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/

A Sorceress Comes to Call

A SORCERESS COMES TO CALL, by T. Kingfisher is a full-length novel (over 300 pages) set in a quasi-Regency society and inspired by the fairy tale “The Goose Girl.” Although the book doesn’t follow the plot of the traditional story to any significant extent, they share several elements: The magical and eventually decapitated horse Falada; a heroine and villainess, neither of whom is what she seems, moving into a wealthy household; and geese -- as the LOCUS review puts it, attack geese. The first chapter introduces Cordelia, a fourteen-year-old girl trapped in an appalling situation by her subtly abusive mother. The opening scenes and Cordelia’s despairing reflections make painful reading. Her mother, Evangeline, exercises only one kind of magic so far as we witness, but it’s a terrifyingly powerful one. As punishment or sometimes apparently at random whim, she makes Cordelia “obedient.” In that condition, the girl has no control over any voluntary physical actions except blinking and moving her eyes. Her mother operates her body like a puppet, keeping Cordelia in that condition for hours or occasionally longer. Moreover, Cordelia has no privacy aside from her rides on Falada; her mother doesn’t allow her to close any doors in the house. (Contrary to the book’s blurb, the rooms do have doors.) Evangeline, of course, claims she loves her daughter and inflicts this control for her own good. Cordelia manages to make one friend during her horseback rides, a consolation ruined by the discovery that the friend’s father is Evangeline’s “benefactor.”

After the sudden, violent termination of the “benefactor” relationship, Evangeline captures the interest of a generous country squire, who invites her and her daughter for an extended visit. Evangeline intends to trap him into marriage, but she can’t achieve that goal with magic because certain elements of the wedding ceremony cancel spells. She can, however, use her powers to manipulate him indirectly. She has already demonstrated her ability and willingness to inflict horrible consequences on people who offend her, compelling victims to maim or kill themselves or others. Because everyone who believes in sorcerers at all thinks they’re capable of only weak effects such as illusions, nobody suspects her involvement in those crimes. Thus Cordelia contemplates with helpless terror what her mother might do to the squire and his innocent household. Here’s where one of Kingfisher’s most engaging secondary characters (and that’s saying something) comes in.

The squire’s middle-aged sister, Hester, a goose fancier, takes an instant aversion to Evangeline but at first doesn’t know what to make of Cordelia. When Hester learns the truth about Cordelia’s plight and her mother’s evil, the aging spinster recruits a former suiter who’s still a dear friend, plus her closest female friends, each with their own entertaining quirks, to combat the sorceress. It's a pleasure to see an older, single, rather ordinary woman playing a major role in a fantasy novel. In addition to fascinating character interaction and development, the story features library research into arcane lore, scintillating dialogue, desperate confrontations, and moments of bone-chilling horror. Codelia grows into an independent person and discovers her own hidden strength. After narrow escapes, dark moments, and twists designed to surprise even the most genre-savvy fans, the good guys attain a well-deserved victory. A satisfying experience for devotees of T. Kingfisher’s fantasy and horror as well as a worthy stand-alone introduction to her work for new readers.

Margaret L. Carter

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

Oldies But Goodies {Put This One on Your TBR List} Book Review: The Complete Adventures of the Borrowers by Mary Norton by Karen S. Wiesner

 

Oldies But Goodies

{Put This One on Your TBR List}

Book Review of The Complete Adventures of the Borrowers

by Mary Norton

by Karen S. Wiesner 

   Be aware that there may be spoilers in this review. 

One of my first forays into fantasy literature was Mary Norton's timeless adventure series about a family of little people living in the walls and floor of an English home. These little beings are called Borrowers because they borrow from the human "beans" who live in the house--borrow in the sense that they never give any of these things back, of course! Even their names were apparently borrowed from human objects. The series had five installments including The Borrowers (1952 but 1953 for the US version), The Borrowers Afield (1955), The Borrowers Afloat (1959), The Borrowers Aloft (1961), and The Borrowers Avenged (1982). 

