It's been one year now since Diana Wynne Jones passed away. I've re-read (and re-re-read) any number of her books between then and now; I've just finished up a DWJ reading binge that included The Power of Three, Conrad's Fate, The Homeward Bounders, Hexwood, Unexpected Magic, and Deep Secret. Tonight, I read a few chapters from Howl's Moving Castle, the first book by Diana Wynne Jones I ever read. I know that book backward and forward and around sideways. It's a wonderful book, and it never, ever fails to enchant me.
I'd like one of Cesari's cream cakes to eat while reading it, but that's the only lack I ever experience in connection with the book.
Jones is such a smart writer, with such a good sense of humor, such a sense of timing and emotion and subtlety. I admire her every time I revist any of her books, even ones like Howl that I've read solidly into my memory.
I think of her often; I never met her, of course, had nothing at all to do with her except I read her books with a compulsive voracity. But I still think of her often, and I think how grand her books are, and I think what a loss it is - and it is, to me, still a wrenching sense of loss - that she will not be creating any more wonders.
I miss you, Diana Wynne Jones, and I am so, so grateful and glad to have your books in my life.