“I know your reputation as a great collector of stories and recorder of events.” Kvothe’s eyes became hard as flint, sharp as broken glass. “That said, do not presume to change a word of what I say. If I seem to wander, if I seem to stray, remember that true stories seldom take the straightest way.”
Need to present some background first for this theory. Luckily there's a convenient video for this by Joseph Campbell, link should be time stamped
>The sacred books of India, the fundamental sacred books are known as the vedas. The word veda is from a Sanskrit root vid that means knowledge. And the vedas are manifestations of knowledge. And the knowledge is a specific kind of knowledge. It's called sruti and sruti means heard.
>The Rishis or saints were people who did not invent the poems, the hymns of the vedas. The vedas are collections of hymns. They heard them just as anyone who listens to the muse will hear. You can write either out of your own intention or out of inspiration. There is such a thing. It comes up and talks. And those who have heard deeply the rhythms and hymns and words of the gods can recite those hymns in such a way that the gods will be attracted.
Alright. So we've got a Listener, Sage Kote aka Reshi and he's at the Waystone reciting a hymn to Devan that needs to be precise, he insists that Chronicler can't change a word of what he says. In the books, it's Bast who explains how this little trick works. It's Bast who explains the importance of the masks we wear
>Chronicler frowned. “Is that the one where the king sells his crown to an orphan boy?”
>Bast nodded. “And the boy becomes a better king than the original. The goosegirl dresses like a countess and everyone is stunned by her grace and charm.” He hesitated, struggling to find the words he wanted. “You see, there’s a fundamental connection between seeming and being. Every Fae child knows this, but you mortals never seem to see. We understand how dangerous a mask can be. We all become what we pretend to be.”
And that's what happened to Kvothe. Kvothe became the mask he wore. Kvothe became Kote, the story that he was telling himself. Kvothe was seen as an innkeeper... but now he's an innkeeper, seen.
>“That’s only the smallest piece of it,” Bast said. “The truth is deeper than that. It’s…” Bast floundered for a moment. “It’s like everyone tells a story about themselves inside their own head. Always. All the time. That story makes you what you are. We build ourselves out of that story.”
>Frowning, Chronicler opened his mouth, but Bast held up a hand to stop him. “No, listen. I’ve got it now. You meet a girl: shy, unassuming. If you tell her she’s beautiful, she’ll think you’re sweet, but she won’t believe you. She knows that beauty lies in your beholding.” Bast gave a grudging shrug. “And sometimes that’s enough.”
>His eyes brightened. “But there’s a better way. You show her she is beautiful. You make mirrors of your eyes, prayers of your hands against her body. It is hard, very hard, but when she truly believes you…” Bast gestured excitedly. “Suddenly the story she tells herself in her own head changes. She transforms. She isn’t seen as beautiful. She is beautiful, seen.”
>“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” Chronicler snapped. “You’re just spouting nonsense now.”
>“I’m spouting too much sense for you to understand,” Bast said testily. “But you’re close enough to see my point. Think of what he said today. People saw him as a hero, and he played the part. He wore it like a mask but eventually he believed it. It became the truth. But now…” he trailed off.
>“Now people see him as an innkeeper,” Chronicler said.
>“No,” Bast said softly. “People saw him as an innkeeper a year ago. He took off the mask when they walked out the door. Now he sees himself as an innkeeper, and a failed innkeeper at that. You saw what he was like when Cob and the rest came in tonight. You saw that thin shadow of a man behind the bar tonight. It used to be an act….”
So roll all of that into one. We've got a Listener, a Magician, a Reshi reciting a hymn to Chronicler. Why do magicians recite hymns in a specific way? Why can't Devan change a single word that Kvothe says?
>Kvothe held up a hand to keep Chronicler from writing, and spoke, “I’ve never told this story before, and I doubt I’ll ever tell it again.” Kvothe leaned forward in his chair. “Before we begin, you must remember that I am of the Edema Ruh. We were telling stories before Caluptena burned. Before there were books to write in. Before there was music to play. When the first fire kindled, we Ruh were there spinning stories in the circle of its flickering light.”
>Kvothe nodded to the scribe. “I know your reputation as a great collector of stories and recorder of events.” Kvothe’s eyes became hard as flint, sharp as broken glass. “That said, do not presume to change a word of what I say. If I seem to wander, if I seem to stray, remember that true stories seldom take the straightest way.”
The hymn needs to be precise in order to attract the god. The hymn has to be proper in order for the magician to invoke the god. Kvothe doesn't want to be seen as a hero. He wants to be the hero, seen.
>“To ash all things return, so too this flesh will burn. But I am Tehlu. Son of myself. Father of myself. I was before, and I will be after. If I am a sacrifice then it is to myself alone. And if I am needed and called in the proper ways then I will come again to judge and punish.”