The saga follows the Clock family (consisting of father and mother, Pod and Homily, and their teenage daughter, Arrietty). Their original home was based on the place the author was herself raised, namely The Cedars. Arrietty is fascinated by "Big People" and gets into all sorts of trouble because of it. In the first book, she befriends "the Boy", who eventually delivers a letter to other Borrowers, Arrietty's aunt, uncle, and children who she's heard "emigrated". The Boy gives them dollhouse furniture and other useful things, but the household cook Mrs. Driver and the gardener Crampfurl become suspicious. Forced to flee, the family ends up living in an old boot, and the mysterious, wild Borrower boy Spiller, who's around Arrietty's age, brings them food. Each subsequent installment has the Borrowers trying to find a permanent place to call home, away from those who want to make their existence known to the world (for profit). Beyond being titled alliteratively and even alphabetically, interestingly, with Books 2-5, all the stories are named for what happens at the very end of each title. Specifically, at the end of Book 1, the Borrower family finds themselves "afield"; at the end of 2, they're "afloat"; at the end of 3, they're "aloft"; and at the end of 5, they're at last "avenged".   

The characters and plots are winsome, compelling, and chock-full of old-fashioned fun. While the specified reading age is 8-12, why deny yourself the pleasure of such a magical story filled with the journeys of tiny creatures most of us hoped really existed when we were young?  In 1983, a 700-page omnibus including all five stories was published at a very reasonable price. Included with it was a novelette called Poor Stainless--A New Story About the Borrowers, which was written in 1966 and published posthumously. This was apparently a story Homily told Arrietty, no doubt to scare her into submission. In it, Stainless, a Borrower, got lost. I suspect the plucky, adventurous Arrietty went forth unmoved and unimpeded after hearing it. Despite being written in the 50s, Arrietty was a female empowered! She seemed to realize she might be the last Borrower and couldn't and wouldn't be held back by outdated beliefs that women were the weaker sex. Survival is no respecter of short-sighted and erroneous labels.

As I said, this was my first taste of fantasy novels growing up. Though generally my own family went home (our permanent residence in Wisconsin) before school started each year,  after a summer spent in whatever place my dad was working temporarily, this particular year my brother, sister, and I actually started school in the state we were in (South Dakota that time, I believe). I read the first three Borrowers' installments as school library books while there, but I was only a little more than half through the fourth story when we had to go home. I sought out the book after that, hoping to finish it, but I never quite got back into the series, though I know the gist of how it ended (the title specifically told me they'd be "afloat" and Pod had been working on the hot-air balloon within the story). Until recently, I've never finished Book 4 nor read the final series book that came out much, much later than the others (30 years! As an author myself, that's simply beyond imagining!), nor the novelette. I purchased the boxed set, which had the Stainless short, though the original "short author's note" wasn't included with it. As this series holds a ton of nostalgia for me, in 2026, I did at long last finish Book 4, the novelette, and Book 5, which introduced at least one new Borrower and ended on a satisfying happily ever after for this ingenious little family. 

You might be interested to know that many movies and TV series have been launched with roots that go back to Norton's classic Borrowers Series, as well as a similar series called The Littles, first published in 1967, written by John Peterson, about little people with mouse-like features (tail included) that live in a house with a family called Bigg. As you'll probably guess, I also read that when I was much younger, and enjoyed it, although it's always been The Borrowers that held my heart. Give it a try. I can't imagine you won't be glad you did.

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

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

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

Find out more about her books and see her art here: http://www.facebook.com/KarenWiesnerAuthor

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

Oldies But Goodies {Put This One on Your TBR List} Book Review "The Ice Dragon" by George R. R. Martin by Karen S. Wiesner

 

Oldies But Goodies

{Put This One on Your TBR List} Book Review

"The Ice Dragon" by George R. R. Martin

by Karen S. Wiesner

  Beware potential spoilers! 

Latter editions of George R. R. Martin's "The Ice Dragon" saw it becoming a children's fantasy novella (120 pages) geared toward 7 to 12 year olds. However, I don't believe it was originally intended to be for kids. First published in 1980 in the Dragons of Light anthology, it was also included in Martin's 1987 collection Portraits of His Children. 2007 saw the story reworked, complete with new illustrations, and then again in 2014. 

