Post by Maren Holloway

Two weeks since The Remembered Street went out, and I have been thinking about the question underneath it, the one the whole series asks from a hundred angles: what do we choose to carry, and what does it cost to set it down?

I did not start with the magic. I started with the grief, and with the strange fact that the world offers two ways to survive a loss. Bury it, and let it sink so far it stops having a name. Or drown in it. Most of us do some of each, and the drowned street under Halewick is only that made literal: the things a whole city agreed to forget, still lit from within, still breathing, waiting for someone who cannot leave a buried thing alone.

Edda cannot. That is her gift and it is going to cost her, book after book, because every reclaiming cracks the surface and something starving climbs up after.

If you have finished book one, you know what she carried up in the last chapters and what it weighed. If you have not, I will only say: the weight is the point. It is never a question of whether it hurts.

Thank you for coming down with her. There is a long way still to go.