4.3 18
by Charles de Lint

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Jilly Coppercorn and Geordie Riddell. Since they were introduced in the first Newford story, "Timeskip," back in 1989, their friends and readers alike have been waiting for them to realize what everybody else already knows: that they belong together. But they've been more clueless about how they feel for each other than the characters in When Harry Met Sally


Jilly Coppercorn and Geordie Riddell. Since they were introduced in the first Newford story, "Timeskip," back in 1989, their friends and readers alike have been waiting for them to realize what everybody else already knows: that they belong together. But they've been more clueless about how they feel for each other than the characters in When Harry Met Sally. Now in Widdershins, a stand-alone novel of fairy courts set in shopping malls and the Bohemian street scene of Newford's Crowsea area, Jilly and Geordie's story is finally being told.

Before it's over, we'll find ourselves plunged into the rancorous and sometimes violent conflict between the magical North American "animal people" and the more newly-arrived fairy folk. We'll watch as Jilly is held captive in a sinister world based on her own worst memories—and Geordie, attempting to help, is sent someplace even worse. And we'll be captivated by the power of love and determination to redeem ancient hatreds and heal old magics gone sour.

To walk "widdershins" is to walk counterclockwise or backwards around something. It's a classic pathway into the fairy realm. It's also the way people often back slowly into the relationships that matter, the real ones that make for a life. In Widdershins Charles de Lint has delivered one of his most accessible and moving works of his career.

Editorial Reviews

Publishers Weekly
This pleasing addition to the popular Newford saga (The Onion Girl, etc.) brings series characters Jilly Coppercorn and Geordie Riddell together in a romantic relationship that's anything but simple. In de Lint's magic-realist universe, a version of contemporary North America, the supernatural is taken for granted and the occasional skeptic who doesn't understand that everyone else has routine encounters with fairies and Native American earth spirits is left very much in the dark. Many of the characters are folk musicians, one of whom begins the story under magical compulsion to perform for the fairy revels in a shopping mall after closing time. These fairies aren't necessarily of the cuddly sort-early on, a female musician barely escapes possible rape or murder from nasty little men. In the background, a great war is brewing between Native American spirits and those that came over with the white men, a situation that inevitably recalls Neil Gaiman's American Gods, to which this more intimate and folksy book compares favorably. Author tour. (May) Copyright 2006 Reed Business Information.
This novel does not leave much out. Fairies, Native American spirit folk, humans, and powers that defy categorization all mingle in many places and on many planes. They are brought together by one cruel murder, but the war, revenge, romance, friendship, and healing sparked by that single deed explode into many plot lines that wind and tangle among events and relationships stretching not only across the span of a human life but all the way back to the world's creation. Most important in this web is Jilly Coppercorn, a character familiar to de Lint fans from previous works, who has become imprisoned in a vicious magical world of her own unintentional creation. At the same time, Walker, one of the animal people native to North America, seeks to punish the fairies who killed his daughter. Yet as each of Jilly's and Walker's friends reaches out to offer help or to seek explanations, new connections are discovered between these seemingly unrelated events and a complex network of relationships and histories is revealed. Eventually this dependency of one upon another, of learning from each other and building relationships, enables an optimistic resolution to all of the tale's many conflicts and even happiness for some of its characters. The complexity of de Lint's multidimensional world may be off-putting for some readers who would be better served by beginning with one of his earlier works. Similarly readers who prefer plot over character and physical action over psychological epiphanies may find de Lint hard going, but the author's many fans will welcome this intricate melding of his themes and characters. VOYA CODES: 3Q 4P S A/YA (Readable without serious defects; Broad general YA appeal;Senior High, defined as grades 10 to 12; Adult-marketed book recommended for Young Adults). 2006, Tor, 560p., Ages 15 to Adult.
—Megan Lynn Isaac
Library Journal
On her way home from a gig in the small Canadian town of Sweetwater, Celtic fiddler Lizzie Mahone disrupts the feasting of a band of faerie thugs and becomes a target for their hostility, also winning the respect of a pair of Native American spirits. These new complications bring her into the orbit of Jilly Coppercorn, a brilliant painter and a favorite of the many faerie folk who dwell unseen in the nearby town of Newford, and Jilly's friend, master fiddler Geordie Riddell. As familiarly as though he were chronicling the lives of old friends, de Lint (The Onion Girl) spins yet another magical story of the intersections between reality and the faerie and spirit world in this latest addition to the Newford opus, his twin loves of storytelling and music-making shining through every page. An essential purchase for all libraries; highly recommended. Copyright 2006 Reed Business Information.
Kirkus Reviews
Sentimental, wildly imaginative follow-up to The Onion Girl (2001) finds Jilly Coppercorn abducted into the fairy underworld and still sweet on fiddler Geordie Riddell. The trouble between humans and the fairy spirits gets underway when fiddler Lizzie Mahone's car breaks down on the way home from a gig with her band, the Knotted Cord. Attacked by a formidable gang of dwarfish, aggressive men called bogans, she's rescued by a taciturn native named Grey. Lizzie buries the deer the bogans killed, enraging the fairies on the one hand, but on the other, endearing herself to the deer's father, Walker. In the town of Newford, where the humans reside, occasional fiddler Geordie is dating a weird seer named Mother Crone who holds forth in the Woodforest Plaza Mall. Geordie's been best friends with artist Jilly since before the hit-and-run accident that turned her into a Broken Girl in a wheelchair, but that's as far as it goes. (" 'Everybody knows you carry a torch for each other,' " complains Jilly's friend Mona. " 'You're just never single at the same time.' ") Jilly breaks up with perfect boyfriend and nurse Daniel, leaving her free to join Geordie on a gig with the Knotted Cord at the Custom House-filling in for Lizzie's fiddler cousin Siobhan, who broke her wrist in a fall instigated by the vengeful bogans. Abducted during their sleep by fairies and spirited away to the woodlands "in-between," Lizzie and Jilly shape-shift into their younger selves and encounter all manner of strange creatures, from corbae and cerva to aganesha and crow girls (a glossary might have helped). Joe, wise kindred spirit to Jilly and peacenik among the rival factions, attempts to mollify Queen Tatiana (MotherCrone's superior), while Jilly's villainous siblings Del and Raylene make cameo appearances. Despite the convoluted lineages, a rather sweet relationship novel.
From the Publisher

