This book has been on my "to-read" list, roughly forever (or 2007, but who's counting?) and I finally got around to it.
So good. So, so good.
One of the things that made the book so unique, of course, was the relationship between humans and their daemons. The connection resonated with me as I think it would with anyone who has ever really loved someone - be that a partner, child, parent or sibling - loved them so much it hurts.
I could say a lot more, but instead I'm going to share one of my favorite passages from the book.
She knew what he was doing. Daemons could move no more than a few yards from their humans, and if she stood by the fence and he remained a bird, he wouldn't get near the bear; so he was going to pull.
She felt angry and miserable. His badger claws dug into the earth and he walked forward. It was such a strange tormenting feeling when your daemon was pulling at the link between you; part physical pain deep in the chest, part intense sadness and love. And she knew it was the same for him. Everyone tested it when they were growing up: seeing how far they could pull apart, coming back with intense relief.
He tugged a little harder.
"Don't, Pan!"
But he didn't stop. The bear watched, motionless. The pain in Lyra's heart grew more and more unbearable, and a sob of longing rose in her throat.
"Pan---"
Then she was through the gate, scrambling over the icy mud toward him, and he turned into a wildcat and sprang into her arms, and they were clinging together tightly with little shaky sounds of unhappiness coming from them both.
"I thought you really would---"
"No---"
"I couldn't believe how much it hurt---"
And then she brushed the tears away angrily and sniffed hard. He nestled in her arms, and she knew she would rather die than let them be parted and face that sadness again; it would send her mad with grief and terror. If she died, they'd still be together, like the Scholars in the crypt at Jordan.