I don't know how to accurately describe my love for this book. Every time I read it I feel more strongly (and I think on average, I read it about twice a year, so I feel very strongly about it indeed!) Never-mind that it's a "children's book" (whatever that means). It's beautiful, it's timeless, it's rich and it's subtle. I adore it.
I first read it when I was about ten. This and "Witch Week" were in the two little bookshelves at the back of my fifth-grade classroom, and as you do when you're a ten-year-old bookworm, I had carefully gone through almost every book there over the course of the school year, leaving only those that looked uninteresting. Somehow I'd missed Diana Wynne Jones (I think the covers of those editions were a little strange, and I was conscious of covers at ten.) But I'd read almost all of the other books, and it was there, and so I took it to my desk to read instead of listening to my Social Studies lesson.
It ended up being the kind of book that was impossible to put down. I think I got in trouble about it a few times. I liked it and I finished it and it went on my mental "good book" list (which at the time meant that I would someday read it again, when I got around to it.) That was that for a few years. I didn't recommend it to anyone but my sister. I loved Christopher's dream journeys, his parents' strange aloofness, his carelessness with his lives, Tacroy's secrets, the Goddess turning into Millie, the cricket matches, and that bold, beautiful moment of release when Dr. Pawson coaxes Christopher's magic out of him -- but I thought my friends would find it strange, and so I didn't tell them about it. It was a kind of private book. I wanted it to be all mine, so that nobody could corrupt it.
Somehow, this translated to me reading it year by year, eagerly and thirstily, sucking in all the multi-layeredness and life lessons that I'd missed on previous rereads. It's THAT kind of book -- it's full of things that you don't fully understand the first time, that you have to get older to appreciate, or that you have to think about in a certain way to comprehend. I've read it at least ten times, and I don't even think I've found everything yet.
I love the other Chrestomancis too, but they pale in comparison to this one. I don't know WHAT it is -- I've tried to put my finger on it for years, and I can't. The other books are multi-layered too, with characters just as dynamic, plots just as complex, as this one. Maybe it's what whoever-it-was said, that quote about reading a book at the right age, and it leaving an impression on you forever. It really did.
I don't want it to be my secret anymore. It frustrates me ridiculously that nobody seems to have read this book. I want people to read it. I want to run around on rooftops and FORCE people to read it. (But at the same time, I do appreciate that there isn't a wild and rabid fandom rushing to make memes or write frightening fanfiction. That's nice. That kind of reaction destroys books' dignity, and the dignity of Christopher Chant would be a terrible thing to mess with.)
At any rate, that's all I'm able to say about it. I love this book with an enormous, wild passion, and I think I always will.