Um. Okay, it's the Summer Mystery Quote. Rules are that the quoter
inputs a nice chunk of a book by an author, then gives out
clues until someone guesses. That someone becomes the next 
quoter. 
And since I managed to stump the panel in the Spring item, I'm
hoping that this quote will be less obscure.

108 responses total.

She hadn't understood him then, but she was starting to understand
him now as she made her way to the fountain at the center of the
garden, where the old oak tree stood guarding its secrets in the
heart of the Moondream Wood. There were two forests for every one
you entered.   There was the one you walked in, the physical echo,
and then there was the one that was connected to all the
other forests, with no consideration of distance, or time.

The forest primeval, remembered through the collective memory of 
every tree in the same way that people remembered myth --
through the collective subconscious that Jung mapped, the shared
mythic resonance that lay buried in every human mind.  Legend and
myth, all tangled in an alphabet of trees, remembered, not always
with understanding, but with wonder.  With awe. 

"the fountainhead"? :-)

funny, very funny.  :)

(on multiple levels, even...)

Damn!  I know this one, but I don't think I've got time to find a suitable
quote with which to follow it.  Let's see who else turns up...

(To clarify the rules -- at least if we follow tradition -- the
guesser need only identify the author, not the title of the
work.)

Ah, thank you! I'd forgotten that.

(To which I'll add that I have not a clue about this one...)

Oh, all right.  It's Charles deLint, isn't it.

Yay! Of course it is! (I just happened to have a copy of _Spiritwalk_
near the computer, and figured *somebody* would have to recognize 
his style.) So tae it away kami!

I even found the right book on the first try, but didn't feel like re-reading
until I found the reference.  OK,  try this, from a book I just recently
found. <whee!>--I'll x out a place-name in the first line since I think it'll
be a dead giveaway to anyone who has read the book.  Sound good?  Here goes:

Another danger was owls, worse than the danger of magpies.  There were three
main kinds of owl at Mxxxxxxxxx: the barn, the tawny, and the Lilford, who
also hunted by day.  Horned owls were rare, though they did come sometimes.
These creatures were braver and less wily than the magpies, and they ahd never
learned to keep away.  Also, instead of merely pouncing like the crow tribe,
they came down vertically like dive bombers, and it was impossible to slay
them.  There was no time.  Consequently the sentry on the cupola had to do
night-watching for owls, and, when he spotted one, he rang a bell.  Maria,
when she found out about it, realized that she had heard the bell often.  But
there are such a lot of noises in the country, queer noises like donkeys
braying and so on, that we neglectful humans do not properly attend to them.
The bell made a deepish tonk-tonk-tonk, and Maria had always thought it was
a carrion crow.  When the bell was rung, the only hope was to stand still
without looking up.  If they moved, the owl saw them; if they looked up, it
noticed their white faces under the moon.  If they stood still, looking
straight in front of them, it nearly always passed over.

<taking a huge chance here>

Is it _Watership Down_?

That was my thought too, though I haven't read it.

But remember that you're supposed to identify the author, not
the title.

Well, _Watership Down_ is by Richard Adams, but I'll guess William Horwood's
_Duncton Wood_ just because that sounds like it could be a candidate (even
though I've never read _Duncton Wood_...  I plan to someday, though!  :) )

Nope.  Tell me about _Ducton Wood_,sounds intriguing.

Oops!  Thanks, remmers.  For some odd reason I remembered an old quote item
where we gave the title and/or the author, usually both.

Since I've not read _Duncton_Wood_ yet, I'll just quote the description on
the cover jacket:
"_Duncton_Wood_ is the story of a quest into the nature of love and greed,
of oppression and liberty, of integrity, grace, and of the power of the
spirit.
        Here, in an epic fantasy of the highest order, William Horwood bestows
upon the world of moles a mythic history that overflows with richness and
facination, involving the same momentous struggles between Good and Evil that
have always plagued humankind.
        The moles of Duncton Wood are a varied lot.  There are the aggressive
Westenders, the independent Eastsides, and the secretive and sickly
Marshenders.  Despite their differences, all are members of the same, once
proud and famous molesystem, and all are tyrannized by Mandrake of Siabod --
a mole so powerful and senselessly destructive that his name is a curse on
those who utter it.
        The source of the evil that spreads throughout Duncton lies not solely
in Mandrake, however, but also in the growing disinterest in the traditions
and rites surrounding the great stillstone at the heart of the ancient order.
        It is in the shadow of that towering stillstone that Bracken and
Rebecca, daughter of Mandrake, meet by chance, exchange a few words, and
scurry off in different directions, never to forget the moment -- in which
the courses of their lives are forever altered.
        Only Hulver the Elder, guardian of the sold ways, can see that the
future happiness of all moles depends on the enterprise and success of young
Bracken, supported by Rebecca's love.  Together with Boswell, the scribemole
of Uffington, Bracken sets out to revive the ancient beliefs and disperse the
malevolence from Duncton: They seek the mysterious and sacred Seventh
Stillstone.
        ..."

That's probably not the book we're guessing at, but it's worth a shot.  Sounds
almost cliche, doesn't it?  The only difference is it's set with moles instead
of humans... but even so, it's still on my list of books to read.

