The Larkin Ledgers

Like an endless chain of half-built houses


Reading The Slow Regard of Silent Things: Part XII.ii ASH AND EMBER

It was just as Master Mandrag always said: nine tenths of chemistry was waiting.

The last time she remembered Mandrag she was sealing the pipe in Rubric. That time we didn’t get a direct quote and this time we do. We can expect to see more details, not just her using and appreciating alchemical creations but perhaps making something of her own. And that’s exactly where the text is going.

Last time wan’t exactly free of consequence, though. Even a relatively minor moment of clarity came with acute paranoia and subtle hallucinations. So we should also expect a proportional backlash.

While she’s waiting for her fire, she traipses off to Tree to gather supplies, including the lump of suet she nicked from the barn in the mirror chapter “A QUITE UBCOMMON PLEASANT PLACE.” She also grabs the bowl of nutmegs.

A and E Nutmegs

So strange and rare. So full of faraway. She picked one up and ran her fingertips along its tippled skin.

Out here in the extratextual world, nutmeg was available from only a single island until the nineteenth century. Given the roughly Renaissance setting of The Kingkiller Chronicle, a similar if not identical situation on Temerant probably accounts for the rarity and distance desc.  The choice of “tippled” to describe the outer skin of the seeds is interesting. Casual dictionary delving reveals two definitions, neither of which is really textural.

The first is related to alcohol and its consumption. For a general class of potential intoxicants, this could wit some stretching apply to nutmeg, which can produce myristicin. The other describes a device for overturning freight cars. Again, with a stretch, knowing what’s coming in the text, there’s some reverberation with the end of the chapter. But it’s an odd turn of phrase no matter how one conceives it. And yet it, if you’ve handled nutmeg pits, it seems to saound reasonable.

She retrieves a mortar and pestle from Darkhouse and some other items from Clinks and Tenners. She sets the suet to render and cooks the acorns, also gathered in the paired chapter. After eating them, she grinds the nutmegs in the mortar.

NMortar & Pestleate Taylor created several drawings of the mortar that didn’t make it into the book.  He and Pat were wary of showing too much of Auri, which is why so many of the images feature just her arms or legs. They previewed one such during their Worldbuilders hangout.

Ultimately this one was just too busy. Auri, the mortar, the bowl, the clay cup, the linen sack and the sticks, a bottle, the pot. Two pieces of it survived to become the starker, closer images in the published version.

When she was finished grinding, Auri pulled the copper pot of melted suet off the fire. She stirred. She sieved the dottle off till there was nothing left but hot, sharp tallow.

Dottle is another strange choice of words. There are impurities that separate and rise when rendering that need to be skimmed off. However, dottle appears to refer specifically to “unburned and partially burned tobacco in the bowl of a pipe.” So I’m either not looking in the right place or this is another sidelong glance at intoxicants foreshadowing her upcoming ethnobotanical experience.

She brought the bottle of Esther’s and set it near the fireplace with her tools.

This is Pat reiterating and indulging in the Esther/ester pun from the previous chapter. Esther’s esters will provide the selas scent for her soap. She tries to bring the laurel fruit from her excursion outside since it’s required by the structure of the story, but it won’t fit. For whatever mysterious reason, the Auri won’t be bathing in laurels. Those are for someone else.

It exasperated her, but she knew better than to force the world to bend to her desire.

Oddly enough, she’ll do exactly that with the laurels later. She’ll bend the world just a little for someone else. Like the hair-splitting that allowed her the faerie bread but not the milk, a little reality warping is sometimes justifiable. Just not for herself.

As she gets into the processes, Rothfuss begins to play a bit with the words.  Birch and Ash “make a medley without melding or meddling,” much like the silences in the Prologues and Epilogues of The Name of the Wind and The Wise Man’s Fear. Counterpoints, each existing alone but acting together. Hawthorn is sufficiently apetalous to make her blush. The nutmegs are “a cipher and a mystery.”

They’re a code to be unlocked. Hence the unusual descriptors. The mystery is essential to period appropriate alchemical texts, which buried their practices in allegory and code to throw off both persecution and easy proliferation. It’s a sort of metacommentary on the text. That it’s about a seed is doubly funny.

Anyway, having skimmed the tallow she finds it full of rage. Without, forgiving another pun, “laurel to keep it at bay” she needs to draw the animus out. We finally see some hands on alchemy as she takes the pot to a shaft of moonlight in tumbrel and absorbs the anger with a bead of beeswax.


A and E Wax

As neat a factoring as ever hand of man had managed.

Kvothe is surrounded by alchemists. His best friend, his creditor, his nemesis, and his companionable sewer urchin are all evoking principles and factoring around him and he knows nothing about it. For someone who prides himself on his own cleverness, he’s leaving himself at a distinct disadvantage.

She takes the copper pot to Tree to cool and extracts a clean white disc. Then she puts the wax bead with all the factored fury in a jar. And she places it on a high shelf in Boundary, breaching the door that’s not for her with neither warning nor comment.


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Reading The Slow Regard of Silent Things: Part XI.iii – THE ANGRY DARK

Then she saw her blanket. Her perfect blanket she had made herself in only the most proper way. It had twisted and the corner lay all naked on the floor.

Getting out of bed on a tapering day, a burning day, was literally a mistake. This is bad. We know it’s bad because she’s been careful with the blanket throughout the story. Presumably everyone reading this is familiar with the concept known as Checkov’s gun.

If you say in the first chapter that there is a rifle hanging on the wall, in the second or third chapter it absolutely must go off. If it’s not going to be fired, it shouldn’t be hanging there.

Rather than a quirk of personality, it becomes a part of the story. Sure, it was more than a couple chapters, or acts, or whatever, but we’re dealing with a structure Checkov would’ve found ponderous at worst and inefficient at best. Rings are sort of exactly not the three or five act story we’re used to. Nonetheless, the blanket was the second object she interacted with.

Moving carefully, Auri pushed back her blanket so it wouldn’t touch the floor.

So of course it eventually touched the floor.  Luckily, Foxen’s safe in its box. There’s no telling what would’ve happened had she insisted on its light. Especially since she nearly lost it in The Twelve on the first day.

Auri’s all about the “proper way” of doing things. The phrase shows up ten times in this relatively short novella. It’s a theme. Meant to contrast with what she sees as improper, wicked, or presumptuous.

But it’s parceled out sparingly in Rothfuss’s broader catalog. In fact, it appears only once in each of the books in The Kingkiller Chronicle and once in “The Lightning Tree.”

