Ella Coach has one wish: revolution. Her mother died working in a sweatshop, and Ella wants every laborer in the blue kingdom to receive fairer treatment. But to make that happen, she’ll need some high-level support. Prince Dash Charming has one wish: evolution. The Charming Curse forced generations of Charming men to lie, cheat, and break hearts—but with the witch Envearia’s death, the curse has ended. Now Dash wants to be a better person, but he doesn’t know where to start. Serge can grant any wish—and has: As an executive fairy godfather, he’s catered to the wildest whims of spoiled brats from the richest, most entitled families in Blue. But now a new name has come up on his list, someone nobody’s ever heard of…Ella Coach. This is the story of three people who want something better, and who work together to change their worlds.
Grounded was one of my favorite adaptations of the Rapunzel fairytale I’ve read, so I was excited to read Morrison’s latest work, this time taking on Cinderella’s fairytale—or so I thought. Instead, what I got was a preachy, “all rich people are evil” narrative without the faintest trace of Cinderella except for the main character’s name.
I mean, it was a good cause Ella was yelling about for the entire book, but it was the complete over-the-top descriptions and the numerous speeches (literally) that made it feel more like a pamphlet on fair labor laws and trade than a fairytale retelling. It was also completely devoid of almost everything from the Cinderella fairytale, except for miniscule aspects such as her stepmother and stepsisters. I get that Morrison is trying to be original here, but why even bother masking this as a retelling of Cinderella when it’s not? It would have been better to introduce it as an original story set in Morrison’s fairytale world.
Also, I think I would have been a little more sympathetic towards Ella if she had stopped acting like only she knew what the laborers were going through and that only she stood for what’s Good and Right in the world (not helped by the author painting every rich person as selfish, cruel, and completely devoid of compassion). Luckily, at least a few of the characters point this out to her, and by the end of the book she’s slightly better in terms of her overall attitude.
So, Disenchanted, while having an interesting world with several clever fairy tale elements woven into it, is far from a good Cinderella reimagining. I could barely recognize the original fairytale in the plot and world Morrison created. That’s not a bad thing that Morrison expanded on the world she built, but it would have been far better not to attach the Cinderella name to it at all. As a world with fairytale references, Disenchanted is clever and fun. As a Cinderella retelling, Disenchanted is irritating, preachy, and unrecognizable as such.
Recommended Age Range: 12+
Genre: Middle Grade, Fantasy, Fairy Tales
“Don’t tell on me,” he begged. “Please. I can explain.”
“You stole Ella’s contract. What were you thinking, Jasper?”
“The same thing you were thinking!”
“Oh? Enlighten me.”
“You thought it was wrong to ignore a child just because she couldn’t pay,” said Jasper. “You proved it by letting me come here, didn’t you?” His breath came fast. “We should do this together. We should help Ella.”
Rump: The True Story of Rumpelstiltskin, by Liesl Shurtliff, was published in 2013 by Yearling.
In a magical kingdom where your name is your destiny, twelve-year-old Rump is the butt of everyone’s joke. But when he finds an old spinning wheel, his luck seems to change. Rump discovers he has a gift for spinning straw into gold—as much gold as he wants! His best friend, Red, warns him that magic is dangerous, and she’s right. With each thread he spins, he weaves himself deeper into a curse. To break the spell, Rump must go on a perilous quest, fighting off pixies, trolls, poison apples, and a wickedly foolish queen. The odds are against him, but with courage and friendship—and a cheeky sense of humor—he just might triumph in the end.
I appreciate Rump for its attempt to retell the fairytale of Rumpelstiltskin from the point of view of the titular character, since 1.) there aren’t many (that I know of) retellings of that particular fairytale and 2.) the obvious (at least, to me) would be to retell it from the miller’s daughter’s point of view.
However, Shurtliff is no Vivian Vande Velde, and I much preferred Vande Velde’s tongue-in-cheek, short retellings in The Rumpelstiltskin Problemthan Shurtliff’s more expansive yet more mediocre retelling. I hate to compare fairytale retellings, but I read Rump right after reading The Rumpelstiltskin Problem and the latter was delightful while the former was average.
