Oldies But Goodies {Put This One on Your TBR List} The Seventh Bride by T. Kingfisher by Karen S. Wiesner

 

Oldies But Goodies

{Put This One on Your TBR List}

The Seventh Bride by T. Kingfisher

by Karen S. Wiesner 

  Beware spoilers! 

Not too long ago, I reviewed three "reimagined and unconventional fairytales" by T. Kingfisher. In trying to get a handle on some of the other books Kingfisher has written that include a reinterpretation of beloved fairytales, I came up with this list of her selections, arranged below on the basis of publication dates: 

The Seventh Bride ("Mr. Fox"/"The Robber Bridegroom", and other aberrations)         

Bryony and Roses ("Beauty and the Beast")

The Raven and the Reindeer ("The Snow Queen") 

Thornhedge ("Sleeping Beauty")

A Sorceress Comes to Call ("Goose Girl")

Hemlock & Silver ("Snow White") 

In my previous take on Kingfisher's reimagined fairytales, I reviewed Nettle & Bone, which is like a subversion of everything that's been done in a fairytale all rolled into one, as well as Bryony and Roses and Thornhedge. 

There's a little known (maybe because it's so shocking) fairytale that goes by many names and variants, with two prominent ones being called "Mr. Fox" and "The Robber Bridegroom", that I stumbled upon while brainstorming for future installments of my Woodcutter's Grim Series (which horrorized fairytales). You can actually find the full text of these old tales by looking them up online by their titles. I never wrote a story based on this premise, and now I don't have to, since T. Kingfisher has done it, though I had reservations about her The Seventh Bride rendition. 

The old story goes that a poor miller's daughter is betrothed to a wealthy man who prefers a kind of murderous obstacle course on his wedding night rather than what most people think of for such an event. Turns out, this creep has murdered all his previous brides-to-be and now this new one had better figure out how to get through his carnival of cruelty so she doesn't become the next in line. Interestingly, T. Kingfisher wrote a very short story similar to this idea in "Bluebeard's Wife" (free from her website or you can get it in one of her collections). 

Fortuitously, old fairytales have a predictable manner of storytelling that's bare bones--usually just a skeleton of an extreme external conflict while the rest of the story has little or no internal conflict let alone complex goals or motivations--you know, beyond escaping this bad situation. Settings and in-depth characterization are all but forgotten with these meager tales. So that really allowed Kingfisher to take this glimmer of an idea and make it her own. She sets up a basic scenario with 15-year-old Rhea being a miller's daughter unexpectedly engaged to Lord Crevan. Try to remember that in times gone by, a 15-year-old girl would practically be an old maid if she wasn't already or about to be married, and that most of the historical romances you read probably have very young heroines and you just weren't told their ages in order to prevent the ick factor from spoiling everything. 

Kingfisher sets up several interesting and unique twists on the old story variants, such as the fact that Rhea's parents are neither greedy nor evil--they actually want her to have a good life, and a man who lives in a near-castle certainly seems to fit the bill. Yes, their mill is struggling and extra income would come in handy, but her parents are genuinely saddened by how distraught their daughter is to be "sold off like cattle to the highest bidder", but they initially take a practical approach to her distress. Her mother relates that, once upon a time, she was also forced to marry a man she'd barely met in Rhea's father and look how well that turned out. In this particular world, for a low-born citizen to refuse a lord is a recipe for utter ruin. Bottom line, this family has little or no choice but to comply with anything this man wants from their daughter. 

In this version of the old story, there are many small magics in the world, including those associated with plants, strange creatures, and people who possess minor powers. In The Seventh Bride, Craven is a terrifying sorcerer who uses the gifts of these women he brings to his home to marry (hilariously, they call him "Himself"), trading them for something else he deems of value to him or others. The first wife, Maria, was a witch with a familiar. Craven took most of her power and her spirit bear disappeared in the woods around the manor. Other wives have lost voice, sight, life, death, and will…and all are trapped here in this place, forced to be obedient. Whether or not they're loyal to him is another question, as is whether Rhea can trust anything they say or do.   

Other compelling fleshing-outs are that, once she's at Lord Craven's house, Rhea is set a series of tasks that she must complete. The "or else" is always "or else I'll marry you"--and there's no greater threat. Also, in the author's alter ego trademark (Kingfisher writes children's books under her real name Ursula Vernon that include many, many amazing, "something more" creatures), Rhea doesn't have to go through her terrible ordeal alone. She meets a sweet hedgehog companion who accompanies her and helps her in unfathomable ways that don't seem quite hedgehog-like. More on that later. 