Through dangerous trial and error I discovered the proper way to slit a purse and pick a pocket.NW 184

This one, like a lot of the phrasing in The Name of The Wind, almost seems like an accident. Or more properly a coincidence.  There’s a small chance that this will spin as an example of Kvothe’s slightly out of sync notions of right, good, and proper. It’s difficult to imagine him having any qualms about bringing the weight of his desire sown on the world.

“So this is for you. I’ve brought what grammarie I have to bear on it. So it will stay green and living longer than you’d think. I gathered the holly in the proper way and shaped it with my own hands. Sought, wrought, and moved to purpose.”WMF 16

I’ve mentioned before how it seems as though some effort was put into partially aligning Auri and Bast. And this is no different. Pat’s said that Faen magic is fundamentally different from mortal magic, but there are eerie similarities.

Bast touched the trunk with his fingertips and made a slow circuit of the tree. He went deasil, the same direction as the turning sun. The proper way for making. Then he turned and switched hands, making three slow circles widdershins. That turning was against the world. It was the way of breaking. Back and forth he went, as if the tree were a bobbin and he was winding and unwinding.Rogues

This is interesting for a few reasons. It’s a second instance associated with Bast making him the second most significant character related to the proper way of doing things. It reflects a concern on his part about making and unmaking, with and against the turning of the world. And it uses a sewing or weaving metaphor which is somewhat arbitrary in its own context but oddly resonant with Auri making a blanket.

That’s probably enough about three sentences. Auri finds she doesn’t have any tears despite being weary and disappointed. She takes the blanket to Billows to let it blow in the steady wind that ultimately circulates through the Archives. It doesn’t help. She takes it to Old Ironways to bathe in the moonlight. It doesn’t help.

She takes it through Winnoway and Draughting. Etymologically these would both be places with steady air currents as well. Draughting has “a maze of wires” which is almost as interesting as the machinery in Throughbottom. She returns to Mantle and tries wrapping it around the “horrid, galling, stubborn brazen gear.” At this point everything is colored by her disappointment. Her compassion is turning to cruelty. She decides to try Wains.

In the sitting room she tries the couch. In desperation, she tries the floor.

But no. It didn’t fix things at all. She knew it then. She’d known all along, really. Nothing was going to make the blanket right again.

Angry, she thinks maybe she can at least swap it, or something else, for one of the sheets resting in the wardrobe in Tumbrel. Once there, she notes the vanity has “a sinister bent.” It’s a clever pun on her attitude. She sees it because she’s herself untrue. Her own vanity is leading to poor choices.

But tanglehaired and sticky, all unwashed and hollow as she was, she was hardly in the proper state for mending. She was in no mood to tend to the ungrateful thing.

While she tries to exchange the blanket for a sheet, her hair catches fire, ’cause th world finds her similarly ungrateful. She catches her foot on the stairs, not falling, but almost. And when she recovers her blanket’s lying on the bare stone. There’s no fixing that. She heads back to port and stuffs it in the wine rack.


Some of the illustrations in the hardcover span two pages, creating a frame or a cutout. This is one of them. In the Kindle edition, they’re inserted into the text at relatively appropriate points, but they lack the composition and probably the impact of of the printed text. And in this case it’s difficult to determine what’s being depicted. Is it an egress from Mantle? Is it the archway from Simonetti’s apparent drawing of Old Ironways? Does my confusion mirror Auri’s?

The truth she realizes is that she’s the one making a mess of things. She has a rinse. There’s no soap for washing. And then she gives up and goes to bed, thinking that will solves the problem of the day.

It’s been unclear how Auri’s days work. Here it looks like she goes until she’s tired again and then sleeps. So I don’t think they have a necessary one to one relationship with the days in the parent text. They might, but they don’t have to. This attempt at sleep created the tension between six days and seven I talked about in Part X, reifying the weird ring woven by these central chapters. In a sense, the story gets to have it both ways.

We’ll finish up this long digression next time.


Reading The Slow Regard of Silent Things: Part X – Hollow

What do we make of this? It’s the shortest chapter in Rothfuss, isn’t it? It’s six words long. Or is it seven if we count the chapter title?


Setting aside potential references to John 11:35, we have to find a way to interpret this. It could simply be a bad day. The worst day. Auri struggles through portions of the surrounding days, but they’re never characterized by a single action or emotion.

The consensus seems to be that “HOLLOW” corresponds to chapter seven of The Wise Man’s Fear, “Admissions.” Kvothe gets dosed with the plum bob and ends up bawling in Auri’s arms.

“You can say it,” Auri said softly. “It’s okay if you say it.”
“I’m never going to see her again,” I choked out. Then I began to cry in earnest.
“It’s okay,” Auri said softly. “I’m here. You’re safe.”WMF 77

The parent text never mentions her crying, but it’s told from Kvothe’s extremely self conscious point of view, especially at that moment. If “HOLLOW” is a corresponding reference to that day, to that scene, then there might be ample reason for Auri to cry during or after it.  Her pity for Kvothe could be overwhelming.

Physically, it’s at the halfway point of the book. Structurally, chapters and six form the central pair. In several ring narratives, there’s an isolated central chapter that serves as a pivot point, a fulcrum, but Pat’s don’t work that way. His chapters come in even numbers. The Wise Man’s Fear has seventy seven pairs including the Prologue/Epilogue. The Slow Regard of Silent Things has five with a latch.

Nonetheless, for the ring to exist, there has to be an obvious indicator that the narrative has turned.  Formally, then, this six word chapter is that obvious indicator.

If the end is going to join the beginning the composition will at some point need to make a turn toward the start. The convention draws an imaginary line between the middle and the beginning, which divides the work into two halves, the first, outgoing, the second, returning. In a long text it is important to accentuate the turn lest the hasty reader miss it, in which case the rest of the carefully balanced correspondences will also be missed.Thinking in Circles

It does so by by being an isolated page, an incredibly short chapter, and having quite a bit of emotional impact. We’ve been with Auri for awhile now and come to care for her well being. “HOLLOW” puts us at a distance and inspires our concern.

However, it does so at the expense of an easy set of parallels between the two chapters in the pair. It’s hard to see anything of “THE ANGRY DARK” in “HOLLOW.” Indeed, it’s impossible. The latter actually does all the work in that regard, which we’ll discuss over the next couple posts. One example, though, is that it contains two title drops that also include the title of this chapter.

It also has an interesting functional role that only becomes clear after finishing the book and reflecting on it or rereading it.  This six word chapter mirrors the length of the book.  The imaginary line between these six words and the next chapter marks not only the structural turning point, but the narrative midway mark as well.

