Teach Me To Hear Mermaids Singing, Or To Keep Off Envy's Stinging: Diana Wynne Jones
Last night, I found out that my favourite author of all time, Diana Wynne Jones, died late on Friday.
I wanted to write her a fan letter, saying how much I loved her books and how comforting they were at uni and now it’s too late.
This makes me very sad. Particularly since, you know, shallow but... she stopped writing for years, and started again a few years ago, and it still felt like a miracle seeing a new book by her. Earwig and the Witch comes out in June; after that, no more.
This is insufferably long, but I really don't care. This is... she was seventy-six and she lived a good life by all accounts, but this is still my creative role-model and the creator of so many things I've loved. This is where I truly understand crying over Kurt Cobain.
Diana Wynne Jones’ novels - and short stories - are absolutely wonderful. There is a distinct voice, in terms of both prose and moral outlook, in every one; every character is vibrant, real, their dialogue perfectly suited to them; there is fun and flavour and interest, and on occasion those stories are absolutely devastating. The scene in The Lives of Christopher Chant where Tacroy confesses upsets me every time I read it. She used archetypes, and subverted them; what shows even more talent is when she didn’t subvert the archetypes and still made you care for the individual characters.
Like in Fire and Hemlock, which is a sublime version of Tam Lin, full of great ideas about storytelling, a perfectly rendered sort of childhood friendship, and a hilarious sequence featuring a young girl writing and her classic mistakes.
Like in Dogsbody, which has a fantastic, unique mythos, a subtle and interesting treatment of the Irish Troubles’ far-reaching impact, and a gorgeous girl/dog human/supernatural woman/man relationship.
Like in Charmed Life, with an absolutely fantastic needy, clingy brother-sister relationship that seems really relatively okay at first, and just guts me with the reveal of what it really is. With a truly extraordinary cast of secondary characters, including Janet Chant, who I will love forever, the marvellously Enid-Blyton-esque Julia and Robert (an actually healthy sibling relationship in great counterpoint to Cat and Gwendolen) and of course “the great Chrestomanci!”
Like in Eight Days of Luke, which is a classic young-orphan-boy-mistreated-by-family-makes-a-supernatural-friend story, except not. Said supernatural friend is set up very deliberately as David’s double: they’re two young boys, mischievous but not malicious getting utterly slammed by their families. Except that Luke definitely has a malicious side, loves fire and chaos, and has no sympathy for people foolish enough to get into trouble despite his gratitude and obedience to David.
Mr Wedding is a fundamentally benevolent character (especially if you’ve guessed who he really is) and yet he’s terrifying: the adult authority come to take Luke away. This book is just pitch-perfect at every turn, interestingly feminist, and also, Norse mythology. I LOVE EVERYTHING THIS BOOK CHOOSES TO BE. Oh Loki ♥
Like in Castle in the Air, where a young man’s fantasy of his heroic narrative comes true and a bunch of stolen princesses win at everything.
Like in Archer’s Goon, which has a novelist father and a determinedly pragmatic mother and a fantastic little sister nicknamed Awful, and seven siblings running a town. It starts with a list of ten facts, one of which is all power corrupts, but we need electricity. It’s so fun and one of the books most explicitly about family dynamics and how bigger siblings get blamed by savvy younger ones, and the obligation to defend that comes with being an older sibling and how much being the younger one sucks sometimes. And I love that. Also, again, a writer saves the day because storytelling makes reality and it’s so funny and true and amazing.
Like in Witch Week, which is just - so true, and so painfully accurate in its depiction of playground politics. “SOMEONE IN THIS CLASS IS A WITCH, the note said”, is its first line - Witch Week is set in a world like ours in every way, except with magic. And this is actually the major problem the characters have to fix, because such a world should not exist, but it allows for such a fantastic treatment of playground politics and persecution and gossip: who’s the witch? Who’s misusing their magic, who’s bullying, who’s fighting back, who’s just trying to hide? The different viewpoints from different members of the class with their different places in the hierarchy are fantastically done.
And a bullied, geeky, pudgy, wonderfully insightful girl saves the world with imagination and storytelling and insight. So, you know. That’s kind of button-pressy in the best possible way.
Like in The Merlin Conspiracy, where Stonehenge and the Isles of Blest and the red and white dragon and London as a person all come together in a tour de force of Why Britain As A Fantasy Setting Rocks, and there’s a magical elephant.
