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I Belong to Chrestomanci Castle

There is a Diana Wynne Jones tribute going on, and I have kept thinking and thinking about a way to contribute to it, and kept feeling entirely and massively inadequate.

I never met her, and if I had I don’t think she would have been terribly impressed. I would have just stared with damp adoration, and maybe said ‘I loooooove your books’ in tones more unutterably creepy than I can describe to you. It would have been like Gollum saying ‘I am rather fond of costume jewelry.’

Robin McKinley, in her tribute to Diana Wynne Jones, which is, fair warning given, much better than this one is going to be, said ‘I was a better worshipper than I was a friend.’ That is how I would have been if I’d ever met Diana Wynne Jones—I just flat-out would never have believed she wanted to talk to me or that I could ever have had anything interesting enough to say. (That is certainly how I feel about Robin McKinley.)

I cannot talk about her as a Fellow Writer because honestly I feel like as a writer she was like a star—so, so far away, and yet so illuminating to me. I’d be much too overawed to do that.

But I eventually thought I could talk about her as a reader, because I wanted to talk about her while the tribute was ongoing.

I always planned to write her a letter—a real letter, I mean, on paper that I’d post to her, because that seemed more Real and Like Tribute, and I started that letter so many times. It was an ongoing project of mine, starting the letter to Diana Wynne Jones, and then putting it by, in a desk, until I was better, until I could say it right.

I never sent any of the letters. I never even finished one. But I did want to write this.

When I found out Diana Wynne Jones had died, I just quietly shut up my laptop and immediately went to Belfast. This doesn’t sound like a very impressive reaction, but when I came home my roommate was a bit frantic. ‘You left your computer!’ she said. ‘OVERNIGHT! Is everything okay?’

I’d just wanted to be alone for a bit, with the weird feeling of loss for a woman I never met, and without torturing myself reading all about other people’s feelings about Diana Wynne Jones, which I knew I would do if near my computer. And indeed once I was back to my computer, that was what I did, and I cried and felt a little better.

Cassandra Clare and I were doing a bookshop event together, and we were asked about our favourite books and our favourite heroes in them, and she said ‘Howl in HOWL’S MOVING CASTLE!’ and I said ‘Oh, you wench, that was what I was going to say!’ Cassandra Clare at another time when she was not creeping all up on my fictional boyfriends, said: “People who know and love the same books you do have the roadmap of your soul. I believe that.”

I believe that, too.

A girl I was vaguely friends with in college said ‘I love Harry Potter and I wish there were more books like that’ and I said ‘I have something so much better for you’ and brought in an armful of books by Diana Wynne Jones the next day. She was, I think, alarmed and somewhat put off by my extreme fervor, but she read them, and she asked for more. She may have thought she’d be in trouble if she didn’t read them, mind you…

She now lives with me and has for years, and is one of my closest friends. She reads everything that I put in her hands. It’s possible we’re in some sort of hostage situation that I’m just really oblivious to.

Diana Wynne Jones has marked epochs in my life: not simply the first discovery of CHARMED LIFE, a battered paperback that neither of my parents seemed to have ever read, in my house (Magic book-lovin’ elves seems to be the only answer there), or the discovery of THE LIVES OF CHRISTOPHER CHANT on my first trip to the library when I was about twelve, where I also discovered Robin McKinley and Margaret Mahy and a lifelong love of fantasy. The first book I was ever sent for a professional review, when I sat about on a worn red sofa and felt like a Real Official Author, was ENCHANTED GLASS (of course it was a rave).

One such moment in my life stands out very vividly: being at a fair in Guildford, when I was twenty-three, wandering disconsolately around because living in England was new and I was having a hard time making friends and I missed both my Irish and my American friends. There were stalls of fruit and used clothing, mainly, and the bright orange fabric covering miles of melons and yards of shawls seemed frankly oppressive. I was in, if it is not obvious, a somewhat jaundiced frame of mind. The sky was grey and it was raining, that fine persistent drizzle that everyone always just tries to ignore. ‘Oh no, it’s not really raining, and it’ll let up in a second anyway!’ I call that rain Frizzle Drizzle, because your hair will frizz right up and your clothes will all be damp and one particular awful icy trickle will go right down your neck, and you’ll be miserable, and you still won’t go inside.