“As familiarly as though he were chronicling the lives of old friends, de Lint spins yet another magical story of the intersections between reality and the faerie and spirit world in this latest addition to the Newford opus, his twin loves of storytelling and music-making shining through every page....[H]ighly recommended.” —Library Journal (starred review) on Widdershins

“De Lint weaves the individual characters' stories into a tight-knit whole....Many of his faithful readers see the people he has created as kin they want to keep up with. Walk widdershins (i.e., counterclockwise) once and you may, too.” —Booklist (starred review) on Widdershins

“This pleasing addition to the popular Newford saga brings series characters Jilly Coppercorn and Geordie Riddell together in a romantic relationship that's anything but simple…. inevitably recalls Neil Gaiman's American Gods, to which this more intimate and folksy book compares favorably.” —Publishers Weekly on Widdershins

“Books like Widdershins can be read with tremendous pleasure, and regular readers will find themselves slipping easily back into de Lint's comforting… world.” —The Ottawa Citizen

“Sentimental, wildly imaginative follow-up to The Onion Girl.... Despite the convoluted lineages, a rather sweet relationship novel.” —Kirkus Reviews on Widdershins

“The author's many fans will welcome this intricate melding of his themes and characters.” —VOYA on Widdershins

“De Lint is a master stylist, and the tale of Jilly and Geordie's slow but inevitable coming together is told with extraordinary sensitivity and grace.” —Romantic Times Bookclub (4.5 star review) on Widdershins

“[V]intage de Lint and a perfect example of how his nontraditional approach to faerie works so well....Charles de Lint is one of my all-time favorite authors and...Widdershins...stand[s] up as some of the best writing he has done.” —Colleen Mondor, BookSlut, on Widdershins

“I've praised de Lint's writing in the past, but I've run out of superlatives for Widdershins. It is easily one of the best--if not the best-- novels in his vast library.” —Tom Knapp, Rambles.net, on Widdershins

“This broad, captivating fantasy involves love and magic and features a fairy court set in a contemporary mall.” —Dallas Morning News on Widdershins

