Dedication
To Bill,
Who believes in me.
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An Introduction to Jody Lynn Nye
Whimsy is a delicate and dangerous kind of writing to attempt. It requires, not the wild and fancy-free turn of mind you might expect, but iron control and a sure ear for what will work. Those of us who attempt this particular brand of fantasy spend many hours trying to work out whether that next plot twist, that new character or bizarre circumstance you’ve invented, will break the slender cord suspending the reader’s disbelief and dump both of you back into the real world again, bruised to the bone and determined not to let it happen again. To make it work takes a special kind of writer, one skilled at splicing the real world together with the new and unreal one seamlessly enough not to leave any telltale roughness around the interface. Some writers, surprisingly good ones, never get it right. But Jody Lynn Nye has mastered this difficult art, and succeeds in making it look easy, which is a lot more work than you’d suspect.
Jetlagged elves, diaphanous telepathic wind sprites and cranky subterranean-dwelling bodachs coexist in this world, or move cheek-by-jowl through it, alongside crooked and weasel-like politicians, confused British secret service operatives, hot-air balloon freaks and various other mostly unsuspecting or basically clueless mortals, almost none of them willing to believe the evidence of their eyes when magic happens right in front of them. (But would you…?) Then add to this mix the engaging and (mostly) guileless Keith Doyle, a university student who stumbles on a bemusing fact—that there are fairies, not at the bottom of the garden, but living downstairs in the college library, illegal aliens with a difference—and helps them come to terms with the cultural barbed-wire tangle of modern North America, and the result is a leisurely and nonlethal explosive mixture that goes off, bang, in gales of laughter, when you least expect it. The good-hearted Keith manages to juggle his studies and interests with the never-ending business of helping his new friends solve the problems of being an elf in modern America (for example, your small-child size and pointed ears can cause you to routinely be mistaken for a Star Trek fan). He is not hyper-competent: sometimes, faced with the complexities of learning to handle as much magic as is good for one of the Big People, he drops the ball—which makes him all the more endearing. Through the course of the books, trips to Scotland and Ireland for the enchanted flowers which will indirectly allow the birth of the first native American elf, and efforts to stop unscrupulous local industries from polluting the elves’ smallholding, combine to help not only Keith, but the Little People with whom he works, grow into more than any of them could have been without the others.
These books are a graceful and enjoyable romp through a world that looks like ours … but has some delightful differences. I hope you enjoy your sojourn there as much as I have.
Diane Duane
May 2000
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