Mistborn Trilogy (Brandon Sanderson)

Yes, yes, I know. Standard fantasy cover featuring deadly waif. It's better than that.

The Details

The Mistborn Trilogy (comprising The Final Empire, The Well of Ascension, and The Hero of Ages) is a fantasy series by Brandon Sanderson. It follows the adventures of Vin, a brave, clever orphan waif-girl who happens to have magical powers. She falls in with a crew of thieves, led by the charming, clever, terrifyingly determined Kelsier, a man who shares her magical abilities. He's planning the biggest heist ever: he and his crew are going to rob the invincible god-king blind.

But that's just the first book. The second and third deal with Vin's ongoing journey as a burgeoning leader and magician (or, in this series' terminology, "allomancer"). Through creativity, luck, and pure bravado, she survives the ending of a kingdom, the ending of a war, and...well, other things. Things that are big and extraordinary and life-threatening and I will not spoil them because this is a series built on awesome surprises.

The Twist

I'll admit this sounds like pretty standard fantasy fare. Let's take a look at our familiar sci-fi/fantasy tropes:

• Orphan waif with magical powers is accepted into group of people with magical powers
• Evil overlord who seems impossible to kill
• Guile hero with a grudge and too many secret plans for anyone else to keep track of
• Prophecies about the Chosen One
• A feudal culture wherein the peasants are mercilessly ground down, while nobles can get away with anything

You get the idea. This series is playing riffs on all sorts of familiar things, and it does it really, really well.

First of all, these books are the best example of Functional Magic I've ever seen. I've mentioned Sanderson's First and Second Laws on here before; this is the same guy. In those essays, he mentions that fantasy has a bad reputation for making up magic on the fly to solve all the plot problems. Simply put, he doesn't do that. His magic system works like science: it is testable, measurable, and predictable. (Fun fact: at the end of the series, there is still a significant portion of the magic system unrevealed. The Internet figured out the rest of it. It is that consistent.) It rests on the idea of consuming and then "burning" particular metals, which then grant the allomancer superpowers ranging from emotional influence to telekinesis to heightened senses. It's a fascinating, intuitive system, and one of the coolest things I've ever read.

Second, Sanderson is content to use all those familiar tropes to his distinct advantage. He glories in deconstructing all the things we expect from fantasy, from the Evil Overlord to the Prophecy of the Chosen One. No trope is sacred.

The Good

As I mentioned above, the magic system is this series' main selling point. Allomancy and its sibling magic systems, Feruchemy and Hemalurgy, are intricate and intriguing. They function more like sharply defined superpowers than the nebulous, instant-solution-just-add-wizard magic some fantasy stories delight in.

Apart from that, though, this story is incredibly smartly written. Sanderson is a master of bait-and-switch twists, none of which are forced and every single one of which he has planned out from the word "go." (The final surprise—the twist in the last chapter of the last book—is foreshadowed on the first page of the first book. He's that good, guys.) The pacing is breakneck almost all the time. Most of the characters are three-dimensional, well-developed, and dynamic, with clear desires and sharp personalities. 

And I cannot stress enough how cool the plot is. If anyone spoils Mistborn for you, he is not your friend. Never see him again.

The Bad

Though the macro story of Mistborn is extraordinary, Sanderson's writing style may not appeal to everyone. It's short and punchy most of the time, focusing on getting the action across as quickly and as clearly as possible, which is not bad. But there are a few sections where Sanderson lapses into attempts at prettier prose, which can get irritating.

In addition, there is at least one instance of Deus ex Machina in the first book. It's revealed not to be in later books, but may irritate readers who want self-contained stories in each book, or who break out in hives whenever a character succeeds via the hand of God.

The Ugly Review

Is it quality? YES. I can't stress that enough. I recommend these books to every fantasy reader I know. Also to anyone who reads. Also to people who hate reading.

Is it family-friendly? Recommended for age 13+. The books deal with some heavy themes, and can get pretty violent, but Sanderson's Mormon sensibilities prevent him from descending into anything too blue.

Is it daring? Yes. Mistborn plays around with storytelling style in a way rarely seen. 

What's the rating? 9/10: would recommend.

There's always another secret.

