Canon Excerpts
For anyone who wants a quick glimpse at DeLint's writing style:
Jilly Meets Toby Childers
(Waking up in the dreamlands for the first time, Jilly is drawing the Greatwood she's found herself in. While she works, she meets a rather interesting character)
"What's your name," I ask as I flip to a new page in my sketchbook.
"Toby Childers, the Boyce. What's yours?"
"Jilly"
"That seems like an awfully small name."
I give him a shrug. "I'm a small woman," I tell him.
Joe once told me that when I finally did cross over to the dreamlands that I should be careful about who I give my name to, and how much of it I give them. Names are power here, though I think that carries over to the World As It Is as well. Ever notice how much easier it is to deal with a problem once you can put a name to it? It doesn't make the problem go away, but at least you know what you're dealing with.
Toby smiles, like he knows what I'm thinking, but I just continue with my drawing. He's got easy features to draw, but I'm having trouble with fitting the head to the body. If I render the way it really is, it seems exaggerated.
"You're new to the Greatwood," he says.
"Pretty much."
"Do you want to be my girlfriend?"
I look up from my sketchbook. "Not really."
"Too bad," he tells me. "I've got a penis, you know."
"Most males do."
"Mine's special."
"Most of them think that as well."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Jilly on Magic and Faerie
"But they could just be people. It's not like they're tiny or have wings like some of the others."
Jilly shrugged. "Maybe, but they weren't just people."
"Do you have to be magic yourself to see them?"
Jilly shook her head. "You just have to pay attention. If you don't, you'll miss them, or see something else--something you expected to see rather than what was really there. Faerie voices become just the wind, a bodach, like this little man here" --she flipped to another page and pointed out a small gnomish figure the size of a cat, darting off a side-walk-- "scurrying across the street becomes just a piece of litter caught in the backwash of a bus."
"Pay attention," Annie repeated dubiously.
Jilly nodded. "Just like we have to pay attention to each other, or we miss the important thinks that are going there as well."
Annie turned to another page, but she didn't look at the drawing. Instead she studied Jilly's pixie features.
"You really, really believe in magic, don't you?" she said.
"I really, really do," Jilly told her. "But it's not something I just take on faith. For me, art is an act of magic. I pass on the spirits that I see--of people, of places, mysteries."
"So what if you're not an artist? Where's the magic then?"
"Life's an act of magic, too. Claire Hamill sings a line in one of her songs that really sums it up for me: 'If there's no magic, there's no meaning.' Without magic--or call it wonder, mystery, natural wisdom--nothing has any depth. It's all just surface. You know: what you see is what you get. I honestly believe there's more to everything than that, whether it's a Monet hanging in a gallery or some old vagrant sleeping in an alley."
"I don't know," Annie said. "I understand what you're saying, about people and things, but this other stuff--it sounds more like the kinds of things you see when you're tripping."
Jilly shook her head. "I've done drugs and I've seen faerie. They're not the same."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The Crow Girls
(some of the best chars in the books. This one's a bit long...but...*___*)
I hear a tap-tap on the window and see two faces pressed against the glass, looking at me.
Crow girls.
The windows are plate glass and they don't open, but they do now. They swing wide and the two small, dark-haired girls hoist themselves up from the lawn outside to climb into my room. They stand at the end of the bed, holding hands, their hair all spikes, their raggedy black sweaters hanging loose almost to their knees.
"Oh, Jillybilly,' one of them says.
"That's like a rockabilly," the other explains, "only not so goatish."
"Or as musical."
"You don't have a beard, you see."
"It would be all too silly if you did."
"And you don't have a guitar either."
"Unless you have one hidden under your pillow."
"I don't," I tell them.
They get up onto the end of the bed and sit cross-legged beside each other, looking at me.
"Why are you here?" I ask.
"To say we're sorry," the one on the left says.
I know their names: Maida and Zia. But I can never tell them apart the way that Geordie or Joe can.
"Veryvery sorry," the other agrees.
"What do you have to be sorry about?"
"That we can't help you."
The one on the right nods. "We've tried and we've tried, but it's just no use."
"We're useless girls," the other says.
"When they were handing out usefulness, we though they said moosefulness."
"So we hid."
"We didn't want to be moose."
