never finding her. She appears when it’s least expected, out of the blue, as if their encounters are moved by serendipity alone – when she’s not actively controlling the situation.

At the beginning, the protagonist feels a bit entitled to her affections and gets frustrated because they never seem to fully materialize. But eventually, he’s chastised for this behavior and is told to put himself in her shoes. Kvothe, then, starts to try to see the world through her eyes, and understand that she too has to do whatever she can to survive – and that she has even fewer doors open to her thanks to her gender. While other (male) characters are quick to judge and condemn this woman, Kvothe eventually knows better.

The Name of the Wind has its fair share of memorable side characters. There’s the eccentric professor who is as wise as he is nuts; there’s a curiously nice moneylender who has a thing for Kvothe, but doesn’t let that get in the way of business; and there’s Auri, who appears out of nowhere and is treated as if she were always there – which perfectly fits her Pixie-like quality. There is a plethora of mysteries as well – a locked door in the University’s archives, the origins of the Chandrian, anything about Auri – which helps the world feel bigger and more fantastical, especially since most of them are not resolved here or even feel important to the plot.

As Kvothe finishes the first part of his story – The Kingkiller Chronicle is supposed to be a trilogy – much has yet to unfold. Like the title of the series, he promises that greater things are yet to come, and if The Name of the Wind serves as any indication, the next novels will also contain a touching and memorable tale.

March 03, 2021.