The first few chapters of this novel triggered an astonishing cascade of thoughts, memories and sensations. Growing up in the seventies/eighties, reading Tolkien, Lewis, Garner, and any and all science fiction and fantasy I could get my hands on, the chord struck was, presumably, the intended one. My reading would not have been anywhere near the breadth or vigour of Mori's, nor would my responses have been as astute or thoughtful, but the effect on my imagination of reading The Lord Of The Rings was like hooking up a Christmas tree to a nuclear power plant. And a few years ago that might have been enough to make me fall in love with this book, just to see it being recreated, reimagined like this. I cherish my memories of being a bookish boy who half preferred to live in fantasy or way out in the galaxy somewhere than the real world, but I'm also perfectly aware of the drawbacks to such a life, the seclusion, the ant-social avoidance of other people and the tendency towards solipsism. There was also the seductive lure of language and wish-fulfillment, as it seemed possible to achieve things just by describing them in a few pages or chapter. Learn magic or warrior skills in as long as it takes to describe it! Much easier than actually doing the hard physical graft.

So it's worth remembering that I didn't just live my life through books. I was extremely fond of climbing mountains, for one thing, and I climbed most of the mountains in Ireland at one time or another, which meant that I climbed them in the worst weather imaginable and had the skills, experience and strength to love every minute. I also hiked through Wales, twice, which is relevant.

What I mean to say is that I had the suspicion that I was being pandered to, being told that I was special and misunderstood, but that I wasn't alone. Well I wasn't really, they don't let you climb mountains alone at that age. Fortunately, Jo Walton seems to get this, too, but that initial rush was the most vivid response to a book I've had in a long time. Which is fine, but is it any good?

It really is better than it has a right to be. A confection of whimsical fantasy, realism and nostalgia, the three worlds co-exist separately, much as the fairies do, so it's like an odd triangle balancing on one point at any given time.

Mori Markova has saved the world from her insane mother's magic, resulting in a dreadful sacrifice, and this is what happens in the aftermath. Sent away from her childhood home and extended family in the valleys and mountains of Wales to a boarding school in England, bringing with her a voracious appetite for reading. Lonely and isolated, she tries to find her way back to a life, but can't quite escape her mother's dark influence and her own propensity for magic.

Thus the three sides of her life: her books - a barrage of names and titles most of which I'm not too proud to say I am familiar with (but if you're not, there's a particularly lovely section where Mori describes her family and its history, another barrage of names and details, and like the books you really don't need to keep close track of everyone and everything to follow along); her new life and all its complexities and difficulties; and the fairies - which she sees everywhere - and the magic, and somehow it all works. Beautifully written, perceptive, quirky and evocative, Walton keeps them all balanced and poised with perfection.

This has won the Nebula and the Hugo, and it's easy to see why this has won the hearts of pros and fans alike, but it does more than just pander, which is not to say that it isn't a kind of wish fulfillment. The life, the books, the magic. Mori gets to have all three. But she earns it and she deserves it, and it's not a happy ending, but a happy beginning. After that, anything could happen. It's called growing up.

Just to note the coincidence: the last book I read and reviewed here was The Magus, which is one of the books Mori reads and talks about, which brought me up short a bit. I mean, you can read hundreds and hundreds of books, and none of them mention The Magus, but then you go and read The Magus, and in the very next book you read, the protagonist reads and talks about The Magus. Is that not peculiar? I found it peculiar. VERY peculiar.