I love books that reference, include, and/or generally make use of great works of literature within their narratives.  It's one of the reasons I love Byatt's work so much (though not the only reason). I feel like I'm being exposed to a great library of thought and imagination every time I dip in.  Pamela Dean is another author who makes the inclusion of great works a part of her narrative.  Her characters quote Hamlet, read quasi-obscure tomes, find language exciting, intoxicating.  And, therefore, I find her writing rather exciting.

I've just been re-reading Tam Lin, her retelling of the Scottish ballad.  There are so many reasons to love this novel, the mastery with which Dean makes a claustrophobic academic environment the setting of the transformation of Janet from schoolgirl to adult, the intentionally shadowy characterization of the fairy followers, the mix of prosaic life with the supernatural in a way that creates atmosphere without ever straying into the over-the-top category.  But I still love it mostly for the obvious fun the narrative has with literary allusions. Even better, the allusions are an integral part of the plot (in most cases, if not all), and are also big clues to what the story is really about. 


Sex and literature, possession and love, studying versus goofing off.  This is, at times, a typical story of college life, but it is infused throughout with wit and wisdom and, yes, the otherworldly.  It is so much more than a coming-of-age novel. It has things to say about literature and the arts, the role they play in life/reality.  It's one of my favourites in many ways (though I still prefer Dean's Secret Country Trilogy to this novel, if only because this novel feels like it needs to be longer).  I also enjoy how she can make a perfectly benign campus begin to embody the spookiness of the story.  It charges the feel of the novel without having to resort to repeated suspenseful moments that serve no purpose (like most chase scenes in action films).


An example, one of the moments I love in the novel:

'Clever Will, a devil indeed, but a most sweet contriver.' 

'Are you on terms of such familiarity with all your favorite poets?' said Molly.

Robin provided her with an open and delighted grin, and said, 'No, indeed. I'd never speak of Miss Austen so, nor Dr. Johnson, nor even Master Coleridge, though he thought better of himself than he ought to have. But our Will, you see, wrote those Sonnets, and after reading of them, it's hard to be formal with him.'

'I suppose it's no ruder than calling them by their last names, like the critics do,' said Molly. 'As if they were suspects in a murder case.'