I was sorry to hear that Anne McCaffrey died today.
I was about twelve or thirteen when I read Dragonsong. It must have been one my first forays into speculative fiction; I remember the strange words—“sevenday,” “blackstone”—and the foreignness of the names of the characters and places. I struggled to understand the mysterious Thread, but I didn’t have any trouble imagining the dragons. Giant, gentle, flying, talking animals don’t need much explanation.
In the years after I read Dragonsong, I read almost all of the other dragonriders books, as well as a selection of her other books. Her characters were thoroughly imagined and their relationships had depth and richness. I appreciated that the people in her books weren’t threatened by mystical forces of evil; they were threatened by natural forces, and by their own inability to work together to solve their problems. They were saved by personal courage and sacrifice.
I still have a selection of my favourite dragonriders books on the shelf, including the lovely edition of Dragonsong shown here. Thank you, Anne McCaffrey.
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