feather_ghyll

Barefoot on the Wind: Zoe Marriott, Walker Books, 2016

We meet Hana, the teenage heroine, successfully hunting for her family. But she is hunting alone, which is rare for the hunters of her village, and we slowly learn that ( Read more... )

[Lightly edited 5/4/25.]

Tam Lin: Pamela Dean, Firebird, 2006.

I had known of this book for a while – I read more fantasy novels than I discuss here – and leaped at the opportunity to get this reprint, ( Read more... )

I know it's been a while, perhaps this post will explain why. Having just finished her Touch Not the Cat, I was looking forward to reading Mary Stewart’s A Walk in Wolf Wood, but it took me about a week and a half to do so – this is odd for me, as I was reminded when I devoured the nest book that I read in two sittings, interrupted only by a night’s sleep. I didn’t have the same desire to read on with Wolf Wood. I’d force myself to read a chapter and put the book down, and although I was busy and tired from being busy since I begun the book, I had little compulsion to pick it up and read it until I was on a train and had finished my other reading material (newspaper, magazine). Now, I’ve read and reread (or would lapped up be more apt?) all of Stewart’s suspense novels for adults over the years – not the Arthurian novels though. Off the top of my head The Moon-Spinners and Nine Coaches Waiting would be my favourite. So, when I saw that she’d written a book for children, I was intrigued and bought it. I decided to read it having enjoyed rereading Touch Not the Cat (and there’s a whole other enjoyment in rereading it and not wondering who ‘Ashley’ is – I was puzzled and misdirected in the first read.

But having finished Wolf Wood, I won’t be going out of my way to purchase any more Stewarts for children.

( Read more... )

I also managed to tear the dust jacket a little carting this book about when I wasn’t reading it.

In better news, after a bout of rummaging at my parents', I now have got hold of all my Dorothy L. Sayers and Annes and Emilys (so I can reread them) and found Toby of Tibbs Cross, which I knew I had bought and read, but had slipped beneath a bookcase that was itself blocked by boxes. I didn't whoop with joy, but I was grinning for quite a while.