A volume of tributes to Alan Garner, but where with many writers that could become a bit of a vapid love-in, this was never likely to be the case here. There's a recurring sense of Garner as, like his forebears, a craftsman, taking solid substance from the Cheshire landscape and working it into something people can use. If in his case it's words and myths rather than metal or stone, well, he's still very much a son of the soil rather than the ivory towers. Someone who quite naturally ends up finding pre-Roman artefacts discarded at school, or living just along the track from Gawain's Green Chapel, but then also someone who turns out to have been running buddies with Alan Turing - because the contributors here are not all writers. There are archaeologists and astronomers too (and an archbishop, for that matter). The writers do dominate, though. Part of the reason I was up for First Light as soon as I heard about it was that not only am I a fan of Garner, but also of many of the famous fans who took part in this. Some of them are perhaps usual suspects these days - Gaiman, Pullman, Fry - but there's also something from Susan Cooper, and bloody Hell, even the idea of Cooper and Garner in correspondence is like finding Merlin's letters to Odin or something. But there were also excellent pieces from writers I've never previously been tempted to investigate - I'd never given much thought to Wicked &c, say, but turns out Gregory Maguire can really write (even if he is a bit of a Luddite); I was dimly aware of Bel Mooney as a writer and agony aunt, but could never have expected the cry de profundis she offers. There are poems and artworks in response to Garner and his work, academic analyses and personal anecdotes, even a few contributors who efface themselves and instead disinter Garner marginalia from school magazines, abandoned projects and the like. Really, the only disappointment is a typically tiresome little fable from genre traitor Margaret Attwood, which bears no noticeable Garner connection and feels more like it should be in a sub-par tribute anthology to Gaiman or Angela Carter. Still, skip that and this is a treasure trove for any Garner fan. And though I'm far from having read all his works myself (yet), I'm suspicious of anyone who isn't at least a little bit of a Garner fan.
(This was finished, incidentally, while I was also starting Jerusalem, the product of another bright, mystical and fiercely working class Alan whose fiction is rooted in a close bond with a very specific tract of English earth. I knew I was never going to be able to read that one straight through, but maybe I could have mixed my reading a little more thoroughly there)