Sounds like fun.  I'll have to look for it.  I forget, are you local, Coyote?
If so, would you loan it to me?
And, since no one has guessed at the book I *did* quote, I'll continue the
quote.  There is a false clue in the second to last sentence of this
selection.

   In the daytime, when they were not so much about, there were kestrels. 
The procedure was the same for these.
   As for the mainland trappers, their lives were in their hands.  A fox was
about as big as teh National Gallery to them, and, as it could easily pounce
across Trafalgar Square, there was nothing to be done.  The worst of it was
their poor arrows.  It was no good hiding in the grass, or standing still,
because it had a nose.  Many ideas had been tried for dealing with foxes,
ideas like making a loud noise or a nasty smell, but none of them had been
successful.  A famous trapper, three hundred moons before, had blinded a fox
by shooting an arrow into each eye.  Ordinary people could not be expected
to have the nerve for that.  The common reaction was to stand still and trust
to luck, if surprised, but, above all, to keep a weather eye open, and
particularly a nose, in case foxes should be about.  Even a human, with
nostrils as clumsy as two fireplaces, can usually smell a fox.  The
Lilliputians, with their fine noses, had better warning.  Then they had to
climb trees.

This response has been erased.

cold, cold and cold. (on 3 characteristics of the author)

Argh!  I think I know this one, but I can't remember the name!  For that
matter, I can't even remember the author!  I know I have it at home somewhere,
but we've got so many books here, somebody else probably will have gotten it
by the time I find the book.
        Yep, I'm local, and sure, I'll loan you the book, as long as it's okay
with the person who truly owns it.  It's technically hers, but she doesn't
generally mind if I take books off of her shelf.

Looking forward to the book, Coyote, and to someone guessing the author...

Well, Kami says "Lilliputians" is a false clue, so it isn't Swift.  It could
be any of several other books about tiny people, but I can't remember the
author of either the "Borrower" books or the books about the Littles (if those
two aren't, in fact, the same).

This response has been erased.

I believe the author is Brian Jacques-- The Redwall Series-- the deleted dead
giveaway wasw the name Mattimeo if I am not mistaken.  It is with some (no,
more like alot of trepidation) that I offer this response, I am reminded of
how hard it was for me to develope social skills as a teenager.

Summer item 21 has been linked to books 59.

Sorry, both wrong:  Valerie, if I recall correctly, you've got sex and
nationality of the author wrong.  Not sure about era: when was the Borrowers
written?
Steven, the deleted name was a place, and I haven't read Redwall.  It's about
small animals, yes?

Yes, indeed, Kami--Mattimeo, Redwall, and Mossflower are the names of the
books in the trilogy-stories of heroism in a civilization of mice, moles,
badgers, foxes and other cunning, noble, practical, and fearful small animals.

Sounds like fun.
Need another hint?

Re 28:
        Actually, there's a lot more than three now: I think it's something
like nine.  :)

OK, here's your hint; the author is a British male, probably dead by now- not
sure about that.  If we don't get another guess soon, I'll post a quote or
some hints about his better known work.

the guy who wrote "rogue male"? geoffrey household, i think
the name was.

Nope, sorry Atticus, never heard of him.  Older, I think.

Brian Aldiss?

(Interesting guess. Probably wouldn't have thought of it myself,
but it sort of fits...)

Older.  Time for another quote by the same author?

I think so.

(For reference, the quotes entered so far are in responses 11
and 18.)

Well, I think this one should be a dead giveaway, but I'll at least x out the
name of the main character.

        Long before the sun came, they were making ready for flight.  Family
parties of the previous year's breeding were coming together in batches, and
these batches were themselves inclined to join with others, possibly under
the command of a grandfather, or else of a great-grandfather, or else of some
noted leader in the host.  When the dreafts were complete, there came a faint
tone of excitement into their speech.  They began moving their heads from side
to side in jerks.  And then, turning into the wind, suddenly they would all
be in the air together, fourteen or fourty at a time, with wide wings scooping
the blackness and a cry of triumph in their throats.  They would wheel round,
climbing rapidly, and be gone from sight.  Twenty yards up, they were
invisible in the dark.  The earlier departures were not vocal.  They were
inclined to be taciturn before the sun came, only making occasional remarks,
or crying their single warning-note if danger threatened.  Then, at the
warning, they would all rise vertically to the sky.
        The xxxx began to feel an uneasiness in himself.  The dim squadrons
about him, setting out minute by minute, infected him with a tendency.  He
became restless to embrace their example, but he was shy.  Perhaps their
family groups, he thought, would resent his intrusion.  Yet he wanted not to
be lonely.  He wanted to join in, and to enjoy the exercise of morning flight,
which was so evidently a pleasure.  They had a comradeship, free discipline
and joie de vivre.
        When the goose next to the boy spread her wings and leaped, he did so
automatically.  Some eight of those nearby had been jerking their bills, which
he imitated as if the act were catching, and now, with these same eight, he
found himself on pinion in the horizontal air.  The moment he had left the
earth, the wind had vanished.  Its restlessness and brutality had dropped
away as if cut off by a knife.  He was in it, and at peace.

Well, we'll see if anyone gets this, and if not, I'll skip a page and see what
happens.

Is it T.H. White, from The Once and Future King?

- Backtalk version 1.3.30 - Copyright 1996-2006, Jan Wolter and Steve Weiss