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Re-reading McKillip
Feb. 23rd, 2003 06:57 pmI'm an inveterate rereader. As a child, I reread The Lord of the Rings (or substantial chunks of it) at least once a year. Then in high school and college I reread some part of the Lymond Chronicles every year (only occasionally the whole series, but up to four books of it on a regular basis), Now I read Patricia McKillip's Riddle-Master trilogy at least once a year.
Some books are better for re-reading than others. There are some mysteries that I can reread (in particular, Reginald Hill's later works, which practically demand it). Thrillers tend to be written to be read once (usually on an airplane, in my case). I was thinking that the Riddle-Master trilogy is perhaps the ideal material for re-reading, at least for me, because each time I read it I appreciate its depth a little more. I'm not a careful enough reader to pick up on the repetition and variation of elements (the imagery of the sea, or of nightfall, or the language of binding and unbinding) on a first reading. On a reread I can appreciate the way the individual riddles change their meanings as the trilogy progresses, and how that reflects the larger riddle (of Deth and death, "one riddle and one door") which is at the heart of the story. And of course I can better appreciate the little ironies: in Heir of Sea and Fire, Astrin Ymris (usually so perceptive) comments that Morgon must be alive "because [death] isn't the answer he was looking for." The first time I noticed that I laughed--readerly pleasure, again.
And I see them as products of their time: one world built on the ruins of another, the unlimited power which lies at the heart of every thing and the need to bind it. Lines like, "They knew all the languages of the earth, all the laws of its shapes and movement. What happened to them? Did they stumble into the shape of something that had no law but power?" still chill me--surely that shape is "human."
Of course these were books I loved as a child, but as I child I loved them more for their emotional power than for their depth. I loved them for having female characters who actually did things and for a host of interesting minor characters, each with his or her own fascinating story. As a child I understood my own love for the characters better than I understood their love for each other. Now I see that the story sets up certain paradigmatic relationships (the specific nature of love and betrayal, perhaps) which I still seek out in fiction. Would I love the books now if I hadn't loved them then? Probably not. But if I hadn't loved them then I would be a very different reader today.
Some books are better for re-reading than others. There are some mysteries that I can reread (in particular, Reginald Hill's later works, which practically demand it). Thrillers tend to be written to be read once (usually on an airplane, in my case). I was thinking that the Riddle-Master trilogy is perhaps the ideal material for re-reading, at least for me, because each time I read it I appreciate its depth a little more. I'm not a careful enough reader to pick up on the repetition and variation of elements (the imagery of the sea, or of nightfall, or the language of binding and unbinding) on a first reading. On a reread I can appreciate the way the individual riddles change their meanings as the trilogy progresses, and how that reflects the larger riddle (of Deth and death, "one riddle and one door") which is at the heart of the story. And of course I can better appreciate the little ironies: in Heir of Sea and Fire, Astrin Ymris (usually so perceptive) comments that Morgon must be alive "because [death] isn't the answer he was looking for." The first time I noticed that I laughed--readerly pleasure, again.
And I see them as products of their time: one world built on the ruins of another, the unlimited power which lies at the heart of every thing and the need to bind it. Lines like, "They knew all the languages of the earth, all the laws of its shapes and movement. What happened to them? Did they stumble into the shape of something that had no law but power?" still chill me--surely that shape is "human."
Of course these were books I loved as a child, but as I child I loved them more for their emotional power than for their depth. I loved them for having female characters who actually did things and for a host of interesting minor characters, each with his or her own fascinating story. As a child I understood my own love for the characters better than I understood their love for each other. Now I see that the story sets up certain paradigmatic relationships (the specific nature of love and betrayal, perhaps) which I still seek out in fiction. Would I love the books now if I hadn't loved them then? Probably not. But if I hadn't loved them then I would be a very different reader today.
