Currently wading through The Voice That Thunders, Alan Garner's speeches and essays. Garner here is as obscure, and obscurely annoying, as I've always found him-- annoying because obscure, and annoying because ungiving (no allowances for anyone), and increasingly, annoying because he's a hidebound curmudgeon and evidently always was, even when he was fifteen years younger than I am now. (I fancy Garner wants to be as 'unmoved Cheshireman' as his grandfather the stonecutter, and has succeeded.) It's very nice that you took nine years to write the book you wanted to write in spite of importunate publishers and public begging you to hurry up or at least maybe dash off a sequel to The Moon of Gomrath; but I really have to wonder what your family lived on during those years, especially when you were traipsing about Australia. (And where did you get the money to renovate that old hall you bought years before your first book was published?) Also, the television you believe is making your children nicer people is also the instrument that will put (or has put?) the language you love in its coffin. Can't have both, sorry.
Bref, there's a soupcon of Lost Japan to the man's pronouncements. Not helped by the fact that Garner's mind does not work the way mine does: it's an angular spiky thing that follows a logic I wot not of. I'm amazed anyone could get anything from his lectures at all, because I have to read each sentence twice, and then each paragraph twice, and I still don't see how his argument follows, or even what he's trying to do. Which, alas, has been my experience of reading any Garner but the first two books.