Oldies But Goodies {Put This One on Your TBR List} The Raven and the Reindeer by T. Kingfisher by Karen S. Wiesner

 

Oldies But Goodies

{Put This One on Your TBR List}

The Raven and the Reindeer by T. Kingfisher

by Karen S. Wiesner 

  Beware major spoilers (you'll get pretty much the whole story here)! 

Of late on the Alien Romances Blog, I've been reviewing "reimagined and unconventional fairytales" written by T. Kingfisher. In my first take on Kingfisher's loose renderings of fairytales, I reviewed Nettle & Bone, which is basically a subversion of everything that's been done in a fairytale all rolled into one, along with Bryony and Roses ("Beauty and the Beast") and Thornhedge ("Sleeping Beauty"). After that, I reviewed The Seventh Bride ("Mr. Fox"/"The Robber Bridegroom", and other aberrations) by itself followed by A Sorceress Comes to Call ("The Goose Girl"). 

In preparation for reading The Raven and the Reindeer, a 2016 LGBTQ fantasy release, I re-read the 1844 original Danish tale "The Snow Queen" published in New Fairy Tales, First Volume by Hans Christian Andersen. You can find it online free in many different places. Unlike most of these fairytales, this one is presented in seven long, mostly boring chapters in which a lot of crap that doesn't matter in the least is included and the stuff that's really important is unforgivably skated over (more about that later). Some inventive adaptations of the original that most people will know include C. S. Lewis's The Lion, The Witch, and the Wardrobe and Disney's Frozen. 

So the basic story in "The Snow Queen" is that the devil makes a magic mirror that reflects only the worst aspects of everyone and everything. When it shatters, pieces of it fall and get stuck in people's eyes and hearts, forcing them to become cold and bitter. Gerda and Kai (both names are spelled differently from one variation to the next) are children who grow up next door to each other. Gerda is in love with Kai, he kisses her, but then splinters of the mirror get in his eye and heart, changing him. The Snow Queen comes to town and takes Kai away with her. Gerda is determined to rescue him and goes through a whole lot to do that, though mainly we're forced to endure a lot of boring prose that does nothing to further the tale. All the aspects of "magic" and the supernatural that are the point of this whole story are offered up as short, simple facts, a presumption of acceptance is thrown down like a gauntlet, and readers dare not question the plausibility of anything. Boiled down, the series of events Gerda goes through are:

1)    Gerda is enchanted by a witch who puts her to work in her garden for an endless amount of time until she's able to wake up…you know, somehow.

2)    A crow Gerda can talk to tells her he might have seen Kai in a palace--but it's not him, so it was a big waste of time even going there.

3)    Gerda is kidnapped by a band of robbers, but the robber girl and her reindeer decide to help Gerda instead.

4)    Traveling north, they meet two women. The second tells the reindeer that Gerda has special power that can save Kai--her sweet and innocent child's heart. If she can't figure it out from there, well, that's her problem!

5)    They get to the Snow Queen's palace and enter easily. This is where Kai has been put to work on a Mirror of Reason puzzle that enchants him to stay where he is forever. Gerda rushes to him and kisses him, the spell is broken, and her tears melt the splinters in his heart and eye.

6)    Happily ever after. I said, happily ever after, sir! Just accept it, okay? How, what, when, where, why? you splutter. It just is. I don't know what happened to the crow or the robber girl or the reindeer. Gerda and Kai get away--the Snow Queen apparently was getting her hair done or something, and they're free to leave, go home, and Grandma reads a passage from the Bible about changing and becoming as little children to enter the Kingdom of Heaven. I'm confused. What just happened? Does any of this make the slightest bit of sense? The bigger question, to me, is, how did this story become such a popular one? I mentioned two popular retellings, but there are dozens in existence. Unfathomably. In Kingfisher's acknowledgements, she wonders about that as well. Maybe because it was done so incompletely and poorly?