My jumper was damp, my spectacles much beflecked, and I think you have a picture of how my hair looked already. I saw the tiny stall with just a very few books in it, instantly gravitated toward it, and began rooting through them with my vaguely numb red paws. And I came upon a copy of THE OGRE DOWNSTAIRS, the 1977 edition (before I was born) with the cover illustration gone all sepia and an inscription inside with love to a stranger. A Diana Wynne Jones I’d never read before! Suddenly the whole day was bright. I passed over a 50p coin and retreated with the book clutched to me. I read it leaning against a gray brick wall by the fair, body angled to protect the book. My hair at this point might have been setting off cyclone alarms in the weather report and all my edges were chilled, but I was happy and at home.

Books can be like that, a light in a hearth or a beacon welcoming you, something to rush toward. Books like Diana Wynne Jones’s taught me that.

Her books taught me a lot of other things: that children’s books were just as smart and important as adult books, never to believe that fantasy or publishing were American-centric, that fantasy could seem real and true and near, always to have the magic on the doorstep with the milk bottles.

Her books left memories I have easy access to, which occur to me at random moments in my life like jewels on a chain

There are the horror of Christopher realising the packets of fish were mermaids in THE LIVES OF CHRISTOPHER CHANT, the ‘everyone’s got to have hobbies, and ours is human sacrifice’ moment in THE POWER OF THREE, the feeling like drinking bleach faced with the fact that people you love cannot be trusted to love you back or treat you well in FIRE AND HEMLOCK. I realise at this point I sound like some sort of book masochist, but I find misery in books really enjoyable. Crying madly over fictional death is cathartic! And if a book can make me feel anything deeply, then it’s a GOOD book.

But also, sometimes—and with Diana Wynne Jones, often—the misery in books tells you ‘You are not the only person who ever felt this way. You are not alone.’

I never met Diana Wynne Jones, but she kept me company.

And her books did a lot of fun things for me, too: Diana Wynne Jones has the dubious honor of writing the most heroes I have crushes on. Christopher Chant, Howl, Malcolm McIntyre, all have a place in my Fictional Boyfriends Hall of Fame. Her books did perhaps the most important thing that books do—they made me laugh, and taught me that smart, wonderful, heartbreaking books could make you laugh, and that humour never diminished them in any way.

In CHARMED LIFE, there is a moment when the protagonist Cat takes out a bunch of stuff from the castle of the nine-lived enchanter who is now his guardian, but even simple things like china plates are magic there—and they all start to shout out their protest.

‘I belong to Chrestomanci Castle!’ they say. ‘I belong to Chrestomanci Castle!’

Because of Diana Wynne Jones, who I never met, I was irrevocably altered: my purpose in life, the things I wanted, the way I think and the way I communicate with other people. Her words changed my world.

That means a lot. She meant a lot to me.

Part of me belongs to Chrestomanci Castle. It always will.

Comments

( 57 comments — Leave a comment )
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swan_tower
Apr. 25th, 2012 08:02 pm (UTC)
"I belong to Chrestomanci Castle" -- I like that. Because The Lives of Christopher Chant was the first of her books I ever read, and yes, I've belonged to the Castle ever since.
(Anonymous)
Apr. 25th, 2012 08:03 pm (UTC)
Because of Diana Wynne Jones, who I never met, I was irrevocably altered: my purpose in life, the things I wanted, the way I think and the way I communicate with other people. He words changed my world.