"Or even mice."
"Though sometimes we like to eat mice."
"When they're all sugary," the one on the left explains.
"Made of candy, you see."
"And we do like a chocolate mousse."
"Oh, yes, chocolate's always good." The one on the right digs in her pocked and comes up with a brown lump of something that has bits of lint and less identifiable matter stuck to it. "Would you like a piece?"
"No thanks."
She breaks it in two, handing half to her companion before popping the other half in her mouth.
"I don't think you're useless," I tell them as they contentedly chew their chocolate.
"You're too kind," the one on the left says.
The other nods. "Veryvery kind. Everywhere we go, people say, that Jillybilly, she's too very kind."
"They really do."
"But we can heal things, you know."
"All sorts of things. Big and small."
"Wide and thin."
"Sweet and sour."
"But not when the hurt's like the one in you."
"It's okay," I say. "I know this is something that there's no magical answer for. Sometimes that's just the way it works out."
The one on the left turns to her companion. "Kind and brave."
The one on the right sighs. "Now we feel even worse."
"Lying here all on your own, being ever so veryverybrave."
"I'm not on my own," I say. "I've got lots of friends to help me through this."
They lean over their respective sides of the bed and peer underneath.
"Where are you hiding them?" the one on the left asks when she's sitting up again.
"They go home at night," I explain.
"Of course."
"We knew that."
"We should go home, too."
"Thanks for visiting me," I say.
They nod. Then they each reach into their hair and pull out a short dark lock that turns into a black crow feather in their fingers. They lay the feathers down on the bedclothes that cover my legs.
"If you ever think we can help," the one on the right says, serious now, "hold these in your hand and call our names."
"You know our names, don't you?"
I nod. "Maida and Zia. Only I can never tell which is which."
That makes them giggle. They point to each other and say, "She's Maida."
"I'm glad you cleared that up for me," I say.
That makes them giggle more.
"Don't forget," the one on the left says.
"I couldn't ever forget you," I assure them.
"And don't you pay attention to what that old tree sister said."
The other nods. "Anybody can fly."
"Anybody can dream."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
All rights for these excerpts go to Charles DeLint.
Taken from The Onion Girl
Jilly Meets Toby Childers
(Waking up in the dreamlands for the first time, Jilly is drawing the Greatwood she's found herself in. While she works, she meets a rather interesting character)
"What's your name," I ask as I flip to a new page in my sketchbook.
"Toby Childers, the Boyce. What's yours?"
"Jilly"
"That seems like an awfully small name."
I give him a shrug. "I'm a small woman," I tell him.
Joe once told me that when I finally did cross over to the dreamlands that I should be careful about who I give my name to, and how much of it I give them. Names are power here, though I think that carries over to the World As It Is as well. Ever notice how much easier it is to deal with a problem once you can put a name to it? It doesn't make the problem go away, but at least you know what you're dealing with.
Toby smiles, like he knows what I'm thinking, but I just continue with my drawing. He's got easy features to draw, but I'm having trouble with fitting the head to the body. If I render the way it really is, it seems exaggerated.
"You're new to the Greatwood," he says.
"Pretty much."
"Do you want to be my girlfriend?"
I look up from my sketchbook. "Not really."
"Too bad," he tells me. "I've got a penis, you know."
"Most males do."
"Mine's special."
"Most of them think that as well."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Jilly on Magic and Faerie
"But they could just be people. It's not like they're tiny or have wings like some of the others."
Jilly shrugged. "Maybe, but they weren't just people."
"Do you have to be magic yourself to see them?"
Jilly shook her head. "You just have to pay attention. If you don't, you'll miss them, or see something else--something you expected to see rather than what was really there. Faerie voices become just the wind, a bodach, like this little man here" --she flipped to another page and pointed out a small gnomish figure the size of a cat, darting off a side-walk-- "scurrying across the street becomes just a piece of litter caught in the backwash of a bus."
"Pay attention," Annie repeated dubiously.
Jilly nodded. "Just like we have to pay attention to each other, or we miss the important thinks that are going there as well."
Annie turned to another page, but she didn't look at the drawing. Instead she studied Jilly's pixie features.
"You really, really believe in magic, don't you?" she said.
