In the French fairy tale on which this is based, one sister is kind to a fairy/witch/whathaveyou and is blessed to have jewels and flowers drop from her mouth when she speaks. The second sister goes to demand the same blessing, but because of her rudeness is cursed with toads and snakes. In this twist, the snakes and toads are a blessing of a different sort — toads are lucky and snakes are revered as rat-catching symbols of the goddess Naghali. The setting is a fictionalized polytheistic 17th century India, occupied by fictionalized pseudo-Muslims who call themselves Believers.

Tana and her mother Hiral are the only family Diribani has left after her father, Hiral’s second wife, dies. Miracle of miracles, they actually love each other; no wicked stepmother and sister here. Newly impoverished, both sisters want to keep the family together, but the goddess’s blessings make that impossible. Diribani wants to share her gift, but nearly starts a riot during a parade for the visiting prince and is taken to his palace far away for her protection. Tana’s gift is feared by the Believers. The prince orders her and Hiral to live in the temple grove outside the village, where her beasties can quietly slither off to the forest. They are sad to be separated, but it seems for the best.

But of course it’s not that simple. Diribani has a hard time fitting in with her new companions, who are Believers and royalty to boot. The wicked, greedy local governor drives Tana out and wants Diribani and her jewels for himself. And of course both girls fall for men they think they can’t have.

I liked the delicate interplay between the two religions. The Believers are an occupying power, yes, but they are only portrayed as evil at the beginning, while they’re still “the other” — as Diribani gets to know them she comes to appreciate their customs. I also liked Diribani’s and Tana’s separate quests to determine what Naghali intends for them to do with her gifts. Both girls have quite believable crises of faith, but the goddess never really forsakes them. This is an unabashedly religious book in a way that modern readers will relate to, I think, even though the religion is made up. There was also a surprising amount of complex political intrigue; I can see this appealing to fans of Megan Whalen Turner’s The Thief.

None of the characters ever particularly grabbed me, unfortunately. There’s too much “oh woe, I am a plain/useless/lazy girl; my sister is so much better than me” from both sisters, though that improves some once they start traveling and having adventures. The book struck me as a bit overwritten, with a lot of unnecessary explanation of thoughts and feelings that were obvious. But the descriptions were certainly gorgeous, and Allegra and I both loved the fairy tale “twist.” Most importantly, a lot more happens than in Tall Story, and on that basis we thought it would be more appealing to young readers. I had a blast chatting with Allegra about these books, as she is a young teenager herself and therefore very differently qualified than I am to judge kid appeal!

Also reviewed by: My Library Card Wore Out (my co-judge), Birdbrain(ed) Book Blog (who sent it on to our round of Nerds Heart YA), The Book Smugglers, and Forever Young Adult.

The writing is lovely, I suppose, but I was disappointed by this book (which everyone else on the internet loves, so my opinion shouldn’t necessarily dissuade you from reading it). None of the characters felt real. The entire time I felt like I was reading through wavy glass or something — the images were beautiful, but kept at a distance, not solid.

In this world homosexuality is unquestioned (at least for women… I don’t remember any gay male couples mentioned) — that felt slightly off given the very traditional medieval fantasy trappings of the rest of the world, but okay. It was nice to read a lesbian YA fantasy in which the relationship gets to proceed like any hetero romance. And it set up a good progression from Sidhean, the otherworldly lover of her childhood who represents escape, to Kaisa, the grounded adult relationship who helps Ash want to live in reality.

But the novel brought up so many other issues that could have been fascinating but were never really explored. The story starts with a conflict between the old ways (“greenwitch” magic) and new science. Ash’s mother believes in the old magic, while her father doesn’t; it’s their major fight, and it’s implied that both died because the town greenwitch wasn’t allowed to care for them her way. The scientific medical establishment has only progressed as far as leeches, so I suppose this isn’t a surprise — but that eliminates any interesting conflict between the two ways of life. We know that fairies exist, so we know that magic works; we know that medical science is dumb because ha ha, leeches. The former is represented by Ash’s beloved mother; the latter by her abusive stepmother. It’s too easy.

