Among Others by Jo Walton

If you love books enough, books will love you back.

This book felt more like a love letter to Jo's 15yr old former self than a novel for me to read. As one blogger I read put it succinctly: it's an ode to SF. And that's exactly how it felt reading it.

I just read a review by Elizabeth Bear who eloquently put my ideas into words here. Kinda tough writing amongst giants. In any case, the story is about a young girl Morwenna or Mor and her unlimited love for SF and fantasy books. I unfortunately hasn't read the vast majority of what she mentions except for the Le Guin and Heinlein.

The book the diary of Mor's thoughts about her day to day life, having survived a horrific accident that killed her sister, a battle with an evil witch of a mother and her fractured hip that leaved her in constant pain and needing a cane to walk. After running away from her mother's she is sent to her father who she hasn't ever met and his three half-step sisters. They ship her off to a pretentious English boarding school where, as a book-worm, she's bullied. I got a kick from the class description of these silly girls.

What's surprising about our typical, manner of fact yet charming protagonist? She can see fairies. And talk to them although they are a completely different species of fairies we've ever seen, ugly most of the time and unresponsive sometimes. I spent the entire book wondering: am I reading the story of a schizophrenic? Because there is very little in the evidence of the truth of these claims. It felt as though our Mor still hadn't woken up from a shroom induced voyage. I was left unconvinced... Is this a case of mythopoeia or is it a modern, happy version of The Turn of the Screw..? The matter-of-factness of Mor's writing and explanation of magic reminded me of Pratchett's headology: the unfolding of reality can be bent to your will if you accept that your will can be interpreted in a myriad of ways and that people will believe anything they are told to really.

Her refuge, comfort and inspiration are the books she plunges in: "It doesn't matter. I have books, new books, and I can bear anything as long as there are books". The book for me picks up half way through when she forms, by magic, a karass (borrowed from our dearest Vonnegut's Cat Craddle) that finally brings her a breath of fresh air when she finds like minded individuals in a book club, friendship, generosity and even love.

I wish I had read this book as a teenager. It would have made me dream of a place where there are people ought there, like myself, who think books are so much more worthwhile than people: "I care more about the people in books than the people I see every day" (Amen sister!) that despite being slightly deformed or in a cast, others will see through that or better, not notice, and that there is a good looking thoughtful guy at the end of the book. As a 30 year old though, I don't know what to make of this book though I am grateful that Mor exists as a character in my wordly world and that she is one of the most charming, believable and thoughtful character I've had the pleasure to encounter.

And I've gained a new favourite word:

"Bibliotropic," Hugh said. "Like sunflowers are heliotropic, they naturally turn towards the sun. We naturally turn towards the bookshop."