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

by Catherynne M. Valente

In Which a Girl Named September Is Spirited Off by Means of a Leopard, Learns the Rules of Fairyland, and Solves a Puzzle

“You seem an ill-tempered and irascible enough child,” said the Green Wind. “How would you like to come away with me and ride upon the Leopard of Little Breezes and be delivered to the great sea, which borders Fairyland?

One ought not to judge her: 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. But, as in their reading and arithmetic and drawing, different children proceed at different speeds. (It is well known that reading quickens the growth of a heart like nothing else.) Some small ones are terrible and fey, Utterly Heartless. Some are dear and sweet and Hardly Heartless at all. September stood very generally in the middle on the day the Green Wind took her, Somewhat Heartless, and Somewhat Grown.

“I came for you, September. Just you. I wish you the best that can be hoped for, and no worse than can be expected.”

Hats change everything. September knew this with all her being, deep in the place where she knew her own name, that her mother would still love her even though she hadn’t waved good-bye. 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?” September refused to feel foolish. It was hard enough for a human to get into Fairyland. True stories must be nearly impossible to get out. “We look into the future,” grinned Goodbye. “And we help it along.”

But no one may know the shape of the tale in which they move. And, perhaps, we do not truly know what sort of beast it is, either. Stories have a way of changing faces. They are unruly things, undisciplined, given to delinquency and the throwing of erasers. This is why we must close them up into thick, solid books, so they cannot get out and cause trouble.

I come from Nebraska,” September said. Home seemed very far away now, and she did not yet miss it. She knew, dimly, that this made her a bad daughter, but Fairyland was already so large and interesting that she tried not to think about that. “It’s very flat and golden, and my mother lives there. Every day, she goes to a factory and works on airplane engines because everyone’s father left for the war, and there was no one left to make airplanes. She’s very smart. And pretty. But I don’t see her much anymore, and my father went away with all the others. He said he would be safe, because he would be mainly learning things about other armies and writing them down, not shooting at them. But I don’t think he’s safe. And I don’t think my mother does, either. And the house is dark at night, and there are howling things out on the prairies. I keep everything as clean as I can so that when she comes home she’ll be happy, and tell me stories before bed, and teach me about boilers and things that she knows.” September rubbed her arms to keep warm in a sudden breeze that kicked and bucked through the field of little red flowers. “I don’t really have many friends back home. I like to read, and the other kids like to play baseball or play with jacks or curl their hair. So when the Green Wind came to my window, I knew what he was about, because I’ve read books where things like that happen. And I didn’t have anyone to miss, except my mother.” September wiped her nose a little. “I didn’t w...

When one is traveling, everything looks brighter and lovelier. That does not mean it is brighter and lovelier; it just means that sweet, kindly home suffers in comparison to tarted-up foreign places with all their jewels on.

September read often, and liked it best when words did not pretend to be simple, but put on their full armor and rode out with colors flying.

“I wouldn’t even consider it if I were you. But then if I were you, I would not be me, and if I were not me, I would not be able to advise you, and if I were unable to advise you, you’d do as you like, so you might as well do as you like and have done with it.”

September waited. She long ago learned that if she waited and blinked and behaved like a pupil, eventually someone would lecture her on something.

I am a sly and wicked narrator. If there is a secret to be plumbed for your benefit, Dear Reader, I shall strap on a head-lamp and a pick-ax and have at it.