There are only a few books, a dozen or so, which I have taken to my heart - they have shown me wonders, strange dreams, earthly delights, terrible secrets - I have wanted their pages to go on forever -
So it is with Alan Garner's Boneland - I read The Weirdstone of Brisingamen
when I was twelve - I looked out of my bedroom window - I could see the serene warriors, spellbound and sleeping, under our tiny lawn - svarts crept down the alley -
When I finished The Moon of Gomrath, I felt Susans's wild joy mixed with grief - I longed to ride a horse upon whose shining back I would reach the stars - I felt, too, Colin's despair -
Now I am reading Boneland - already, I am beguiled - the text is flinty, requiring effort - yet I can see bright mystery there -
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