Alan Garner Quotes

She wants to be flowers, but you make her owls. You must not complain, then, if she goes hunting.

All my life I've wanted to be the kid who gets to cross over into the magical kingdom. I devoured those books by C.S. Lewis and William Dunthorn, Ellen Wentworth, Susan Cooper, and Alan Garner. When I could get them from the library, I read them out of order as I found them, and then in order, and then reread them all again, many times over. Because even when I was a child I knew it wasn't simply escape that lay on the far side of the borders of fairyland. Instinctively I knew crossing over would mean more than fleeing the constant terror and shame that was mine at that time of my life. There was a knowledge – an understanding hidden in the marrow of my bones that only I can access ― telling me that by crossing over, I'd be coming home. That's the reason I’ve yearned so desperately to experience the wonder, the mystery, the beauty of that world beyond the World As It Is. It's because I know that somewhere across the border there's a place for me. A place of safety and strength and learning, where I can become who I'm supposed to be. I've tried forever to be that person here, but whatever I manage to accomplish in the World As It Is only seems to be an echo of what I could be in that other place that lies hidden somewhere beyond the borders.

The job of a storyteller is to speak the truth. But what we feel most deeply can’t be spoken in words alone. At this level, only images connect. And here, story becomes symbol; symbol is myth. And myth is truth.

... I had never given much credence to the phenomenon of "writer's block". I was more inclined to think of it as "writer's impatience", and to follow Arthur Koestler's dictum: "Soak; and wait.

I'll buy metaphor, but simile's a cop-out used by scaredycats who won't commit to anything. Simile's for cowards.

I wanted us to have a holiday, not a ruddy breakdown.

It's not a job but a condition. (Alan Garner on writing)

‎'They don't know what it's like. Inside. For them it's only fun, even though I tell them it isn't. You see I don't delete. Anything. Ever.

The deed is nothing. It is the thought that breeds fear; and we achieve little by lingering.

That man’s gaga,” said Roger when they were out of hearing. “He’s so far gone he’s coming back.

There was John Masefield’s The Box of Delights; and the C. S. Lewis Narnia books; and Patricia Lynch’s The Turf-Cutter’s Donkey; The Winter of Enchantment by Victoria Walker; Black Hearts in Battersea by Joan Aiken; several of Rosemary Sutcliff’s historical novels, including Susan’s favorite, The Silver Branch; Power of Three by Diana Wynne Jones; The Weirdstone of Brisingamen by Alan Garner; Five Children and It by E. Nesbit; and many others.

But what can we do?” said Susan. “Think, and hope,” said Cadellin. “I would rather seek and find,” said Uthecar.

I hope there isn't,' [a final answer] said Colin. "I'm for uncertainty. As soon as you think you know, you're done for. You don't listen and you can't hear. If you're certain of anything, you shut the door on the possibility of revelation, of discovery. You can think. You can believe. But you can't, you mustn't, 'know'. There's the real Entropy.

He cut the veil of the rock; the hooves clattered the bellowing waters below him in the dark. The lamp brought the moon from the blade, and the blade the bull from the rock. The ice rang.

Lleu is a hard lord,” said Huw, “He is killing Gronw without anger, without love, without mercy. He is hurt too much by the woman and the spear. Yet what is there when it is done? His pride. No spear. No friend.” Roger started at Huw. “You’re not so green as you’re grass-looking, are you?” he said. “Now you mention it, I have been thinking— That bloke Gronw was the only one with any real guts at the end.” “But none of them is all to blame,” said Huw. “It is only together they are destroying each other.” “That Blod-woman was pretty poor,” said Roger, “however you look at it.” “No,” said Huw. “She was made for her lord. Nobody is asking her if she wants him. It is bitter twisting to be shut up with a person you are not liking very much. I think she was longing for the time when she was flowers on the mountain, and it is making her cruel, as the rose is growing thorns.

You and I and everyone else are a bit like turtles: we only make progress when we stick our necks out a little.

Oh, drop dead, you miserable cow.

I do not think consciously of children [when writing] … I do know that children read me more intelligently than adults do.

