le plus loin le plus serré

le plus loin le plus serré
mourning art

in memoriam

"yet I tell you, from the sad knowledge of my older experience, that to every one of you a day will most likely come when sunshine, hope, presents and pleasure will be worth nothing to you in comparison with the unattainable gift of your mother's kiss." (Christina Rossetti, "Speaking Likenesses," 1873)

Monday, March 26, 2012

Diana Wynne Jones

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.

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