I am a sucker for books that are about civilization in the specific. Vast, glorious vistas of shining, futuristic cities are great and all, but give me fiction about specific people doing the specific tasks of living together—making the clothes, caring for the children and animals, shoeing the horses—and I am there.
And if there’s magic and valiant deeds to be done as an occasional interruption to the sensible work of making homes and towns and lives, well, all the better.
Spindle’s End is that kind of book: it’s full of kids and animals and housework and outside work and old people and young people all trying to make sure everyone is fed and warm and stays alive.
And then there’s the dreaded (it would be dreaded, don’t kid yourself) job of saving the world from the great, powerful, evil villain who wants to destroy it.
I love Robin McKinley’s work. She somehow manages to paint all the homely comforts of domesticity right beside the high heroism and romance of the best fantasy. Love, love, love it. This was such a comfort read for me.
It also had one of those long, confusing, dreamlike sequences that most of her books seem to have towards the end, which I admit was my least favorite part (though I love the cleverness of how she handled the kiss that wakes the sleeping beauty—both times).
But overall, just a splendid reread. Recommended.