This was the first book I ever read that wasn’t one of those reader books for little kids. And hoo boy did this blow my little brain. There was just so much magic in the world. It wasn’t a super high action series like Alex Rider which was the next thing I read. Nor was it quippy like Percy Jackson. There was this contemplativeness that just sat with me. As an adult I remember it as an Epic in the traditional sense. A lot of unconnected journeys that built the characters but just added to the asynchrony of the world. We had places where the characters found themselves in high action encounters. And other places where they sat in contemplation about the world around them.
It broke my brain a little bit. The idea that there was magic hiding behind every corner. You just had to be patient enough to find it and determined enough to look. It’s something I still live by, even if I don’t quite believe in magic as literally as I did as a child. There’s so much magic if we just sit, wait and look for it. As an adult with a “job” and “responsibilities” so much of my time is spent just going from thing to thing to thing, trying to get everything I need done. Looking in the little places for magic, stopping to contemplate and appreciating the vastness of the world. It’s an ethos that I need to rebuild as an adult. It’s an ethos that the first book I ever read espoused. And while it’s an ethos that I’ve read in multiple different stories, there’s something really special about the rose-colored memories of this one, particular book. There’s something really special about the way that it made the fireflies that flickered in the garden shine just a little bit brighter as I strained to read in the fading light. There’s something really special about the memory of this book, moreso that the book itself. What it represents. I haven't read this book in about fifteen years, but it still holds an important place in my heart