I loved everything about this story except one thing issue that was a two-fold problem. Unfortunately, this very nearly wrecked the whole thing for me. From the beginning, we were set up on the premise that Rhea was a strong and inventive girl, and she would find creative ways to solve her dilemmas and conflicts. We were shown--in an equally gross and funny moment--how she handled a swan who kept stealing her lunch when she packed the creature a horse turd sandwich that the cruel bird quickly regretted snatching from her. However, from that point on, the author stole every opportunity for Rhea to prove her own worth by having her problems conveniently solved by others--her hedgehog, Maria's bear familiar, the clock wife, and other things that rescued her. In the process, they ruined what could have been a heroine worth rooting for beyond the simple reason that we feel compassion for another human being in such a dire circumstance.

In my writing reference titles, I frequently talk about cardinal sins in writing. One of those is that the main character has to lead the action and save the day. She's not in a supporting role, nor can she be rescued when the going gets tough. She can't fall backwards into success. This is her story, her time to be a superhero, her moment in the spotlight. Resolutions to conflict can't stem from symbolism, events, or other people so she never truly solves her own problems. A form of this is sometimes referred to as “coincidence resolution”. While you can have a plot that begins this way, the coincidence must fade to be replaced with very clear choices, purpose, and action. Something similar to the coincidence resolution is deus ex machina--“god from a machine”. This device introduces a resolution brought about by something outside of the story, something cataclysmic or even supernatural that’s not cohesive with the rest of the story--basically, anything illogical that could be dubbed cheating that's introduced to resolve a central conflict. 

In fiction, true change and growth should come from strength within, just as it does in real life. You can't wrap up a conflict with an act of nature, something symbolic that parallels a character's conflict but isn't actually part of it, or in a stranger-to-the-rescue type of event--it won't be believable or fair to the reader, who's spent the entire book waiting to see your character reach the goal of self-fulfillment and success. That triumph also has to be hard-won. She'll probably have a face full of bruises and a heart of pain that will haunt her until the day she dies, but those scars are also ones she can wear proudly. In Writing Fantasy Heroes: Powerful Advice from the Pros (Rogue Blades Presents), it says, "Great heroes have flaws. If a hero is perfect, invulnerable, then he is free of challenge and also free of honor. What is effortless is not honorable; difficulty wins glory and brings the hero to life." Writers should never take the true victory away from their main character by letting anyone or anything else do the work for her. 

In this heinous way, Kingfisher stole the victory from Rhea over and over, letting someone or something else snatch it from her. It was really quite unforgivable, and ultimately it became clear to me that Kingfisher, while in the planning stage of crafting this story, didn't properly equip her heroine with the necessary skills, abilities, and gifts that were cohesive with the plot or setting Rhea was placed in. While I admit this point could be argued, probably the worst part to me was that Kingfisher actually did make tiny inroads toward arming Rhea in such a way that she could have had everything she needed to solve her own problems, if only the author had developed them the way they should have been right from the beginning.

 

Spoiler alert: At the end of the book, Rhea is told by Maria that she possesses some magical abilities. That's why the hedgehog came to her, as it's obviously not a normal creature either. It's her familiar. Maria encourages Rhea to come back to Craven's manor when she can get herself to so Maria can train her in this magic she has.

Why in the world didn't Kingfisher use those hinted at skills to allow Rhea to begin formulating ways to use her fledgling magic (and maybe everything she learned at the mill previously) to deal with the crises she found herself entangled in? That would have been a far more interesting story, too.

 

The second aspect of the problem I had with this story is another cardinal rule of writing that was broken by the author and by her editor, as well, who, shamefully, let her get away with it. The end of The Seventh Bride was so easily resolved, it came off as a total let-down. Yes, the villain got his come-uppance, Rhea got to go home, but "the battle" to get to that point was all but over before it began. It amounted to a page or so. The escalating tension was forgone almost completely, or maybe more aptly, never existed, as if it wasn't needed or necessary. What a disappointment for readers to be robbed of chills and thrills related to Rhea's unique tale! 

