Diana Wynne Jones died last night.
I first encountered her in middle school, when I read Archer’s Goon. Then I stopped reading fantasy for a few years. When I came back to it, she was one of the first people I picked up. And then kept reading and reading. Archer’s Goon, Howl’s Moving Castle, the Dalemark Quartet, Deep Secret. Book after book full of life and love.
I just had to stop writing because I was crying too hard to see the screen. This hurts.
Here’s one of my favorite quotes from Drowned Ammet:
Mitt did not quite forget his perfect land. He remembered it, though a little fuzzily, next time the wind dropped, but he did not set off to look for it again. It was plain to him that soldiers only brought you back if you went. It made him sad. When an inkling of it came to him in silence, or in scents, or, later, if the wind hummed a certain note, or a storm came shouting in from the sea and he caught the same note in the midst of its noise, he thought of his lost perfect place and felt for a moment as if his heart would break.
Goodbye, Diana. And thank you.