Like in Howl’s Moving Castle, with a wonderful fairy-tale land and a golden sulky wizard in a magical castle - who originally came from Wales because Diana Wynne Jones is (was) a superstar. With a fantastically practical heroine and a great demon and a fun sorcerer’s apprentice, and a spell based on a poem. Which is a great idea, and also introduced me to the very first poem I ever fell in love with.
Like in The Game, where fantastic characterisation is almost eclipsed by the mythosphere, one of the most brilliant concepts I’ve seen in fantasy in a long time.
Like in Conrad’s Fate, where everything problematic in The Lives of Christopher Chant is subverted and we get to see an insufferably fifteen-year-old Christopher and the fantastic Millie, as well as a hilarious troupe of actors and more charming, wry turns of phrase than you can shake a stick at.
Like in A Tale of Time City, which has some of the most grin-causing treatment of London and its history ever and three central characters who take your heart and keep it and a WONDERFUL mentor-character whose relationship with history is fascinating and an absolutely odious little girl.
Like in House of Many Ways, which features a redhead who’s not remotely sassy and one of the best, most relatable bookworms I’ve ever seen in literature, and who faces a truly revolting minor villain.
Like in Dark Lord of Derkholm, which is a hilarious satire of a particular kind of fantasy novel, features an ensemble cast that is universally brought to vibrant life and given worthy treatment, and centres around an enormous zany family that is never grating or cheesy. The Dark Lord of Derkholm, Dirk, is not my favourite character (I love him but I love SO MANY characters in this book!) but he’s a kind of character Diana Wynne Jones does (did) so well: a Dirk-Gently-esque, eccentric, well-meaning, fantastic at his job, loving father who very much needs his practical wife.
Like in Year of the Griffin, which is a sequel to Dark Lord of Derkholm in the brilliant way DWJ does (did) sequels: set in the same ‘verse, with cameos from main characters of the last novel, but with different protagonists and concerns. Instead of being a satire of Tolkien rip-offs, it’s university in a fantasy world; the same wit is brought to bear, but it’s sort of the same thing from the opposite direction. So you have the crappy undergrad lecturer half the girls are in love with, and of our six protagonist-students it’s the enormous griffin who gets the inevitable crush. It’s just fantastic, with another great ensemble cast and enormously recognisable elements, and has one of the best lines ever: “you would not leave me to drown in orange juice! It is not a honourable death!”
Like in The Lives of Christopher Chant, which is one of the best prequels ever: it has its own storyline and arc, but the little references and callbacks and explanations for tiny points of characterisation are utterly glee-making. Especially for me, considering how often I’d read Charmed Life by the time I got to this book. It’s also got possibly the best ending she ever wrote - Diana Wynne Jones’ endings were her greatest authorial weakness but this one is tense, complex, dramatic and just wonderful. Christopher is realistic and compelling: a charming little boy with distant parents who becomes a sulky boy and is shocked when people aren’t charmed any more. I love him to pieces, and his relationship with his magical older confidant Tacroy is fantastic. This book has one of her best villains, who causes Christopher to suffer heartbreaking betrayal, but also one of her best friend-in-need characters, Millie. Also, Diana Wynne Jones had a very evident passion for cricket and cats, and I love how they’re dealt with her. Throgmorten = best cat ever. And just, argh, so many wonderful scenes. I didn’t eat salmon between the ages of twelve and fifteen due to this book.
Like in Hexwood and Time of the Ghost and the Dalemark Quartet and Deep Secret and Wilkins’ Tooth and Homeward Bounders and The Magicians of Caprona and The Enchanted Glass and The Pinhoe Egg and Power of Three and The Tough Guide to Fantasyland and Mixed Magics and Black Maria and even Wild Robert, which I read repeatedly when I found it even though I didn’t know who the author was and at nine I was much too old for it.
The interest in storytelling and how it creates reality and changes its teller, and the interest in family relationships, most especially those between siblings, is exactly where my strongest interest in fiction lies. And I’m not sure of the cause and effect there, now I come to write this all down; I discovered her novels at ten, after all, which is pretty formative despite my being a bookworm from seven. I really can’t explain how much this author has enriched my life; these novels, all so unique despite their often shared concerns, have been such favourites and taught me things and just been entertaining and engrossing however many times I’ve read them before.
