As I have said before, I belong to a book reading group that has been around, continuously, for more than 40 years.
The only member who has been there since the beginning doesn’t like fantasy. She has, however, as a special concession to me, been reading [struggling through?] my books. She didn’t much like the first, Havenstar. “I didn’t understand what was going on,” she said after reading it. “What’s with all that magic stuff? It’s not real!” Each successive book has been nibbling away at her resistance.
Nine years further down the line, she has just finished book number seven, Song of the Shiver Barrens. As usual, she approached it with trepidation. She told me that she was still saying to herself, as she sat down to begin, “Oh dear, not another fantasy I’ve got to read…”
Eight pages into the book, she found she was right back into the story and enjoying it. She reached the end, as she described it, “with tears in my eyes. Glenda, with talent like that, I think you could write anything at all.”
One of these days I will get her to admit that she likes fantasy. Another four or five books should do it, I think…