Monday, December 23, 2013


published 1858
George MacDonald

I bought this book in 1978 and have read it several times over the years. When I read it, I'm affected by its dreamy strangeness, its quality of pure fantasy. I like the almost fractal narrative efflorescence.  

I was reminded of this book by a blog post at Flame in the Snow. At the end of that blog post, Novalis is mentioned. A year and a half ago, I posted this about Novalis, mentioning MacDonald as a translator. I also posted this about Novalis's Hymns to the Night.

1 comment:

  1. I wonder if within this "fractal narrative efflorescence" the author may be transmitting an impression of the profundity of events in which he himself participated. When I first read it, it was as if I felt doors opening. In this recent re-reading, the rooms in Phantastes seemed somehow familiar, as if I had been wandering along their halls already, and they beckoned me further along.

    I appreciate the referrals to your other blog posts. These writings whisper to me, reminders that truth is stranger than fiction and give me pause for reflection in curious mirrors.