*cries* Me too.
midnightblooms
Apr. 25th, 2012 08:04 pm (UTC)
(this was my comment, BTW) *cries a little more*
_the_firedancer
Apr. 25th, 2012 08:06 pm (UTC)
Fiddle. Now I want to bawl again.
rockinlibrarian
Apr. 25th, 2012 08:06 pm (UTC)
I always planned to write her a letter—a real letter, I mean, on paper that I’d post to her, because that seemed more Real and Like Tribute, and I started that letter so many times. It was an ongoing project of mine, starting the letter to Diana Wynne Jones, and then putting it by, in a desk, until I was better, until I could say it right.

I never sent any of the letters. I never even finished one. But I did want to write this.


I KNOW THIS SENTIMENT. I have felt like this many times. I still tend to mourn over the letter I never sent to George Harrison eleven years ago.

I am glad I sent an email to DWJ when they were being collected a few years back, when she was sick. It's not as proper as a real handwritten posted letter, but I take comfort that at least I got to say thank you once.
swan_tower
Apr. 25th, 2012 08:25 pm (UTC)
I am glad I sent an email to DWJ when they were being collected a few years back, when she was sick. It's not as proper as a real handwritten posted letter, but I take comfort that at least I got to say thank you once.

Me too. Fire and Hemlock was the book that made me a writer, and I wanted her to know.
kermit_thefrog
Apr. 25th, 2012 08:11 pm (UTC)
Should I ever be a published author myself, I might mention you in my Acknowledgmenst section (dream, dream, dreeeeam!) as one particular author who always made me laugh, reminded me that "being terribly lame" should never stop you, and that lovely quote about magic being "on the doorstep with the milk bottles." Honestly couldn't have put it better myself. I also have you to thank for keeping the Road to Publication sounding like a challenge, a nightmare, and a hilarious and ultimately wonderful dream.

And now I feel bad for being at the library yesterday and being in more of a Tamora Pierce stroll down memory lane, not paying any attention to DWJ on the shelves. I will look up Fire and Hemlock as well as Christopher Chant and take advantage of Interlibrary Loan!



sarahtales
Apr. 26th, 2012 12:52 pm (UTC)
Thank you for the very high compliment. ;)
bredalot
Apr. 25th, 2012 08:19 pm (UTC)
I was at work at my used bookstore when I found out that she'd died. I spent the next half hour trying to hide the wholly unexpected tears from our handful of customers and rifling through our YA & fantasy sections to find any books of hers that I could put on display. (We only had THE MERLIN CONSPIRACY, which I love because the ideas in it are utterly enchanting to me, but which is not one of her more popular works.) I remember feeling just gobsmacked, because I didn't realize I would be hit that hard by her death.

And then I went home and reread DEEP SECRET for probably the dozenth time: the book that is in tatters because of the sheer number of friends I lent it to in high school, and which is now, in a heartbreaking turn of events, out of print.

Some of her books scared me, a little bit. I didn't find myself in them as much as I did in Robin McKinley's. But Diana Wynne Jones wrote books that fascinated and enchanted me even though I wasn't in them, with characters I could adore anyway, and I am grateful for that. She opened my mind a little bit more and fed me ideas that I will never be able to get out of my head, and my life is richer for her books.

chicleeblair
Apr. 25th, 2012 08:48 pm (UTC)
beautiful.

A Tale of Time City and Homeward Bounders are my two not-often lauded favorites. I also love Deep Secret, and Conrad's Fate and...oh so many. But Witch Week will always hold a place in my heart for being my first, the one we had in my middle school library.
tsubaki_ny
Apr. 25th, 2012 09:43 pm (UTC)
Beautiful.
tikiera
Apr. 25th, 2012 09:46 pm (UTC)
Fire and Hemlock is one of the books that spoke truth to me when I needed to hear it. I have read the others, and liked them, but Fire and Hemlock will always be my favorite (even if a reread now didn't stand up as well as my memory of it did - it was truly the right book at the right time).
pollymel
Apr. 27th, 2012 10:23 pm (UTC)
You may be surprised, I've found that they hold up beautifully.
boojumlol
Apr. 25th, 2012 09:47 pm (UTC)
It seems simultaneously bizarre and the most natural thing in the world that complete strangers can affect our lives so profoundly. I learnt about her death from Neil Gaiman's blog and went around in a daze for the rest of the day.