When readers finish a book, they should close it believing that the story ended the only way it possibly could have. One of the strongest ways to do this is to create cohesive story elements. Sorry, but here's another lesson from my writing reference titles: Cohesion needs to start with the first spontaneous spark of a story. Characters must blend naturally with the settings they've been placed in, just as plot must become an organic part of the characters and settings. If a story doesn’t work, it could very well be because the character, plot, and setting elements aren’t blending naturally. 

Character reveals plot and setting, just as plot and setting reveal character, and setting reveals character and plot. This three-way trinity is vital to the dimensionality of your stories. They work together to unearth, connect, and layer a story. The strongest stories are the ones in which every part of the story--the characters’ role, physical descriptions, personalities, strengths and weaknesses, relationships, skills, conflicts, goals and motivation, and settings--becomes cohesive and fits together organically. We’ve all read stories in which the parts don’t merge naturally. Maybe we didn’t notice a specific problem, but we knew something was off, that something lacked logic or didn’t quite fit with the rest of the story, and the imbalance frustrated us. There’s a chance you never finished reading the story. The books that you absolutely cannot put down without losing a little of your sanity, the stories that stay with you every minute of the time you’re reading them and for years afterward, are the ones in which every aspect is so intricately connected that separating the threads is impossible. 

On top of the crucial need for cohesion with story elements is that, in the back of the writer's mind at every point in the storytelling should be the fact that the end of the story is where it's going. The author continuously builds toward the wrap. The direction is pivotal because, as with an opening, the story beginning should resonate throughout the rest of the book, satisfy the resolution, and may even tie into the final sentence. The end grounds and justifies the whole of the story. James Scott Bell says in Plot & Structure, "…almost all great jokes are built on a structure of three--the setup, the body, and the payoff." Stories are no different with the beginning, middle and end. Specifically, all story endings must be logical, with a sense of inevitability. Everything's been leading up to the closer, regardless of red herrings, artful concealments, and delaying tactics. But is the ending warranted and utterly logical; does it fit what the author has promised the reader from the beginning as the payoff for coming along for the ride? Endings should always require a "the only way it could end" declaration, but that doesn't mean they can't (and shouldn't) be surprising, too There's a big difference between a twist (reader is stunned, speechless but gratefully overjoyed) and a trick (reader feels cheated, the victim of a bait-and-switch, unforgivably incensed). Steven Pressman says in his article "Setups and Payoffs", "If the payoff is really good, we realize, in the end, that there was no surprise at all. What had seemed to be a turn of fate proves to be inevitable and, as we realize it, we receive the gift of insight. We should have seen it coming!” Maybe you can't please everyone with your story ending, but you should at the very least satisfy them with a coherent conclusion.

T. Kingfisher's ending here felt rushed and lacking in anything resembling suspense and anticipation. I'm left regretting all the could and should have beens instead of what we were given that couldn't possibly satisfy me. Very sad because I actually enjoyed every part of the story other than those seriously sad, truncated, and disenchanting pages at the end of Chapter 28. Sigh. If only the story had actually developed the potential Kingfisher instead threw at the reader like refuse (or a horse turd sandwich) in the very last chapter. 

While some readers (and even writers) might choose to overlook the problems in this story in favor of just enjoying Kingfisher's generally lively prose--which I might add, I like 75% of the time--I don't feel this one was as good as it could have been if only it'd been properly developed. I will note that it is the first of these types of stories she tried to write (published in 2014), so maybe she can be forgiven. I'm currently reading A Sorceress Comes to Call and plan to review it next. Fingers crossed that it's as strong as the majority of her other (later) stories. 

Karen Wiesner is an award-winning, multi-genre author of over 150 titles and 16 series.

Visit her website and blog here: https://karenwiesner.weebly.com/

and https://karenwiesner.weebly.com/karens-quill-blog

Visit her publisher here: https://www.writers-exchange.com/Karen-Wiesner/

A House with Good Bones

This novel by T. Kingfisher, a Southern Gothic incongruously set in a suburban tract house, features a theme of return and/or reunion to find unsettling or outright shocking changes, similarly to THE TWISTED ONES and WHAT MOVES THE DEAD. Also, A HOUSE WITH GOOD BONES shares with THE TWISTED ONES the motif of a malignant grandmother. “There was a vulture on the mailbox of my grandmother’s house.” How could any fan of dark fantasy resist an opening line such as that? Narrator Samantha (Sam) receives a message from her brother that their mother seems “off.” Since Sam has been temporarily furloughed from her job as an archaeoentomologist (a scientist who studies insects in archeological digs), she travels to North Carolina to check out the situation. Her mother owns the house where she and her two children spent an impoverished period during Sam’s childhood, living with the late grandmother, Gran Mae. Upon arrival, Sam finds the usual cheerfully eclectic, cluttered décor replaced by a “sterile” ambience more reminiscent of her grandmother’s taste. The walls have even been repainted off-white. Her mother acts nervous, as if she feels watched or overheard.

