This is how Patrick Rothfuss’ The Name of the Wind ( NW) first made its way into my hands: briefly, and only to be snatched away and swapped with another mainstay of contemporary fantasy writing-Brandon Sanderson’s The Way of Kings. I tore off the wrapping paper from my book and behold: it was the wrong book. We were instructed to open them simultaneously (with the caveat that they might be mixed up, that I might be holding his, and vice versa).
My brother and I were recipients of two such similarly-sized, book-shaped packages. My youngest sister took her turn doling out packages, many of them small, rectangular-the size of books. It was Christmas Eve, the night my family and I traditionally exchange gifts. This story begins with a book that was given, and then taken away.
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