So, here's my big gripe: Nearly all old fairytales present a story that's almost always rife with unbelievable magic or events that are in no way explained, justifiable, or even particularly detailed. More like's it's presented as if readers are expected to go along with it, like, "Oh, it's magic/unbelievable/crazy. So that happened. Okay, I believe it. Onward!" Except you can't quite believe it because there's no basis for justification. You either move forward, accept that it's all silly and just keep reading because period…or you don't. It's as if the authors didn't feel the need to get their audience to accept the plausibility of their tales. You'd think they would or could have at least tried to provide some kind of elucidation. So often, they didn't bother. Don't ask me why not, or why the publishers didn't make it a requirement then. I can't even imagine. 

I realize most of you already know what the literary concept of "suspension of disbelief" is, but I'll reiterate the gist of it here just to make sure everyone's on the same page, since that's the foundation of this review. In essence, a valid explanation is introduced early in the story that gives the readers what they need to accept something fantastically implausible. If a reader isn't given this justification, it's almost impossible for them to immerse themselves in the story at any point. It's too unbelievable. I'd add that readers who aren't given something convincing enough in this regard either chuck the book over the side of the boat or they spend the rest of the narration in the booing section, shouting snide comments like, "And how exactly did they do that?" every few seconds. 

The original fairytale "The Snow Queen" is one of the worst I've ever seen when it comes to the author not giving even the slightest hint of something that would allow suspension of disbelief. Readers are moved from one situation to the next and, if the writer had done the slightest bit of work (hey, that's part of the craft!), maybe those situation could have been exciting and worthwhile. Instead, we're just left to muddle our way through a thicket of dense forest in the dark with no idea what's important and what's not. We're relieved when it's over, sure, but not for the reason I suspect the author intended. 

T. Kingfisher's rendition, The Raven and the Reindeer, went through every single chapter of Anderson's pitiful, poorly constructed story and gave us worthy justifications that allowed for suspension of disbelief from start to finish. As I read "The Snow Queen", the same question kept come back from one scenario to the next: "How in the world did that work?" I never found out. The author had a really good idea for a story, but he didn't bother to write anything but this skeleton that was bloated with unsightly and painful boils. Mainly, he got sidetracked by silliness that does not story construction make. 

So now I'll tell you how Kingfisher told this tale: Gerta is in love with Kay, and though they're friends, he doesn't seem to know what to make of their relationship, though he does kiss her once--something that confuses her, as well it should. They grew up as neighbors. He's a strange boy who likes puzzles, but she doesn't mind his oddities, though she's put off by them sometimes, internalizing them. She has a nightmare one night, in which Kay is kidnapped by a frost queen in a sled. The next morning, she sees something is definitely going on because the boy she's known all her life has become cold and cruel. Not long later, Kay goes missing and Gerta realizes, after talking to her very knowledgeable grandmother, that it was the Snow Queen who took him. Gerta is determined to get him back. She thinks she may be in love with him, but she isn't sure about that. She sets off and doesn't really know where to go or how to get there, which is probably why she fumbles through so many bad episodes along the way. Boiled down, the series of events Gerta follows after this point are:

1)    Gerta is enchanted by a witch who isn't evil or particularly powerful, just lonely. She puts her under an enchantment. Every day Gerta works in her garden. Seven months pass. A memory of Kay jars Gerta so she wakes up to realize something bad is happening to her. She talks to the flowers in the garden, who tell her Kay can't be dead because, being one with the whole earth, they would know if his body joined theirs. Gerta confronts the witch, who repents and gives her the basic supplies she needs to survive her journey.

2)    A raven named Mousebones that Gerda can talk to joins her on the road. He's loyal and very helpful in his way, when he wants to be, but he's also sharp-tongued. Fun!

3)    Gerta is kidnapped by a band of robbers who want to eat her, but the robber girl with them, Janna, is also a prisoner of sorts. She and her reindeer (who Gerta can also talk to) decide to help Gerta instead. In fact, the reindeer is so old and lonely for a herd that he offers up his skin so Gerta can walk the reindeer road, which is the only way Gerta can get into the Snow Queen's realm. (In essence, the reindeer willingly gives up his skin so Gerta can wear it and become a reindeer.) When Janna kisses Gerta, she becomes very confused about her feelings for Kay.

