"Robin McKinley - Rose Daughter" - читать интересную книгу автора (McKinley Robin)

Rose Daughter
Robin McKinley
1997

ISBN: 0-441-00583-7

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“Every sentence and every occurrence seems infused by magic. I will keep this book. I will reread it,
time and again; it has earned its place as one of my odd coterie of bedside companions.”
—Fantasy & Science Fiction

Books By Robin McKinley

Novels And Short Stones
Beauty: A Retelling Of The Story Of Beauty And The Beast
The Door In The Hedge
The Blue Sword A Newbery Honor Book
The Hero And The Crown Winner Of The Newbery Medal
Imaginary Lands Edited By Robin McKinley
The Outlaws Of Sherwood
Deerskin
A Knot In The Grain And Other Stories

Picture Books
My Father Is In The Navy



To Neil and Tom, whose absurd idea it was
and in memory of a little lilac-covered cottage
where I used to live


Chapter 1
Her earliest memory was of waking from the dream. It was also her only clear memory of her
mother. Her mother was beautiful, dashing, the toast of the town. Her youngest daughter remembered the
blur of activity, friends and hangers-on, soothsayers and staff, the bad-tempered pet dragon on a
leash—bad-tempered on account of the oca-mnda leaves in his food, which prevented him from
producing any more fire than might occasionally singe his wary handler, out which also upset his
digestion—the constant glamour and motion which was her mother and her mother’s world. She
remembered peeping out at her mother from around various thresholds before various nurses and
governesses (hired by her dull merchant father) snatched her away. She remembered too, although she
was too young to put it into words, the excitability, no, the restlessness of her mother’s manner, a
restlessness of a too-acute alertness in search of something that cannot be found. But such were the
brightness and ardour of her mother’s personality that those around her also were swept up into her
search, not knowing it was a search, happy merely to be a part of such liveliness and gaiety.
The only thing that ever lingered was the sweet smell of her mother’s perfume.
Her only memory of her mother’s face was from the night she woke from the dream for the first time,
crying in terror. In the dream she had been walking—she could barely walk yet in her waking