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.