Sam sees the environment in terms of ecology in general and, of course, arthropods in particular. In the house’s monoculture rose garden, she immediately notices the absence of insects aside from ladybugs. This phenomenon and the flock of vultures roosting in a neighbor’s tree, however, constitute the least of the strangeness. For instance, a swarm of ladybugs invades Sam’s bedroom at night. We gradually learn about her childhood and her grandmother’s peculiarities, including strictness verging on abuse, while Sam unearths buried family secrets -- literally, in one case. It takes a while to reassure herself that her mother isn’t sinking into senility, but the alternative is almost worse. Sam discovers her great-grandfather, Gran Mae’s father, practiced dark magic. No wonder Gran Mae was obsessed with “nice and normal.” Furthermore, the “underground children” she warned her grandchildren about turn out to be real, not imaginary boogeymen. And the rose bushes are sentient.

For me the climax, when the house collapses into a sinkhole, besieged by the underground children, required some suspension of disbelief, but I enjoyed it anyway. Gran Mae’s sort-of return, on the other hand, struck me as believably, deeply disturbing. Sam’s witty narrative voice, the vulture lady and local benevolent “witch” Gail, and the friendly gardener Phil, who grounds the whole story in the mundane milieu of a “cookie-cutter” housing development, irresistibly draw the reader into the experience. Kingfisher has an enviable talent, through Sam’s chatty yet sometimes sardonic tone, to feed backstory to the reader with never a sense of info-dumping. Amid the mainly happy ending, Sam’s unease with the idea that she might have inherited her grandmother’s magic causes the supernatural danger to linger in the reader’s mind after the final page. In Kingfisher’s afterword, she mentions her own battles with roses and the fact that this is her second novel to portray rose bushes as evil, the first being her “Beauty and the Beast” retelling, BRYONY AND ROSES. The section headings (labeled “First Day,” “Second Day,” etc.) enhance the theme with a brief description of a different rose variety for each one. Between the insects and the roses, this novel, like many of Kingfisher's works, displays her characteristic fondness for odd, fascinating scientific facts.

Margaret L. Carter

Please explore love among the monsters at Carter's Crypt.

{Put This One on Your TBR List} Book Review: The Graceview Patient by Caitlin Starling by Karen S. Wiesner

 

{Put This One on Your TBR List}

Book Review: The Graceview Patient by Caitlin Starling

by Karen S. Wiesner 

   Beware spoilers! 

Caitlin Starling's previous new release, The Starving Saints, garnered a lukewarm, undeniably disappointed review from me (see

https://aliendjinnromances.blogspot.com/2025/08/put-this-one-on-your-tbr-list-book.html) here on the Alien Romances Blog. As a result, I decided to hold off on purchasing the hardcover of The Graceview Patient, released October 14, 2025, despite that she's written some of my favorite novels (The Luminous Dead and The Death of Jane Lawrence--also reviewed on this blog and accessible with a search). While waiting for the paperback release, the audiobook version became available on one of my library apps so I borrowed it immediately. 

In The Graceview Patient, we're set up with what sounds like an absolutely irresistible horror scenario that was described in promotion as "Misery meets Invasion of the Body Snatchers". Okay, well, more so the latter than the former definitely got me drooling. Margaret has a rare autoimmune condition that wrecks any chance of her living a normal life. Without a cure, she's barely making it day by day until she's offered a spot in an experimental medical trial that's fully paid for. She'll be forced to live at Graceview Memorial Hospital full-time and subjecting herself to a treatment that will all but kill her. The fact that she has no one to go through it with her (apparently she's alienated every single person she considered relative or friend) doesn't initially bother her too much. The man in charge of all this, Adam, is charming in a way that Margaret has no willpower to resist. As the trial progresses, she begins exploring the hospital and finds something that only becomes increasingly more sinister the longer her trial goes on.

