The absent-minded traveler

Actually it appears that when younger I read several books by Leon Garfield without at any point committing his name to memory, which seems rude. I fell down a rabbit hole of recognition on the Internet Archive. I hadn't clicked with Black Jack (1968) because I expected more piracy from it, but the crash of affectionate recall prompted by The Stolen Watch (1988) should have translated into a copy of my own even before it could read like a direct ancestor of Frances Hardinge. I remembered the ending of Devil-in-the-Fog (1966) without any of the twists the story took to get to it. I must not have had access to The God Beneath the Sea (1970) or I would have tried it on the strength of the title and almost certainly bounced. I had not read either the comedy of misapprehensions that comprises The Strange Affair of Adelaide Harris (1971) or the sweetly macabre triangle of The Valentine (1977), but highly enjoyed both. At this point my ability to read novels off a screen conked out, leaving dozens yet of historical titles for me to explore at some more library-convenient date—Garfield seems to have been fully as prolific as Dickens who left an imprint on him that can be seen from Carroll crater. His closest contemporary in Georgian-Victorian picaresque-grotesque looks like Joan Aiken, whom I discovered around the same time and have never lost track of. I was reminded also of Sid Fleischman and Ellen Raskin. I would feel worse about mislaying him if I had not famously had to re-find Vivien Alcock's The Haunting of Cassie Palmer (1980) from a single scene that terrified me as a child sans author, title, or any hint of the wider plot; the late eighteenth century origins of that novel's ghost now look like plausible bleedthrough from one writer in the household to the other, especially since it was her first, although marked already with her own concerns of children and ambiguous adults. For people who like morally messy mentors, Garfield is a must. Most of his novels seem not to be supernatural, but the kind that wouldn't surprise if they suddenly turned into it. I hope he still fetches up in used book stores.

My life remains much too medical, but with neat things to read.

1. Via selkie: "Undzer Mishpokhe: A Queer Yiddish Curriculum Supplement." Let's hear it nokh a mol for In geveb.

2. Via a_reasonable_man: the Catalogue of Ships incorporated into a Roman-era mummy. It makes sense as a magical text to me. Who wouldn't want so many heroes and ships on their side with all that underworld to cross?

3. I was not confident until I saw the illustrations as well as the title that I had really read, in the same elementary school library that introduced me to Alan Garner and Peter Dickinson and Madhur Jaffrey, Leon Garfield's Mister Corbett's Ghost (1968). I am intrigued by the starrily cast television film which may not have existed my first time around with it.

P.S. Via sholio: I had no idea the musk ox was a megagoat. I am delighted.