"I really, really do," Jilly told her. "But it's not something I just take on faith. For me, art is an act of magic. I pass on the spirits that I see--of people, of places, mysteries."
"So what if you're not an artist? Where's the magic then?"
"Life's an act of magic, too. Claire Hamill sings a line in one of her songs that really sums it up for me: 'If there's no magic, there's no meaning.' Without magic--or call it wonder, mystery, natural wisdom--nothing has any depth. It's all just surface. You know: what you see is what you get. I honestly believe there's more to everything than that, whether it's a Monet hanging in a gallery or some old vagrant sleeping in an alley."
"I don't know," Annie said. "I understand what you're saying, about people and things, but this other stuff--it sounds more like the kinds of things you see when you're tripping."
Jilly shook her head. "I've done drugs and I've seen faerie. They're not the same."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The Crow Girls
(some of the best chars in the books. This one's a bit long...but...*___*)
I hear a tap-tap on the window and see two faces pressed against the glass, looking at me.
Crow girls.
The windows are plate glass and they don't open, but they do now. They swing wide and the two small, dark-haired girls hoist themselves up from the lawn outside to climb into my room. They stand at the end of the bed, holding hands, their hair all spikes, their raggedy black sweaters hanging loose almost to their knees.
"Oh, Jillybilly,' one of them says.
"That's like a rockabilly," the other explains, "only not so goatish."
"Or as musical."
"You don't have a beard, you see."
"It would be all too silly if you did."
"And you don't have a guitar either."
"Unless you have one hidden under your pillow."
"I don't," I tell them.
They get up onto the end of the bed and sit cross-legged beside each other, looking at me.
"Why are you here?" I ask.
"To say we're sorry," the one on the left says.
I know their names: Maida and Zia. But I can never tell them apart the way that Geordie or Joe can.
"Veryvery sorry," the other agrees.
"What do you have to be sorry about?"
"That we can't help you."
The one on the right nods. "We've tried and we've tried, but it's just no use."
"We're useless girls," the other says.
"When they were handing out usefulness, we though they said moosefulness."
"So we hid."
"We didn't want to be moose."
"Or even mice."
"Though sometimes we like to eat mice."
"When they're all sugary," the one on the left explains.
"Made of candy, you see."
"And we do like a chocolate mousse."
"Oh, yes, chocolate's always good." The one on the right digs in her pocked and comes up with a brown lump of something that has bits of lint and less identifiable matter stuck to it. "Would you like a piece?"
"No thanks."
She breaks it in two, handing half to her companion before popping the other half in her mouth.
"I don't think you're useless," I tell them as they contentedly chew their chocolate.
"You're too kind," the one on the left says.
The other nods. "Veryvery kind. Everywhere we go, people say, that Jillybilly, she's too very kind."
"They really do."
"But we can heal things, you know."
"All sorts of things. Big and small."
"Wide and thin."
"Sweet and sour."
"But not when the hurt's like the one in you."
"It's okay," I say. "I know this is something that there's no magical answer for. Sometimes that's just the way it works out."
The one on the left turns to her companion. "Kind and brave."
The one on the right sighs. "Now we feel even worse."
"Lying here all on your own, being ever so veryverybrave."
"I'm not on my own," I say. "I've got lots of friends to help me through this."
They lean over their respective sides of the bed and peer underneath.
"Where are you hiding them?" the one on the left asks when she's sitting up again.
"They go home at night," I explain.
"Of course."
"We knew that."
"We should go home, too."
"Thanks for visiting me," I say.
They nod. Then they each reach into their hair and pull out a short dark lock that turns into a black crow feather in their fingers. They lay the feathers down on the bedclothes that cover my legs.
"If you ever think we can help," the one on the right says, serious now, "hold these in your hand and call our names."
"You know our names, don't you?"
I nod. "Maida and Zia. Only I can never tell which is which."
That makes them giggle. They point to each other and say, "She's Maida."
"I'm glad you cleared that up for me," I say.
That makes them giggle more.
"Don't forget," the one on the left says.
"I couldn't ever forget you," I assure them.
"And don't you pay attention to what that old tree sister said."
The other nods. "Anybody can fly."
"Anybody can dream."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
All rights for these excerpts go to Charles DeLint.
Taken from The Onion Girl