“I do recommend Widdershins very highly.… chalk it up to de Lint's masterful storytelling, because he is a storyteller of the highest order. The characters alone are worth the time…. And of course, there is that blend of the magical and the real that only de Lint seems to be able to pull off.” —Green Man Review

“Imagine me, your humble book reviewer, down on my knees with my arms extended above my head, bowing at the waist in worship over and over before a book set upon an altar. Well, after reading Widdershins, the extraordinary new novel by Charles de Lint, I not only wanted to bow in worship to the book, which I consider the best thing I've read in the last couple of years (if not longer), but to the author as well. Anyone with this kind of talent for storytelling and dreamweaving deserves his own altar.… Five stars is just not enough. Widdershins is an experience not to be missed. Just start walking counter-clockwise…” —Curled Up With a Good Book on Widdershins

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By Charles de Lint, Patrick Nielsen Hayden

Tom Doherty Associates

Copyright © 2006 Charles de Lint
All rights reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-4299-1134-4


The Dispute at the Crossroads

Lizzie Mahone

March 2004

The crossroads at midnight. Or at least a crossroads, and while it was long past midnight, it still had the feel of the witching hour about it.

If Lizzie Mahone had been superstitious, she might have been more nervous about her car breaking down as it had, here where two county roads crossed in the middle of nowhere with nothing to mark the spot but an enormous old elm tree, half dead from a lightning strike. And the thought still crossed her mind as she got out of the car and popped the hood, her flashlight beam playing over the Chevy's V-6 engine. You couldn't be a musician and not know the story, how the old bluesman Robert Johnson once met the devil himself at the crossroads. But that had been in the Delta, deep south. This was just the dusty meeting place of a couple of dirt roads, surrounded by farmers' fields and bush. Nothing mysterious here, though that big old moon lent an eerie light to the elm tree and there was something in the wind....

Yes, Lizzie thought. Her imagination. Better it should concentrate instead on what was wrong with the car.

She jiggled the wires going to the distributor cap and battery, but that was about the extent of her mechanical knowledge when it came to cars, and she only tried it because it was something that others had done when the car broke down in the past. Sometimes it had even worked. She didn't really have a clue what she was doing, or what she should be looking for. Cars started when you turned the key, or they didn't. The world between the two was as mysterious as where the tunes she made up came from, though with the latter, at least, she had the faith that if she needed a piece of music, it would come. Maybe not right away. It could be late, sneaking up on her while she was in the shower, or down at the grocery store, walking down the aisles, hours or even days after she first started looking for the melody to go with a title or a feeling or the first couple of bars she already had. But it would come.

That wouldn't happen trying to figure out what was wrong with this confusing mess of wires, pipes, and engine parts. She didn't have faith, for one thing. And she certainly didn't have the mechanical background the way she had such an easy familiarity with her fiddle.

So a spontaneous solution to her problem was pretty much out of the question.

And, of course, she'd let her cell phone go dead when she could have easily had it charging while they were up on stage this evening. But she hadn't thought of that until she was in the parking lot after the show, getting into her car.

She looked up and down the dirt road she was standing on. There were no headlights visible in either direction. She hadn't seen another car or a farmhouse or pretty much anything since leaving Sweetwater and the bar where the band had played tonight. In retrospect, she should have stayed over as the others were doing. Right now they'd be hanging around in the bar, or in one of the rooms that the bar had provided for them upstairs, playing some tunes or just sharing a drink and some chat. But wishful thinking was always easier in retrospect, wasn't it? And if she had stayed, there probably would have been problems with Con, who couldn't seem to get it through that thick head of his that they weren't an item, never had been, never would be.

There was nothing really wrong with him. He was charming and good looking, easy to get along with, and while he might be just a touch too fond of the drink, he was a wonderful guitar player. She simply had her rules.

"What do you have against dating musicians?" he'd asked the last time the subject came up.

"Absolutely nothing — so long as I'm not playing in the same band as they are."

"But —"

"Oh, I know. What could be more perfect? Working and playing and loving together. Except, my somewhat drunk and certainly randy friend, when it all comes apart, then you're still stuck playing together. Or more likely, one of you has to leave, and I want neither to start a new band nor to break in yet another guitarist."

"It didn't take that long for me to come up to speed with your repertoire."

"Exactly. You're a great guitarist, so I don't want to lose you."

"Maybe this rejection will hurt so much that I'll have to leave."

