The Girl Who Circumnavigated Fairyland in a Ship of Her Own Making (Fairyland, #1)

by Catherynne M. Valente

All children are heartless. They have not grown a heart yet, which is why they can climb tall trees and say shocking things and leap so very high that grown-up hearts flutter in terror. Hearts weigh quite a lot. That is why it takes so long to grow one.

I like that their accessories are horizontal and vertical respectively.

For one day, her father had put on a hat with golden things on it and suddenly he hadn’t been her father anymore, he had been a soldier, and he had left. Hats have power. Hats can change you into someone else.

“We’re witches,” said Hello. Manythanks pointed meaningfully at his hat. “But witches do all kinds of spells—” “That’s sorceresses,” corrected Goodbye. “And magic—” “That’s wizards,” sighed Hello. “And they change people into things—” “That’s thaumaturgists,” huffed Manythanks. “And make people do things—” “Enchantresses,” sneered Goodbye. “And they do curses and hexes—” “Stregas,” hissed both sisters. “And change into owls and cats—” “Brujas,” growled Manythanks. “Well … what do witches do, then?”

You see, the future is a kind of stew, a soup, a vichyssoise of the present and the past. That’s how you get the future: You mix up everything you did today with everything you did yesterday and all the days before and everything anyone you ever met did and anyone they ever met, too.