Rump contains a decent protagonist, but the villain is over-the-top, the book is littered with stale tropes and mechanics, and at times the plot is incredibly obvious, even for a retelling. Perhaps it would be a better read if the reader was not acquainted with the original fairytale as much as I am.
Also, all the kiddy, immature jokes in this book put it squarely in “clearly for younger readers” territory, and I prefer books that don’t so publicly announce their audience. That, combined with the stale and obvious tropes, made Rump more of a chore to read than a delight.
Recommended Age Range: 10+
Genre: Fairy Tale, Middle Grade
I gathered the straw from the ground until I had a handful. I sat at the wheel. A few pixies fluttered around my hands and the straw and the bobbin.
“Gold! Gold! Gold!”
I fed the straw into the wheel.
Whir, whir, whir.
I spun the straw.
My breath caught in my chest. I stopped, unable to believe what I was seeing. In my hand were bits of straw, but around the bobbin were glowing, shimmering threads. I brushed my fingers over the threads, smooth and warm. Gold. I had just spun straw into gold.
The Rumpelstiltskin Problem, by Vivian Vande Velde, was published in 2000 by Houghton Mifflin.
Have you ever wondered just what was going on when that odd little man with the long name stepped up and volunteered to spin straw into gold for the miller’s daughter? When you stop to think about it, there are some very peculiar, not to mention hard to explain, aspects to that story. Vivian Vande Velde has wondered too, and she’s come up with these six “alternative” versions of the old legend. A bevy of “miller’s daughters” confronts the perilous situation in ways that are sometimes comic, sometimes scary. Usually it’s the daughter who gets off safely. Other times—amazingly—it is Rumpelstiltskin himself who wins the day, and in one tale, it is the king who cleverly escapes a quite unexpected fate. Once you’ve read The Rumpelstiltskin Problem, you may never think about fairy tales in the same way again.
I have a soft spot in my heart for Rumpelstiltskin, so when I read the author’s note that prefaced The Rumpelstiltskin Problem, I was a little disgruntled at how Vande Velde so callously tore apart my beloved fairy tale. Luckily, the six tongue-in-cheek “retellings” that followed were hilariously simple and brilliant reimaginings of the original fairytale. All of Vande Velde’s “explanations” for some of the odd occurences were wonderful, and I liked that she took a different approach for each story. Sometimes the miller’s daughter was the hero. Sometimes it was Rumpelstiltskin. And the king even gets his own part to play in one of the stories.
The Rumpelstiltskin Problem is certainly not a “serious” retelling of Rumpelstiltskin, and Vande Velde’s humor is of a particular type which everyone may not enjoy, but the whole thing is wickedly clever regardless. It’s a quick, easy read and very conducive to reading out loud to children. It’s not particularly satisfying, but it is fun!
Recommended Age Range: 12+
Genre: Fantasy, Fairy Tale, Middle Grade
The lord high chamberlain said, “Christina’s father, what is the meaning of this?”
“I am not Christina’s father,” Otto said. “I don’t even know who Christina’s father is.” Now what? He continued, “I…might bear a slight resemblance to the man, but in truth I am a dangerous magical creature who knows all sorts of enchantments besides the spinning of gold form straw, and I have come to take what is rightfully mine. IF you don’t over my—this girl, I will put a terrible spell on you.”
He had been worried that he looked so frightening, Christina might not realize she was being rescued. And, indeed, he saw that she had clapped her hand to her forehead and that she was shaking her head.
This final book in the New York Times-bestselling Fairyland series finds September accidentally crowned the Queen of Fairyland. But there are others who believe they have a fair and good claim on the throne, so there is a Royal Race—whoever wins will seize the crown. Along the way, beloved characters including the Wyverary, A-Through-L, the boy Saturday, the changelings Hawthorn and Tamburlaine, the wombat Blunderbuss, and the gramophone Scratch are caught up in the madness. And September’s parents have crossed the universe to find their daughter. Who will win? And what will become of September, Saturday, and A-Through-L?
The Girl Who Raced Fairyland All the Way Home is a delightfully perfect ending to the Fairyland series. It resolved things in ways I wasn’t expecting, and yet as I read those resolutions, I couldn’t help but think how well they fit with the characters as we knew them. September’s desire to go home warring with her desire to stay in Fairyland was perfectly resolved at the end, making such complete sense that although the series is finished, I am happily content.
