Oh my god. I just got the end of "Al4nya" and am completely blown away. Because there are FIVE MORE BOOKS coming that she's already written and is revising afte 20 years of sitting on them (why? well, people's lives are complex.)
strangely I'm in tears partly at the thought (self-centered but genuine) of myself in 1984-1986 while T.D. was writing this: with some kind of crazed grief and happiness that we were on the same planet of imagination-space at how alone I was and my desperate faith that I was not alone. and I wasn't. I feel lucky to have read this difficult, perturbing book. (I am just beginning to grasp how fortunate it is that i just read this amazing thing, and that I have the actual power in my hands to persuade other people to read it and to bring it to the notice of many people.)
not a lot of novels make me cry uncontrollably with gratitude that they were written.
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