The children's version was the third audiobook I'd listened to on my library's Libby app. The reading was very short and, unfortunately, I didn't have access to any of the illustrations that probably made the story even more compelling. Adara is a strange young girl, a child of winter, with an appearance that sounds distinctly like the Cold Others in A Song of Ice and Fire--pale skin, blond hair, and blue eyes--who befriends an ice dragon. Martin says that this story wasn't originally set in the same world as A Song of Ice and Fire since that setting didn't exist when he wrote it…which doesn't necessarily discount it from being. However, the newest edition of the children's story may have been tailored a bit more than earlier renditions toward his most popular series' setting. In the fifth book of that series, A Dance With Dragons, while Jon Snow descends the Wall, he thinks of an ice dragon in the sentence: "The wind was gusting, cold as the breath of the ice dragon in the tales Old Nan had told when Jon was a boy." I'd love to believe this story was set in that world, whether or not it actually was. By the way, if you're interested in the origins of Martin's Westeros, visit https://bookanalysis.com/game-of-thrones/first-men/, where you're sure to find something compelling you probably didn't already know. 

At the time of the opening in this story, no dragons have been tamed by humans. Adara is the first and, when fiery dragons attack her family's farm, she must call upon her ice dragon and all her courage to save them. 

More than six months after listening to the audiobook version, I read this story for myself within the author's Dreamsongs, Volume I anthology and enjoyed it immensely there (although I didn't really connect with more than a couple of other stories within that collection--sorry to say!). As I said at the beginning of this review, I don't believe this early version of "The Ice Dragon" was intended for children, considering that it was fairly graphic in certain places, though I'm convinced it was presented in this particular anthology the way it was intended to be before being reworked and repurposed so often. Whether you're a child or an adult, if you like dragons, I advise you not to miss this one. 

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

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

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

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

Cozy Fantasy: The Faraway Inn

This weekend at RavenCon, I'll appear on three panels, one on the topic of cozy fantasy. Here are two of the several definitions I found online:

“Cozy or light fantasy doesn’t have a formal definition. It’s best described as a sub-genre that offers audiences fantasy elements with a low-stakes plot in a magical or high-fantasy setting. Think of it this way: It’s like taking realistic descriptions of your everyday life and adding a fantasy flourish. So, imagine you’re enjoying a latte with a friend, but instead of a local Starbucks you’re having teatime with dragons and your barista is a retired Orc warrior. The plots of these narratives also often focus on character relationships or community.” -- from Activision

“Cozy fantasy is a subgenre of fantasy emphasizing low-stakes, heartwarming stories focused on community, comfort, and everyday life rather than world-ending conflict. It often features 'slice-of-life' themes, found families, and comforting settings like cafes or small towns, providing a calming, 'warm hug' reading experience with guaranteed happy endings.” -- from Reddit

I disagree with the term "low stakes," often found in other definitions or analyses as well. I would instead label this feature of the subgenre "limited scope stakes," although that sounds more awkward. The stakes at issue can be quite "high" for the protagonist, but they're personal or local, not national, global, or cosmic. The hero or (more often, it seems) heroine doesn't save the world or some large region thereof. Granted, in Sarah Beth Durst's THE SPELLSHOP and THE ENCHANTED GREENHOUSE a catastrophic political upheaval dominates the background, but the heroines don't play any role in sparking or ending it. The regional conflict stays in the background, with their own personal troubles -- which are pretty serious, not "low stakes" for them -- driving the plot. Along the same line, I find the occasional claim that cozy fantasy is "lighthearted" inapplicable in most cases. Yes, these books often include humor, but they don't tend to be comedies (except in the classical sense of ending happily).

Sarah Beth Durst has just released another delightful cozy fantasy, but this one, THE FARAWAY INN, has no relation to the two mentioned above (which I reviewed here on July 31, 2025). Like them, though, it features typical subgenre elements such as a "cozy" magical location, quirky nonhuman creatures, and the "found family" theme. While they’re adult novels set in a secondary world, THE FARAWAY INN is a YA contemporary fantasy. Calisa, the sixteen-year-old protagonist, hadn’t planned to leave her urban home and spend most of the summer before her senior year in “a place with a truly excessive number of trees.” After she catches her boyfriend cheating on her, though, Calisa accepts her mother’s suggestion to visit her great-aunt’s Faraway Inn in the wilds of Vermont. The bed-and-breakfast doesn’t match Calisa’s vague memories of childhood visits. The place turns out to be rundown and mostly empty. Furthermore, Auntie Zee doesn’t want help and only grudgingly agrees to a three-day trial period. Calisa throws herself into cleaning, cooking, and weed-clearing in hopes of being allowed to stay longer. The change of scenery and chance to make herself useful eventually grant her the perspective to realize she’s better off without her two-timing boyfriend. Getting to know Jack, the caretaker’s attractive, helpful, charmingly awkward teenage son, doesn’t hurt.