I’m also glad that we got some final resolution with the Marquess, who was my favorite part of The Girl Who Circumnavigated Fairyland in a Ship of Her Own Making. Many things from that book were brought back and her resolution was quite sweet and a good way to resolve that character. However, I do think Prince Myrrh was a bit of a wasted character and a little pointless to include since he doesn’t do anything.
Blunderbuss the combat wombat was probably my favorite part of the book, and the description of her’s and Ell’s kiss at the end was hilarious. I also liked the fawning over Agatha Christie and the Cantankerous Derby in general.
I do think the part with September’s parents was a bit sudden and I didn’t really buy the fact that they so readily agreed with the “Let’s all stay in Fairyland!” idea, but it had a really strong Oz vibe to it, as this whole series in general has had, so I rolled with it even if it seemed a little contrived.
The Girl who Raced Fairyland All the Way Home is a perfect ending to a wonderful series, which started strong with the first book, wobbled a bit on the second and third, and hit a home-run on the fourth and fifth. This last book had a few minor things I didn’t like, but overall, this has been one of my favorite series to read and it had such a good ending that I’m not even sad that it’s over—I’m that satisfied.
Recommended Age Range: 12+
Genre: Fantasy, Middle Grade
“I know I ought to have come as soon as I heard Greenwich Mean Time sounding off at you, but I couldn’t stop looking at the Human section. So many books I’d never heard of! SO many titles I couldn’t understand? What’s a Wuthering? Why is it Important to Be Earnest? I am always earnest. Why would anyone not be?”
Wildwood Dancing, by Juliet Marillier, was published in 2007 by Alfred A. Knopf.
High in the Transylvanian woods, at the castle Piscul Draculi, live five daughters and their doting father. It’s an idyllic life for Jena, the second eldest, who spends her time exploring the mysterious forest with her constant companion, a most unusual frog. But best by far is the castle’s hidden portal, known only to the sisters. Every Full Moon, they alone can pass through it into the enchanted world of the Other Kingdom. There they dance through the night with the fey creatures of this magical realm. But their peace is shattered when Father falls ill and must go to the southern parts to recover, for that is when cousin Cezar arrives. Though he’s there to help the girls survive the brutal winter, Jena suspects he has darker motives in store. Meanwhile, Jena’s sister has fallen in love with a dangerous creature of the Other Kingdom–an impossible union it’s up to Jena to stop. When Cezar’s grip of power begins to tighten, at stake is everything Jena loves: her home, her family, and the Other Kingdom she has come to cherish. To save her world, Jena will be tested in ways she can’t imagine–tests of trust, strength, and true love.
I grew to love Marillier’s writing through her book Shadowfell and its sequels (reviews coming to the blog at some point!), so I decided to try some of her other books—and I’m glad I did. Wildwood Dancing is an adaptation of “The Twelve Dancing Princesses” with a little bit of “The Princess and the Frog” thrown in, although I would say that the book is more inspired by them than actually adapts them. It’s an enchanting book with a beautiful setting, an “other realm” that I actually really liked (I don’t usually like “fairy realms” in books for some reason), and a protagonist who, while maybe not incredibly assertive, was quietly strong and persevering.
Some readers, used to the type of strong female characters that fight, speak their opinions loudly, and eschew all forms of tradition, might see Jena as meek and quiet. But while she’s certainly quiet, I found Jena a refreshing breath of air. She does her best to thwart Cezare as she can, in the position she is in, without stepping out of the bounds of what that world requires. Maybe that makes her seem spineless, to some people, but not to me. I appreciate a protagonist who works within his/her role, rather than breaking out of it and working without.
A few aspects of the plot were a little obvious—I spent most of the book impatiently waiting for Jena to realize what I had already figured out—and most of it is predictable, although seeing as how it’s at least a semi-adaptation of “The Twelve Dancing Princesses,” it would be. But I enjoyed Wildwood Dancing despite the predictability, despite the grating repetition of Cezare’s machinations, and despite the plodding middle, and I enjoyed it because of Jena, the beauty of the world and the writing, and the quiet wonder and mystery that steeps throughout the entire book.
