The first was good, the second bad; the third is rather special.

Publisher: Mira Ink (Harlequin)
Pages: 358
Type: Fiction
Age: Young Adult
ISBN: 978-0-778-30479-1
First Published: 25th January 2011
Date Reviewed: 23rd June 2013
Rating: 4.5/5

The battle for the Nevernever isn’t over. Called back from exile, Meghan is ordered by King Oberon to slay the new Iron King as the Nevernever loses ground and faces ultimate defeat. Together with Ash, Puck, and the cat Grimalkin, it’s up to the mortal to save fairyland from the burgeoning power of technology.

If we consider that the previous book in this series, The Iron Daughter, was but a filler, then The Iron Queen picks up from where The Iron King left off, bringing back the wonderment present at the start of the series. Kagawa is back on target and it must be said that whilst she doesn’t make the most of all the opportunities created by her stunning premise (technology threatening traditional imagination) she has certainly stepped up her game.

Meghan, the half-human heroine, is stronger this time and is becoming quite the powerful character. Though still silly at times, for example she says a trip was a waste of time despite being given an item deemed necessary by someone in the know, and seeming to never have seen a musical notation despite having a musical father, she has surely come into her own, being now rather bearable, it could be said, for most readers. Her kindness towards the Iron fey is at once surprising and utterly understandable – Meghan is very much a person of both the old world and the new, seeing the possibility of both co-existing whereas the older realm of course see the Iron world as the destruction of mankind.

In a style instantly recognisable as typical of fantasy storytelling, Kagawa creates another force of evil for the older fae to fight. And whilst there are romantic scenes a plenty, there are few occasions where deep discussions go on too long during battles – in other words the pacing and placement of dialogue is realistic.

Kagawa has reintroduced the epic nature of her story and her usage of Shakespeare’s work is an obvious foundation which she never strays from. The story looks into the dark side of fairytales but there is little to shock or feel uncomfortable about as it’s more a basic backdrop.

Being that Meghan is from our world and Puck has lived there a long time, the contemporary vocabulary and slang fits perfectly. It may jolt you out of the story for a moment but you soon remember that this is far from a case of Kagawa simply seeking to emulate your typical teen story, here the wording is appropriate. It also reminds you that humanity is never far from Meghan’s thoughts.

Meghan isn’t quite the leader you might expect, a somewhat indecisive and stubborn girl in love, but then given the title of the book you knew what to expect anyway. And it must be said that in the case of this series, the titles letting you know the subject of that particular book isn’t as much of a spoiler as you would have thought at the start.

One of the themes of the series is loyalty, and here it is used more than before. A lot of lore is employed to make a comparison between faery and our world, for example to show how Meghan wouldn’t feel for the lack of marriage in the realm, and to some extent Kagawa demonstrates how even the dark faery world can have its trust and vows. This is of course shown through the continuing romance between Meghan and Ash (readers may be happy to hear that Kagawa isn’t going to insist on continuing the triangle) and whilst Kagawa lets the relationship take on a fantastical atmosphere – of the knights and chivalry sort – she doesn’t shy from introducing contemporary views to the book, either.

So there is little time spent on the actual premise of technology taking over traditional dreams (meaning the logistics of it), which would have made an even better book, but it can’t be said that The Iron Queen isn’t a good book. Because it is a very good book.

Read The Iron King, skip The Iron Daughter, and move onto The Iron Queen. The characters will not always delight, and the incessant eye-rolling is… incessant, but the overall atmosphere might just create that magic for you that the fae surely hope for.

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Everyone but themselves.

Publisher: Peirene Press
Pages: 112
Type: Fiction
Age: Adult
ISBN: 978-1-908670-09-0
First Published: 2011 in Finnish; 2013 in English
Date Reviewed: 1st August 2013
Rating: 3.5/5

Original language: Finnish
Original title: Herra Darwinin Puutarhari (Mr Darwin’s Gardener)
Translated by: Emily and Fleur Jeremiah

In a village in the 1800s, people are concerned about Charles Darwin’s research, and are preoccupied by his garderner.

Mr Darwin’s Gardener is a book in which people worry about change, about the lack of change, and things they don’t know about.

The style of the book is poetic. For the most part the book fits the concept of a prose poem and to a person unused to poetry it may thus prove confusing. The writing itself, translation or not (this edition has been translated from the Finnish by Emily and Fleur Jeremiah), emphasises the erratic changes in the thought patterns of the villagers and keeps a steady pace.

The thoughts are told in the first person with an introduction of sorts in the third. It is somewhat ironic that at times it’s difficult to tell who is speaking, as Carlson’s writing emphasises the similarities between her characters and she writes in the same voice for each of them – presumably, in part, to ensure the poetic nature of the book. Due to the irony, the way the book is poetic, it is impossible to say that in this case not being about to tell the characters apart is a bad thing. Indeed the creation of an almost completely solo voice says much about what Carlso is looking to achieve. It is a crowd of like-minded people that is anxious about the gardener, rather than the individual.