4)    Traveling north, they meet an old storyteller who tells them to find Livli, a Lutheran and one who understands reindeer and cold in ways few others can.

5)    They find a tunnel into the Snow Queen's palace and, thanks to the very friendly and adorable otters that pull her sled, they're able to find Kay. The otters don't feel much loyalty to the monster they're forced to serve. Kay's been put to work on a puzzle all this time, and he's anything but friendly toward Gerta. He believes she's wasted her time trying to find him. Gerda has been wondering herself why she went to all this trouble. But she's reminded that he has ice splinters in his heart and eye, causing him to be cold and cruel to her and her new friends.

6)    The Snow Queen shows up, and she blasts Gerta with her icy powers. Gerta is, for all intents and purposes, dead--but remember how Gerta could talk to the flowers because they're connected with all things of the earth? Well, now semi-dead, Gerta is also of the earth and "Mother Nature" can talk to her directly. She tells Mother Nature that she's been under the Snow Queen's enchantment all this time, forestalling spring, and causing animals and other things of nature to go hungry, etc. This enrages Mother Nature, and she's coaxed into fighting back against this evil being. Gerta asks if she can be sent back to the world of the living, to Kay, sure, and her animal friends, but mostly to Janna, whom she's fallen in love with and intends to spend the rest of her life with just as soon as Kay is delivered home to his family. The friendly, flying otters are happy to assist now that they're also free. 

Even on the basis of this summary, I think you can imagine that this was a very well-constructed, tense, worthwhile story that has a more fitting and appropriate happily ever after than whatever the heck that was in the original tale. 

The Raven and the Reindeer takes the rattling bones of Anderson's bad, bad, bad story and makes it something unexpected, fully human, and intriguing. It's almost like a literal retelling in which all the important areas of the original that were foolishly left out are finally explained and logically played out. Gerta isn't someone who really understands herself or the world around her (like, at all), so she falls into a lot of traps, like believing she must be destined to end up with Kay as her soulmate, assuming everyone is honest and above-board, and taking so long to realize that her innate abilities are the very ones she needs to succeed in her quest. The character building here was fairly complex, unlike the original. To round all this out, we're treated to Kingfisher's trademark, animated, loveable creatures. In my opinion, they're what really made this particular story something special. 

The author herself (under her real name Ursula Vernon) designed the very cool and stunning cover art. 

I'm still hoping to get hold of Hemlock & Silver ("Snow White") soon to complete the circle of review of T. Kingfisher's fairytale retellings. 

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/

Oldies But Goodies {Put This One on Your TBR List} A Sorceress Comes to Call by T. Kingfisher by Karen S. Wiesner

 

Oldies But Goodies

{Put This One on Your TBR List}

A Sorceress Comes to Call by T. Kingfisher

by Karen S. Wiesner 

  Beware spoilers! 

Of late on the Alien Romances Blog, I've been reviewing "reimagined and unconventional fairytales" written by T. Kingfisher. I came up with this list of her selections, arranged below on the basis of their 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 first take on Kingfisher's loose renderings of fairytales, I reviewed Nettle & Bone, which is basically a subversion of everything that's been done in a fairytale all rolled into one, along with Bryony and Roses and Thornhedge. After that, I reviewed The Seventh Bride by itself. 

In preparation for reading A Sorceress Comes to Call, a 2024 fantasy release focused on "a dark retelling" (which is what it's been described as in reviews and summaries), I refreshed myself on the 1815 German tale "The Goose Girl" published in Grimm's Fairy Tales by the Brothers Grimm. You can find it online free in many different places. 