While we assume the first time through that Auri’s knowledge at the beginning that she has seven days is correct, we know once we finish that she was wrong.  She had six days. So it’s quite clever to place six words, or is it seven, at the real center of the story.

The tension between six and seven is something that comes up again and again in The Kingkiller Chronicle. Whether it’s six betrayed cities and one spared in “Lanre Turned” or Kvothe’s inability to split his mind a seventh time, the two appear together only to highlight their difference.  Once of the best examples occurs after Kvothe plays ‘The Lay of Sir Savien Traliard.’

“You must play at my house some day,” Threpe said, then quickly held up a hand. “We won’t talk of that now, and I won’t take up any more of your evening.” He smiled. “But before I go, I need to ask you one last question. How many years did Savien spend with the Amyr?”
I didn’t have to think about it. “Six. Three years proving himself, three years training.”
“Does six strike you as a good number?”
I didn’t know what he was getting at. “Six isn’t exactly a lucky number,” I hedged. “If I were looking for a good number I’d have to go up to seven.”NW 410

It even has some peculiar similarities to “HOLLOW” and to the novella as a whole. In addition to the tension between six and seven, they share weeping, music, and some minor information about the Amyr.

That’s a lot of words to justify and contextualize a chapter that, in all honesty, feels right. It batters the reader and encourages hir to move on to the next page, to find out if Auri’s okay.

But I think it’s important to show that Pat’s not just messing around. This story wasn’t banged out in a short period of time like “How Old Holly Came to Be” or “The Lightning Tree.”  Both of those are compelling for their own particular qualities, but The Slow Regard of Silent Things was crafted carefully. It was handled gently and polished to a bright shine.  And it’s set deeply into the world, the narrative, and even the structure of the greater story.

We’ve covered the first three days. Next we’ll begin to close the circle with the next three.

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Reading The Slow Regard of Silent Things: Part IX.i – A QUITE UNCOMMON PLEASANT PLACE

EVENTUALLY A CLOUD hid the moon. Smug thing. And Auri took the chance to scamper back into the Underthing.

Auri’s not afraid of the moon. She’s shown at various times in The Kingkiller Chronicle to be out when the moon’s phasing and when it’s absent from the sky. She waits for clouds to cross before the moon because the environment darkens. There’s nothing supernatural about her aversion to moonlight. However, she doesn’t want to be seen.

She’s disappointed that Kvothe wasn’t there.  That he wasn’t playing for her.  JohnPoint suggested after the last post that this second day corresponded to chapter six, “Love,” of The Wise Man’s Fear.  So perhaps Kvothe was playing.  Perhaps Auri somehow sensed it.

But she found a large tangle of dry wood in Umbrel, washed down the grates in some forgotten storm. Ash and elm and hawthorn. So much wood it took six trips to carry all of it to Mantle.

This is as good a spot as any to note the telltales of ring composition between A QUITE UNCOMMON PLEASANT PLACE and its paired chapter, ASH AND EMBER.  Heck, it might be the best place. Elm and hawthorn appear only in those two chapters along with acorns and suet. But the craft extends in a different direction that some of the other pairs.

Almost everything Auri picks up in this chapter makes an appearance in the one across the ring.  Much of it goes into or is at least involved in the soap making process.  The rest is eaten or stored. She actually returns to Umbrel with two of the items she finds together later to perform some alchemical factoring. She laughs, for different reasons, at the end of each.

The particular woods are noteworthy as well. Ash and elm feature prominently in The Name of the Wind in two distinct contexts. The first is the nursery ryhme about disposing demons. It appears in the frame…

“Let me tell you what to do.
Dig a pit that’s ten by two.
Ash and elm and rowan too—”
NW 39

… and the narrative:

The mayor nodded eagerly and singsonged, “Dig a pit that’s ten by two. Ash and elm and rowan too.” He cleared his throat.NW 646

There are all kinds of hints littered throughout The Slow Regard of Silent Things that Auri is only a former student despite Kvothe’s “moon fae” diminutive.  Auri interacts unremarkably with iron.  Her abilities are eschewed rather than limited.  And she has no trouble with ash and elm, even though both are mentioned right along with iron and fire by Felurian.

They’re also involved in a minor naming controversy.

“Fine,” I said, as I fished the leaf out of my mouth. It was yellow, shaped like a spearhead. “The wind has decided for us. Master Ash.”
“Are you sure it isn’t Master Elm?” she asked, eyeing the leaf. “It’s a common mistake.”
“Tastes like an ash,” I said. “Besides, elm is feminine.”
She nodded seriously, though her eyes were dancing. “Ash it is then.”
NW 558

I don’t think I’d noticed until now that ash and elm simultaneously recall something and point directly away from it. At any rate, both are hardwoods ideal for making lye, or “caustic lies,” which dovetails in the paired chapter and might suggest something about Denna’s patron.  The ash/elm mistake comes up gain when Kvothe reconnects with her in chapter sixty-four of The Wise Man’s Fear.

After gathering the wood, Auri washes.AQUPP Haven  She changes back into the dress with more pockets and shoulders her gather sack.  She heads out of the Underthing.

She took the final piece of Mandril more by memory than sight, stepping carefully until she stood behind the upright runoff grate that looked out onto nothing much except the bottom of a gully. Auri moved to stand next to the heavy bars . From there she saw the bulk of Haven up upon the hill, a shadow looming large against the starry sky.

The accompanying image here didn’t make it into the final version of the book.  It’s Nate’s initial drawing of the exit from Mandril which was deemed too busy and maybe too revealing.  It’s not exactly canon, but it gives a decent sense of what Haven might look like.

Auri waits again for the clouds to obscure the moon and dim its light so she can move without being seen.  If Kvothe’s right about her, and Elodin seems to agree, avoiding Haven is probably a top priority.

The image that appears in the book is more spare, leaving much more to the imagination but retaining the mood of the rejected drawing.AQUPP 1Auri disappears into the woods.  She finds a small forgotten graveyard while gathering pinecones.  And we get a textual clarification about why she avoids the moon.

The moon was out again, but she was lower now, and bashful. Auri smiled at her, glad for the company now that she was no longer On Top of Things and Haven was far gone behind.

It’s only a threat because it reveals her to prying eyes. Once she’s alone and isolated, when nobody can see her on top of a University roof or skulking about the Rookery starved and half naked, it’s no big deal.  The light’s actually kind of handy.

Here on the edge of the clearing the moon showed acorns scattered on the ground. Auri spent a few minutes picking up the ones with perfect hats and tucking them into her gathersack.

In the paired chapter, she makes a meal of these. Perfect hats rang a bell and I tracked it down in Rogues. In another faen parallel, Bast demands similar acorns from Pem and Wilk.

