I read Pullman's His Dark Materials
trilogy back-to-back-to-back. By the time I'd reached the middle of the first book, The Golden Compass
, I was content to exist half in my own world and half in Philip
's. It seemed appropriate, if somewhat perplexing to casual acquaintances.
Extending my arm in front of my body, holding an imaginary sharp instrument
in my hand, I would show whomever would tolerate me how Will used the subtle
knife to cut into other worlds.
"Will says it feels like stitches he's cutting," I explained again and again.
"He says he can tell from the feel of each stitch against the blade which world
he's about to enter."
Even as I started The Amber Spyglass, I knew I was living on borrowed
time. Each sitting with the manuscript pushed my bookmark closer to its final
pages and I began to recognize the bittersweet sadness of a wonder passing.
Volume Three is the most ambitious installment of the series, shifting from one
world to another as storylines converge. Oxford and Cittagazze, the world of
the dead...soon enough, these worlds would close to me it felt that way,
as if they were slipping away. I hoarded the last chapters of Pullman's magical
creation like a sleeper stirring, grasping at the hems of a dream. I hadn't
been so gloriously consumed by children's fantasy since the Saturday morning
cartoons of my youth. Dave, Powells.com