Ahhh, see ehn, that’s the one book we’re all holding our breath for — Doors of Stone. It hasn’t dropped yet, but let me gist you the way I imagine it will feel when it finally lands, like I’m telling you about a film I just staggered out of, still carrying the emotions. Because you know Rothfuss has been dangling this thing in front of us for years, and the way he writes? You just know when it comes, it’ll cut deep.
the book begins and instantly it feels like sinking into that old inn, Kvothe with his red hair, playing it cool, broken down, but hiding fire. Me? I would be sitting there holding the pages in my hand saying, Finally. Since you know that he is about to strip all the stuff that he has been covering. Then he begins retelling, possibly picking up on all the mysteries left unresolved in The Wise Man’s Fear. That Chandrian business? Oh, I bet we will see him run after them even more, maybe even run close enough. And I would be shaking my head, saying, Kvethe, keep your head, you are playing with fire, but, at the same time, I would be bending forward, saying, Yes, go on, tell us the secrets.
I can nearly see one of those great scenes in which he at last gets some idea of the Amyr or the Chandrian, be it in some stuffy library, be it after he has narrowly escaped himself in some foolish adventure. And I would be there, with my hand on my chest, experiencing the same awe and dread: the awe at him being so brilliant and the dread how his brilliance is always getting him into ever-greater trouble.
And then there is Denna; don’t even take me up on that. You know Rothfuss will bestow further Denna drama. She will go in, with all her mystery and charisma, and I will be frustrated once again, as in, why can’t these two just sit and talk, as normal people do? but then she’ll smile that smile, or show me something about her patron, and my heart will be in my throat because you know that is the sort of plot that is going somewhere stinging and sore.
Yet what I know will be the knock-out punch is when the story eventually intersects with modern day Kvothe- the dive bar owner who has it all. Rothfuss couldn’t have constructed all this and left us to pieces at the end, could he? I envision one of those last, shattering revelations: perhaps why Kvothe dropped his sword, perhaps why he lost his music, perhaps what actually happened with Denna, perhaps something even worse with the Chandrian. Then I will put the book away and look at the ceiling and just sit there vacant, as though to say, That is all. This is why Kvothe turned into a ghost of himself.
And honestly? I will be both quickly deceived and contented. Betrayed that part of me would want Kvothe to win, be happy, to have his legend shine brighter and brighter. But contented with the fact Rothfuss never undertook to give us a fairy tale--instead, he gave us a true story. And true stories? And they do not necessarily have a happy resolution.
If Doors of Stone ever actually comes, mehn, I already know I’ll be both wrecked and grateful. Because it’ll be like finally finishing a song you’ve had stuck in your head for over a decade.