She'd smiled. "And maybe when you sober up in the morning, you'll realize that this is a great gig you have with us and isn't it lucky you didn't let your libido screw it up."

That conversation had taken place last weekend when they were in Champion, north of Tyson and on the other side of the mountains. Sweetwater, being as close to home as it was — only an hour and a half if you went by the back roads as she'd been doing — made it much easier to come up with some excuse about having stuff to do in the city tomorrow morning and get in the car, rather than have to go through it all again with him.

Except now she was stuck in the middle of nowhere at — she checked her watch — three A.M. She'd probably have to sleep in the car, because there certainly didn't seem to be anybody else on the road, which might actually be a good thing, considering. But she'd be more nervous breaking down on her own in some parts of the city than she was here. Country folk could get as rambunctious and rowdy as their more cosmopolitan cousins — more so, if some of the gigs they played were any barometer — but they usually didn't have the meanness you could sometimes find in urban centers. She felt safer watching a bar fight from the relative safety of the stage in a country bar than walking alone at night down, say, any of the streets running off Palm back in the city.

And even if some cowboy got out of hand ... well, it never came to much. She knew how to take care of herself, as more than one big strapping lug who wouldn't hear the word no had found out. While she might look like "just a wee lass with too much hair," as Pappy liked to describe her — though still standing six-foot-six at eighty-two years of age, pretty much everybody was smaller than her grandfather — she was stronger than she looked. She could box and wrestle, not to mention fight as dirty as most men half again her size. It wasn't how big or small you were — Johnny, her sparring partner at the gym was forever saying — but what you did with what you had.

At least the night was balmy. There were still patches of snow to be seen in some of the fields and in the bottoms of the ditches, but the temperature was well above freezing. Typical spring weather for these parts, really: spring one day, the trees filled with the welcome calls of migratory songbirds, and the next it could snow again. But tonight was mild and the air smelled expectant, ready for spring.

She left the hood up so that if anybody did come by they'd know she was having car trouble and not just drive by while she was fast sleep in the backseat. She had a blanket, and a candle in case it got colder, though she doubted she'd need the latter. In the trunk there was also an umbrella, a collapsible shovel, a jug of water, a box of crackers, and a couple of chocolate bars. The other band members teased her sometimes about always being so prepared, though if she was really the Girl Scout they thought she was, she'd have at least charged her phone before leaving the bar.

Still, what was done, was done. She'd make her bed in the backseat and she'd get some sleep in it, too. Tomorrow morning was soon enough to worry about how she was going to get the car up and running again.

But first she had to have a pee.

She could have just gone beside the car — it wasn't as though there was any traffic, or even much chance of it — but she still felt better pushing through the old dead weeds in the ditch and going behind the elm tree.

It was when she was pulling her jeans up that she heard the voices.

She zipped up quickly, then hesitated about showing herself. There were too many voices, low and rumbling, joking and laughing. She made out four, maybe five different ones. Peeking around the elm, she looked either way down the road.

At first she didn't see anyone. Then she realized she was looking too high. Approaching from the direction she'd been heading in, before the car up and died on her, was a gang of boys, almost hidden from her sight by the weeds. She'd been looking for men, because the voices were men's voices.

As they drew nearer, she readjusted her thinking yet again. The bright moonlight showed a group of little men tramping down the road toward her. She was five-foot-six, but not one of them would come up to her shoulder. Their heads seemed large for their bodies, and they were dressed as though they were returning from some medieval reenactment — a Renaissance Faire, perhaps — with old-fashioned leather trousers and jerkins, and short swords or long knives sheathed at their belts. They all had quivers and carried bows, and three of them were carrying the bloodied remains of some kind of large animal. A deer, perhaps.

About the same time as she was able to make them out better, they became aware of her car, though why they hadn't noticed it sooner, she couldn't say. Probably they'd been too busy with joking and congratulating each other on a good hunt. But they had noticed it now.

They stopped, the two not carrying meat immediately nocking arrows to bowstrings as they all looked around.

Lizzie ducked back behind the elm.

"What's this?" she heard one of them say.

"Someone's bad luck."

That brought a round of laughter.

"Maybe good luck for us. Anything inside worth nicking?"

Oh, no, Lizzie thought. Her fiddle case was lying right there on the backseat.