The way you discovered Diana Wynne Jones is oddly similar to mine, with the mystery appearance. I got sick during the final exams in my last year of school, sick enough that I had to miss my biology exam and stay in bed for about four days. When I was well enough to get up and sit on a couch, my eyes hurt too much to read, so my mum offered to read to me. I wanted something comforting, so I rummaged around in the house book dumping shelf and found something that looked like fun, something I'd never seen before. It was Witch Week. The only problem was that my mum laughed so hard she had trouble reading. Anyway, I'm totally with you on the magic book elves. I realised later that I had actually already read a Diana Wynne Jones book, that she wrote that crazy awesome book A Tale of Time City , but I sitll think of Witch Week as being my first, because it made me track down everything she'd ever written.

In the last year or so I have read four of her books out loud to my housemate, which makes me very happy, and she says it makes her happy as well. Possibly she is also too terrified to resist.
eavanmoore
Apr. 25th, 2012 11:00 pm (UTC)
I first read Witch Week when I was home sick! I picked it out of a collection of books my parents had assembled for me in anticipation of living abroad without a library. At age 9, so I got an earlier start on things, but it was a fine introduction to DWJ.

Also was introduced to Susan Cooper and Margaret Mahy on sick days. Thank yuuu, stomach viruses!
(no subject) - boojumlol - Apr. 26th, 2012 10:10 am (UTC) - Expand
(no subject) - blindmouse - Apr. 26th, 2012 02:05 am (UTC) - Expand
(no subject) - boojumlol - Apr. 26th, 2012 10:07 am (UTC) - Expand
ZMarriott
Apr. 25th, 2012 10:02 pm (UTC)
When I got my new computer and they offered me free engraving, I knew there was only one thing I could ask for. It says it right here, on the lid: 'I Belong to Chrestomanci Castle'. Because it does. Everything I own does. And always will.

*Weeps Softly*
(Anonymous)
Apr. 25th, 2012 10:57 pm (UTC)
When I heard about her death, I just went into my room, stared at my bookshelf for a while and started to cry. Her books were so- are so- vibrant and funny and new and real. I knew that anyone capable of creating something like that was worth mourning. I don't know. It's just that she was gone, and it felt like something special went with her.
alarivana
Apr. 25th, 2012 11:10 pm (UTC)
And now I feel like crying, and also am staring at my Diana Wynne Jones shelf (yes, she has a whole shelf), trying to choose what to reread. Dogsbody, maybe, or The Magicians of Caprona. I don't care that they're not 'for' 22 year olds. They do the things literary fiction is supposed to do better than most literary fiction and *ceases to be coherent, starts actually crying*
quiet000001
Apr. 25th, 2012 11:13 pm (UTC)
I have a feeling I actually exchanged text with her once (either email or on Usenet) and having a moment of 'she's really just a nice person!' because of course people who are Authors and so on tend to be categorized in a different way, you know? They're not people like you meet at the store, they're Something Better.

But yeah, beyond her books, which I do love, that's my tribute to her: She seemed like a really genuinely nice person.
nnozomi
Apr. 25th, 2012 11:14 pm (UTC)
Among the many other things I love about this post, I love it that Malcolm MacIntyre is one of your fictional boyfriends--not the obvious "I eat women's hearts" type like Howl (not that I'm complaining about Howl, mind you) but the sweet and sharp-tongued nerd a lot of us end up with in real life. (I think I'd be terribly torn between Malcolm and Caspar, but still.)
sarahtales
Apr. 26th, 2012 02:19 am (UTC)
If I were to ever meet a sweet sharp-tongued nerd like Malcolm, he would be hard pushed to escape from me. ;) Not enough nerds in Ireland, I've always said.
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