“I also need twenty-one perfect acorns,” he said. “No holes, with all their little hats intact…”“The Lightning Tree”

Grave TreeShe finds an lonely laurus nobilis, odd in this forgotten place. Inhaling the aroma of bay leaves, she sees a gap between the roots, perfect for disposing of human remains.

Nodding, Auri reached into her gathersack and brought out the bone that she had found the day before . She bent down and tucked it deep inside the dark and hollow space beneath the tree.

Satisfied, she gathers a couple handfuls of laurel berries.  They’ll themselves be the source of some consternation in the later chapter. And we’ll finish this one on Friday.

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Reading The Slow Regard of Silent Things: Part VIII.ii BEAUTIFUL AND BROKEN

We left Auri sitting on the couch contemplating the proper place fro the brazen gear.  She considers Throughbottom.

Perhaps some long-dead hulking mechanata was in desperate need of nine bright teeth and love in its abandoned heart?

Throughbottom has been the focus of some of the most intense speculation about the Underthing. When it first appeared in chapter eighty-seven of The Name of the Wind, Kvothe estimated that it was more than fifty feet below the surface.

Deeper still, we came to Throughbottom, a room like a cathedral, so big that neither Auri’s blue light nor my red one reached the highest peaks of the ceiling. All around us were huge, ancient machines. Some lay in pieces: broken gears taller than a man, leather straps gone brittle with age, great wooden beams that were now explosions of white fungus, huge as hedgerows.NW 678

He noted an iron block as big as a house, deeply rusted; verdigris thick as moss; and a waterwheel three stories in diameter.

I had only the vaguest of ideas as to what any of the machines might have done. I had no guess at all as to why they had lain here for uncounted centuries, deep underground. There didn’t seem—

And it cuts off. Chapter eighty eight is the interlude with the soldier-cum-bandit-cum-shambleman comes in “looking.” Throughbottom never comes up again. We’d really like a count on those centuries.

Running her finger along the broken tooth of the gear, Auri realizes what’s missing from the sitting room.  She peels back the carpet and rests the belt buckle she fished out of The Twelve next to the button there. The room is no longer wrong. It’s perfect, like a circle or a bell. The Kingkiller Chronicle is dense with bell imagery, but it’s much more frequent in The Slow Regard of Silent Things. Now that the room’s complete, Auri’s free to nick the golden ring with the amber setting from the table. She dances.

She grabs the gear and starts to head back.

Auri went as motionless as stone. Silent as the stillness in a heart. It couldn’t be. Not yet. She had days and days. She wasn’t nearly—

This is cool because it’s operating on several levels. From a purely narrative standpoint, it’s interrupting the story.  Auri knew she had seven days and it’s only been three. Could she have been wrong?  She was, of course, but we don’t know that yet. Itself interrupted it reinforces the story’s stutter.

It’s recalling the conversation between Kvothe and Auri.  She’s already being patient as a stone. According to the comments on Part VI.i, this should be the fifth day following that conversation, so even there he’d be a day early.

It pairs silence and stillness.  The heart of the Adem. Two things Kvothe learns, or almost learns, during his time chasing the wind.  He at least learned enough of it to impress the judges during his test at the Latantha.

Finally, though they’re not right together, the sentences juxtaposed recreate the image of Teccam’s secrets of the heart.

Secrets of the heart are different. They are private and painful, and we want nothing more than to hide them from the world. They do not swell and press against the mouth. They live in the heart, and the longer they are kept, the heavier they become.WMF 487

It’s something Auri seems to understand, whether via instinct or education, earlier in the book. When Kvothe is in the throes of the plum bob and she seeks him out, she says, “I know,” she said. “You have a stone in your heart, and some days it’s so heavy there is nothing to be done.”

She sprints back to Mantle through Faceling, which smells of hot flowers and fear.  She washes, changes clothes, and tires to choose a gift.  She rejects The Book of Secrets (for now), the crystal, the gear, and the ring.  She associated the ring with demons.

This is the third reference to demons surrounding amber rings.  Wil mentions it in his list of wishings and one’s been added to Kvothe’s legend by the time he goes listening in Tarbean. It might be safe to speculate that demon controlling amber rings are a cross-cultural symbol in the Four Corners. A sort of meta-story that we don’t know the origin of.

She settles on the holly berries and bottles them. Later they’ll become part of the gifts she actually gives Kvothe, so the early partial decision is fairly interesting. The berries are “dutiful and true.”

Auri exits through the grate in Applecourt.  We learn that the tree has a name, Lady Larbor. Since she stands beneath its sheltering branches, Larbor is probably L’arbor, “of sheltering branches.” She scampers squirlish up On Top of Things.

She could see the prickly chimbleys of Crucible, and winged Mews all full of flickerlight . To the east she spied the silver line of the Old Stone Road cutting gully-deep into the forest, off to Stonebridge, over the river, and away away away. . . .

Like nekkid, chimbley is a dialectical tic. It’s used in everything from Finnegan’s Wake to Green Eggs and Ham. Considering Neil Gaiman read the latter for last year’s Worldbuilders, it’s possible Pat picked it up there. Also like nekkid it can make Auri seem younger than she is even though she’s looking at the Crucible and detailing her knowledge of the immediate area. It’s curious that she drops the article for Crucible, eliding the difference between calling names and personal pronouns.

On Top of ThingsShe sits in the lee of a tall brick chimney in order to hide from the moon. It’s the same waning crescent that appears on the ALSO BY PATRICK ROTHFUSS page. It’s not a good moon.

There’s no explanation why, though it might be because the waning moon is closer to the moonless night.

And we finally have the stars behind the moon with a character in the shot in a canonical story.  So that’s nice.

Kvothe isn’t here.

He wasn’t coming till the seventh day. She knew. She knew the way of things.

Auri still knows he’s coming on the seventh day, even though he’s really not.  As much as she knows the way of things, the shape of the world, she’s fallible. Unreliable.

Like Auri, Kvothe knows things, knows the shape of the world, but he’s not always right. Neither of them are lying. But they are individual perspectives interpreting the world through biased eyes.

Auri sits.  Auri looks.  Auri waits.

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Reading The Slow Regard of Silent Things: Part VIII.i BEAUTIFUL AND BROKEN

AFTER TAKING A MOMENT for her leisure, Auri got a drink of water from the pool in Mote , then headed back down to gather up the brazen gear.

There are more sources of potable water in the Underthing than one might expect. First Cricklet, then Tree, and now Mote, mentioned only in passing. It’s probably small, I guess. Audiobook listeners probably imagined something else, a body of water in a channel.

