This exquisite fantasy has a bittersweet and beautiful tune; I was entranced from the very beginning. More down-to-earth than George Macdonald’s Phantastes (one of the only books I can think of to which it is comparable), it expresses rather than evokes the mystery of human experience that C.S. Lewis describes as the “desire for our own faroff country” and the “inconsolable secret in each one of you” (The Weight of Glory).
Sadly, this atrocious edition is peppered with typos–even the front cover does not escape: in the book, residents of Lud-in-the-Mist are referred to as “Ludites,” not “Luddites.” Never did a typo bring along so many unfortunate and completely unrelated connotations.
[Why I read it: It appeared in very good company in the article “10 Forgotten Fantastical Novels You Should Read Immediately.”]