Recommended Age Range: 14+
Genre: Fantasy, Fairy Tale, Young Adult
The folk of the Other Kingdom had their own name for this expanse of shining water—at Full Moon, they called it the Bright Between. The lake waters spanned the distance between their world and ours. Once we set foot in their boats, we were caught in the magic of their realm. Time and distance were not what they seemed in the Other Kingdom. It was a long walk from Piscul Dracului to the Deadwash in our world—an expedition. Gogu and I had made that forbidden trip often, for the lake drew us despite ourselves. At Full Moon, the walk to Tӑul Ielelor was far shorter. At Full Moon, everything was different, everything was upside down and back to front. Doors opened that were closed on other days, and those whom the human world feared became friends. The Bright Between was a gateway: not a threat, but a promise.
It’s been a while since I’ve had a FTF, eh? To be honest, I’ve been so busy that I haven’t had the time to scout out fairy tale retellings specifically, so Friday’s have been more of a “let’s do reviews of 2015/2016 books” since I’ve been reading more of those. This book checks both boxes!
The Wild Swans, by Jackie Morris, was published in 2015 by Frances Lincoln.
At first there is only happiness; a childhood blessed with loving parents and eleven brothers, handsome and brave. But when the queen, their mother, dies, a terrible change comes to the castle and to Eliza. Enchantment deep in the forest leads the king to marry the mysterious woman in white. Who knows why he conceals his children from her, in a tall tower, within a complex maze? But when the new queen discovers them, she takes a bitter revenge, and eleven boys become eleven swans, who must fly far, far away from their sister. Eliza will need love, faith and courage to find her brothers, and that is only the beginning of her quest to break the white queen’s spell.
The Wild Swans is a pretty basic retelling of Hans Christian Andersen’s fairy tale of the same name, but Morris’s gorgeous illustrations and lyrical writing helps breathe beauty and richness into it. There were moments when I did grow a little annoyed with the writing, but all together the effect is quite pretty and helps make the retelling memorable.
I did like how the white queen gets a bit of a more complex motive than in the original fairytale. There was the implication throughout the novel that the queen would have welcomed and loved the children if she had been given the chance. She turns the brothers into swans out of jealousy and rage and, perhaps, sorrow, rather than out of the Andersen fairy explanation of “because stepmothers are evil and don’t love their stepchildren.”
Since the retelling is basic, so is the characterization and the world. Eliza is pretty one-note all the way through, but I do like how she’s the quiet, strong protagonist type. I think she’s given perhaps a little too much wisdom than the situation warrants, but maybe not.
So, yes, The Wild Swans is simple, but its dissimilarity to other fairytale retellings that are currently in vogue makes it stand out. Its simplicity makes it beautiful, helped along by the illustrations and the at times annoying, but mostly beautiful writing. This is a great little book with which to read to or with a child.
Recommended Age Range: 14+
Genre: Fantasy, Fairy Tale, Middle Grade
Inside the tower she climbed the steps to the boys’ chamber. All were asleep, the youngest turning in fitful dreams of flying. Across each boy’s bed she threw the softest cover of pure white cloth, light as a feather. Each floated down, then wrapped itself tight around the sleeping figures, clinging, attaching at every contour of their bodies. Eleven soft cloths of the finest spiders’ webs, each warped with a spell, wefted with jealousy.
As she stood over the youngest boy, to drape the last cloth, he opened his eyes and looked into hers. “Mother,” he said, and smiled a smile in his half-awake dreaming so warm that she almost relented.
‘I could have been,” she answered, as she swept her hands across his eyes and muttered a spell for sleeping.
Winter, by Marissa Meyer, was published in 2015 by Feiwel and Friends. It is the sequel to Cress.
Spoilers for the Lunar Chronicles.
Princess Winter is admired by the Lunar people for her grace and kindness, and despite the scars that mar her face, her beauty is said to be even more breathtaking than that of her stepmother, Queen Levana. Winter despises her stepmother, and knows Levana won’t approve of her feelings for her childhood friend, the handsome palace guard, Jacin. But Winter isn’t as weak as Levana believes her to be and she’s been undermining her stepmother’s wishes for years. Together with the cyborg mechanic, Cinder, and her allies, Winter might even have the power to launch a revolution and win a war that’s been raging for far too long.