The names she gave them, nonsensical at first, fit like a glove when I finally saw what they described. NW 699

In some cases, like Tenance and Mantle, Auri’s names for the areas of the Underthing are relatively easy to parse. Others, like Rubric and Van, require a bit more rumination. Some are explained outright and others, like Mote, not at all. Mostly it’s no big deal.  The story rhythmically beats on. But sometimes a sense of place might be nice. So would a magical horse that fits in my pocket.

I’m developing a weird affection for the brevity of The Slow Regard of Silent Things. I know a lot of readers were disappointed by the size of the book and the limited scope of the story. But it makes some of the structural analysis significantly easier.

Unlike the other work outside the main trilogy, Pat spent some time on this one.  “How Old Holly Came to Be” was written in a single day and “The Lightning Tree” in a little over a month. This novella developed over a period of close to two years. The extra time tends to show itself in the scaffolding of the story.  Neither of the other two stories is a ring and neither has a refined alchemical sensibility.

The Slow Regard of Silent Things has both. Like the previous two chapters, or pairs of chapters, I just want to touch on the ring to demonstrate that it’s there. How it makes meaning in the story will have to wait for some other project.

Briefly, both chapter three, BEAUTIFUL AND BROKEN, and chapter eight, ALL TO HER DESIRE, begin with the brazen gear.  In fact, it’s on a narrow ledge in both as well; in The Gray Twelve and in Mantle, respectively.  This chapter ends with Auri entirely exposed, outside the Underthing anticipating and perhaps disappointed.  It’s paired partner ends at the heart of Auri’s world with her at rest and reassured. And these are the only chapters in the novella where the word Temerant appears.


Pat scooped himself in July at the conclusion of the Geeks Doing Good fundraiser. The name of the world The Kingkiller Chronicle takes place in, or on depending on your regional dialect, was the $100,000 stretch goal. “This is something I’ve known for a while, but I’ve been keeping it under my hat. Making sure I really liked it. Making certain I was sure of it. Names are important things, or so I hear.”

It set off a storm of renewed speculation around a title mentioned three times in The Wise Man’s Fear.

Elodin made a disgusted noise. “I don’t know,” he said. “I haven’t read them.” He wrote En Temerant Voistra on the board and circled it. “I don’t even know if this one is in the Archives at all.” He put a question mark next to it and continued to write. “I will tell you this. None of them are in Tomes. I made sure of that. You’ll have to hunt for them in the Stacks. You’ll have to earn them.”WMF 120

None of the students in “Introduction to Not Being a Stupid Jackass” are able to find it, which only added to its mysterious allure. Commenters on the Patrick Rothfuss Reread had noted years before that “temerant” was the third person plural form of the Latin verb temero, but speculations about the title took many forms with many reasons. If Temerant literally means something like “we dishonor” or “we violate,” it tracks well with Lanre’s lament in The Name of the Wind.

It also makes some sense in the context of Auri’s desire to mend the broken world.

Anyway, I should probably get back to the chapter at hand.  Where was I?  That’s right, the second sentence. The brazen B story.

It was patient as three stones, but still, it deserved to find its proper place as much as anyone.

This is actually another clever way of placing the novella within the parent text. When Auri meets up with Kvothe On Top of Things in chapter eleven of The Wise Man’s Fear, “Haven,” she says:

“Play for me! I have been as patient as two stones together,” she said. “You are just in time. I could not be as patient as three stones.”WMF 103

One stone is six days.  Two stones is seven to twelve days.  Three stones would be thirteen to eighteen days.  But by using the same metaphor that’s used to frame the time period in the novel, Pat sets the story structurally as well as temporally. It’s a nice touch.

Auri carries the gear to Wains.  She tries setting it on the couch in the sitting room she recently opened.  But it doesn’t work.

To be all answerful with all that knowing trapped inside. To be beautiful and broken.

Beautiful and Broken

Oddly enough, “all that knowing” is nearly the title of chapter thirty six of The Wise Man’s Fear. And that title is dropped within the chapter as well.

Stonebridge rose ahead of us: two hundred feet from end to end, with a high arch that peaked five stories above the river. It was part of the Great Stone Road, straight as a nail, flat as a table, and older than God. I knew it weighed more than a mountain. I knew it had a three-foot parapet running along both its edges.

Despite all this knowing, I felt deeply uneasy at the thought of trying to cross it.WMF 272

That in itself isn’t particularly revealing.  Pat tends to use phrases from his chapters as their titles.  It’s more significant when he doesn’t.  But this one is interesting because neither the gear nor Kvothe is content with all this knowing.  And because Stonebridge is as much a mystery as the Underthing.


Reading The Slow Regard of Silent Things: Part VII.iii – WHAT A LOOK ENTAILS

“I don’t like telling,” she said softly, her voice thick with tears. Of all the awful things I’d been part of these last couple days, this was unquestionably the worst of it.WMF 197

I’m not a hundred percent sure about this, but my guess is that what Auri doesn’t like telling is her past.  After Kvothe asks her what should be an entirely quotidian question, “how do you know about the Ciridae?” she disappears.  In the narrative of The Kingkiller Chronicle, the Amyr are more or less common knowledge.  Everybody has something to say about them and while it’s fascinating to a home schooled orphan just this side of abject destitution, for folks like Simmon and Threpe it’s just part of being educated or even generally knowledgeable.

“Loud noises too. Even a loud laugh. And you can’t ask her anything resembling a personal question. She’ll just run if you do.”WMF 106

There are places in the text where the suggestion is that any question at all might be dangerous, it’s personal questions Kvothe warns Elodin about.  So my running theory here is that memory is a trigger for Auri.  Who she was before she squirreled herself away in the Underthing remains, but remembering comes with a price.  It has the benefit of being on theme from almost the start of The Name of the Wind and being demonstrable in The Slow Regard of Silent Things.

Her duty done , Auri tended to the brush and headed back to Tenance. She pressed her ear against the door. Listened. She heard a faint . . . No. Nothing. She held her breath and listened. Nothing.

She’s just completed a fairly complex plumbing repair.  It looked easy precisely because she knew what she was doing. She selected exactly the right tools, tracked down the leak and then the valve, and patiently performed the necessary steps in the correct order. For a short period, Auri was a hypercompetent alchemist reflecting on her education and the art.  Finished, she slips into abject paranoia.

What happened?

