Second paragraph of third chapter:

“The floor’s all wet,” he said.

Having enjoyed my return to Cart and Cwidder last year, I thought I should read the complete Dalemark cycle by Diana Wynne Jones. The Spellcoats was new to me; although the third published of the series, it’s the first in internal chronology, set in “prehistoric Dalemark” where the only written language is runes woven into garments – hence the “spellcoats” of the title.

It’s a different sort of society to most of DWJ’s books – a low-tech country coming into being, with indigenous inhabitants in conflict with newcomers, and evil men trying to take advantage of the situation, including through magic. Like a lot of DWJ’s stories, there is a long and transformational journey; like a lot of DWJ’s stories, there are siblings who have different talents and find different destinies. But there’s something attractively raw and pared-back about the setting here, along the banks of a primeval river, and there is a nice framework of telling the story as a woven rather than written text. Sorry it took me so long to get around to reading this. You can get it here.

This was the top unread book by a woman on my shelves. Next on that pile is The Good Earth, by Pearl S. Buck, but I’m also adding a small pile for the other two Dalemark books, Drowned Ammet and The Crown of Dalemark.

Second paragraph of third chapter:

Kialan, in spite of Clennen’s rebuke, seemed unable to stop making outspoken remarks. “You know, that cart is really horribly garish,” he said, on the second morning. Perhaps he had some excuse. It was standing against the dawn sky, as he saw it, and Moril’s red head was just emerging from it. The effect was undeniably colorful, but Brid was keenly offended.

I had read this ages ago, probably soon after it came out in 1975. It’s the first published of one of Diana Wynne Jones’ cycles of novels for young adult readers, the Dalemark Quartet. Our protagonist, teenage Moril, is the youngest boy in a family of travelling musicians and players in a fantasy world where there is magic, dynastic politics, and feuds between local warlords. His life is disrupted by a brutal murder in an early chapter, but this brings him an ancient cwidder – a musical instrument which seems to be in the lute family – which turns out to have its own special powers. There are some beautifully observed family and social dynamics, and some rather stunning descriptive passages. I’m not sure if this book is as well known as it deserves. You can get it here.

This was my top unread sf book, and my top unread book by a woman. Next on the first of those piles is Our Share of Night, by Mariana Enriquez; next on the second is Marking Time, by Elizabeth Jane Howard.