Rest in peace, Diana Wynne Jones. I look forward to your very last book.
I wanted to write her a fan letter, saying how much I loved her books and how comforting they were at uni and now it’s too late.
This makes me very sad. Particularly since, you know, shallow but... she stopped writing for years, and started again a few years ago, and it still felt like a miracle seeing a new book by her. Earwig and the Witch comes out in June; after that, no more.
This is insufferably long, but I really don't care. This is... she was seventy-six and she lived a good life by all accounts, but this is still my creative role-model and the creator of so many things I've loved. This is where I truly understand crying over Kurt Cobain.
Diana Wynne Jones’ novels - and short stories - are absolutely wonderful. There is a distinct voice, in terms of both prose and moral outlook, in every one; every character is vibrant, real, their dialogue perfectly suited to them; there is fun and flavour and interest, and on occasion those stories are absolutely devastating. The scene in The Lives of Christopher Chant where Tacroy confesses upsets me every time I read it. She used archetypes, and subverted them; what shows even more talent is when she didn’t subvert the archetypes and still made you care for the individual characters.
Like in Fire and Hemlock, which is a sublime version of Tam Lin, full of great ideas about storytelling, a perfectly rendered sort of childhood friendship, and a hilarious sequence featuring a young girl writing and her classic mistakes.
Like in Dogsbody, which has a fantastic, unique mythos, a subtle and interesting treatment of the Irish Troubles’ far-reaching impact, and a gorgeous girl/dog human/supernatural woman/man relationship.
Like in Charmed Life, with an absolutely fantastic needy, clingy brother-sister relationship that seems really relatively okay at first, and just guts me with the reveal of what it really is. With a truly extraordinary cast of secondary characters, including Janet Chant, who I will love forever, the marvellously Enid-Blyton-esque Julia and Robert (an actually healthy sibling relationship in great counterpoint to Cat and Gwendolen) and of course “the great Chrestomanci!”
Like in Eight Days of Luke, which is a classic young-orphan-boy-mistreated-by-family-makes-a-supernatural-friend story, except not. Said supernatural friend is set up very deliberately as David’s double: they’re two young boys, mischievous but not malicious getting utterly slammed by their families. Except that Luke definitely has a malicious side, loves fire and chaos, and has no sympathy for people foolish enough to get into trouble despite his gratitude and obedience to David.
Mr Wedding is a fundamentally benevolent character (especially if you’ve guessed who he really is) and yet he’s terrifying: the adult authority come to take Luke away. This book is just pitch-perfect at every turn, interestingly feminist, and also, Norse mythology. I LOVE EVERYTHING THIS BOOK CHOOSES TO BE. Oh Loki ♥
Like in Castle in the Air, where a young man’s fantasy of his heroic narrative comes true and a bunch of stolen princesses win at everything.
Like in Archer’s Goon, which has a novelist father and a determinedly pragmatic mother and a fantastic little sister nicknamed Awful, and seven siblings running a town. It starts with a list of ten facts, one of which is all power corrupts, but we need electricity. It’s so fun and one of the books most explicitly about family dynamics and how bigger siblings get blamed by savvy younger ones, and the obligation to defend that comes with being an older sibling and how much being the younger one sucks sometimes. And I love that. Also, again, a writer saves the day because storytelling makes reality and it’s so funny and true and amazing.
Like in Witch Week, which is just - so true, and so painfully accurate in its depiction of playground politics. “SOMEONE IN THIS CLASS IS A WITCH, the note said”, is its first line - Witch Week is set in a world like ours in every way, except with magic. And this is actually the major problem the characters have to fix, because such a world should not exist, but it allows for such a fantastic treatment of playground politics and persecution and gossip: who’s the witch? Who’s misusing their magic, who’s bullying, who’s fighting back, who’s just trying to hide? The different viewpoints from different members of the class with their different places in the hierarchy are fantastically done.
And a bullied, geeky, pudgy, wonderfully insightful girl saves the world with imagination and storytelling and insight. So, you know. That’s kind of button-pressy in the best possible way.
Like in The Merlin Conspiracy, where Stonehenge and the Isles of Blest and the red and white dragon and London as a person all come together in a tour de force of Why Britain As A Fantasy Setting Rocks, and there’s a magical elephant.
