So this is one of those books that DEFINED fantasy for so many people and it's so strange to read it after having read those authors and thinking "oh, he's also doing this" to "oh, he's the *this* that all the alsos are copying".

This books sings. And not like Tolkien, but so much of the speech and narration has the rhyme and rhythm of narrative poetry. It's somehow a story about loss where all the things you expect to be lost are not and yet also...it's sad without giving you the thing to be sad about.
It's...ugh. Not meant to be describes. I wish I'd read it as a teenager and I'm so glad I've read it now.
Which means it's time to watch the movie, right?