The crux of that story is that a mother trusts a maid who works for them to ensure her princess daughter gets delivered safely to the prince she'll be marrying. The mother (not apparently a witch?) makes some supernatural preparations to that end--namely, ensuring their magical horse Falada goes along and by giving her daughter a handkerchief that's been enchanted. En route (and long story short), the princess loses her charm (literally, it falls out of her bosom and gets washed down the stream; bye-bye enchantment--it floats out of the story from that point on, out of sight and out of mind) while the maid declares mutiny and forces the princess to swap roles (and clothes) with her so she can pose as the princess. Meanwhile, the real one becomes her maid. This schemer extracts an oath from the princess to prevent her from telling the truth to the royal family she'll be marrying into. The maid anticipates becoming rich and pampered for the rest of her days. It's a brilliant plan, really, until they get to the castle of the bridegroom. The real princess is sent to care for the geese, the horse is promptly beheaded, and the maid is whisked away to prepare for her happily-ever-after. 

Alas, the destiny of royalty can't be hidden or squelched under rags and menial labor…you know, or something. When the princess lets down her golden hair, the boy Conrad she works with is possessed with the desire to snatch a few of the valuable tresses, so she voices an enchantment to make his hat blow away so she has time to brush out and plait her hair each day. Thank goodness for her princess hair, or this tale would have gone seriously wrong! And let's not get into how, if she's like her mom and can conjure enchantments, why not produce one that sets this all aright? 

Anyway, this happens between "The Goose Girl" and Conrad many times. Eventually, he gets sick of weird things happening around her, goes to the king (apparently any Tom, Dick and Harry can approach the king himself for any reason) and says he won't herd geese with her anymore. The king convinces him to continue one more day, and that morning the king watches in stealth. Finding things just as Conrad told him they were with this strange girl, the king summons her and orders her to tell him her story. She says she can't because of the oath the maid dragged out of her. He suggests she go tell the stove then. (Yes, you read that right.) She climbs in, lays her troubles bare to the cast iron, and he hears everything. 

At that point, the king decides to trick the maid into choosing the manner of her own punishment. Hey presto! All gets swapped back to the way they're fated to be. We've all long forgotten the magical elements her mother sent her on her way bearing. So, what was the point of them? Who knows? In any case, I'm sure the prince must not have been swindled into believing the maid was authentic at any point because he sure doesn't seem to mind the new bride that gets traded in while the one he thought he was going to marry ends up dragged naked through the kingdom in a barrel filled with spikes. Summary: I can safely say that T. Kingfisher's version wasn't much darker than the original. 

Okay, so now that you know the basis of "The Goose Girl" story (if for some odd reason you didn't already know it), I'll tell you that A Sorceress Comes to Call is almost nothing like it. To even call it a loose rendition is a stretch. For the life of me, I couldn't twist or finagle Kingfisher's story to fit much of anything within the fairytale it was supposedly based on beyond that, in A Sorceress Comes to Call, there's a magical horse named Falada who eventually becomes headless and there were geese (after a fashion) in the retelling. 

None of this is actually a judgment on Kingfisher's story, nor was there any real sadness in there not being much by way of parallels between these two. I would, however, like to hear it directly from the author why or how the original story inspired her tale. 'Cause I just don't get it. Almost always, Kingfisher includes some illumination about her inspiration for the story in the note she puts at the end of nearly all her books. With this one, she didn't bother to mention it, and this is the one I'm most wanting an explanation for. Sigh. Getting past that (I will eventually), I will say that A Sorceress Comes to Call was just as unique and unexpected as its predecessor. 

Fourteen-year-old Cordelia isn't a princess and her mother is not only a living nightmare but also a dreadful sorceress with a horse-shaped familiar. When their finances run to ground, Evangeline decides to snag a rich squire for herself. In order to do so, she first has to win him with her natural charm, as any magical enchantment enhancements would be broken during the church wedding ceremony (which uses wine, salt, and water) to ensure nothing unholy takes place. What Evangeline hasn't counted on is the Squire's sister Hester, a woman who chose to be a spinster (long story you'll discover in the course of reading this). Hester befriends Cordelia and realizes her mother is far removed from the innocent, sweet woman of misfortune she appears to be--only on the surface. From that point on, Hester becomes determined to save her brother along with this poor, abused daughter of an evil witch. But how to do that? 

