...a bright weaving...

Sunday night it occurred to me that Guy Gavriel Kay lives in Toronto, how come I have never run into him here? Or seen him on the street? Or somewhere I happen to be?

Tonight he was in my store, in my section, with his son (who he says is the reader in the family), looking for books. I saw him, recognized him, and was instantly overcome with... something. Awe, beauty, an odd longing - not romantic - to be transported. As if into the worlds he creates that are so real to me.

I asked him if he was who he was, and he said yes, he is who he is. I introduced myself, he introduced his son. I told him I had seen him at Hart House two years ago reading from Beyond This Dark House, and again at Hart House for The Christmas Carol reading. I said I loved his books.

Which wasn't a complete sentence. I wish I could have explained myself more clearly to him without frightening him in front of his child. I wish I could have said that if he asked me to, I could draw from my imagination a complete map of Gorhaut or Arbonne; could name the gods and goddesses of Fionavar; could recount breathlessly and in tears the tragic love story of Brandin and Dianora. I would have said that I have never felt more akin to a character than I did to Lisseut. Comically and ironically (though I sometimes somehow believe it), I might mention that he may very well be the reason I have never kept a long-lasting relationship; that I am still waiting for a calm, noble man to say to me "Bright star of Eanna, you are the harbour of my soul's journeying".

When I heard him read at Hart House a couple of years ago, I was stunned at the beauty and the gentle, clever humour of his poems, and the love in them. Afterwards, there was an opportunity to have him autograph our books, and nearly everyone there was holding a crisp, newly minted copy of "Beyond This Dark House" and I held in my hands a time-worn, bare and battered copy of "A Song for Arbonne", long since my favorite of his books. The woman next to me looked at me oddly, as if it was offensive that I wasn't bringing his new book up with me, the one he had just spent an hour reading from. Which I didn't understand - I think I was an author, I would want to see a book that has been read over and over, and know that someone else sees how real these characters are, and has journeyed with them.

Peter, seeing my reaction and state, suggested I invite him to autograph his books, since we did have them all. I went to do just that, and was interrupted by an obnoxious customer looking for, of all things, the new Oprah's pick; this, in the face of my great literary meeting of the day, I could not accept. I helped her, quickly, but even as I was doing so I saw Guy Gavriel Kay ascend the escalator and, with a quick wave at me, leave the store.

My heart.