While largely excusable in a first book in a series, the sort of pace and narrow focus seen during the first 600 or so pages of this one as well, so for nearly as much as the entire length of The Name of the Wind, is less so in a second. That said, it's still the story of a man, told by the man himself, and if at times he focuses on that which the reader may find less interesting and when he decides to skip something else it's something that may be more relevant to others, it's entirely his right to do so. Or, in other terms, it indicates that the author managed to portray the story exactly as intended. What I can't quite excuse, however, is that now it's less a matter of Kvothe having only himself to thank and to blame for his successes and failures, the usual combination of friends, allies and quite a lot of luck rearing its head plenty of times.
Still, once it finally does switch gears, any tedious or frustrating moments, as well as any other complaints, are quickly forgotten, and overall it's still atmosphere and emotion and the occasional notable bit of wisdom, with a fair amount of humor thrown in as well. It's a dream, a fantasy, while at the same time feeling stunningly, overwhelmingly "real", in more ways than one. It's lovely, sweet, creepy, horrible at times, thrilling and occasionally hopeful, even encouraging, yet overall depressing and disheartening due to the weight of the gloom and doom it holds over your head. And, once it's over, it will leave you with a lingering, bittersweet exhaustion... Because, after all, you just lived through a portion of a life not meant for mere mortals to experience.