Gollancz, hb, 383pp

I’ve had this book lying around the house for years and years (it was a freebie from the F&SF Book Club). So imagine my delight, a little while after I finally discovered the brilliance of Diana Wynne Jones, upon finding it in a pile of books. It’s a source of continuing misery to me that I didn’t read her books as a child, though I suspect I would have found them somewhat discomfiting and quite difficult reads at the time.

The novels of DWJ are a lot like Philip K Dick’s in their rough treatment of reality, but where in his books reality tends to fracture and break, in hers it slowly frays and dissolves, almost without your noticing. You think you’re standing on a nice cosy rug, but then find yourself falling through space wondering what the devil is going on. One colossal mistake which I’ve made from time to time is to put one of her books down and then pick it up again a few months later – something which always guarantees near instant befuddlement. This novel is putatively aimed at an adult readership, but is no great departure in style from her fiction for older teenage readers, such as the amazing Fire & Hemlock. That isn’t a bad thing. The story is intriguing and full of surprises, and if you don’t get absolutely all the answers on a plate at the end that is part of the fun. – SWT

Originally published in Theaker's Quarterly Fiction #22.