I loved the first three Lunar Chronicle books and I could hardly wait to start reading Winter. Unfortunately, though, Winter was a huge disappointment. The thing I enjoyed most about the first three Lunar Chronicle books was the devotion to and adaptation of the respective fairy tale without neglecting or skimping on original plot. Yet in Winter, the fairy tale was almost non-existent and hardly imaginative. Winter felt like a side character in her own novel due to the amount of time devoted to Cinder & Friends and their takeover of Luna. A better idea, in my opinion, would have been, if not to leave Winter out entirely, at least not make her Snow White and try to dedicate an entire book to her.
There were far too many viewpoint characters and far too much jumping around, and poor Winter’s plot really suffered because of it. Jacin had no personality and I could not have cared less about his romance with Winter. Again, it would have been far better not to have tied Winter with Snow White—a lot could have been cut out of the book that would have given it a needed trim and then there wouldn’t have been such a sad little Snow White retelling.
Other problems I had with Winter: I loved Cress and Thorne in Cress, but it bothered me to no end that he basically admitted he was just the type of guy who flirted with other girls and that Cress would have to deal with it. He didn’t say that, exactly, but it was very much implied. I’m sorry, but no.
Another problem I had was the tediousness of the plot as a whole. Winter is a whopping 800+ pages long, and boy, does the plot drag in places—especially the parts where one of the team gets caught again and then escapes again and then someone else gets manipulated by a Lunar again and then Cinder has to try to snatch them back/kill the thaumaturge again. After about the third iteration I was sick and tired of the characters committing the same mistakes and repeating the same process over and over.
The last problem I’ll talk about here is the whole Levana reveal as a whole. I didn’t actually read Fairest, the prequel that reveals some of Levana’s backstory, and maybe I missed out on something, but it really bothered me that at the end of it all, the thing that was revealed to be the crowning piece of evil on top of her evil head was that Levana had been using her glamour to hide her burn scars. The whole “she’s not just evil, she’s also UGLY AND SCARRED” vibe is just wrong on so many levels. Then Cinder has a “aw, poor thing” moment and out of everything that she could have felt pity about—such as Levana’s terrible childhood or the fact that the reason Levana is so sociopathic is because she’s never had a healthy relationship in her life and doesn’t understand how to do anything except manipulate people—it’s because Levana is burned. And it wasn’t a “what a traumatic thing that happened to you that was caused by your own family, I’m so sorry” pity thought, it was a “aw, poor thing, you’re so ugly” pity thought, which made Cinder seem more like the 30% machine she is and not the 70% human.
Also, I really don’t like the “machines are just like humans!” plot lines of science fiction.
There’s much more I could say about what disappointed me about Winter—sloppy plot reveals, dangling plot threads, and the deflated tension of Wolf’s transformation when you realize it didn’t even affect him at all and was used mainly as some sort of “I don’t care what you look like, Wolf, I still love you” plot—but I think my disappointment in the book is already clear. There were some things I enjoyed about it, but overall, Winter was a too-long, tedious, all-over-the-place finale and my enjoyment of the series as a whole has decreased because of it.
Recommended Age Range: 14+
Warnings: Violence, death.
Genre: Science Fiction, Fairy Tale, Young Adult
Winter gasped delightedly and laced her fingers beneath her chin. Everyone spun to her, startled at her presence, which was not uncommon. “Do you think the Earthens brought us gifts, Stepmother?”
Without waiting for a response, she lifted her skirts and trotted toward the cargo, climbing over the uneven stacks of crates and bins until she reached the lower level.
“Winter,” Levana snapped. “What are you doing?”
“Looking for presents!” she called back, giggling.
Ash & Bramble, by Sarah Prineas, was published in 2015 by HarperTeen.
A prince. A ball. A glass slipper left behind at the stroke of midnight. The tale is told and retold, twisted and tweaked, snipped and stretched, as it leads to happily ever after. But it is not the true Story. A dark fortress. A past forgotten. A life of servitude. No one has ever broken free of the Godmother’s terrible stone prison until a girl named Pin attempts a breathless, daring escape. But she discovers that what seems like freedom is a prison of another kind, one that entangles her in a story that leads to a prince, a kiss, and a clock striking midnight. To unravel herself from this new life, Pin must choose between a prince and another—the one who helped her before and who would give his life for her. Torn, the only thing for her to do is trade in the glass slipper for a sword and find her own destiny.