I'm not gonna lie to you: The early chapters of this book were absolutely brutal--so boring, it was almost painful to force myself to continue. In part it may have been done in this seemingly innocuous way in order to throw the reader off. But I have to comment on two aspects of this: 1) The audiobook was recorded at such a low volume that, even with my speaker hooked up and at full volume, I could barely hear it, and 2) the audiobook narrator had a voice all but designed to put a listener to sleep. I realized later that the intention was to come off sounding like the patient who progressively becomes sicker and sicker. She captured that in spades. Despite that there was a reason the narrator read this book the way she did, it was still difficult to endure. If it hadn't been a Caitlin Starling book, I might not have continued with it all the way through. I am glad I did, though, but the narrator choice did skew my initial perceptions of the story. Do I believe that the ebook or paperback would have been any better? No. I'm almost certain I would have struggled even more with those formats than this one. This book was written like a dry textbook. Only when you were too far into the net to back out did it become exciting and suspenseful. At all times, though, it was like watching a train wreck in slow motion. At no point did that cringing let up. 

One further complaint: All throughout the story, the author sprinkled in what could only be perceived as annoying "tell the story before I tell the story" injections, such as things like "maybe I should have been afraid or suspicious by that but I wasn't". If you don't believe you can set up a horror story well enough to be frightening when the time comes, this is the method you'd attempt to make it so. I register a full poo-poo on such a weak and unprofessional delivery system! I was taught early on as an author to never do that, and I agree with the advice wholeheartedly. 

All these issues aside, you have to read this full-on horror story! I can't imagine a single person alive not being anguished at the thought of being sick beyond cure, desperate to find any hope at all, and taking a risk however perilous that might lead to life--a risk that never would have been an option until that point. I can promise you that, once you've read The Graceview Patient, you'll never go near a medical facility without wondering what you're getting yourself in for, without being justifiably a little afraid. Do an internet search for "what bacteria/virus/infection is prominent in healthcare settings" and read some of the articles that come up. Do you know there's actually an acronym for contracting an infection that wasn't present at the time of admission while you're receiving medical treatment (HCAI)? Apparently, some believe that medical centers should be completely "restarted" every decade or so, as it's the only way to really avoid HCAI. I didn't delve too deeply into HCAI in large part because I really don't want to know. There's enough horror in life these days without adding to it with a million "what ifs". 

The Graceview Patient sneaks up on you. You'll probably start out bored (as I certainly was) and, before you know it, you're canceling your next doctor's appointment because…you know, you're really not as sick as you thought you were. It does a psychological number on you, maybe permanently. You'll never look at health, hospitals, or experimental trials the same way again, let alone what constitutes sentience, what should be allowed to live and thrive… While this recommendation comes with quite a few disclaimers, if you like horror--especially the real-life-this-could-actually-happen!!! kind--you won't want to miss this one. 

Karen Wiesner is an award-winning, multi-genre author of over 150 titles and 16 series.

Visit her website and blog here: https://karenwiesner.weebly.com/

and https://karenwiesner.weebly.com/karens-quill-blog

Visit her publisher here: https://www.writers-exchange.com/Karen-Wiesner/

{Put This One on Your TBR List} Book Review: The Starving Saints by Caitlin Starling by Karen S. Wiesner

 

{Put This One on Your TBR List}

Book Review: The Starving Saints by Caitlin Starling

by Karen S. Wiesner

 

 

Beware spoilers lurking in a novel with more shadows than were probably intended! 

Wow, did I not know what to make of this dark, medieval fantasy novel, The Starving Saints, the newest (published May 20, 2025) from Caitlin Starling. This author is firmly on my to-buy list--and, in fact, I purchased the hardcover almost as soon as it came out. Even as I did it, I realized it was a risk, as I seem to react to Starling's books as either a ravenous fan or a reader irrevocably repulsed. Her novels The Luminous Dead and The Death of Jane Lawrence (both reviewed previously on this blog) are favorites of mine. That said, the stories I tend not to like by her are still uniquely, unmistakably Starling works. I'd want to read them, even if I ultimately hated them. Her handling of certain subject matters horrifies me…and probably not the way she would have preferred in this case. I'd have to put this particular novel firmly on the list of those by her that I didn't like. The reasons are as complex as the story itself. So let's get to it. 