*

Any thoughts on Mistborn? What did you like? What did you hate? Did anyone spoil it for you (and if they did, did you kill them)? Also, feel free to check out these reviews of the same stuff: Forbes and Ryan Dennison. They say most of the same things, but they said them before I did, so show them some love.

The Name of the Wind (Patrick Rothfuss)

This book. This book.

My name is Kvothe, pronounced nearly the same as "quothe." Names are important as they tell you a great deal about a person. I've had more names than anyone has a right to. The Adem call me Maedre. Which, depending on how it's spoken, can mean The Flame, The Thunder, or The Broken Tree.

"The Flame" is obvious if you've ever seen me. I have red hair, bright. If I had been born a couple of hundred years ago I would probably have been burned as a demon. I keep it short but it's unruly. When left to its own devices, it sticks up and makes me look as if I have been set afire.

"The Thunder" I attribute to a strong baritone and a great deal of stage training at an early age.

I've never thought of "The Broken Tree" as very significant. Although in retrospect, I suppose it could be considered at least partially prophetic.

My first mentor called me E'lir because I was clever and I knew it. My first real lover called me Dulator because she liked the sound of it. I have been called Shadicar, Lightfinger, and Six-String. I have been called Kvothe the Bloodless, Kvothe the Arcane, and Kvothe Kingkiller. I have earned those names. Bought and paid for them. 

But I was brought up as Kvothe. My father once told me it meant "to know."

I have, of course, been called many other things. Most of them uncouth, although very few were unearned.

I have stolen princesses back from sleeping barrow kings. I burned down the town of Trebon. I have spent the night with Felurian and left with both my sanity and my life. I was expelled from the University at a younger age than most people are allowed in. I tread paths by moonlight that others fear to speak of during day. I have talked to Gods, loved women, and written songs that make the minstrels weep.

You may have heard of me.

That's the back cover of The Name of the Wind, debut novel from Patrick Rothfuss. For your enjoyment, I've read the whole thing and am here to tell you if it's good or not—though, really, if those italics didn't make you shiver, this review might do you no good.

What We Know Going In

Name of the Wind is a fantasy novel. Depending on which cover you see, it might be standard fantasy fare, a little weird, or the story of how Carrot Top learned to play lute after he lost his shirt. It's the first in a trilogy and critics and authors alike dig it. Based on the back cover, I'm inclined to agree with them. 

What We Found Out

A man in hiding from his past recounts his life story—from the day his family was butchered by demons, to his time as a street urchin, to his training in magic, to his eventual immortalization as a legend in his own time.

As you might have gathered from the smorgasbord of hyperlinks, this story is Troperiffic. In the tradition of Neil Gaiman's Sandman, this is a story about stories, and as such it gets very, very meta. The book itself is a frame story: it begins in third-person, observing the interactions of a mild-mannered innkeeper, and then sits the innkeeper down and asks for his life story. (It makes sense in context.) His story involves even more stories, and they're all told with the same extraordinary command of language as the back cover.

What's Good?

Rothfuss's prose is gorgeous. Word geeks will love reading this book just for the experience. Rothfuss's great strength is in replicating the feel of bardic storytelling on paper. The main story is narrated verbally by Kvothe, and it feels like a story being told, rather than written.

Apart from that, Kvothe is a fascinating, extraordinary character. Everyone in this story is sharply drawn, but Kvothe, as the primary protagonist, gets more attention and more development, and it's wonderful to experience. He's also mercilessly witty, which is hilarious to read.

What's Bad?

The plot's a bit kudzu-like, and Kvothe has been accused of being obnoxious and invincible. These are valid claims. Kvothe wins at things a lot. And he is a real jerk sometimes. He's not really the sort of person you would want to hang out with. He can be mean, selfish, and cruel to a huge degree. (Note, though, that these are criticisms of his personality. Kvothe is a bad person, but a great character.)

The book is also pretty long, clocking in around 259,000 words (Order of the Phoenix is 257k, Fellowship of the Ring is 187k, to give you an idea. Source). For people with little free time, it's a major commitment, especially since it's the first of three.

So, then...

Is it quality? Yes. Grade-A fantasy by all accounts.

Is it family-friendly? In large part. Recommended: age 10+

Is it daring? Very much. Though it incorporates all sorts of tropes, it plays around with them to such a degree that they're unnoticeable.

What's the rating? 10/10. Would read again, repeatedly.

Vorfelan Rhinata Morie.