I actually recently made a post on /r/fantasy saying this exact same thing. Rothfuss can write, I'll give him that, but Kvothe needs to get a major reality check. Maybe he does, and that's why he's now a quiet innkeeper called Kote. I can't finish book 2 because I hate Kvothe so much. He's a Marty Stew to a hellacious extent, with almost nothing he can't do that he actually wants to do. If he were real, he would have a scraggly beard on his neck and acne scars on his face and walk around in cargo shorts, a silk anime button-up shirt, sandals with socks, and a fedora, tipping it and nodding while saying "m'lady" to every woman he came across in the Mountain Dew aisle. I love reading Rothfuss's prose, but hate Kvothe. The other characters aren't bad, except Kvothe's love interest.

Also, when I feel like a really badass scene is just around the corner, there's always a huge letdown. It's like lighting a 10 foot fuse on a cannon and waiting, waiting for it to burn up and ignite the powder inside - except when it does finally reach the end, a piece of paper rolls out with the word "bang" written on it and nothing else happens. "Oh, is that it?" You're still hesitant, thinking there's got to be more, so you read on, and on, and before you know it there's a build up to something else and you repeat the cycle. It's basically "Look, here is something that I, Kvothe, can not accomplish. Oh, wait. I just thought real hard and accomplished it." It should be titled "The Little Kvothe that Could". One of these days I'll get around to book two, but I'm in no hurry. The only reason I even partly want to finish it is in hopes he gets knocked down a peg or three in the last book.