The basic story here is that Aymar Castle (set in a made up, medieval fantasy world) has been under siege for the past half a year. With food stores running low, hope dwindles, and desperation becomes the order of the day as there's seemingly no way out of this place. Then, out of nowhere (readers are never really told or made to understand how or definitively why), The Constant Lady and her three Saints (a twisted take on established religion that cruelly portrays bees--unequivocally summum bonum in the world of insects!--as villains) appear. The so-called divine offer sustenance and healing in exchange for adoration, but the price is far too high--at least for three main characters. Having a trio of points of view offered a 360-degree rendering of this dire situation. Whether or not these viewpoints are adequately well-drawn is, to my mind, a moot point. 

Phosyne was a nun who's become a sorceress of sorts (no idea what brought that about). At the king's command, she somehow--even she doesn't know how she did it--turned fouled, toxic water into potable drink for the survivors. He's now tasked her with conjuring food out of nothing and nowhere, a known impossibility. But kings in any universe are always petulantly and imperiously demanding miracles of their underlings. That said, Phosyne wasn't a character to champion. In the latter half of the book, she speaks her true goal, and it's not pretty. Phosyne accuses the Lady of "playing with her food", and the evil deity shrugs off any guilt about seasoning her meat, keeping it occupied, and providing fertile fields for it to gorge itself. Soon Phosyne would understand the gratification of "having everything available to" her hungry teeth. It's at that point that this dubious heroine realizes she is hungry. "But it's not the hunger of an empty stomach. It's the need to taste. To chew. To consume. She wants to indulge." So, that's her angle in all its potentially ugly facets. 

Ser Voyne is a knight, a war hero pledged to the Constant Lady as well as to her king, even if she doesn't exactly respect him. Voyne is trying to keep order over a place plunged into utter chaos. She has to decide whether following orders is wise when the leaders no longer know or are willing to do what's best for the people. As a character, Voyne is wishy-washy. When she finally answers the question about who to "worship" (because that's precisely how she loyally obeys), it's little more than transferring her disturbing adoration from one unworthy target to another. 

Treila is a noble pretending to be a serving girl who refuses to admit to herself that she'd lusted after the big, beautiful knight who'd murdered her father. Now she longs for revenge. Or does she long for something far darker? Imagine someone willing to do anything, no matter how depraved, to survive. In Treila's world, it's literally eat or be eaten. And she's fully capable of doing whatever needs to be done to help herself. Not exactly noble or worth rooting for from my perspective. 

All of these protagonists were weirdly complex and equally superficial. (Trust me, I think you'll understand that contradiction if you read the book.) One reviewer described the main characters' lack of development as "flip-flopping like a dying fish". True, we learned little more about them than what was necessary for the plot, a failure that struck me as sloppily convenient. That's just part of it though. None of these women were precisely good nor precisely evil--a complication that led to my lingering frustration over this book. If there's no one to root for, what's the purpose? Naturally, I couldn't champion the Lady or her saints--they were full-on evil. But the three heroines had agendas and motivations I didn't feel comfortable getting onboard with either. Starling's own definition of them as "complicated and sometimes terrible" was accurate. At least two of the protagonists were portrayed as selfish and abnormally self-serving while the knight seemed short-sighted and foolish with her blindly loyal veneration of unworthy beings. 

Starling is noted for her lesbian fiction, which is generally well crafted. But the three-way attraction between these women came off as forced and far-fetched. There was nothing sexy or authentic about it. Again, why? What purpose did it serve to force them to ally when few compelling, let alone strong, connections actually bound them? 

Unequivocally, The Starving Saints failed as the horror novel it was hailed as in everything I read about it. In an interview, the author said that she's a "big believer in limiting the narration of a story to what the characters perceive and comprehend, or don't. I keep my 'camera' very zoomed in." She asserts confidently that that enhances the horror. I found it did exactly the opposite. Not knowing what to be afraid of or to dread was my biggest disappointment with the story. Starling knows how to create atmosphere. She's effortlessly brilliant at it. However, as promising as this slow, plodding novel started out, the unnerving undertone quickly became mired in too many instances of dense fog. Should I have been horrified by the cannibalism (it was an unrestrained, gore-strewn, grotesque ick), the monsters (which ones were good or evil? who knows), the corrupt agendas of all, the shocking misuse of power by everyone who wielded it at various times as the story progressed? All hints at creepiness fizzled out because nothing came into focus clearly enough to scare the crap out of me--you know, my deepest longing when reading a horror novel. The author drowned readers with characters flagrantly telling, not really showing us, wild theories about all these hazy, shadowy things, but none were convincing enough to be presented as more than abstract methods of confusion. Ultimately, there was nothing scary, beyond that a writer would indulge in writing something like this without developing the plot and characters on a concrete foundation that helps ground readers from start of story to what I wanted to be a dazzling finish. (As to that, I didn't trust the hands left wielding all the power so it was the exact opposite of a happily ever after. But I guess those are no longer what readers are looking for.) In the end, it all came down to floundering for answers that were kept away--because the author herself didn't have any; hadn't even bothered crafting them. That stinks of laziness, not deliberate cleverness, to me. 

