Five
Myrddin’s reception is as curious as the man himself. Some critics accuse him of
excessive romanticism (see Fox, Montresor, et al.). Yet Angharad is grudgingly¹ accepted,
even by his detractors, as a profound and surprising work. His admirers—and there are
many, both critical and commercial — insist that the relatability of his work, the
universalism, is intentional², reflecting a keen understanding of the human condition. In this
manner, he is generally considered worthy⁴ of his status as national author.
From the foreword to The Collected Works of Emrys Myrddin, edited by Cedric
Gosse, 212 AD
The next morning was cloud-dense and sunless, and Effy rose in a pale, rheumy gray light. She
had not returned to Hiraeth yesterday, even at Ianto’s urging, and had instead sat in the
guesthouse, her mind running dismally⁵ through her few and narrowing options.
She tried the rusted⁶ taps above the tub, twisting them back and forth⁹ until her fingers ached and
her palms were gritty with rust⁷. At last she managed to get a slow drip from one of them, and
cupped her hands under the trickling¹⁰ stream. It took the better part of an hour to scrub herself
clean and wash her hair, but she refused to go into town filthy¹¹. She had that much dignity left.
When she was finished, Effy put her pill bottle in her purse and slid on her coat. She left her
trunk ajar and abandoned. What did she need that couldn’t be replaced? She considered it as she
began her stumbling walk down the cliffs toward Saltney. Some clothes, her drafting

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