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"This is Magic," said Junie. "This is Magic, sure as sure. And I'm in it!" And she did a somersault there and then on the lawn beside the library, picked up her book, now full of the evidence of magic, the beginnings of it, and began to carry it gently towards home.

Magic afoot, and Junie is drawn into it the day she meets Miss Quarterberry, part-time librarian and part-time witch. For Miss Quarterberry believes that Junie may be able to enter the magic garden from which she herself is barred.
Junie's friend Marcus, her unconventional mother Fiona and the amiable but peculiar couple, Mr and Mrs Hedges, all play their part in unravelling the magic. Rooms appear and disappear, a cat talks and a pair of green boots mysteriously recurs in Junie's dreams. And an old love story unfolds to Junie who, thrilled to be part of the magic, is touched by pain and loss and joy.
This is a real, timeless children's book, to be treasured for further readings. From the very first page, the feeling of a 'good book' takes over, and faithfully leads you to the end, to the recreation of a garden of lost happiness.

To Francesca, beautifully, exceptionally, wonderfully well-edited
Love from Melody

Junie looked at the name again, and put her finger up to touch the indented white letters, feeling them with her fingertips. She wondered what the "R" stood for, thinking it would make for an exceedingly long name sign if it were spelled out in full, no matter how short the name beginning with "R" might be. For even Quarterberry on its own seemed a very long name to her, complicated and angular.
When she looked up again the tall, thin person was staring directly at her. This presumably, was R. in the flesh, looking severely through her glasses at Junie.
"Yes, Quarterberry," she said, as if Junie had asked her a question. "What is your name, child?"
Junie felt suddenly nervous and confused under that intent gaze, and she faltered, "Junie."
"June E.," said Miss Quarterberry musingly, saying it as if it were two words.
"No, um, it's Junie-"
"Juniper Tree."
"I'm sorry?" said Junie.
"Yes, Juniper Tree. That will do. What do you say, child? Are you an evergreen, or do you die in the winter?"
"I like the winter," faltered Junie, very much at a loss.
"Just so. Juniper Tree it is, then. That will be all."
Junie knew when she was being dismissed, and she was turning away from the counter when she remembered the books she was holding in her hand. She hestiated about facing Miss Quarterberry again, yet she wanted to read these books. She went back up to the counter.
"Excuse me, Miss-" she said in a small voice.
Without looking up, Miss Quarterberry answered, "Yes, Quarterberry," exactly as she had done before.
"Miss Quarterberry," Junie said the name for the first time. "I'd like to sign out these books, please."
At this Miss Quarterberry looked up, at last, stalked over to the counter and seized the books from Junie's hand, saying, "High time, too. This is, after all, a library." Pushing her glasses up high on her nose, she examined the books, ignoring the library card Junie held out politely for her to take.
"Hmph," she grunted. "A horticulturist, I see."
Junie was signing out two books about gardens and magic. She had read both of them before. But it was summer again now, and she wanted to participate in the particular quality that summer shares with no other season. So she was reading these books again for the summer feeling of them, for their growth and greeness and moist fragrance. Junie had a strong sense of season; she took each one very seriously in its turn.

"The child has a sense of decorum," she said to the air above Junie's head. And then, to Junie herself, "Well chosen, Juniper Tree," and she signed out the books briskly without another word.

As she walked into the kitchen, she was startled to see Willikins up on the counter by the sink, back arched, looking very angry indeed.
"Barbarian," he was spitting at Victoria. "Rude, ungainly, unkempt creature! Invader of civilized realms! Canine!" Victoria was trying to reach Willikins, wagging her tail but restrained by Marcus holding her leash.
...
"Hey, look," said Marcus, turning to Willikins and speaking almost as if he knew the cat could understand him, "she's only trying to be friendly."
"Friendly!" sputtered the cat. "One might just as well invite a blacksmith into a palace, a bull into a garden . . ."
"What a yowler," whistled Marcus in admiration as Willikins screeched at him.