Dear Readers, it may be another week, or a bit longer, before I can return to Myth & Moor. I haven't actually left home yet, having been grounded by a bad case of flu. Travel has thus been postponed (not cancelled) until I'm fully back on my feet. I'll get back to blogging just as soon as I can, and thank you for your patience in the meantime.
Despite being stuck in bed this week, looking at the world through window glass, words printed in ink on the cream-colored pages of a book have carried me back into the woods (and far beyond), and I find that magical. Flu is short, and passing, but art is long. And it is potent medicine.
I've been re-reading old favorites (which is easier than first-time reading when fever rages), from Roger Deakin's Wildwood to Philip Pullman's His Dark Materials trilogy, Alan Garner's Red Shift, and Jane Yolen's The Magic Three of Solatia. Next up: diving into Patricia McKillip's backlist. Even flu has a silver lining.
"What an astonishing thing a book is," Carl Sagan once remarked. "It's a flat object made from a tree with flexible parts on which are imprinted lots of funny dark squiggles. But one glance at it and you're inside the mind of another person, maybe somebody dead for thousands of years. Across the millennia, an author is speaking clearly and silently inside your head, directly to you. Writing is perhaps the greatest of human inventions, binding together people who never knew each other, citizens of distant epochs. Books break the shackles of time. A book is proof that humans are capable of working magic."
Related post: "Books, The Beast, and Me"