The strangeness of the inn begins to reveal itself almost at once. Auntie Zee imposes two strict rules: Don’t ask questions, and don’t open doors without permission. Naturally, Calisa often finds herself breaking those prohibitions. Random doors sometimes lead to portals into other worlds. A statue seems to move when her back is turned. One guest keeps a gargoyle in his room. Another, a woman, has green skin and an affinity for plants. There’s also a miniature dragon hanging around the house. When additional regulars, each decidedly peculiar to some extent, show up expecting the usual level of service, they’re justifiably dubious of Calisa’s ability to measure up to Auntie Zee’s standards. Moreover, Jack confides in Calisa that his father disappeared several years earlier. No wonder the place is falling apart. Although with plenty of surprises and twists along the way, the story concludes as the genre-savvy reader would expect. Jack and Calisa track down his father; Auntie Zee admits she needs help and accepts Calisa as the one to provide it; Calisa matures while reassessing her personal situation. She strikes me as a sympathetic character, a believable teenager with the typical anxieties, yet not at all whiny or otherwise annoying. Jack is also strong and likable. It’s fun to meet the variety of not-quite-human guests and watch Calisa solve the challenges presented by a magical family business. Also, I can’t neglect to mention the physical allure of this trade paperback. It has the most elaborate, beautifully colored edge drawing (artwork on the edges of the pages, visible when the book is closed) I’ve ever seen.

Next week I'll report on the highlights of RavenCon.

Margaret L. Carter

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

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/

{Put This One on Your TBR List} Review of Miscellaneous Selections by T. Kingfisher/Ursula Vernon by Karen S. Wiesner

 

{Put This One on Your TBR List}

Review of Miscellaneous Selections by T. Kingfisher/Ursula Vernon

by Karen S. Wiesner 

T. Kingfisher (the pen name of Ursula Vernon) is a versatile author, illustrator, and artist. She has a page on her Red Wombat website labeled Short Stories that includes links to her short stories and articles, some of which are included in a variety of different anthologies. From this page, you can read them free on her website and/or from online magazines. 

https://redwombatstudio.com/short-stories/

Nearly all of these freebies have won awards, too. The genres run the gamut. There's a little of everything, as you'll soon see in the reviews below. I went into this endeavor not entirely sure what I was getting into, but I was pleasantly surprised for the most part with the majority of these selections that are worth seeking out. As they'll cost you nothing, you have everything to gain, nothing to lose! 

Beware: May contain unintended spoilers! 

"Jackalope Wives" and "The Tomato Thief" by Ursula Vernon: Although these two, connected stories are contained in T. Kingfisher's collection Jackalope Wives and Other Stories, they were written under the author's real name. Go figure. The duo features Grandma Harken, a clever old woman who is far more than who…and what… she seems. She lives in a house with its back to the desert, and she understands this harsh environment much better than most. Her biting humor and compelling way of looking at the world around her make both stories irresistible.

In "Jackalope Wives", Grandma Harken's daughter Eve has a very foolish son who's, unfortunately, much beloved by the females. However, he's only attracted to a jackalope wife. This shy being has the capability of removing her skin to dance under moonbeams. The boy does something stupid to obtain one, and Grandma Harken has to set things right. This very unusual folktale has an interesting message: "You get over what you can't have faster than you get over what you could. And we shouldn't always get what we think we want." Strange things happen in the desert, indeed!

In "The Tomato Thief", Grandma Harken is determined to find out who's daring to steal her famous, homegrown tomatoes. The answer surprises her and forces her to act. If she doesn't, those living in the desert will be in grave danger. It's very hard not to fall in love with a story with lines like these two gems: "Sometimes the best cure for life was a ripe tomato" and "…there was no telling how low a body would sink once they'd started down the road of tomato theft."

I loved both of these stories. They were my favorites of all included on this webpage.  I'm left wanting more of Grandma Harken and her hilarious wisdom. 

"Metal Like Blood in the Dark" by T. Kingfisher: Artificial intelligence identifying as a brother and sister lose their creator and have to fend for themselves in a universe their Father has warned won't be kind to them. Soon, Brother and Sister are discovered by an alien creature that kidnaps and forces them to work for him.

