An essay in The Observer:
It is a given in children’s literature that the world is alive. The world has a face; in fact it has lots of faces. Animals talk and think and have intentions: bears wear hats and secrete marmalade sandwiches in unexpected places; mice carry rapiers and think about their honour. The aliveness goes further: railway engines have friends; sticks have wives and children; scarecrows summon other scarecrows to come and regulate the seasons.
Of course there is still a sort of feeling that we are supposed to put stories like this aside as we grow up. But I was never very good, at any stage of my life, at putting away childish things. I hung on to toys, teddy bears and soft toy animals in particular, and they seem just as resonant with kindness and love today as they ever did. I have read and reread childhood books. I still keep company with magicians and giants, fairies and fauns. . . .
All stories are a response to the world in some way, but fantasy is very often a response to landscape. In an essay written in the 1940s, CS Lewis wrote: “I have seen landscapes (notably in the Mourne Mountains) which, under a particular light, made me feel that at any moment a giant might raise his head over the next ridge. Nature has that in her which compels us to invent giants: and only giants will do.”
Some fantasy creatures are so closely knit into their native soil that they barely manage to extract themselves from it. In Diana Wynne Jones’s The Merlin Conspiracy there is one sleeping dragon under the South Downs and another under Wales; both can be seen in the shape of long hills and rows of mountains. Whether the dragons are just beneath the earth or whether the hills and mountains actually are dragons is never quite resolved. In Lewis’s The Silver Chair, when the giants of Ettinsmoor are first sighted, the travellers initially mistake them for funny-shaped rocks.
The natural landscape is part of what drives my writing, but for me the human element of the landscape is equally important. I brood on ruined castles, abandoned villages, roads going nowhere, fallow winter fields, distant glimpses of gray stone cities, the light of a single candle seen from across a night-darkened pond.





















