Ash & Bramble is strange, but it’s a wonderfully unique, refreshing fairy tale retelling. In fact, Prineas creates a world where all the villain does is recreate fairy tales, with as many retellings as a rebellious people attempting to overthrow a powerful force can manage. And yes, it does start out strange, but once Pin gets to the city and begins her “Cinderella story,” things get less strange and more interesting.
However, I would have liked the book better if it didn’t have the awful “girl falls in love with first boy she meets” plot as well as the “girl is obviously someone important, probably the person or relative of the person who tried to thwart the villain” plot. Pin and Shoe’s romance begins impossibly fast and mostly consists of “oh man his hands are so warm I love him.” The fact that he’s also the only male around at first makes it worse. And Pin is obviously Super Special and so the story is not really about “ordinary girl breaks out of unwanted fairy tale” but about “magical girl breaks out of unwanted fairy tale because she’s magical and can do that.” It’s lessened slightly because of Shoe, who is not magical and yet does some storybreaking of his own, but I wish Pin had been some average, ordinary girl rather than who she turned out to be.
Kudos to Prineas, who succeeded in making Ash & Bramble a refreshing retelling of Cinderella, and a refreshing fairy tale retelling in general, despite its initial strangeness and the awkwardness of switching points of view every chapter. However, the romance and some of the plot archetypes irritated me, to the point where I can neither A+, two-thumbs-up recommend the book nor tell you to stay away from it.
Recommended Age Range: 14+
Genre: Fairy Tale, Fantasy, Young Adult
“What is that?” Shoe asks at my shoulder.
With anyone else, I would hide it, but for him I open my hand; the thimble gleams silver on my palm.
“It’s from the Before,” I whisper.
His eyes widen as he stares down at it; then he looks soberly at me, and I feel as if I could fall into his green eyes, into the promise of the forest outside. My knees wobble and I clench my hand around the thimble. He takes my arms, steadying me, and for just a moment my faint flame kindles to his; between us, the thimble burns with a sudden flash of light that leaks from between my fingers. Suddenly I can feel how strange the thimble is—its power, its potential.
He closes his hand over mine. “Keep it hidden,” he says, his voice ragged.
Everything old is new again as Sophie and Agatha fight the past as well as the present to find the perfect end to their fairy tale. Once best friends, now enemies, Sophie and Agatha thought their ending was sealed when they went their separate ways. Agatha was whisked back to Gavaldon with Tedros, and Sophie stayed behind with the beautiful young School Master. But as they settle into their new lives, their story begs to be rewritten, and this time, theirs isn’t the only one. With the girls apart, Evil has taken over and the villains of the past have come back with a vengeance. Not only do they want a second chance at their fairy tales, but they mean to transform the old world of Good and Evil into a new dark realm with Sophie as its Queen. Only Agatha and Tedros stand in the way of Evil’s deadly reign—and the Last Ever After of all.
You know, this series is really strange. I don’t know if Chainani is doing that intentionally or if it’s the way he describes things, but I found everything about The Last Ever After plain old weird. There’s emphasis in strange places, strange thought processes, and strange situations in general. And there wasn’t as a big of a contrast as there was in the first two books (Good/Evil, Boy/Girl) to detract from the oddity of the book.
The Last Ever After is also an incredibly long book, and boy, does it show. It dragged on for about one hundred pages too many. Agatha & Co. spent way too much time wandering through the forest. It’s like Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallowsall over again, but with less tents.
And since I’m talking about what I didn’t like first, let me say that I spent a majority of the book seriously irritated with Sophie. She mopes around for the first third, is increasingly selfish in the second third, and then completely destroys all of my sympathy in the last third. I’ve never liked Sophie, and Chainani didn’t do a good job, in my opinion, of balancing her insecurity and her complete unlikeability as a character, so the times when I’m supposed to want to hug Sophie are the times I want to punch her instead.