I would have liked to know more specifics about Evangeline's origins, though the story does give a basic presumption about what happened to the most powerful sorceresses in that time period and area. Outside of that, the story told was very satisfying, filled with thoroughly engaging characters. Again, Kingfisher's lively prose made for a humorous, suspenseful journey toward solving a most beguiling conundrum about what to do when a sorceress comes to call. 

I'm hoping to get hold of Kingfisher's newest (at the time of this writing in November 2025), Hemlock & Silver, soon for review to complete the circle of fairytale-spun retellings. Don't miss this one. It may not be anything like the origin story, which you might want to peruse before or after, but it's definitely worth a read on its own, considerable merits. 

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/

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/

Oldies But Goodies {Put This One on Your TBR List} Book Review of Three Retold Fairytale Selections by T. Kingfisher by Karen S. Wiesner

Oldies But Goodies

{Put This One on Your TBR List}

Book Review of Three Retold Fairytale Selections by T. Kingfisher

by Karen S. Wiesner 

Beware potential spoilers! 

 

I bought Nettle & Bone because I'm currently devouring just about everything with author T. Kingfisher's name on it. I didn't know what to expect, beyond that it was dark fantasy, though hardly what most people think of when it comes to a fairy tale. The back cover blurb tagline, "This isn't the kind of fairy tale where the princess marries a prince. It's the one where she kills him" pretty much says it all. Or at least I initially thought it did. I can't really say why it reminded me of The Hunger Games, but something about the heroine Marra in the first handful of pages struck that chord of "responsible heroine takes matters into her own hands" when everyone around her fails to act the way they should. 

In Nettle & Bone, Marra is the youngest of three princesses. She herself is as far from "princessly" as it gets. In order to provide safety for their kingdom, her parents agree to the political marriage of Marra's eldest sister Damia to Prince Vorling. Months later, Damia is dead and Kania, the middle sister, is now Vorling's wife. Marra is sent to a convent. Before long, it becomes clear that Kania is trying to stay pregnant in order to escape the abuses of her cruel husband. Marra and Kania's queen mother knows that her daughters are being abused by this prince, but she chooses the safety of the kingdom above that of her own children. Though it'd be easy to judge the woman on that basis, this story is set during a time when females--not even queens or princesses--had many, if any, options. It was a man's world, and submitting was usually the only real option. Few have Marra's bravery, let alone her willingness to act to right the wrongs she sees in the world around her. There's a curse on all children born in the prince's family, something Marra knows has to do with the godmother who blesses each at birth, and she begins to search for a way to save her sister. 

First, Marra seeks out a powerful gravewitch (also called a dust-wife) who can communicate with the dead. The lone wolf dust-wife gives her three impossible tasks, and, after Marra inconceivably manages the first two of them, the dust-wife gives herself over to joining her foolish quest in killing the prince. The two are joined by the dust-wife's chicken familiar and the sweet, if somewhat half-there, bonedog Marra resurrected. The dust-wife clearly didn't want to be part of a group, let alone a family, but this isn't something she can resist for long. Along the way, they recruit a disgraced knight named Fenris and Marra's own godmother Agnes. 

Nettle & Bone was, initially, written in a non-linear fashion. In the opening scene, Marra is crafting the bone dog. However, the narrative soon begins to circle back around to explaining how she got to that point. I found this very awkward and not terribly compelling. Also, it seemed odd and not entirely convincing to me that Marra started the book telling us she was going to kill the prince despite the fact that Kania hated her, and Marra had known this truth about her sister for most of her life. To start with a character intent on murder without a strong enough reason why took me a little time to swallow. At first, I thought Marra's motivation for acting came down to her realization that, if Kania was killed by the prince, as their eldest sister had been, then Marra would be next in line to take her place. She had to stop that at any cost. That meant killing the prince. However, even that wasn't the full reason. I was soon persuaded that, more often than not, sisters love each other--even when they claim the opposite. It didn't matter Kania's feelings for Marra, whether once upon a time or currently. Kania was being treated as if she was little more than a punching bag and a baby factory. Didn't her personal happiness and well-being matter, or only the collective whole that make up their kingdom? That struck me as a much better motivation than I'd first assumed drove Marra. 

