I do like stories that seem to be aimless - the ones that don't really have a story but spend time with a character. In those stories we learn about the characters by living alongside them; we see what they see, we feel what they feel - all their complexities and imperfections. After a point, however, it can get tedious. Weary. Exhausting. 'Cause there is only so much time one can live in someone's head space whose mind works differently, sees the world differently and their nuances aren't easily explained. The journey is too tiresome to bother and difficult to keep up with. 
 Writing is wonderful, truly. It reads like a haunting melody. But only for a while. Even in its randomness, the character didn't string me along for the ride. 
 Or as Rothfuss kindly mentions in afterword - maybe it was me.