It always feels slightly strange to me to read books in remembrance of the author, in part because there's always something depressing about the "there won't be a new book" realization, but at least there are still more of McKillip's books to read.
But I was so glad to read this one; McKillip is one of those authors whose style and language catches and envelopes you in the wildness of it. And this is, more than anything else, a story about wonder and what it is to find it and what it is to fear it. And it was also a story that was wondrous.