Like in Howl’s Moving Castle, with a wonderful fairy-tale land and a golden sulky wizard in a magical castle - who originally came from Wales because Diana Wynne Jones is (was) a superstar. With a fantastically practical heroine and a great demon and a fun sorcerer’s apprentice, and a spell based on a poem. Which is a great idea, and also introduced me to the very first poem I ever fell in love with.
Like in The Game, where fantastic characterisation is almost eclipsed by the mythosphere, one of the most brilliant concepts I’ve seen in fantasy in a long time.
Like in Conrad’s Fate, where everything problematic in The Lives of Christopher Chant is subverted and we get to see an insufferably fifteen-year-old Christopher and the fantastic Millie, as well as a hilarious troupe of actors and more charming, wry turns of phrase than you can shake a stick at.
Like in A Tale of Time City, which has some of the most grin-causing treatment of London and its history ever and three central characters who take your heart and keep it and a WONDERFUL mentor-character whose relationship with history is fascinating and an absolutely odious little girl.
Like in House of Many Ways, which features a redhead who’s not remotely sassy and one of the best, most relatable bookworms I’ve ever seen in literature, and who faces a truly revolting minor villain.
Like in Dark Lord of Derkholm, which is a hilarious satire of a particular kind of fantasy novel, features an ensemble cast that is universally brought to vibrant life and given worthy treatment, and centres around an enormous zany family that is never grating or cheesy. The Dark Lord of Derkholm, Dirk, is not my favourite character (I love him but I love SO MANY characters in this book!) but he’s a kind of character Diana Wynne Jones does (did) so well: a Dirk-Gently-esque, eccentric, well-meaning, fantastic at his job, loving father who very much needs his practical wife.
Like in Year of the Griffin, which is a sequel to Dark Lord of Derkholm in the brilliant way DWJ does (did) sequels: set in the same ‘verse, with cameos from main characters of the last novel, but with different protagonists and concerns. Instead of being a satire of Tolkien rip-offs, it’s university in a fantasy world; the same wit is brought to bear, but it’s sort of the same thing from the opposite direction. So you have the crappy undergrad lecturer half the girls are in love with, and of our six protagonist-students it’s the enormous griffin who gets the inevitable crush. It’s just fantastic, with another great ensemble cast and enormously recognisable elements, and has one of the best lines ever: “you would not leave me to drown in orange juice! It is not a honourable death!”
Like in The Lives of Christopher Chant, which is one of the best prequels ever: it has its own storyline and arc, but the little references and callbacks and explanations for tiny points of characterisation are utterly glee-making. Especially for me, considering how often I’d read Charmed Life by the time I got to this book. It’s also got possibly the best ending she ever wrote - Diana Wynne Jones’ endings were her greatest authorial weakness but this one is tense, complex, dramatic and just wonderful. Christopher is realistic and compelling: a charming little boy with distant parents who becomes a sulky boy and is shocked when people aren’t charmed any more. I love him to pieces, and his relationship with his magical older confidant Tacroy is fantastic. This book has one of her best villains, who causes Christopher to suffer heartbreaking betrayal, but also one of her best friend-in-need characters, Millie. Also, Diana Wynne Jones had a very evident passion for cricket and cats, and I love how they’re dealt with her. Throgmorten = best cat ever. And just, argh, so many wonderful scenes. I didn’t eat salmon between the ages of twelve and fifteen due to this book.
Like in Hexwood and Time of the Ghost and the Dalemark Quartet and Deep Secret and Wilkins’ Tooth and Homeward Bounders and The Magicians of Caprona and The Enchanted Glass and The Pinhoe Egg and Power of Three and The Tough Guide to Fantasyland and Mixed Magics and Black Maria and even Wild Robert, which I read repeatedly when I found it even though I didn’t know who the author was and at nine I was much too old for it.
The interest in storytelling and how it creates reality and changes its teller, and the interest in family relationships, most especially those between siblings, is exactly where my strongest interest in fiction lies. And I’m not sure of the cause and effect there, now I come to write this all down; I discovered her novels at ten, after all, which is pretty formative despite my being a bookworm from seven. I really can’t explain how much this author has enriched my life; these novels, all so unique despite their often shared concerns, have been such favourites and taught me things and just been entertaining and engrossing however many times I’ve read them before.
Rest in peace, Diana Wynne Jones. I look forward to your very last book.