A magical thing had happened last night: I was dreaming about my characters. The people I have been wrestling on the page have become quite important, and now they were in my dreams, playing very random roles, being as real as anything and anybody else that appear in the sleep state and are hardly remembered. The dream itself wasn’t significant and didn’t mean much, but I was very happy when I remembered it.
It just shows how much stories mean to us, and how writing is a part of us. Writers are readers, and we care about our characters. As writers, we see them becoming truly a part of us. I have written a few books and have spent my time thinking and plotting, being connected to my characters, building a relationship with them. Some are more important than others, I suppose. We can’t help but have favourites. They are real to us. When the book is done, we see our characters off, and we wish them well. The story ends there for some, but we keep thinking about others, wondering what they have done next. Perhaps it is a little seed for a future book.
As a reader, I have always had a connection with the story. I see it in my mind, I imagine the places, homes, surroundings, and, of course, the characters. Sometimes it is annoying seeing them in their film form, because they are too different. Sometimes, the choice and interpretation work, but still, I will keep seeing them my way when I revisit their stories.
So far this year, I have had two very opposite encounters with book characters. The first is Lyra and the long-awaited final book about her – The Rose Field. We have waited a long time for that. I haven’t looked at any reviews or articles, because I don’t want to find spoilers or cloud my judgement, but I am conflicted.
I love Lyra and her world. His Dark Materials holds a special place in my heart; it is one of the books that I will happily come back to and read it again. I listened to it in audiobook, too. I loved the BBC series; I think it was very well made. When the next stories were announced, I was intrigued. And then disappointed. I wasn’t sure why we needed La Belle Sauvage, but I gave it the benefit of the doubt. The second book was at least happening after His Dark Materials, but, again, I can’t say that I liked it. I cared about the story, I wanted to know it, but I didn’t like it. Why would Pantalaimon leave? Why now (besides, of course, to serve the narrative – he had to leave in order for the story to happen)? I struggled through, but I wasn’t happy. Especially after what had happened to Lyra on the train towards the end of book two.
If La Belle Sauvage or The Secret Commonwealth were stand-alone novels, I would probably still read them, but wouldn’t think much about them and wouldn’t be considering any further stories for my list. But I am invested in the world and the characters, I want to know what happens, even if I don’t like it. So, I am disappointed, but I will keep coming for more.
Right now, I am slowly working my way through the third book, and it is more of an obligation than a pleasure. I will see it through, but I cannot imagine taking so long with any other beloved character. And it is a little bit sad. For me, the second trilogy doesn’t hold the same magic. I don’t always understand what is happening and why and whether it even matters. I find the story a bit complicated, scattered, and confusing, although it might be because there was a long time between the publication of the second and third book and I have forgotten quite a few details and characters. I am, however, not willing to re-read the second book at the moment. I won’t say never, because Lyra and Pantalaimon are very dear to me. However, I am not sure that they needed this trilogy.
It is therefore refreshing to find something very different in times of such reading despair. I speak now about Butter by Asako Yuzuki, which I sandwiched in between reading The Rose Field, when I simply didn’t want to read it, but wanted to read something. I don’t usually read more than one fiction book at a time, but I think I have explained why it would have happened now.
If I were losing my will to read and streaming services were calling to steal my time, Butter brought back all the reasons why to read books a thousandfold. If The Rose Field feels like a chore, Butter was like going on a special date every evening when I settled with the book, hoping that time wouldn’t fly too fast, and I would manage more than one chapter before bedtime. Butter is a genius of a book, and Asako Yuzuki is my favourite Japanese writer right now. That book is so difficult to describe or put into a simple category; it is uniquely special. When I read something like that and think about someone thinking it out of nowhere, I feel awe and happiness that we can do that as a species, that we have imagination, fantasy, and a way to make stories. Even if Butter won’t have a sequel, I wouldn’t struggle to remember its characters or story a few years later, because they are unforgettable. Butter cemented my love of reading and storytelling when The Rose Field somehow diminished it. It made me as happy as only a book can make a book lover happy.
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