And then there are the class issues. The stepmother tells Ash that her father left a lot of debt, and it’s Ash’s responsibility to work it off. She cooks, she cleans, she is her stepsisters’ ladies’ maid. We’re meant to bemoan her fall from the leisure class, but what about servants who’ve been servants all their lives? Ash befriends some of them at another house that her stepfamily visits, and they seem perfectly happy with their circumstances — is it fine just because they have better masters? And the huntress has her own servants, who simply bow in and out and are given no character at all. One of Ash’s trials as a servant is that her time is not her own, to visit Sidhean or Kaisa — what about Kaisa’s servants? Don’t they have lovers they might like to visit, rather than hovering around waiting for their mistress to call them? This is mentioned in passing, but it’s never really dealt with, and it’s something that almost always bugs me in fairy tale retellings. Why should we cheer when a character aspires to have servants but be saddened when she has to be one?

Also reviewed by: The Book Smugglers and Racebending

I already re-posted the blurb for Rot & Ruin, the winner. Before the finalists were announced, I’d already reviewed Ship Breaker and Guardian of the Dead. Here’s what’s left:

PLAIN KATE, by Erin Bow: Plain Kate the carver’s daughter is such a skilled carver herself that the townspeople call her “witch-blade.” After her father’s death the town shuns her out of fear, which is just fine with Kate and her pet stray cat Taggle… until they decide she really is a witch who needs burning. Kate and Taggle escape with the help of a mysterious sorcerer named Linay, who asks for only one price — Kate’s shadow. One of my very favorite books I read this year.

Reviewed by Steph Su Reads, Miss Print, and Finding Wonderland.

THE WAGER, by Donna Jo Napoli: Retelling of an Italian folktale in which a frivolous spendthrift makes a deal with the devil that he can’t wash, cut his hair, or change his clothes for years. Unlike most deals with the devil, this one turns out to be a great idea!

Reviewed by Miss Print and Finding Wonderland.

POD, by Stephen Wallenfels: Aliens land and trap everyone inside. Why? Who the hell knows?

Reviewed by Miss Print.

BRAIN JACK, by Brian Faulkner: Like reading a video game while watching the movie Hackers on one screen and a SyFy late-night movie marathon on another. If this sounds good to you, you’ll like it.

Reviewed by Steph Su Reads and Miss Print.

The broad strokes of this book are your basic riches-to-rags-to-riches fairy tale. Lucinda falls for the prince and comes into her own, with some sparkly ball scenes thrown in for good measure. And hello, airbrushed photo of a white girl in a fancy dress! What a refreshing surprise to see you there on the cover! *cough*

The details, however, are clever, original, and touching. The story is full of genuine surprises, from the origin of the Amaranth Witch to the backstories of certain other major players. (I don’t want to give anything important away; there are so many twists and turns!) I realized early on that I wasn’t at all sure where the story was going, but I couldn’t wait to find out.

For fans of Shannon Hale or Graceling or Alanna; anyone who wants a good adventure/romance and doesn’t mind a hefty dose of fantasy. In other words, pretty much exactly who’ll pick up the book based on the cover. There are some major plot holes (more below the spoiler space), but they might not matter to everyone, and the book is still a hell of a lot of fun!

Also reviewed at: Teen Book Review Blog and Curled Up With a Good Kids’ Book

SPOILERS

I want to talk about this book more, so here’s your spoiler warning. If you think you’ll read this, don’t let yourself be spoiled!

Ok, plot holes:

Where did Prince Gregor think Peter got the stone that he bought from him? Peter is a grubby street kid, well-known for being an expert thief. Don’t pretend that you thought the stone’s provenance was entirely on the up-and-up, Greg.

Also in the “Gregor’s a little thick” vein, why on earth wouldn’t he expect Lucinda to see his engagement as an impediment to their relationship?