We have to tell stories to unriddle the world

The trap of reputation, for example. In this scenario, having garnered a considerable reputation or level of acclaim, one becomes paralyzed by the dreadful thought of losing it all by doing something... undignified. Uncool. This is a trap. Reputation is a trap that will turn you into a lifeless marble bust of yourself before you're even dead. And then of courses there is reputation's immortal big brother, Posterity, worrying about which has driven better women and men than you into the asylum. All these things... reputation, posterity, cool... should be tested to destruction by a course of deliberate sabotage. As the often-illuminating Escape and New Musical Express cartoonist Shaky Kane once remarked, "Don't be cool. Like everything." If you find yourself in danger of being taken seriously, then try to do something which undermines or sabotages that perception in some way. If your talent is of any genuine worth, it should be able to weather squalls of unpopularity and audience incomprehensio. The only thing that might seriously endanger either your talent or your relationship with your talent is if you suddenly found yourself fashionable.

Roland searched for a place that would be safe to climb, and found a staircase on the exposed inner wall of a house. The top step was the highest part of the house: everything above it, including the bedroom floor, had been knocked down. Roland tested his weight, but the wood was firm, so he went up.

Why are you here?" "To fetch the woman I cut from the veil of the rock." “Why did you cut?" "To send her spirit out, so that she would come to make the child, for me to teach to dance and sing and dream, to free the beasts within the rock to fill the world." “Have you found her?" "She is not here. There are only people horrible to see." “Where are your stories?" said the other. "I cannot tell them. My head is a cloud.

The more I learn, the more I am convinced that there are no original stories. On several occasions I have “invented” an incident, and then come across it in an obscure fragment of Hebridean lore, orally collected, and privately printed, a hundred years ago.

The wood lay still. The air throbbed with insects, and flies hovered and disappeared and hovered. Meadowsweet grew in a mist of flowers, and the sun glinted on the threads of caterpillars which hung from the trees as thick as rain. “By,” said Gwyn, “there’s axiomatic.

The prince went straight to the king of dragons, who took him on his back to the distant mountain, and with his fire he split the crystal, and the red fox that had shimmered like a ruby in its clear heart ran out. But the king of eagles pounced on it from the sky, and ripped the fur a darker red. Up sprang the raven, and fled on the wind, but the king of falcons closed with it, and the talons met in the raven’s heart.

There...is your spiritual obligation to literature: root out the reductive; seek excellence; pursue the numinous. And, along with a disciplined intellect (for one is of no use without the other) give to children their imaginations, of which they are being robbed with totalitarian intensity by the trash around them.

Is there light in Gorias?

At dawn one still October day in the long ago of the world, across the hill of Alderley, a farmer from Mobberley was riding to Macclesfield fair.

The walls were shedding their texture and taking another in the pouncing feathers. Gwyn

What the eye doesn’t see,”’ said the man, ‘“the heart doesn’t grieve for.” Or does it?

For at the very moment you have Now, it flees. It is gone. It is, on the instant, Then. Surely.

to show that he kept watch and worked that the world would not be lost. And, as he sat, hope came.

It was bleak on Mottram road under the Edge, the wooded hill of Alderley. Trees roared high in the darkness. . . . [A]mong the trees something was happening that was not meant for human eyes.

were of a later era than those on the other shelves and did have dust jackets. There was John Masefield’s The Box of Delights; and the C. S. Lewis Narnia books; and Patricia Lynch’s The Turf-Cutter’s Donkey; The Winter of Enchantment by Victoria Walker; Black Hearts in Battersea by Joan Aiken; several of Rosemary Sutcliff’s historical novels, including Susan’s favorite, The Silver Branch; Power of Three by Diana Wynne Jones; The Weirdstone of Brisingamen by Alan Garner; Five Children and It by E. Nesbit; and

Because of my nature, I find 'spiritual' and 'creative' to be synonymous. I am not exclusively a Christian; but for me work is prayer. So in pleading for the nurture of creativity, in life and in education, I plead for the nuture of the spiritual. I cannot separate the two.

But when they reached Highmost Redmanhey, Susan said, “Uthecar, what’s wrong with the elves? I – don’t mean to be rude, but I’ve always imagined them to be – well, the ‘best’ of your people.” “Ha!”, said Uthecar. “They would agree with you! And few would gainsay them. You must judge for yourselves. But I will say this of the lios-alfar; they are merciless without kindliness, and there are things incomprehensible about them.