There are a lot of details about all manner of subjects owing to the erratic thought processes. By and large thoughts begin with Darwin or his gardener and can end up anywhere. This darting about can create some confusion that echoes the characters’ minds.

The themes of the book are identity, the world (in a way), and a subtheme, of sorts, of everyone concerning themselves in the lives of everyone but themselves. Indeed although it begins with everyone worrying about the soul of the gardener, it soon becomes a worry about everyone and their dog. At times it would seem that no one has anything to do, barring think, and whilst in some cases that may be true, in general it’s not.

So, as you can tell just from this review, the book is thin on plot. It is a character-driven story, a series of monologues, yet the only person who develops in any way is Mr Davies, the gardener. But then the plot isn’t what is important, and instead of the otherwise-expected character development there is the reinforcement of views. It is difficult to explain, but the book is extremely character-driven without being character-driven.

The book shows ‘busybodyness’ in the extreme, and illustrates how individuals’ lives might be better if they just concentrated on themselves. Mr Darwin himself doesn’t feature, which is just as well really, because it wouldn’t be nice to feel an outcast in your own village.

Mr Darwin’s Gardener won’t please everyone. And it will render some readers very confused. But as a study it works well enough. Definitely requiring the utmost of your attention, this is a book to really delve into and read slowly.

I received this book for review from Peirene Press.

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The one who survived.

Publisher: Michael Joseph (Penguin)
Pages: 446
Type: Fiction
Age: Adult
ISBN: 978-0-718-17706-5
First Published: 13th March 2013
Date Reviewed: 17th July 2013
Rating: 5/5

Katherine Parr had already been married twice when she met Thomas Seymour, but those unions had not been founded on love or produced children, so when she fell in love with the man it seemed as though her future was set for happiness. But King Henry VIII has other ideas – he wants Katherine for himself. Alongside this is the fictional tale of Dot, Katherine’s maid, who is practically a daughter to the destined queen.

Queen’s Gambit is a fine novel that combines history with what-ifs and dreams, and looks at the era from a particularly literary perspective.

The book is told slowly but never dully, from the points of view of Katherine, Dot, and occasionally Katherine’s doctor. This method is intriguing, a present tense in which no personal pronouns are used but the scenes are never confusing. Fremantle makes it clear within a paragraph or so who is telling their tale. If ‘telling their tale’ is an appropriate description, given the style.

For the most part, Fremantle sticks to what is widely known about Katherine, using her imagination for gaps and bringing the people to life with her ideas of how they would have felt. However Dot is completely fictional, representing not simply a stereotype but being a way for Fremantle to further demonstrate her thoughts about Katherine Parr – Dot is a lowly maid but Katherine treats her particularly well, aligning with what we know of her nature as a good woman. It’s obvious that Dot is fictional, partly because of this treatment, but that obviousness actually enhances Fremantle’s credibility. And the mixture of pure fiction with fact works well.

Considering what’s been said so far, it will come as no surprise that Fremantle takes liberties with the history overall. Most notable is the beginning, Latymer’s end. This has the potential to colour the entire reading as it makes a pretty bold statement, yet once again Fremantle shows her hand – she is speculating, providing ideas and creating entertainment, not trying to insert her views as fact.

The comparison, in Fremantle’s favour, with Philippa Gregory, is hard to escape. Fremantle makes some people dislikeable, but unlike Gregory she doesn’t show an active hatred herself, the dislike is all on the characters’ front. And the dislike is somewhat cancelled out by the thoughts of the other characters. You may unexpectedly dislike a certain red-headed teenager during this book, for example, but if anything Fremantle has provided that needed other opinion of a person generally regarded favourably. It is always important to bear both sides in mind and here we have that other side, and it’s not forced on you.

There is a lot of thinking in the book, in the main thoughts replace general descriptions, being rivalled only by dialogue for winner of most amount of space employed. In another situation these thoughts would be considered info-dumping, telling, but due to the amount of non-descriptive dialogue this possibility is in the main cancelled out. And whilst the book doesn’t move particularly fast, it’s not slow enough to bring too much attention to what little ‘telling’ there is.

Queen’s Gambit doesn’t offer anything new beyond speculation, but that was to be expected. The reader has to be willing to read Fremantle’s fictional take on Katherine that doesn’t completely match popular thinking but does provide the popular sentiment. And what Fremantle has done for this lesser-known queen is to be commended. We may not know as much about Katherine Parr as, say, Anne Boleyn, but she is worthy of our study and time.