"Anybody inside worth eating?" someone added to more laughter.

Lizzie had been about to step out from behind the tree and take the chance that they were more wind than bite, but at that last comment she stayed hidden, pressed herself tightly against the bark, and tried not to breathe.

"There's food in the boot," one of them said.

"Anything good?"

"Chokky bars and biscuits ... oh, and a jug."

"Lovely, lovely."

"'Cept it's just bloody water."

"Now who'd waste a good jug on carrying about water?"

Lizzie had left the trunk open while she went to have her pee. Maybe they'd be satisfied with what they found in it. Maybe they wouldn't look in the car itself.

But then she heard one of the car doors open.

"Looks to be our fool's a musician. There's a fiddle case just a-lying here."

"That can't be right. Where's the fiddler who doesn't drink?"

"Better question still, where's the fiddler?"

All of Lizzie's bravery had long since fled. There was something not right about these little men.

She'd thought they were midgets or dwarves.

She'd thought they'd come from some Faire.

She'd thought that she wasn't really in any danger.

But there were no Faires at this time of year — not around here. If there was, she'd know, because her band would probably be playing at it.

And these little men ... there was a nasty undercurrent to the jovial delivery of their conversation. She could sense it as clearly as she could on those nights when the band just couldn't connect with a crowd, when nothing you did up there on the stage was right.

"Hiding on us, do you suppose?"

"Unless some green-brees had him for a late-night snack."

"Don't even joke about that."

"Unless he's not a he."

"What've you got there?"

Lizzie already knew. Whoever was rummaging around in the back of the car must have found her little knapsack with its toiletry bag and change of clothing and underwear in it.


"I'd like a soiled pair better."

"Where do you think she's got to?"

"Prob'bly went looking for help."

"And left her fiddle behind? Not likely."

"She carries water around instead of poteen, so she's not much of a fiddler, is she?"

"I say she's hiding."

Lizzie heard a series of wet thumps and realized that they'd dropped their loads of meat in the trunk of the car.

"Let's have a look-see, shall we?"

Oh god, oh god, oh god.

"Hello, hello, wee fiddler," one of them called out in a loud voice. "Why don't you come out and play?"

"Whisht — not so loud."

"Why not? I want her to hear us."

Lizzie heard the whack of someone being slapped on the head.

"Ow. What'd you do that for?"

"If you're that loud, something else might hear us, hey?"

They all fell silent. Lizzie pressed her face against the elm, wishing she had something — anything — in her hand to defend herself with.

But she didn't.

She had only herself.

Best defense is offense, Johnny would say. If you know you're in trouble, don't try talk. Just come out swinging.

She swallowed, her throat and chest tight, and readied herself. She'd slip from behind the tree and charge them, take them by surprise. If she was lucky, maybe they'd run off. If she wasn't, she'd hurt as many of them as she could. She had good leather boots on and the toes were hard. She made fists with either hand.

But while the little men had been silent, they hadn't been still.

"What have we here?" a gruff voice asked.

And just like that, the element of surprise was taken from her. She'd never heard them moving through the dry weeds, but here they were, all five of the little men, arrows nocked in bowstrings and aimed in her direction. They stood around her in a half circle. With the elm at her back, there was no avenue of escape.

"Pretty thing," one of them said with a grin.

She caught only a glimpse, and it was hard to tell with no more than the moonlight behind him to see by, but it seemed that all his teeth had been sharpened to points.

"But big."

"Ah, they're all big, her kind."

They were lowering their bows, one by one, letting the strings go slack. Sure they had her. Sure of themselves.

"I like 'em big," the smallest of them said.

The others laughed. Perhaps it was the way he'd said it — as though he was trying to impress his companions, more than her. One of the others gave him a light cuff across the back of the head.

"You wouldn't know what to do with her," he said.

"Bit of a laugh that hair of hers."

She'd dyed her normally black hair a brilliant scarlet a month or so ago, but the black roots had grown out now.

Go ahead, she thought. Have a good look. Get all stupid and confident.

"Only hair I'll be looking at is down below."

"'Less she's the kind that shaves."

"Are you that kind, girl?" the one closest to her asked.

He moved toward her and she took her chance. Before any of them could react, she took a step forward. Using the momentum of her forward motion to add even more force to the blow, she drove the toe of her boot into his groin.