What an unexpectedly moving tale. I've never read anything quite like this tale that postulates the idea that lying is something like an error code in formatting and computer processing. "Lying was to be deliberately in error, and to express that error in others. Error without correction. Error entered into by choice." Further: "What did a lie do, once you let it loose? Did it sit still…or did it go spinning off into a chain reaction…" In a computer, processes and subprocesses might learn to "lie", which would wreak falsehoods and cause them to report back that something was fixed when it was still broken and vice versa. More than this, once you lie, you realize others could lie as well. With this knowledge, could a person or even a computer go back to how they were before learning the truth? In this story, Sister learns that knowing others lie could very well be the only way to keep from falling into error. But, oh to be ignorant of such darkness! 

"The Rose MacGregor Drinking and Admiration Society" by T. Kingfisher: Be prepared for raucous hilarity! Fairy man, bull selkie, and horse fae--three paranormal paramours get their comeuppance in a human woman with a taste for exotic lovers. While each has treated human females badly, they've never been on the other end of such ruthless seduction. They take to meeting regularly around a campfire to discuss the state of lingering wounds to their pride. This was quite a twist on Casanova stories. I'll be darned if I didn't burst out laughing nearly every sentence while reading this brief but very vivid sojourn into unexpected territory. Talk about perspective. 

"Sun, Moon, Dust" by Ursula Vernon: This story clearly came to T. Kingfisher as a precursor (or a lingering leftover) of the days when she was writing Swordheart (do a search for my recent review of it on this blog). A farmer boy gets a magic sword from his dying grandmother. She instructs him to call forth the magic--three warrior spirits that are bound inside the sword--who will teach him. But his grandmother is wrong about who will be teaching whom. Sometimes the learned ancient can discover something new from the young and simple. I enjoyed the twist in this story. 

"Elegant and Fine": This one wasn't ascribed to either T. Kingfisher or Ursula Vernon. It was probably the only one I didn't love. The author puts Susan from C. S. Lewis's Narnia Chronicles as the main character and has her pining for a Dwarf lover she never knew the name of when she has to return to the real world--and her life as a child. I don't like it when a writer takes someone else's work and does things with it that the original author probably would never have wanted. I wish this story had cast a wholly unique character from the author's own imagination into the thought-provoking scenario she presented here. Sigh. But enough said about that.

"Godmother": Another entry not ascribed to either author name. According to the author, it was the catalyst for T. Kingfisher's Nettle & Bone (which I've already reviewed on this blog). There's something poetic about this flash-fiction that evoked lovely images cast in shadows and equal amounts of confusion for me. 

"Bluebeard's Wife" also doesn't have an author listed but it was included in the T. Kingfisher Toad Words and Other Stories collection. Pirate Bluebeard's notorious, bloodthirsty reputation with women doesn't faze Althea. She believes the best of her new husband and no one can speak a bad word about him in her presence. I won't ruin it completely, beyond saying, sometimes rumors have a basis in truth. I enjoyed the story written very vividly in Althea's point of view--with her rose-colored glasses on…until they're rudely knocked clean off her face. 

"Origin Story" by T. Kingfisher: This story was also included in the Jackalope Wives and Other Stories collection. In this disturbing tale, a fairy works in a charnel house, taking apart dead beasts and creating something new. Not surprisingly, the humans find her creepy. You'll need a strong stomach and solid backbone to get through this one. I would be surprised if you don't get a chill, as I did, at the end of the story. 

"History, Discovery, and the Quiet Heroics of Gardening" by Ursula Vernon: Those who have read a lot of this author's stories know she's an avid gardener and her experiences have made into to many, many of her fiction projects. I'm a new convert to gardening, so I was fascinated. Whether or not you have any personal interest in gardening, this essay will teach you something new. I've never thought about how heirloom vegetables may have come back from the edge of extinction because of the aggressive actions of a few fearless and utterly tenacious gardeners. Kingfisher says that this has influenced her writing, as she's found herself writing about unlikely heroes intent on saving one small but important thing. 

~*~

There's really no way to go wrong here. If you haven't previously read any of T. Kingfisher/Ursula Vernon's work, most everything included on this page would be a great introduction that won't cost you a penny. If you're a fan, you might find something here you haven't read before. In any case, I think you'll want to read more. This prolific author and extremely talented illustrator are well worth your time and money--I fully expect, as I have, you'll be happily willing to pay to read much more of her fine work. 

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/