From my differing awareness, I sense something you may not yet. Especially among artists...resistance is growing. Conciousness is on the move. Something is at work in the world: a general recognition of the crisis of the spirit, of the banal and shoddy, in human affairs. It is universal and it must be met. Recently, an Australian Aboriginal shaman warned me: 'The Great Serpent has woken. Jarapiri stirs. The earth shakes. And the warriors are gathering.

I live, at all times, for imaginative fiction; for ambivalence, not instruction. When language serves dogma, then literature is lost. I live also, and only, for excellence. My care is not for the cult of egalitarian mediocrity that is sweeping the world today, wherein even the critics are no longer qualified to differentiate, but for literature, which you may notice I have not defined. I would say that, because of its essential ambivalence, 'literature' is: words that provoke a response; that invite the reader or listener to partake of the creative act. There can be no one meaning for a text. Even that of the writer is a but an option. "Literature exists at every level of experience. It is inclusive, not exclusive. It embraces; it does not reduce, however simply it is expressed. The purpose of the storyteller is to relate the truth in a manner that is simple: to integrate without reduction; for it is rarely possible to declare the truth as it is, because the universe presents itself as a Mystery. We have to find parables; we have to tell stories to unriddle the world. "It is a paradox: yet one so important I must restate it. The job of a storyteller is to speak the truth; but what we feel most deeply cannot be spoken in words. At this level only images connect. And so story becomes symbol; and symbol is myth." "It is one of the main errors of historical and rational analysis to suppose that the 'original form' of myth can be separated from its miraculous elements. 'Wonder is only the first glimpse of the start of philosophy,' says Plato. Aristotle is more explicit: 'The lover of myths, which are a compound of wonders, is, by his being in that very state, a lover of wisdom.' Myth encapsulates the nearest approach to absolute that words can speak.

The Fathers intent desire is that none would 'perish'. The promise God has given us is one of 'liberation'- Freedom. Being set free "from" captivity and reconciled "to" your Father. Intimacy with Jesus garners son-ship with Abba. As Jesus "demonstrated" that Son-ship of Grace he said, 'I only "say" and "do" what I hear the Father saying and doing'. Proclaiming the Kingdom of God by "Do'in the Stuff". The early church 'got' Jesus. John Wimber 're-got' Jesus and began proclaiming the Kingdom and demonstrating it as any loving son would of his Father. Now, we are no longer refuges but 'Bona Fide' citizens in good standing with our King and our new country. Where Love, Mercy, Grace; Peace 'rains' on us eternally here and now. 'The Already But Not Yet' (Ruis)." ~R. Alan Woods [2013]

But as his head cleared, Colin heard another sound, so beautiful that he never found rest again; the sound of a horn, like the moon on snow, and another answered it from the limits of the sky; and through the Brollachan ran silver lightnings, and he heard hoofs, and voices calling, “We ride! We ride!” and the whole cloud was silver, so that he could not look. The hoof-beats drew near, and the earth throbbed. Colin opened his eyes. Now the cloud raced over the ground, breaking into separate glories that whispered and sharpened to skeins of starlight, and were horsemen, and at their head was majesty, crowned with antlers, like the sun. But as they crossed the valley, one of the riders dropped behind, and Colin saw that it was Susan. She lost ground, though her speed was no less, and the light that formed her died, and in its place was a smaller, solid figure that halted, forlorn, in the white wake of the riding. The horsemen climbed from the hillside to the air, growing vast in the sky, and to meet them came nine women, their hair like wind. And away they rode together across the night, over the waves, and beyond the isles, and the Old Magic was free for ever, and the moon was new.