Queen’s Gambit is a quiet but fine book about the queen who outlived the tyrannical Henry VIII and had a matrimonial history of her own. Enter into it with an open mind and enjoy, and don’t worry about historical accuracy or liberties taken too much – this reviewer is a stickler for accuracy and she enjoyed it a lot.

I received this book for review from the publisher.

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This is what happens when you don’t pay attention to what’s behind the change in someone.

Publisher: Evolved Publishing
Pages: 206
Type: Fiction
Age: Young Adult
ISBN: 978-1-622-53298-8
First Published: 7th July 2013
Date Reviewed: 29th July 2013
Rating: 5/5

Please note that due to the nature of this book it was inevitable that some spoilers would be included. These details were impossible not to explore but should, if anything, add to the review and the recommendation, rather than detract from it.

Chelle is thirteen, soon to be fourteen, and has a bad home life. Her parents are neglectful – her mother is a workaholic who doesn’t pay her much attention and her father is an alcoholic – and it’s had an affect on every other aspect of Chelle’s life. She has few friends (though the number includes the new guy, who she loves), smokes, couldn’t care less about school work, and takes full advantage of the only person who seems to care, her male history teacher – who cares just that bit too much.

White Chalk is a story of what happens to young people who are in bad situations, and shows just how oblivious everyone can be to the needs of those in their care. It shows that whilst, for example, school is incredibly important, teachers need to be attentive to what lies beneath a facade (or in Chelle’s case a not-so-hidden upset that is repeatedly missed) and provides a particular lesson of the kind that most books turn away from. It is hard-hitting, shocking, but needed.

What is poignant about the book in general is the relative calm in Chelle’s situation when compared to the stereotype, those favoured by the media and propaganda at large. Chelle is neglected, but not abused by her family (at least not as much as the stereotype), she is developing a poor school record but is not noted as a problem overall, and whilst she does smoke and hang out with older students there isn’t that air of angst to her that other characters in stories possess. To be sure there is a lot of angst in this book and Chelle turns to cutting herself to relieve pain, but it is the atmosphere as a whole that marks Tyler’s book as so important. Because on the surface Chelle seems less at-risk than many other people, but that doesn’t mean that’s actually the case. Tyler’s book speaks of the people who are overlooked, people whose situation does not align with the commonly-held idea of problematic.

And yet Chelle’s reality is incredibly bad and is indeed problematic. Her relationship with her teacher is wrong, but she views it as a good aspect of her life, never imagining how her teacher truly views her or what his motives are. This relationship, which started prior to the book’s beginning, looks at the complex situation from the mind of the teenager. There is no true appreciation of the age difference or the appropriateness of it, because to Chelle what matters is that she is wanted. And, because she is young and naïve (for all the smoking and her mature command of English) she sees little else. Chelle would likely defend Mr Harris (to some extent of course, dependant on latter knowledge) and say she made the decision to stay with him. But if it is a look at consent, then it is a look at how little consent a minor can truly give when they don’t understand what is really happening.

In addition to this there are relationships with other men that to Chelle, and maybe even to her friends, are easily forgotten, but even a slightly older reader will read the flaws in her plans. Yes, Chelle is fourteen, and that does indeed affect her decisions (or lack of). One will see a future for her that is bleak unless help arrives soon.

It is both Chelle’s silence and people’s lack of attention that results in the devastation that is the story. There is actually a section where Chelle returns to school after an accident that leaves her with large bruises to her face and the only people that notice are her mother (who leaves for work after Chelle tells her she’s fine) and Chelle’s friend. No teacher notices. Indeed Chelle ends up in the principal’s office due to her anger at another student and the woman behind the desk doesn’t even bat an eyelid about the bruises, nowhere is it mentioned. Interestingly it takes a while to work this one out – at first it appears as though Tyler has forgotten to include something paramount. But then it all comes together. In the silence of the adults Tyler is again showing how oblivious people can be, and albeit that in reality the teacher likely would’ve noticed, it demonstrates that agendas are still first and foremost. To the teacher, Chelle’s grades are most important, because Chelle needs to be able to get into college. To Chelle, of course, there are far more important things in life, but to the teacher who cannot see why, everything else is invisible and Chelle is but a bad kid.

At the end, the reader will turn the page for the next chapter and be shocked that there isn’t one. Other authors who write about this subject like to include particular lessons, to illustrate how people can avoid disasters, to educate their readers in this way. Tyler looks at the situation more realistically, she doesn’t end her book happily with the subtext of “remember to be nice”, she reminds you that being nice isn’t an option because in these situations, in reality, there is no more time to be nice. The beauty of the ending, if such a description can be used, is that Tyler doesn’t give in to all those who want to see redemption, happiness, an education to adults and younger readers. Instead she tells you very harshly that it’s too late for lessons, that hindsight is pointless, and action has to be taken now rather than later.