And finally, the travel between Beryl’s world and ours makes no sense. If she could go back once she had her stone and was “pure of heart” or whatever, why couldn’t she go back right away, before she killed her fiance? And why couldn’t the volunteers who go down the well with the exiles come back right away with their stones? This was such a neat book that I wanted the world-building to line up, and it often didn’t seem to. Alas.

Plus, this is so not an Anti-Destiny Book. Only people born to wealth and privilege achieve wealth and privilege at the end — Lucinda and Peter, both born rich and raised poor, end up in the palace. I find this fairy tale convention tiresome. Still fun, though!

I will admit, I only got about halfway through. As much as I love fairy-tale retellings, myths as metaphor, and all that jazz, I found it a slog. (I did get a brief summary of the latter half from my colleague, but this is not a book that lends itself to brief summarizing.) But I wanted to mention a couple of things that bothered me anyway, because I believe they — especially the second — deserve airing, and I haven’t seen them anywhere else:

• You know how almost every Oprah’s Book Club book is a sexual assault narrative in which men are predators and women need to overcome their victimhood? This. Only sometimes the predators are literal bears. Of course this is part of the real world and therefore must be explored in fiction; I just find it wearying when almost every interaction between men and women in a story follows this pattern. (Or maybe that’s not even true of this book, either… maybe it’s just not a story that’s compelling to me for whatever reason. I’m always so conflicted when I don’t like a book everyone else loves.)
• What is with the dwarf issues in fairy-tale retellings? The dwarves in Gregory Maguire’s Wicked and Mirror, Mirror were creepy symbols for… something I never figured out. The dwarf here represents all that is vile, and here is a typical description:
  

  The littlee-man’s face worked with delight and hatred. His head slowly turned, macabre on his hidden neck — perhaps he had no neck, but only the hairs tethering the ball of his head to his doll-body.

  Way to align stature with moral character, there. I need to go read that story from Robin McKinley’s A Knot in the Grain where Rumpelstiltskin is the love interest just to clean out my brain.

Not to mention that it takes a long time for anything much to happen, and all the magic is just about as inexplicable and hard to get a handle on as it is in original fairy tales. It is beautifully written prose, no doubt, but decidedly not to my taste. (And, to go back to my assertion that it’s not a YA novel, I can’t imagine the teenager I could pitch it to. It’s too slow and has no strong character anchors.)

Also reviewed at: Chicklish, Asking the Wrong Questions (which compares this with the second Octavian Nothing in an astonishingly elaborate review), and Playing with Words. I couldn’t find anyone who agrees with me (except my colleagues).

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You know the story: Beauty’s dad gets lost in the woods and ends up indebted to a Beast. The Beast demands his daughter in payment. Beauty goes to live with the Beast, they fall in love, she breaks his spell, he turns out to be hot. (Unless it’s the Disney movie, in which case he turns out to be dopey and everyone wants the Beast back.)

This version adds all sorts of delicious Renaissance-era frontier-porny detail about farming and food and smithing and food and house-keeping and food. If you think this sounds boring, perhaps you should not be looking to me for your book recommendations. There are also many descriptions of gorgeous dresses and home furnishings, if that’s more your thing.

It’s a fun book, very dramatically romantic, and even though I knew what was going to happen, I got all caught up in it like the 13-year-old girl I secretly am.

The 30-year-old feminist lit crit part of me, though, has the following gripe. McKinley spends the first half of the book making sure we know how “ugly” Beauty is (the name is ironic; see what she did there?). She really lays it on thick. What should have happened is that as Beauty and the Beast fall in love, she comes to appreciate that she is beautiful even if she doesn’t have Standard Princess Face. What actually happens is that when everyone shows up for the wedding at the end and Beauty looks at herself in the mirror, she sees that she’s become “beautiful” in the traditional sense. Her family all notices it, too. There was no reason for her to change physically to mirror her internal change. Argh.

(Not that any of my students will care.)