I liked the book, I suppose, but the series has gotten weirder and weirder, and my irritation with Sophie has grown bigger and bigger to the point where by the last page I was just glad I finished reading it. The twist at the end I saw coming a mile away, but at least Sophie gets a cool moment at the end and Chainani ends the novel with a character who’s happy being single, so that’s a plus. And Dot has probably the single most awesome scene in the entire series. But The Last Ever After is just a little too weird and a little too frustrating for me to really gush about it.
Recommended Age Range: 14+
Warnings: Chainani describes girls’ feelings for boys strangely, but there are a bunch of things about passion and hot and cold and ogling bodies and lots of kissing. And Sophie and the School Master’s relationship is…disturbing.
Genre: Fantasy, Fairy Tale, Young Adult
In each other’s arms, Master and Queen turned to the enchanted pen over their fairy tale, ready for it to bless their love…ready for it to close their book at last…
The pen didn’t move.
The book stayed open.
Sophie’s heart stalled. “What happened?”
She followed Rafal’s eyes to the red-amber sun, which had darkened another shade. His face steeled to a deadly mask. “It seems our happy ending isn’t the one the pen doubts.”
In the epic sequel to the New York Times bestselling novel The School for Good and Evil, Sophie and Agatha are home, living out their Ever After. But life isn’t quite the fairy tale they expected. When Agatha secretly wishes she’d chosen a different happy ending, she reopens the gates to the School for Good and Evil. But the world she and Sophie once knew has changed. Witches and princesses, warlocks and princes are no longer enemies. New bonds are forming; old bonds are being shattered. But underneath this uneasy arrangement, a war is brewing and a dangerous enemy rises. As Agatha and Sophie battle to restore peace, an unexpected threat could destroy everything, and everyone, they love—and this time, it comes from within.
After reading A World Without Princes, I understand better what Chainani was trying to do with The School for Good and Evil in terms of his representation of the latter. The books are actually much more satirical or pointed than they appear; they’re satire without the normal satirical tone to them. I completely missed that in the first book, but the much more pointed and obvious dichotomy of boy/girl in this book was more startling and therefore Chainani’s goal was more apparent.
I didn’t know whether to laugh, cry, or punch the book while reading. I was both appalled and intrigued by the “sexist and reductive” (to quote one of the characters), not to mention highly stereotypical, portrayal of boy and girl in this book. And it’s also incredibly difficult to tell if Chainani is trying to make a point or if everything gets away from him in the end, since his tone is so hard to read, at least for me. I mean, the point of the story to me seemed to be “Girls can be like boys and vice versa, but not really because girls are girls and boys are boys.”
Also, although the ending of the first book was good (Girls don’t need boys to be happy), this one was…interesting. I’m expecting that it’s because Chainani needs fodder for the third book, but still, an ending of “You can’t have a best friend if you have a boyfriend” is…stupid. Sophie even voices this out loud in the form of a question (“Why can’t you have a best friend and a true love?”), so that’s why I’m guessing the third book will be answering that question in the affirmative. Because if not, then I really don’t like this book at all.
And I still don’t understand Agatha and Sophie’s friendship, although at least it’s slightly better than the first book. But still, both Agatha and Sophie are so selfish in their own way that it makes more sense that their friendship fails than that it remains strong (granted, Sophie was more selfish in the first book; but Agatha is the selfish one in this book, so they’ve been taking turns).
Recommended Age Range: 12+
Genre: Fantasy, Fairy Tale, Middle Grade
Sophie gasped. “Look!”
Agatha swiveled to the east path. A glowing blue butterfly flapped in darkness, high above the trail. It beat its wings faster and nosed forward, as if urging the mto follow.
“Come on,” Sophe said, suddenly strong again, and surged forward.
“We’re following a butterfly?” Agatha retorted as she chased Sophie past WANTED signs on trees ahead.
“Don’t worry. It’s leading us out of here!”
“How do you know?”
“Hurry! We’ll lose it!”
“You don’t know what I’ve been through—” Agatha heaved, puffing behind.
“Let’s not play who’s had it worse, shall we!”
A World Without Princes made me realize what Chainani is trying to do with these books, but either his tone or just his entire approach is still throwing things off for me. I was more annoyed by the representations of boy and girl in this book than anything, and the ending was awful and stupid. Agatha and Sophie are not winning over my favor and interest in their characters, that’s for sure.