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Fantasy author Patricia A. McKillip has died. This one hit me like Pratchett and Le Guin — her writing was formative for me in a similar way, seeping into the space around my heart, unintentionally shaping my understanding of people, and of story.
I'm rereading her gorgeous book The Forgotten Beasts of Eld, which really encapsulates all that is good about her writing. On the one level, it's a tale of whimsy — talking mythical animal companions, witches, jewel-encrusted books, set in that kind of indeterminate fairytale space: unnamed, eternal forests, silent, brooding mountains, cities of castles and kings. On the other level, it gets to the heart of things in that fairytale, folkloric way, telling a story about naming and claiming, consent and coercion, and the cruel obliviousness of power. It's about taking away the agency of conscious beings, and the damage that does to your soul. It's about the difference between revenge and justice. And it's about the way fear poisons people — particularly those who think of themselves as powerful, who react to fear by trying to create a situation where they'll never be afraid again, no matter the consequences, and no matter the bonfire it makes of their relationships, their integrity, and their sense of self — they'll burn down the world, if it means they'll never feel fear again. It's an incredibly accomplished book, written with exquisite compassion, and I've realised, reflecting now on McKillip and her writing, what an unconscious influence it's been on me.
I know how it is when you speak a name into an empty room, with no one on earth to answer to it.
The names, and the writing remain.
I'm rereading her gorgeous book The Forgotten Beasts of Eld, which really encapsulates all that is good about her writing. On the one level, it's a tale of whimsy — talking mythical animal companions, witches, jewel-encrusted books, set in that kind of indeterminate fairytale space: unnamed, eternal forests, silent, brooding mountains, cities of castles and kings. On the other level, it gets to the heart of things in that fairytale, folkloric way, telling a story about naming and claiming, consent and coercion, and the cruel obliviousness of power. It's about taking away the agency of conscious beings, and the damage that does to your soul. It's about the difference between revenge and justice. And it's about the way fear poisons people — particularly those who think of themselves as powerful, who react to fear by trying to create a situation where they'll never be afraid again, no matter the consequences, and no matter the bonfire it makes of their relationships, their integrity, and their sense of self — they'll burn down the world, if it means they'll never feel fear again. It's an incredibly accomplished book, written with exquisite compassion, and I've realised, reflecting now on McKillip and her writing, what an unconscious influence it's been on me.
I know how it is when you speak a name into an empty room, with no one on earth to answer to it.
The names, and the writing remain.