"How's that for between the legs?" she cried above his shriek of pain.

She didn't wait to see the result. Turning, she hit the one on her right square in the face with a cross blow. Felt his nose collapse. Turned again toward the next, right arm cocked, only to find herself staring straight at three arrowheads, bowstrings pulled taut behind them.

"Shouldn't have done that," the little man in the center said. "We were only going to play a little with you."

"Were," the one on the right said.

The one on the left nodded. "But now you're meat, girl."

"We're all meat, you little freaks," a new voice said.

Lizzie had no idea where he'd come from, a tall Native man in jeans and a checkered shirt, with long black hair and coppery skin. One moment she was alone with her attackers, the next he was standing behind the center one. But she didn't stop to work it out.

With the little men distracted, their bows lowering as they turned to the newcomer, she charged the one on her right and drove him to the ground, pounding him with her fist. She heard cries, the sound of punches. When she looked up from her own foe, the other two men were also down, the stranger standing above them. The one she'd kicked earlier was still lying in the dirt, moaning, legs pulled up, hands on his groin. The one whose nose she'd broken was pulling the long knife from his belt. Before he could get it free, the stranger stepped in and knocked him to the ground with a flurry of blows.

"The thing is," he said as his assailant dropped, "some meat fights back."

One of the men he'd knocked down earlier lifted himself from the ground by straightening his arms under himself. He spat on the ground, blood and a tooth, small eyes dark with fury.

"Eat my shite, you grand pluiker," he muttered.

And then he disappeared.

Lizzie's eyes widened, not sure she'd seen what she'd seen. But then the little man she was still sitting on vanished as well. She scrambled to her feet as though she'd had an electric shock. As she watched, the other three disappeared, one by one. [CH1


Excerpted from Widdershins by Charles de Lint, Patrick Nielsen Hayden. Copyright © 2006 Charles de Lint. Excerpted by permission of Tom Doherty Associates.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.

Meet the Author

Charles de Lint and his wife, the artist MaryAnn Harris, live in Ottawa, Ontario, Canada. His evocative novels, including Moonheart, Forests of the Heart, and The Onion Girl, have earned him a devoted following and critical acclaim as a master of contemporary magical fiction in the manner of storytellers like John Crowley, Jonathan Carroll, Alice Hoffman, Ray Bradbury, and Isabel Allende.

Charles de Lint and his wife, the artist MaryAnn Harris, live in Ottawa, Ontario, Canada. His evocative novels, including Moonheart, Forests of the Heart, and The Onion Girl, have earned him a devoted following and critical acclaim as a master of contemporary magical fiction in the manner of storytellers like John Crowley, Jonathan Carroll, Alice Hoffman, Ray Bradbury, and Isabel Allende.

