Diana Wynne Jones writes the old-fashioned kind of fantasy: fascinating and original, but also slow and meandering. Once Sophie settles in at the castle, it's hard to say what the story is about for the next couple of hundred pages. That's not to say it's boring -- far from it. But, much like the castle that wanders around in the wilderness, it doesn't seem to go much of anywhere, or to have much of a definite purpose.

Eventually there's a nice climactic showdown, though much of it happens offstage, so to speak, a few secrets and surprises are revealed, and it's wrapped up satisfyingly enough. But then, just try to explain what it was all about. Die-hard fantasy lovers adore this and other Wynne Jones books, but those who need action, adventure, or even a clear plotline may find it too murky for their tastes.

From the Book:
Sophie put her hands to her face, wondering what the man had stared at. She felt soft, leathery wrinkles. She looked at her hands. They were wrinkled too, and skinny, with large veins in the back and knuckles like knobs. She pulled her gray skirt against her legs and looked down at skinny, decrepit ankles and feet which had made her shoes all knobbly. They were the legs of someone about ninety, and they seemed to be real.