Long years ago, I remember going on my first ever fantasy LARP quest before it became a big deal or was in any way well-done. No one on my team knew how to get started, what we should be doing, what was, frankly, going on. We spent a lot of time racing around, searching for clues that providing little more than added uncertainty, and looking at each other, expressing our confusion in these glances as well as in our increasingly frustrated words. That's what I felt like I was doing alongside fellow readers while reading The Starving Saint. Readers need, at the very least, veiled, skillful directions, just as LARPers (especially beginning ones) do. My LARP team members were all thinking, Do you know what's going on? What that's all about? Is it important? What is important? Who should we be rooting for? Is that the bad guy? What should be paying attention to? Where are all these unformed details going? Is there a purpose to this or anything? I never really found out the answers to any of these questions before closing The Starving Saints for the last time. I felt lost and unsatisfied for most of the disturbing events in this massacre of a story. 

If I had to guess at the purpose of The Starving Saints, I'd throw out the nebulous theory that the author was playing with the ramifications of absolute power corrupting absolutely. Even someone who starts out altruistic will eventually fall to the hypnotizing lure and potential of power. But, as no one in this story qualified as a bona fide hero, that lesson didn't really come across. A wanna-be hero doesn't have far to fall themselves. There's little difference between them and the villain. Seems to me a waste not to set the stakes higher. But these days, it seems no one wants a hero in their fiction, something I'll probably never understand. 

The setting itself was deliberately sketched to be obscure; on the whole, a bubble world set nowhere in particular to deflect attention from it. However, this isn't an insult. In this, I felt the lack of development fit the needs of the story. None of the characters in the castle realized the outside world no longer existed because the indeterminate antagonist(s) had enclosed it in a honeyed hive, where nothing could touch or steal its prize. In soft echo, I was harkened back to Poe's brilliant "The Masque of the Red Death" with this tale. To me, that was its saving grace. 

A lot of minor things bugged me while reading this: 1) How often Starling fell into modern slang so out of place in a medieval setting, 2) how randomly and inconsistently the author used contractions, and 3) the use of cliffhanger chapters without adequate picking up of the threads once that particular point of view was revisited.

In the author's defense, (she tells us in the acknowledgements in the back of the book) she wrote the initial draft of this book during the COVID lockdown. She wrote it in a messy, out of order way--an attempt to mirror and/or sort out her anxiety. I remember the book I wrote myself during the lockdown--what I, to this day, call my COVID book. While I ended up really liking it, it's hard for me to read it now without concluding it was written a bit too perfectly. During that time, I was so hollow and unable to feel anything that layering emotion into the story was a brutally exacting exercise of my skill with the writing craft. Everything the story needed, it has, and yet I was distanced by my own experiences during that suffocating time. I know I'm not the only author who suffered deeply and yet didn't want to lose my heroic feats at continuing my profession during such a dry period. My publisher and I decided my efforts were worth releasing to the world, and, in that way, something good did come out of a terrible circumstance. I never envied other authors and publishers the task in trying to decide what was worth saving from that time for them either. If nothing else, Starling created something unique with The Starving Saints that leaves an indelible impression. If you're like me, you'll have to read it because she wrote it and it could be one of the best books ever written, though, unfortunately, I didn't find it to be worthwhile, as several others of hers are. 

All this said, I'm still eagerly looking forward to Starling's brand new release, The Graceview Patient, (released October 14, 2025). 

Karen Wiesner is an award-winning, multi-genre author of over 150 titles and 16 series.

Visit her website and blog here: https://karenwiesner.weebly.com/

and https://karenwiesner.weebly.com/karens-quill-blog

Visit her publisher here: https://www.writers-exchange.com/Karen-Wiesner/