Liminal spaces and impossible things

I’ve been obsessed with and seduced by the notion of liminal space since childhood. It began with The Chronicles of Narnia. As an eight-year-old I devoured The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe and, long after the story started to fade the obsession with wardrobes remained. My paternal grandmother lived in a large, spooky Victorian terraced house in Yorkshire and in the bedroom where my brother and I slept stood a vast wooden wardrobe. I was convinced that this epic piece of furniture was the portal to the land of Narnia. Every summer, every Christmas, every Easter, I heaved open its heavy doors, whispered an incantation of hope, closed my eyes, reached behind the coats and waited for my fingertips to be brushed with the chill of snowflakes. I was eight when I stopped believing in Father Christmas but didn’t stop believing in Narnia ‘til I was at least sixteen. Okay, you’ve caught me, I believe it still. And that’s why I write fantasy stories; because I want to keep believing in magic. The world might appear mundane, it might be frequently full of disappointment and despair, but it continues to contain marvels and mysteries which, frankly, is what makes […]