Before we go on, I have to explain that my maternal grandfather was a gardener, and because of this (and its relative proximity) we visited Longwood Gardens in Pennsylvania quite frequently (the Wyeth museum is nearby, which explains that particular obsession as well, I think). When I was little, these trips were mostly confined to the sprawling greenhouse, but at some point, when I was about 11, we were there in the autumn and I explored the grounds for the first time in my memory. The greenhouse is on a rise overlooking a fountain garden in what I now understand is a mix of Italian and French influences, but at the time was just entirely magical. Made with a porous sort of concrete, the fountains were stained, cracked, eroded and covered with lichen, making the decorative grotesques even more so. Particularly the back area, where a dry, forlorn pool was choked with brown leaves and lined with broken statuary. It seemed, and continues to in my imagination, like the setting for something.

Ynn appeals to me because in many ways it delivers on the promise of that autumnal discovery. Here is the garden I somehow felt was behind the garden. Where the insects are unfamiliar, where the day is twice as long and where spending enough time among the strange plants can turn you into a fae or a vampire. Or worse: Ynn fell to ruin because it was infected by a memetic virus called the Idea of Thorns, and vectors for infection remain. If it were to spread to the mundane world, the result would be disaster.

The cover is the delightful Ramona Alderdoodle. The interiors are by Riot Bones. They capture an interesting facet of the book. Because it is outside and, I suppose, has environments more varied than “endless library,” Ynn naturally feels more D&D-like. Riot Bones captures some of this in the art, but also, just as often, their characters lounge about, talking, walking, enjoying the space. It’s a place of adventure, yes, but a garden all the same.

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