“Some of the compounds we use,” I said. “They’ll go straight through your skin and kill you in eighteen slow ways.” I thought back to the day my tenten glass had cracked in the Fishery. Of the single drop of transporting agent that had landed on my shirt. It was only a tiny drop, barely larger than the head of a nail. I was so certain it hadn’t touched my skin. “I hope that’s not it. But I don’t know what else it might be.”WMF 185

There’s a chance the tenaculum itself wasn’t factored properly, that some of it touched her skin or simply the long lingering smell had disastrous side effects.  And yet she was so certain of the craft involved in its manufacture. She could be suffering infection from the rusty scratch on her back, fevered and delirious.  Throughout the story, it’s hard to rule that out. She could be hungry, but, meager though the meal was, she’s eaten recently.

I think the extended period of determined lucidity had the same effect internally as questions about her past have externally. Something’s been wrong since she brought the gear into Mantle, and it comes to a head when she returns to Tenance. She replaces the bottle and the brush, leaving no trace of her presence.  Well, except for te tenaculum on the brush, which would be difficult to rinse off.



She stepped the way the water moves within a gentle wave. Never mind the motion, the water stays unchanged. That was the proper way of things.

This was another spot that pulled me out. It’s a powerful, perfect image for what he’s trying to convey. But it kind of jumps out in the mechanical maintenance scene. It’s there to provide a juxtaposition from one step to the next.  She’s utterly in control, attuned to the secret turnings of the world one moment and just as utterly out of true the next.

She closes the door to Tenance and checks the latch. Something’s out of true.  The doorway to liminal space between one existence and the next is a great place for this to happen. Doors and door frames are more meaningful when they’re not level, plumb, and true.  But it’s not the door, or the air that’s increasingly hard to breath that’s all wrong.  It’s Auri herself.

She checks the latch four times in total before succumbing to her panic.

Something was wrong. She tried, but she could simply not unclench. She could not catch her breath. The stones beneath her feet were nothing like her stones. She needed to get somewhere safe.

Auri is undone. Having prevented the nightmare of invasion, the pent up terror it represented catches up to her and she dashes headlong back toward home.  And gets lost.

I was surprised that she could.  From Kvothe’s perspective she’s an expert, a guide in an unfathomable wilderness.  But this is the second time she’s taken wrong turns and and wandered. In a way, the Underthing is an externalization of her cracked mind.  She can get lost and slowly find her way back home.

Slowly. She finds herself “out of place” in Scaperling, amid the rot and grit and leering walls. And here we find a seamless integration of what a look entails with the world out of true. The walls are gazing sideways at Auri suspicious, almost as though they disapprove of her actions. She repaired the pipe, resumed her former life, for herself. She’s retreating to the safety of Mantle for herself.  Not because there was, or is, any danger.

She was dizzy and askant and slant.

It’s not the walls of Scaperling that leer.  It’s her out of true, out of place, spinning out of control. She collapses to the floor, filthy, skinned, and breathless, and collects herself.  Eventually she makes her way home.

She washes her face.  She washes her hands and feet.  She basks in the comfort of her personal space, safe for awhile longer from discovery.  She ventures out to Van, where she finds herself, her mirror, everything, once again in its proper place.

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Reading The Slow Regard of Silent Things: Part VII.ii – WHAT A LOOK ENTAILS

One of the things it’s difficult to do in a reread is focus on, and only on, the text so far.  Knowing the end, it’s far too easy to read foreshadowing and mystery into the beginning.  Looking back at some of my conclusions about the first chapter, I think I’m guilty of that.  Sure, it’s easy to see that Auri’s relationship to the objects in Port is interesting, but if the narrative had continued without some of WHAT A LOOK ENTAILS reveals, there’d be absolutely no hint of deeper mysteries. Whispers of hints maybe. But mostly a cracked young woman.

THE FAR BELOW BOTTOM OF THINGS is fully twenty two percent of the novella, by far the longest chapter. And while see a fair bit of the Underthing, in a strict sense we learn almost nothing.  The stage is set in shadows, obscured in metaphor and poesy.  It’s a deliberate obfuscation that encourages a surface level reading of what is really a surprisingly deep text.

What this chapter does is begin to pull back the curtain.  I wanted this to be a sort of easy read that cataloged some of the interesting facts about the text.  I hadn’t even fully addressed the place of The Slow Regard of Silent Things within the parent text. luckily, some clever commenters took care of that.  I suspected it was constructed like The Wise Man’s Fear. I’d seen some of the parallel phrasing in the first and last chapters and made a mental note of how HOLLOW stood out as a turning point in the text.  And, y’know, it was obviously full of alchemy. But that could wait.

It couldn’t wait too long, though.  And so I’m gonna include some of it.

Anyway, we left off on Auri eating just enough to stop shaking.  I mentioned before that both Pat and Nate portrayed extreme hunger well, one with the sudden onset of physical symptoms and the other with think limbs and shadows. Whatever Auri’s mental state, it’s compounded by debilitating malnutrition.  She goes whole days without a morsel.

After eating , Auri knew it was past time she found the brazen gear its proper place.

I want to take a moment to talk about the brazen gear and brave Foxen.  On the one hand these seem like whimsical attributions of emotional qualities to inanimate objects. However, both have at least a double meaning.  Brazen simply means “made of brass.”  Brave: “fine or splendid in appearance.”  Chances are most of the consistent descriptions fit this mold.  In the foreword Pat suggests the book might be for you if you love words.  The more affection you show them, the more they reveal, I guess.


So she begins adjusting, moving, and ultimately touring the the Underthing with the gear.  It’s interesting to note that at the same time as she’s trying to find the proper place for it, she’s also seeking its secret answers.  She wants it to be “forthcoming.”

If one of the locks this chapter opens is the practical nature of Auri’s descriptors, another is the overall shape of the story.  Seven chapters from now, on the other side of the ring, the gear accompanies her again, finally yielding its answers.  In a ring, the chapters should work in pairs. In this case: 1/10, 2/9, 3/8, 4/7, and 5/6.

According to Robert Lowth (via Mary Douglas) this pairing can be synonymous, antithetic, or constructive.  Pat likes to use all three. Chapters two and nine share synonymous staggering hunger, the traveling gear, and significant scenes in Pickering. Where a sense of wrong pervades chapter two, an antithetic sense of right, or at least truing, governs chapter nine. Auri’s spiral into panic in this chapter is referenced, and avoided, in the latter chapter. As an example of constructive pairing, these are the only two chapters where the word coruscant appears.

Eventually, Auri takes the gear back to The Twelve because maybe it belongs where she found it.  She’s relieved to find that isn’t the case, but her relief is short lived.  A nightjar taps three times on an iron pipe.

She looked after it numbly, the chill in her gut making a slow knot. She couldn’t ask for things to be more clear than that. Her pulse began to hammer at her then, her palms all sudden sweat.

