When I look at my childhood and the books, films, plays, and poems that informed it, I sometimes see a jigsaw puzzle. Certain parts all fit together well. Each Oz book – those by L. Frank Baum and others – is a piece that snaps into place. The Narnia, the Tolkien, the Edgar Rice Burroughs – they all go together. Here and there, however, some pieces seem to be missing. Did they fall on the floor? Did they get stuck in some other puzzle? Did the missing pieces get thrown away by accident on some rainy afternoon?
Then what happens when you find the pieces again? I never saw some of this stuff before, but that doesn’t mean it doesn’t fit.