The Castle of Llyr

IN THIS CHRONICLE OF PRYDAIN, following The Book of Three and The Black Cauldron, what befalls the heroine is as important, and perilous, as the hero's own quest. Princess Eilonwy of the red-gold hair does much more than face the unavoidable (and, in her view, absolutely unnecessary) ordeal of becoming a young lady. As Dallben, the old enchanter, warns: "For each of us comes a time when we must be more than what we are." And this holds true for princesses as well as assistant pig-keepers.

The Castle of Llyr is, in a sense, more romantic than the preceding chronicles― Taran is noticeably aware of his feelings toward Eilonwy. And it is sometimes more comic― for example, the utter despair of the companions in trying to cope with the well-meaning but hapless Prince Rhun. The mood, perhaps, is bittersweet rather than grandly heroic. But the adventure should hold something beyond the fairy-tale elements of a magic golden bauble, a vengeful queen, a mysterious castle, and rivals for the hand of a princess. The nature of fantasy allows happenings which reveal most clearly our own frailties and our own strengths. The inhabitants of Prydain are fantasy figures; I hope they are also very human.

Prydain itself, however, is entirely imaginary. Mona, background for The Castle of Llyr, is the ancient Welsh name of the island of Anglesey. But this background is not drawn with a mapmaker's accuracy. My hope, instead, is to create the feeling, not the fact, of the land of Wales and its legends.

Some readers may indignantly question the fate of several villains in this tale, especially that of one of the most reprehensible scoundrels in Prydain. I should point out that while The Castle of Llyr, like the previous books, can stand as a chronicle in its own right, certain events in it have far-reaching consequences. Beyond that, I will hint no further but only recommend one of the more difficult virtues: patience.

-L.A.