Still, I wasn't enamored of the main character right away (similarly, the heroine in The Hunger Games took a very long time and two full readings of the series to really grown on me). Some fifty pages in, I began to wonder if this story was worth reading. It was around Chapter 7, when Marra and the dust-wife visited the goblin market and rescued Fenris, that I was stunned to acknowledge I could no longer put the book down. I'd gone from half-hearted reading to voraciously being glued to the pages. The appearance of noble and selfless Fenris made Marra somehow human, the way she hadn't quite seemed to be earlier, as she'd focused so single-mindedly on the path set before her. Not long after that, Marra's godmother Agnes joined the crew. She was so scatter-brained, hilarious, and interesting, I just loved her. Soon the reader learns that Agnes, as a magical fairy godmother, isn't just good at blessing newborns with good health, but she also has the power to just as easily curse any being and destroy lives in the process. Yet Agnes has made a deliberate choice not to use her power for evil. 

As lovably impatient and grouchy as the dust-wife feigns to be, she's becoming irresistibly drawn into this group as I myself was being hooked. Fenris described them as "Five of us. Five is a fist. Five is a hand on the enemy's throat." A fist includes a hand, and this is what holds people together as a family and in friendships in the physical sense. Along the path of their quest, this unit had become a family, and I wasn't ready to let them go when the story concluded. I want to see them all again, but the author claims a sequel isn't in the offing. Sigh. I hope that changes, but we'll have to see. 

I'm so glad I didn't stop reading this book that, admittedly, took too long to capture me--though, at least when it finally did, it was irrevocable. I urge everyone who liked The Hunger Games series or loves a fairy tale turned on its head to stick with this one, even if the beginning is a little tough to get through. It's well worth the effort. 

I believe this book is one of many that could be described as "reimagined and unconventional fairytales" by this author. I'm a huge fan of things like that (see my Woodcutter's Grim Series https://karenwiesner.weebly.com/woodcutters-grim-series.html). In trying to get a handle on some of the other books Kingfisher has written in this vein 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 variants) 

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 the case of Nettle & Bone, the story doesn't encompass any one specific fairytale--more of a subversion of everything that's been done rolled into one. 

 

Released in 2015, I was able to get the audiobook of Bryony and Roses from one of my library apps. Bryony and her sisters are just getting by after their merchant father's death. But when Bryony stumbles into what she thinks is an abandoned manor to escape a snow storm, she meets Beast, who could be a monster or her fate and future. This clever retelling had a lovely romance that was developed over time, through trials, and much shared experience. The story was very unpredictable, considering how well known the original is. I loved that. The characters were compelling and witty. I was rooting for them even after the dark secret the Beast hid was revealed.

 

Released in 2023, I listened to the audiobook of Thornhedge from the library app. The voice actor had a halting way of reading that was a bit annoying. Luckily the story was short (under four hours). In this reimagined version of Sleeping Beauty, an unconventional knight meets the caretaker of Thornhedge. Toadling is kind of a toad shapeshifter created by fairy magic. She makes it clear that, chivalry aside, waking the sleeping princess might just be the biggest mistake he'll ever make. Luckily, this knight isn't really what most people think of when they imagine a knight--but he is what Toadling longs for. The romance was subtle and sweet, and I enjoyed the author's unusual take on a favorite fairytale of mine. 

Kingfisher thrives at unique and unorthodox perspectives with riveting, fist to the gut twists that come out of nowhere. Nettle & Bone, in particular, would make an amazing film. If you're a fan of reimagined fantasy tales of romance and adventure, whatever you do, don't miss even one of these. I plan to review the rest of Kingfisher's reimagined fairytales when they become available through my library apps. 

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/