This is probably the strangest thing that happens in the entire book and it’s never quite explained away.  It turns out that a little bird quite literally told her that there was a leak in an iron pipe. How? Why?

It’s probably no coincidence that it’s a nightjar, which only appears in one other place in the narrative, “The Boy Who Loved the Moon.” What the inclusion of a nightjar does here is draw the power of that story into Auri’s narrative and remind us of some of its thematic elements. Notice how the bird’s a bit of a mystery but the pipe is not.

There was no need to guess the type of pipe though. The ting of it let Auri know it was iron , black and twice the thicken of her thumb.

That’s remarkably specific, especially for something high above her head in the dark.  It might not be magic, of course, but it certainly highlights the importance of listening.  And listening is something altogether different in Hespe’s story.  So this is a third window into The Slow Regard of Silent Things.

Auri runs to Tenance, a liminal space between the Underthing and the University.  It’s a storage room where they keep stuff to repair the pipes.  Maintenance.  She’s desperate to find and fix the leak before someone from above comes to do it.


Auri selects a stoppered Jar and a brush from the shelves and runs to Rubric where she eventually finds the leaking pipe.  She shuts off a valve and then waits while the area dries.  We learn she was an Alchemist.

Auri sighed. It was just as Master Mandrag said so many years ago.

We never do find out what Mandrag said.  Maybe it’s sitting right out in the open in one of Sim’s stories in the other books.  I haven’t found it.  The stoppered jar contains tenaculum, an alchemical substance that might be identical to the one Kvothe used to post his “Jackass, Jackass” lyrics.

We used a lovely alchemical adhesive Simmon had cooked up for the occasion. The stuff went on like paint, then dried clear as glass and hard as steel.NW 455

Tenaculum is unfortunately a medical instrument, so figuring out why this alchemical epoxy resin is called that is sort of difficult.  It’s Latin root is for holding and binding, though.  Auri’s able to smell naptha and sulphonium in it and apparently would have used something else to make it.

This tells us a couple things.  First, that alchemical recipes are personal.  You can achieve the same result with different ingredients.  This actually matches up with historical alchemy where, after getting through the obfuscation and allegory, you’ll find different methods for the same processes.  Pat goes a step further and includes a sentiment that appears over and over again over the centuries.

Whoever wrought and factored this was living proof that alchemy was art. It showed pure mastery of craft.

A fourth key to the novella is the way it’s written.  In adding the praise of alchemy itself, Pat’s winking at those who recognize it and suggesting there’s more than initially meets the eye. He’s telling us a lot about alchemy, and Auri, and Temerant.  But it’s all buried under an unstable mind: malnourished, possibly feverish, undeniably different.

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Reading The Slow Regard of Silent Things: Part VII.i – WHAT A LOOK ENTAILS

THE SECOND DAY, Auri woke to silence in the perfect dark.
That meant a turning day. A doing day.

So, waking to, “a whisper of dim light,” marks a white/deep/finding day and those are rare. Silence and darkness mark a turning/doing day.  The second day lasts for three chapters, reinforcing the notion that the has a lot to do.  Is it a turning day because she tends to the proper turning of the world?  She actually turns the brass gear, the mirror, and the valve on the leaking pipe, but she does plenty.

Auri surveys Mantle and her possessions and we get the phrase, “Everything was just as it should be.”  This full phrase only occurs twice, both times in this chapter.  Ironically, in this chapter we begin to see things go wrong.

Her regard of the egresses from Mantle is quicker, more abrupt.  We get a slightly more informative description of the door to Boundary before she moves into Port.  While she’s slept, a few of the objects have somehow changed.  They’re no longer content where they are and she spends some time adjusting them.

The old black buckle was crowding the resin a bit, but that was quickly mended.

I’m still intrigued by the used of “mended.”  I wish there were just a little bit more to put it all together.  The brass gear is still giving her problems.  It’s changed everything, and it’s part of whatever’s gone wrong.

Auri picked up the heavy gear with both hands and brought it into Mantle. It was unheard of, really, but by this point she was at something of a loss.

She leaves it on the stone ledge opposite her bed.  She washes her face and hands and feet.  As near as I can tell, she does this every time she leaves Mantle with the intention of going further than Port.  It’s more about decorum than cleanliness even if both play a part.

She fills a gathersack and all her pockets, apparently a prerequisite for a doing day.

In Van she was startled to find the mirror was unsettled.

Once she’s taken the extraordinary measure of introducing the gear into Mantle, things turn out to be rough all over.  The mirror needs covering and the obvious solution to the reader might be the sheets in Tumbrel.  That is, in fact, where Auri goes.  However, her complex exchange system won’t allow it.  She has nothing that belongs in the wardrobe more than one of those sheets.  She tries the buckle she found the day before.

It didn’t belong here. Oh it seemed sensible. Oh yes. Certainly. But she knew what seeming was worth in the end, didn’t she?

I’m guessing this is here almost solely to drive folks who take Kvothe’s “little moon fae” diminutive to heart into a frenzy.  Bast is almost alone in his concern wit seeming versus being. Felurian and Kvothe echo some of it, but his reiteration of the difference in “The Lightning Tree” effectively separated any talk of the two into a specifically faen category.

I actually appreciate how Pat writes multiple possible interpretations into his stories like a school of herring.  In this case, it might be safe to assume that if Auri knows about the Ciridae and secrets Mandrag doesn’t, then she knows about the fae as well.  Particularly when the book description definitively calls her a former student of the University.

But no. There is a difference between the truth and what we wish were true.

Normally, when a text shifts tense or perspective it indicates, well, something.  This is even true in The Kingkiller Chronicle in several instances.  But Rothfuss tends to just do it sometimes because it sounds neat.  Some folks get pulled out of the text by “nekkid.”  Apparently I get pulled out by authorial intrusion with no obvious storyteller.

Whatever’s wrong gets worse.

The trip down the unnamed stair cheered her somewhat. Her path staggered drunkenly back and forth as she moved from one safe section to another.

There are a few things that could be going on here.  The day before she was close to hypothermic shock.  She might have an infection from the rust scratch on her back.

She returns to Mantle and takes her blanket from her bed to Van.  She drapes it over the mirror and moves it to a better position.  She gets back to her routine, brushing her hair.

But just as she was finishing, when she lifted up her arms to push her cloud of hair behind her, Auri staggered just a bit, all sudden dizzy. After it passed, she walked slowly to Cricklet and took a long, deep drink. She felt the cool water run all along her insides with nothing to stop it. She felt hollow inside. Her stomach was an empty fist.

So the hunger could be the cause of all the unsettling.  I know that feeling.  Auri’s so far gone that it takes extreme physical reaction to encourage her to eat.

