Striking
out at dawn, chasing a horizon of palest gold and reveling in a
swathe of clouds fit to make glad the heart of an impressionist
painter, we stumbled upon it. An unmistakably autumnal breeze. The
street’s end may well be blurred behind a mirage of heat by noon,
mind you, but that was no summer zephyr we felt. There’s nothing
can convince me there’s not the relish of a wild, glad defiance
felt in the winds of autumn as winter approaches. Summer breezes hold
no such spice, be they as cool as they please.
In honor of such a momentous occasion, how about we swap a few of the tales which seem to us most suitable to the fall of the year? I’ll go first:
Howl’s Moving Castle, by Diana Wynn Jones. My cup of tea leaning towards the worn and dusty, I little expected a modern, YA novel to make it’s way onto my list of Most Dearly Loved Books, and yet this quirky fantasy did just that. Here you’ll find floating castles and unexpected twists and Elizabethan poetry and a few of the funniest scenes I’ve ever had the pleasure of reading. Besides, fantasy is only proper in the Fall. Those two are close kin, methinks. Held by each is that restless longing, that sense of something grand just beyond our fingertips. Held by each, too, is that distillation of life into an intensity that brims over and spills enchantment onto everything surrounding it. Each contains the same capacity for becoming what the Celts would have called a “thin place”.
On Fairy Stories, by Tolkien. In that vein, I’d be hard pressed to think of a better companion for the Fall than Tolkien. I’m going to assume you’re already familiar with The Lord of the Rings and the dire importance of your reading it (if not, drop everything and go with that book first!). This is an essay you can find in a small collection of his entitled “Tree and Leaf”, and it’s just about one of the most marvelous things in existence. Truly though, his insight into what makes fairy tales True (and Christ enchanting) is something I wish I could ensure an encounter with for everyone.
Macbeth, by Shakespeare. A word of warning: not a book to be read before bed. I first read this in my teens, curled up on our couch as the darkness out the windows gathered and my family tapered off to bed. Glued to my seat, I flipped to the last blood chilling pages. Thing is, I then had to get up. Alone. In the dark. With a long, shadowy hallway betwixt me and my room. It was then that I realized my fatal error. I’m fairly certain I only narrowly escaped the three hags as I went crashing through my bedroom door.
So. How about you? Who are your trusty Autumn companions?
In honor of such a momentous occasion, how about we swap a few of the tales which seem to us most suitable to the fall of the year? I’ll go first:
Howl’s Moving Castle, by Diana Wynn Jones. My cup of tea leaning towards the worn and dusty, I little expected a modern, YA novel to make it’s way onto my list of Most Dearly Loved Books, and yet this quirky fantasy did just that. Here you’ll find floating castles and unexpected twists and Elizabethan poetry and a few of the funniest scenes I’ve ever had the pleasure of reading. Besides, fantasy is only proper in the Fall. Those two are close kin, methinks. Held by each is that restless longing, that sense of something grand just beyond our fingertips. Held by each, too, is that distillation of life into an intensity that brims over and spills enchantment onto everything surrounding it. Each contains the same capacity for becoming what the Celts would have called a “thin place”.
On Fairy Stories, by Tolkien. In that vein, I’d be hard pressed to think of a better companion for the Fall than Tolkien. I’m going to assume you’re already familiar with The Lord of the Rings and the dire importance of your reading it (if not, drop everything and go with that book first!). This is an essay you can find in a small collection of his entitled “Tree and Leaf”, and it’s just about one of the most marvelous things in existence. Truly though, his insight into what makes fairy tales True (and Christ enchanting) is something I wish I could ensure an encounter with for everyone.
Macbeth, by Shakespeare. A word of warning: not a book to be read before bed. I first read this in my teens, curled up on our couch as the darkness out the windows gathered and my family tapered off to bed. Glued to my seat, I flipped to the last blood chilling pages. Thing is, I then had to get up. Alone. In the dark. With a long, shadowy hallway betwixt me and my room. It was then that I realized my fatal error. I’m fairly certain I only narrowly escaped the three hags as I went crashing through my bedroom door.
So. How about you? Who are your trusty Autumn companions?
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