World Without Magic

He had always believed implicitly in things supernatural, things beyond the ken of the world he woke to every day. He believed in them because they had to be there; otherwise there was no hope for him, because he had always known he could not live his whole life in the real world.
~Poppy Z. Brite, LOST SOULS

I’ve always loved this quote. This describes me…this was myself as a teenager. Now, as an adult, I know that I can (and have) lived my whole life in the real world. But still, somewhere down deep, I want to believe. It can’t just be this…there has to be something underneath the mundane.

I’ve loved books ever since I was small (and I mean small…I remember being told by the school librarian when I was five that only older kids were allowed to check out books, but she relented and let me do it anyway). I loved hard sci-fi (Heinlein and Asimov were gods), and then discovered fantasy. Not high fantasy/quest fantasy (travelling party consisting of one elf, one human, a dwarf…), but mythology-related fantasy, urban fantasy, magical realism. I would have given anything to live in Darkover or Pern. I think I loved Vanyel from the Valdemar novels more than I’ve ever loved a human being (although I’ve outgrown him a bit – I keep wanting to slap him and tell him to get some balls). Does that sound sad?

I don’t care. Charles de Lint’s Newford is an example. That is my home – it is where I was destined to live. I just can’t find my way. I want the musicians and the artists, the urban fae, Sophie’s life in dream Mabon and her crow dream boyfriend. I want Jilly Coppercorn to be my best friend. I want the Crow Girls.

I want to believe, I truly want to believe that the world is like this. I want to believe that fae can exist in modern cities. I want magic.

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