Cricklet is one of the more popular place in the parent text.  There’s a description in The Name of the Wind.

Cricklet had a tiny trickle of fresh water running down one wall. The moisture attracted crickets, who filled the long low room with their tiny songs.699

So her long drink isn’t from some underground stream or piped water, but a dank room full of insects.  The latter makes it ideal for what happens while Kvothe’s away in Vintas, Faen, and Ademre during The Wise Man’s Fear.  When he visits Auri upon return she tells him:

“There is a whole family of hedgehogs living in Cricklet!” she said excitedly. Auri took two more steps and grabbed my hand with both of hers. “There are babies tiny as acorns!”935

To the hedgehogs, those crickets were probably as tasty as acorns.

She contemplates going to Applecourt, the enclose courtyard with the apple tree where Kvothe enters and exits the Underthing.  Applecourt is one of seven new places we hear about in this chapter.  The other six are Tree, Mandril, Downings, Tennance, Pickering, and Scaperling.  Tree is more or less Auri’s kitchen.



Here we find the second instance of “Everything was just as it should be.”  There’s hardly any food.  Auri eats a leathery apple and three figs and her hands stop shaking.  Hooray!

There’s a clever running water chill-well, pictured, holding a lump of butter “full of knives” and unfit for consumption.  My guess is that the butter is used and, like second hand clothes, Auri wants no part of it.  She’s probably keeping it around because it’s a fat, which she has plenty of other uses for.

Now that she’s rested and refreshed, she’s ready to get down to business.  we’ll check that out next time.


Reading The Slow Regard of Silent Things: Part VI.iii – THE FAR BELOW BOTTOM OF THINGS

We come to the second scene of Auri arranging objects in Port.  Is this the scatterbrained fantasy of a malnourished mentally unstable recluse?  Or is it something more?

This is where the objects became something more than whimsically anthropomorphized.

Keys were hardly known for their complacency, and this one was near howling for a lock. Auri picked it up and turned it in her hands. A door key. It wasn’t shy about the fact at all.

I think it was right about there that I was reminded of one of the later scenes in “The Boy Who Loved the Moon.”  The hermit has convinced the knot on the tinker’s pack to open and is explaining the contents to Jax.

The old man shivered and looked away from the box. “It’s empty.”
“How can you tell without seeing inside?”
“By listening,” he said. “I’m amazed you can’t hear it yourself. It’s the emptiest thing I’ve ever heard. It echoes. It’s meant for keeping things inside.”
WMF 592

And that, in turn, made me glance back at her take on the buckle: “He was not a one for fastening. For holding closed.”  The idea here would be that Auri’s listening to, or at least regarding, these objects in a manner similar to the hermit.  They don’t have personalities, but that’s the best way to convey their dynamic thingness. Auri’s inability to function normally with access to this kind of knowledge wouldn’t be unique in the text, either.

Alder Whin, Elodin’s giller, says, “I was fine. I was doing fine. But all the people talking, dogs, cobblestones…I just can’t be around that right now.”NW 339

Read one way it’s just a list of stuff that’s bugging him,  Read another way he’s saying the people, the dogs, even the cobblestones are too loud and he had to withdraw.  He checked himself into Haven, where no one wants to go, which is incidentally the title of the chapter of The Wise Man’s Fear where the narrative of The Slow Regard of Silent Things merges with it.

Auri finds an acceptable place for everything and heads off into the Underthing in search of the proper door for her restless key.  At the first door she tries, she fans Foxen’s light with her breath.  Is it the motion of the air or the temperature, as Marco. suggested?  There must be something suggesting one or the other later on that’s slipped my mind.Crystal

She eventually comes to Wains, a grand hall out of a Renaissance palazzo with frescoes and chandeliers.  Wains is one of the more obvious names that Pat hands to us in the text, referenceing the dual meaning of wain with, “wide enough to drive a wagon through,” and, “wood paneling hugged the lower portion of the walls.”

It’s here that we get her first self identification as wicked.  It happens seven times.  Each time, including this one, it slides away rather quickly.  It’s attached to desire, to want, to bending the world to one’s desire.  It’s worth noting because as the associations become more sophisticated, more than looking at frescoes of men and women in their altogether, we get a broader picture of who Auri is and whom she might have been.  And that has a bearing on a piece of a memory that might be easy to misinterpret.  Anyway, keep in in mind as we go along.

There are twelve doors.  Auri has managed to open three of them.  She tries, obviously, this is a story after all, the third and the seventh.  Finally the ninth opens.

What’s behind the ninth door is a new room, which she regards slowly and silently.  Something’s wrong but neither she nor we know what.  She spends some time trying to figure it out and in the process finds a synechdoche for Kvothe.

It was a tiny figurine carved from a piece of pale, retiring stone. A small soldier with clever lines to show his hauberk and his shield. But his truest treasure was the sweetness of his face, kind enough for kissing.

The pale figurine is significant, but there’s an even more interesting line.

There wasn’t really anything for her to do here. It was startling really , as the place had obviously been alone for ages without anyone tending to it.

Places and things apparently, at least to Auri, have a real true.  A level and plumb that they should be but often aren’t.  And part of what she does is try to put that right.  There’s a word that’s used in The Slow Regard of Silent Things that resonates with the parent text(s): mend.  As in, possibly, the Mender heresies.

She exits the room to find a stairway and realizes she’s no longer in Wains anymore.  The stairs are somewhere new, with shifting stones.  She struggles to find its name but can’t tell what sort of place it is.  At the top of the stairs is another new place, a collapsed bedroom that’s almost obviously named Tumbrel.  Having every new place be a mystery would undermine the way her relationship with places and things has been presented, so an unknown is followed with a known, for brevity.

Auri went to work then, setting things to rights as best she could.

She moves some debris, clears a path to open a closet and a wardrobe, and gives Tumbrel and the stairs a sweeping.  To do this she ties Foxen to a lock of her hair, which bruises it.  The first time through I read it as projected emotion.  But if it’s bio-or-chemiluminscent then the bruising on the surface is probably quite literal.

She finds a wardrobe with well preserved sheets and takes one out without thinking.  Then she rebukes herself.

She was a greedy thing sometimes. Wanting for herself. Twisting the world all out of proper shape. Pushing everything about with the weight of her desire.

That’s interesting.  Twisting the world out of shape with the weight of her desire.  I mentioned before that said weight was one of the connection points between the first and last chapters.  So is the manipulation of the world.  That theme is expanded as the story progresses and culminates in more than twisting.

We’ll finally start the second chapter Wednesday.