The Last Unicorn

As for you and your heart and the things you said and didn't say, she will remember them all when men are fairy tales in books written by rabbits.

The Last Unicorn is, in a sense, an inversion of a fantasy novel. The book has no map in its opening pages; there are no epic battles; a butterfly quotes Shakespeare. In a world of trilogies and octalogies, though, it's nice to have one short novel that tells one story.

This book found me at the right time in my adult life, and is part of the furniture of my mind's living room. The prose is haunting ("Take me with you, for laughs, for luck, for the unknown") and also very funny ("The magician stood erect, menacing the attackers with demons, metamorphoses, paralyzing ailments, and secret judo holds. Molly picked up a rock."). The book is easily read but uneasily considered; it haunts me, in a way that I promise is good. You gotta read this book, is what I'm saying.

This is my second-favorite book, but it might be my favorite on a different day. There are no happy endings, or final lists of recommendations, because nothing ever ends.