If The Silmarillion and The Hobbit were to have a baby… and that baby grew up and had grandchildren… then this book would be one of them.

This is pure magic. Everything sparkles and sings with it. The writing is dreamlike, woven out of myths and fairy tales. I found myself rereading paragraphs again and again. The rhythm of the prose was hypnotising. The pace is slow, ever so slow. But this is a book you want to stay in, be happy in, for as long as possible, so the pace is perfect (except for the “oh, no” when the book ended).

What would you have in an epic story about elves and Elfland? Yes, exactly. Bone Harp is not this kind of story. Instead, how about what comes after? After the battles. After the heartbreak and horror. After the dragon is slain. After the Enemy is defeated.

Tamsin the legendary hero, Tamsin the bard, Tamsin the fearsome killer awakes after a long magical sleep. He had been cursed; he himself had been a curse. Yet, here is a sense of peace.

“Nearer to him were green meadows, impossibly green, except where they were streaked and stippled with flowers – red and white, purple and gold, blue and pink, and some fine silvery thing like the glimmer of moonlight caught in his sword.
Tamsin breathed.”

He travels on, meeting two young elf-maids, River and Ash, to travel with. Their adventures and growing friendship are a delight.

" “Imagine,” River said dreamily, “other people!” Ash raised her eyebrows, and River hastily backtracked. “I mean – not that I don’t love you both - “
An utterly impossible inclusion, that both. River was so free with words. So free.""

This is a tale of healing, of redemption, of forgiveness, of acceptance, of beginning anew, of allowing yourself to come home. This is also a tale of those left behind when heroes go on their fabled impossible quests. Klara! “O Lady of Starlight, Lady of Shadows, Lady of Song.” I’ve never thought any characters in any book would remind me of Lúthien and Beren, but there they were, Klara and Tamsin. (Theirs is not the same story, but the atmosphere, the impact are the same.) It’s just that their story is… deeper, more mature, perhaps?

I loved the emotional intensity of the many reunions. The book ends in the best way, and I still wanted more.

In the author’s note, Victoria Goddard talks about the possibility of a sequel. Yes, please! ( )

One's initial impression is that this is fanfic involving Maglor, with a patina to protect it from the Tolkien estate.

Gradually it begins to dawn that there are enough differences for this to be an unfair description:

1) The Feanor-equivalent is not attached to the work of his own hands, but only to light which he had retrieved from the gods. The moral dimensions involved in the Oath of Feanor collapse.

2) Said gods are not onstage. Although the plot depends on some massive Deus ex machina management (or the author's thumb on the scales) there is no equivalent to the Valar here.

3) The equivalent of Morgoth is essentially a superpowered elf. He can be killed by being stabbed through the neck. There is thus no equivalent to the Doom of Mandos.

4) The "elves" aren't. Tolkien's elves. like those of Crowley or Knox, are deliberately and essentially other -- like humans but essentially different so as to be not entirely comprehensible to humans. The elves here are essentially immortal humans. This was probably necessary to present first person narration (or very tight third) from an "elvish" perspective.

5) The Maglor-equivalent is not just a significant figure: he's a super-genius, the best bard ever, best warrior ever, indomitable, unconquered... Goddard has a tendency to make her characters far more perfect than they need to be, and it's visible here in spades.

This has Goddard's strengths -- sympathetic characterization, some effective scene-setting -- but it also showcases her weaknesses. Nobody expects her (or anyone) to be Tolkien, but invoking him even indirectly showcases the ways in which she falls well short. ( )

Tamsin awakes unsure of where he is or how he came there - but free of the physical pain he's endured for actual ages, though full of painful memories. This is his journey home from war, of becoming himself from a different direction, a long lyric meditation on the artist who has destroyed much through unfortunate application of his art. It is secondarily the story of the home and lover he left with so many others and which and who changed in response to all the losses. ( )