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Widdershins 4.3 out of 5 based on 0 ratings. 18 reviews.
PhoenixFalls More than 1 year ago
This is the closest de Lint has come to writing a sequel to any of his Newford novels; it takes place two years after the events in The Onion Girl and finishes Jilly's story. Still, it isn't absolutely necessary to have read The Onion Girl first; de Lint does a decent job of catching new readers up. As with The Onion Girl, the thing that takes me the most by surprise is that the returning characters hold less interest than the new characters for me. I was involved with Lizzie from her very first chapter as narrator, but it took until mid-way through the book for me to particularly care what was happening with Jilly and Geordie -- even though when they were new characters in the stories in Dreams Underfoot they were two of my favorite characters. Part of it may simply be that I'm tired of de Lint's descriptions of his regular characters -- Jilly is always messy, petite, with masses of tangled hair and a perpetual smile, which is a great description the first time you see it in a short story, but by the time she's been the focus of two novels and appeared in dozens of other stories the description is getting rather hackneyed. The same goes for Geordie, Joe, and Cassie in Widdershins -- I've just heard them described way too many times by now and it's always exactly the same no matter what other character is describing them. Still, by halfway through I was invested in all of the characters (with the exception of Galfreya who seemed like a wasted viewpoint), and the story was moving along briskly. Then the other major problem with Widdershins became apparent: de Lint simply had too many moving pieces in this novel. By the halfway point the plot felt poised on the brink of the climax -- buffalo cousins living and dead had massed in between and had brought out the war drums and everyone else was scrambling to find some way to stop it. I could feel the tension permeating the novel -- until that was followed with over 100 pages of jumping from viewpoint to viewpoint to get all the characters who needed to be there in position, which totally wrecked the tension, so that by the time the showdown occurred I was totally taken out of the story. Pacing is commonly a problem with novels that have such large casts of viewpoint characters, and de Lint does not overcome it here. Still, despite those two (fairly sizable) issues, I liked Widdershins better than The Onion Girl. It does conclude Jilly's story happily, it introduces us to more cousins (always my favorite parts of de Lint stories), and despite the pacing issues it has more action than The Onion Girl did, more jeopardy for everyone involved, so it feels like a more rounded out novel. Definitely recommended for de Lint fans.
harstan More than 1 year ago
After playing the fiddle at a gig in a mall with her band The Knotted Cord, Lizzie Mahone begins to go home but a horde of vicious males dwarfs known as Bogans assault her with an intent to rape her, but she is rescued. Afterward, Lizzie buries a deer that the mean spirited Bogans had killed. Her simple action angers the observing fairies, but the deer's father Walker appreciates her reverent gesture.----- Meanwhile in Newford, Knotted Cord fiddler Geordie Riddell is seeing seer Mother Crone while his best friend artist Jilly Coppercorn, the Broken Girl in a wheelchair since a hit-and-run incident, breaks up with her boyfriend nurse Daniel. Jilly joins the band temporarily while member Siobhan¿s broken wrist heals. However, fairies abduct Jilly and Lizzie taking them to the woodlands 'in-between'. There the two females find themselves trying to prevent a coming species war with ethnic cleansing being the goal on both sides. ----- Though the various races and family trees are complex and difficult to keep track of who¿s who, fans of the series will fully appreciate this strong alternate reality fantasy. North America as always has never been the same since Charles de Lint introduced readers to the Newford chronicles and this tale that uses the relationship between Jilly and Geordie (everyone knows they are attracted to each other except them) as a backdrop adds to the fabulous saga. From start to finish this is a strong exhilarating stand alone (yet adds to the myth) Newford adventure that readers will fully appreciate as Mr. de Lint is at his best escorting the audience down the WIDDERSHINS.------ Harriet Klausner
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Anonymous More than 1 year ago
This is Charles de Lint at his best. Anyone who has read his Newford collections and formed "relationships" with Jilly, Geordie, Joe, and many others will not be able to put this book down. A first-time reader may not experience the same excitement, but will still enjoy this intriguing book, which stands alone just fine. A fabulous read!
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
Guest More than 1 year ago
It's strongly suggested that you read 'The Onion Girl' first. Otherwise, you won't know what's going on. Widdershins brings in some new characters, and brings back some well loved characters. Most of the time, you'll be fearing for Jilly's life, trapped in her own mind against her childhood fears. I was always left breathless by the end of each chapter. But, the ending will leave you grinning. So, you have that to look forward to. de Lint doesn't lose any magic in 'Widdershins', and weaves a tale just as wonderful as his past novels. But, it gives you a happily ever after, which some times isn't so common with de Lint!
Guest More than 1 year ago
I have read so many of his books. I love his writing style it never gets old to me. I thought this book was amazing. It was so wonderful that all the charaters that you read about in his short stories all come together in one novel kinda like what he did in the Onion Girl. It was great read the whole thing in about 4 days. I didn't want it to end!!!!!!
Guest More than 1 year ago
To go widdershins is to circle around counter-clockwise. In many fairy tales you must widdershins to gain access to 'the other realm'. For both these reasons It is the perfect title for this magical book, underscoring both levels on which the narrative takes place. On the one hand Widdershins is a love story the story of Jilly and Geordie, who belong together but don't realize it. On the other it is a modern urban fantasy with a fairy court in an shopping mall. de Lint delicately exposes the difficulties of trust, change and insecurity encountered in relationships and oneself and in counterpoint there is the risk of war between native spirits and those who came with the settlers. Both threads entertwine highlighting the difficult necessity of putting the past behind you.
Guest More than 1 year ago
This is definitely not one of his best. I usually love all the Newford books and their wonderful cast of characters, but this one just missed the mark. The dialog and the development of the relationship between Geordie and Jilly was juvenille at best. It seems aimed more at teen readers than adult.