I was sad to see today that Lloyd Alexander died yesterday. The heavy groundwork for my continuing love for a good sword and sorcery novel is firmly rooted in the works of two authors - C.S. Lewis and Lloyd Alexander. The first time I ever cried over a book? The Castle of Lyr. The second? The High King. I read the Prydain Chronicles too many times to count (I still have my set, so it isn't like the count is stationary at this point either). I had a mad crush on Gwydion, and a keen feeling of sisterhood with Eilonwy. I was introduced for the first time to the Three Witches/Fates who, god bless them, are a running theme in my literary life (and, really, my actual life too, since upon occasion I'm referred to as them - collectively with Ms. Gooch and Ding). I learned to pronounce Welsh for those books. This was of untold benefit during my King Arthur phase, let me tell you. Bedwyr? I can pronounce that. It's true. I can. And I owe Mr. Alexander a debt for that. I have a not entirely fuzzy knowledge of Welsh mythology thanks to the man, as well. And the cauldron born? Terrifying.
Anyway, I'm just sad that the creator of a great deal of joy for me is gone.
P.S. If you are interested in dipping into the Prydain Chronicles, please, I beg of you - read the books - in other words, avoid the vile Disney version of The Black Cauldron like the very plague. Really. Trust me on this. What a travesty. The characters in the Black Cauldron should not be *cute.*
2 comments:
oh no!
i loved those books. i read them all in junior high and i, too, just loved eilonwy.
and yes. the disney version? the very definition of travesty.
She is great - I've always been comforted by the idea that she 'knows things without knowing' since I often feel like that.
I'm re-reading the set just now as a tribute - it has been a while but they hold up, bless them.
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