 |
| 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.
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.
ReplyDeleteI 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.