A Face Like Glass by Frances Hardinge
Frances Hardinge is rumoured to be made “entirely of velvet”, or so her biography would have us believe. A mysteriously “unphotographable” author who wears a black hat. She seems to covet a certain strangeness, a sense of mystery that shrouds both her writing and herself.
Well if that’s what it takes to write stories as well as she does, then I’m all for it.
Once again on reading Hardinge, I am struck that the age-old question — where do you get your ideas?
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