John Turner lived at Saltersford Hall, where his father was a tenant farmer. He was born in 1706 and became a packman, or jagger, with a train of four horses. His main occupation was from Chester and Northwich, carrying salt, to Derby, from where he would return with malt. His home in Saltersford was ideally placed on this prehistoric trade route. On Christmas Eve, 1735, (that is, when John was twenty-nine), he was on his way back from Northwich. It was snowing. But packmen were used to being on the road in all weathers and at all hours. They knew the hills better than anyone. They took no risks. Jaggers were essential to their communities and yet at the same time mistrusted. Travel in eighteenth century England was not for ordinary folk. Most people didn’t move more than four miles from their birthplace in their entire lives. Jaggers were looked on as boundary-striders, as Grendel is described in Beowulf, wild men, wodwose, as in Sir Gawain and the Green Knight. They belonged more to the hills than to the valleys. Yet on that Christmas Eve, John Turner did not reach home. The next morning he was found dead, though his team of horses survived, covered by drifts. And by him, on the white, wind-smoothed land, was the single print of a woman’s shoe in the snow.

Everybody thinks some people are born with the "gift of gab" and some people aren't. But the truth is there is no "gift of gab." People who are good at conversation just know a few simple skills that anyone can learn.

They’re better tactics than mine.” “Heart and head, John. They should know each other. Yours have never met.

Get a Dual Perspective "Having a dual perspective means thinking not just in terms of what you want to say and hear but also in terms of the other person’s interests." - Conversationally Speaking, page 9 A dual perspective requires humility. Humility is to consider others better than yourself. Humble people ask questions like, “How can I benefit this person?” or “How can I empathize with this person’s feelings?” People ought to consider their conversation partner’s interests and seek every way to cater your words to their betterment. Here’s a practical way to accentuate a dual perspective… Ask the other person what activities interest him/her and find an activity you both enjoy. Seek to benefit the other person and then look for mutual benefit. For instance, your acquaintance expresses his interest in golf, theatre, and investing to you. If you despise theatre and investing, talk about golf. Common interests fuel conversation. If all the activities your conversation partner enjoys are boring to you, suck it up. Practice humility and engage in their interests. You may learn something new! Not every conversation will provide mutual benefit and not every conversation should provide mutual benefit. Even still, you should always seek this mutual outcome. Conversation requires engagement from two parties. The quicker you arrive at a topic you both enjoy, the easier it is to continue conversation. This dual perspective mindset initially benefits others and will normally reciprocate benefit to you.

Be Specific. Be Direct. "The most common way to express admiration is to deliver a direct positive. This type of compliment tells people in a straightforward manner what it is you appreciate about their behavior, appearance, and possessions." - Conversationally Speaking, page 23 Stop speaking vague and general words. Tell others exactly what you like about them. Be specific and be direct. Instead of saying, “I like your shoes”, try this: “Bob, those tan loafers go well with your khaki pants”. Bob would most likely enjoy the second statement because it is thoughtful and observant. People want to be recognized in a genuine, specific way. Providing details and specifics naturally improves your credibility. It’s easy to say, “I like your shoes”, but more challenging to add context to such an opinion. If you improve awareness and strive to be specific, there should be no issue in bringing heartfelt value to another person. Consequently, others will enjoy conversing with you. Additionally, being direct and specific encourages good behavior. Whether it is a complement or reprimand, the listener must clearly understand the sender’s message in order to respond appropriately. This skill develops with premeditation and practice. You should mentally plan and role-play scenarios, and always search for those small opportunities to speak openly.

Ask Questions "Ask questions, show interest in the response you receive, and then attempt to link those responses to your own knowledge and experience" - Conversationally Speaking, page 58 Ask questions. Lots of them! Actually, don’t ask too many questions. Questions are simply a means to enter conversation. You should ask questions that promote conversation. Don’t ask just any type of question if your goal is to encourage conversation. Yes/No questions are typically starter questions that should quickly dissolve. Open-ended questions are normally the way to go! Instead of starting sentences with “Who” or “When”, try “How” or “Why”. If conversation stops, either leave or ask an open-ended question. Try to stay away from cliché questions because they generally elicit cliché answers. There is such a thing as an open-ended question that is too open and cliché. For example, Americans like to respond “Pretty good” or “Not bad” to the question “How’d it go today?” Also, stay away from initially asking difficult questions. In an effort to make your conversation partner comfortable, ask a simple question that they should obviously know. Questions are a crucial instrument to equip a person for a good conversation. The right question will help you maneuver through any conversational cross-point and is a genuine way to connect with others. Once you ask a question, listen actively! When it’s your turn to respond, try to express their reality using your own words. Asking questions ought to benefit your conversation partner as you intend to give them an opportunity to speak. Use questions liberally and wisely. Take the dual perspective, be specific and direct, and ask good questions. Seek every opportunity to benefit your conversation partner as you express genuine interest in them. Conversational speaking is a skill. You must practice every day. Try focusing on one element of communication at a time. Perhaps this week, do all possible to handle criticism constructively by asking for details and agreeing with the truth. Next week, intentionally practice another aspect of communication. Opportunity awaits us every day. We just need to engage and enjoy every occasion.

