Unlike most of the authors and readers who have honored Diana Wynne Jones this week in moving and eloquent tributes, I came to her work at a relatively late date—both in her career and in my childhood. I discovered her books in the summer of 1992, just before I turned 12. In retrospect, though, I think I found her work, or more likely that her work found me, at just the right time.
Like a lot of readers who would one day grow up to commit acts of wild and woolly written fantasy, I was a shy and awkward pre-teen who was bullied by other students for just about every reason you can think of, and probably a few you can’t—unless you grew up as a non-Mormon in Salt Lake City during the 1980s and 90s, in which case, you know all too well. Thus, when I say that books were often primus inter pares in my intimate triangle of equally nerdy friends, I am quite serious.
And Ms. Jones’ work quickly became the first among equals of my firsts among equals.
Memory is a slippery and unreliable thing, especially when it comes to childhood memories when one has passed young adulthood. Thus, I can’t say with any certainty that I know which of Ms. Jones’ books I found first at the Chelmsford, Massachusetts public library where I spent several summers. It might have been Aunt Maria, Dogsbody, The Ogre Downstairs, or either of the short story collections Stopping for a Spell or Warlock at the Wheel.
I can say with certainty, however, that it was not Eight Days of Luke. I know this because I read that particular book no less than 10 times the following year.
When compared to the Chrestomanci series, Dalemark Quartet, or Castle books (particularly after the release of Miyazaki’s Howl’s Moving Castle), or even to some of her stand alone titles like Fire and Hemlock, Eight Days of Luke doesn’t get a lot of attention. Despite garnering some good reviews when it was first published in 1975, it doesn’t regularly make most readers’ lists of favorite Diana Wynne Jones books; in fact, I have yet to see any tribute make any but a passing reference to it. Unlike The Lives of Christopher Chant, for example, it was out of print during the 90s, a fact that caused my teenage self no small amount of frustration and Salt Lake County librarians no shortage of amusement as I effectively squatted on their sole copy for weeks at a time. (Remember, in 1992-1995 the internet was still a Very New Thing; thus, I did not have the ur- versions of Amazon or eBay at my disposal.)
In some ways, Eight Days of Luke’s status as a “minor” Diana Wynne Jones novel is understandable. Cultural references like the pinball arcade where David finds the man with the dragon tattoo (Siegfried) are dated to the point of obscurity for a lot of children and young teens finding her books today. The book also lacks the emotional edge and poignancy of Dogsbody, in which the relationship between Sirius and Kathleen is, quite simply, one of the most beautiful and tender child-animal friendships in children’s literature.
However, Eight Days of Luke is patently not a minor novel in Jones’ canon, because it is every bit as wondrous, delightful, clever, and complex as any of her other works. David’s horrible relatives are blusteringly, easily dislikeable windbags, yet his cousin Astrid surprises the reader by being a decent person in the end—and, most remarkably from the perspective of disability issues, someone who is only difficult at times because of a chronic medical condition. Likewise, the mysterious and colorful individuals who visit David and Luke throughout the week are all truly inventive interpretations of Norse gods and heroes. My favorites of these are the Frys (Freyr and Freyja), the bouncy, inappropriately affectionate couple from down the street who give “close talker” an entirely new meaning—much to David and his guardians’ embarrassment. Held over the course of a week (with the gods showing up on the days that bear their names), the book’s plot is also both sturdy and tight, but not so tight that it doesn’t allow for Luke (Loki)’s antics and a deepening friendship between the Norse trickster god and the mortal boy who accidentally rescues him.
While the Frys are my favorite Norse gods in Eight Days of Luke, the title character is my favorite of all Ms. Jones’ creations. And really, he’s also my favorite representation of Loki. While most authors typically turn Loki into a smarmy, petty, or even downright sociopathic villain, Ms. Jones didn’t forget that he was, at heart, a trickster with all the charm and playfulness of a class clown. And yet, she never failed to endow Luke with that vicious, careless streak all tricksters have in common—the one that frequently results in property damage (the bushes in David’s yard that Luke torches) or the Twilight of the Gods. It’s not just a fine line to balance, it’s one that is as thin and tenuous as a spider thread, and Ms. Jones’ writing always walked it flawlessly for me.
Unlike Neil Gaiman, Emma Bull, or countless others who have written tributes to Ms. Jones since her death, I was not fortunate enough to have met her. Thus, I have no stories of her wit, good humor, or encouragement of younger authors to recount. However, I can say that I am among one generation of authors whom Ms. Jones’ words deeply influenced. At age 13, Eight Days of Luke inspired me to write my own take on Loki’s story, which I have been rolling over in my head like a sea-stone for nearly two decades now; someday, I hope it comes to shore as a fully-formed book, since my obsession with Norse gods will probably never let it rest. And while my own writing turned out to be considerably darker than Ms. Jones’, I would like to think that she taught me invaluable lessons about plot, pacing, and having a boundless sense of wonder and fancy—something, obviously, that all fantasy authors need.
While I have not kept up with Ms. Jones’ work post-2000 as well as I should have, I am deeply saddened by her passing, and by the fact that I will never get to thank her for the way she enriched my writing life and the dream-life of that lonely, awkward, and nerdy 12-year-old in the Chelmsford library who looked down at her first Diana Wynne Jones book and said, “That looks interesting.”