Wisdom wins where might fails.

Despite our daily observations to the contrary, I assure you that children are, by nature, spiritual beings, until we destroy through our example. In my own field of language I remember, and still can see, there being no problem here. A child knows, whether it be in the traditional structure of a fairy tale, or the special use of an archaism, when Mystery is engaged.

I am not decrying the profession of accountancy, only its appropriation of competence in every field. And if, as it looms, we are entering on a period biased toward materialism at the expense of progress, then we are in the hands of the accountant, a spiritual Ice Age, where all will be frozen and there will be no risk, and without risk, no movement, and without movement, no seeking, and without seeking, no future. Darkness will be upon the face of the deep. We must get aback of this.

At the end of day, he looked out and saw that they were safe under ravens.

Iram, biram, brendon, bo, Where did all the children go? They went to the east. They went to the west. They went where the cuckoo has its nest.

Treacle Walker? Me know that pickthank psychopomp? I know him, so I do. I know him. Him with his pots for rags and his bag and his bone and his doddering nag and nookshotten cart and catchpenny oddments. Treacle Walker? I’d not trust that one’s arse with a fart.

As I turned toward writing, which is partially intellectual in its function, but is primarily intuitive and emotional in its execution, I turned towards that which was numinous and emotional in me, and that was the legend of King Arthur Asleep Under the Hill. It stood for all that I'd had to give up in order to understand what I'd had to give up.

am not decrying the profession of accountancy, only its appropriation of competence in every field. And if, as it looms, we are entering on a period biased toward materialism at the expense of progress, then we are in the hands of the accountant, a spiritual Ice Age, where all will be frozen and there will be no risk, and without risk, no movement, and without movement, no seeking, and without seeking, no future. Darkness will be upon the face of the deep.’ Alan Garner, ‘Aback of Beyond

What do I know?' said Huw, and Gwyn was frightened by the fear in Huw's eyes. 'What do I know?... I know more than I know... I don't know what I know... The weight, the weight of it!

She wants to be flowers, but you make her owls. You must not complain, then, if she goes hunting.

She was tall. Her long hair fell to her waist, framing in gold her pale and lovely face. Her eyes were blue. She wore a loose gown of white cambric, embroidered with living green stems of broom and meadowsweet, and a wreath of green oak leaves in here hair.

Theer's no use saying pigs conner fly, when you see them catching swallows.

Becoming a good communicator is a question of training, but also of theoretical knowledge. This book gives them to you in a synthetic way. If they seem, for many, obvious, you should not trust appearances: each piece of knowledge contains a vast possible field of experimentation. I particularly liked the assertiveness techniques given by the author, because they teach us to react to criticism in a constructive and peaceful way, whoever our interlocutor is. Conversationally Speaking will be useful to all those who communicate a lot, in order to improve their practice, and to shy people who will find other ways to react to certain situations.

Them as can’t bend, like as not they break.

A more sinister formulation is offered by Ayn Rand lieutenant Leonard Peikoff (in a book comparing pre-Reagan America to Nazi Germany that garnered fulsome praise from none other than Alan Greenspan): all the great cultural developments of the early twentieth century, he insists, whether in literature, art, education, philosophy, or journalism, were elements in a political project to remake American life along “progressive,” that is, German, lines.21

She was made for her lord. Nobody is asking her if she wants him. It is bitter twisting to be shut up with a person you are not liking very much. I think she is often longing for the time when she was flowers on the mountain, and it is making her cruel, as the rose is growing thorns.