White Chalk demonstrates that age is just a number when it comes to self-harm, depression, anger, and so forth. Indeed the older students point out a few times the age of Chelle, which even the reader may forget on occasion. It demonstrates how little we should expect young people to be aware of their situation, and its silence during times when any reader will say ‘Tyler really needed to add such and such’ speaks volumes about what the author is trying to get across. Anything left out of this story is not by accident, and instead of the usual situation, where the book would be considered not yet ready for publication and the author perhaps in the wrong field, becomes the extreme opposite here.

Everyone needs taking care of and no matter that it looks like they’re making do in a bad situation, the truth may be that that is only surface dressing. In addition, people view situations differently and the context of the person living it makes the difference as to whether or not it’s something to watch out for.

With White Chalk, you don’t realise just how hard a book it is until you’ve finished it. But it is, and its importance is vast.

I received this book for review from PixelPr Tours.

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If they were the Brothers Grimm, then these were the Sisters Wild, and one in particular played a big role in the collecting of stories.

Publisher: Allison & Busby
Pages: 475
Type: Fiction
Age: Adult
ISBN: 978-0-7490-1328-8
First Published: March 2013
Date Reviewed: 26th July 2013
Rating: 5/5

Dortchen Wild fell in love with Wilhelm Grimm at first sight. Her love continues to grow over the years but the age gap between them and the difference in societal standing means that Dortchen already knows there’s no chance her father would allow her to marry him, he barely lets them socialise. Wilhelm and his brother are collecting folk tales for a book they wish to publish and Dortchen becomes one of their sources, but the Grimm family have only the faintest idea of what goes on behind the doors of the Wilds’ house, and about the anger of the father.

The Wild Girl is a necessarily slow but by no means quiet novel that takes as its premise the girl history forgot, her family, society at the time, and the possibilities brought forth by Forsyth’s research. In a similar vein but with major differences to Forsyth’s previous book, Bitter Greens, the story brings the concept of the dark fairy tale into reality whilst balancing that hard truth throughout on the other hand.

Forsyth has chosen as her subject the foundations of her previous story. Albeit that she told Bitter Greens, a retelling of Rapunzel, from the view of one of its earlier writers, it is widely known as the work of the Brothers Grimm and therefore The Wild Girl is a return home of sorts. The facts known about Dortchen can be found in Forsyth’s source information at the back of the book; she has followed the facts where possible and elaborated on the grey areas.

One of these grey areas is the possibility of violence, which is important to mention because of the nature of it. The domestic abuse is suggested very early in the book and it should be noted that this is in no way a story for young readers. Forsyth takes the route currently popular in retellings, showing the dark side of fairy tales, exposing their true routes, and this runs parallel to her interpretation of Dortchen’s family life. It is interesting the way Forsyth came to her conclusion of how Herr Wild acted, at least for the purposes of her book, and at the end of the book Forsyth makes a compelling case for what she has written whilst never saying that it is definite. For it is not, but her source information does support her tale.

Here we come to Dortchen’s later meetings with Wilhelm, and this bares responding to because it can be frustrating for the reader but is surely realistic of the situation. In writing what she has, Forsyth has turned the notion of ‘filler’ on its head because in any other context, Dortchen’s conduct would be considered dull. But Forsyth uses the time to remark upon the affects of violence and abuse on a person’s later view of relationships and shows that a fairytale ending is impossible, if not forever then at least for a very long time. And albeit that the backdrop is the 1800s and people respond, react, and keep quiet as they surely would have then, Forsyth’s commentary is relevant to our present day, too.

The book is steeped in French Revolutionary history, and here you get the point of view of the Germans. Forsyth brings the needed opinion of the common person into the picture and provides a lot of factual detail about the movement of the armies and the battles fought. You see the direct affects both the initial change and later reversal of changes had on the population of a country where religion was still important, society unequal, and the poor enslaved. Forsyth offers up the interesting detail of how Napoleon’s rules could be hated until society got used to them at which point, when the reversal happened, a lot of people saw the good in the Revolutionary rules – if not when it came to views about women. There is enough here to supplement the knowledge of anyone with an interest in the Revolution and how it affected Europe, with the foresight that only the inconsequential, such as individual one-scene characters, are fictional.

So The Wild Girl is a fairy tale of a different sort. The main plot isn’t based in fiction and there are no fairy godmothers, princes, or witches with towers. It is in the writing itself that the book makes a claim to the label and in the inclusion of the many stories told to the Grimm brothers. These inclusions are as much a source of knowledge as are the accounts of the wars. There is a very slight paranormal element used but it is more about the ideas Dortchen has, because it is never suggested that this paranormal element is real or that it has a true affect on the story. It is more a case of convenience for Dortchen’s imagination and to help her mental state (though in no way a convenience in terms of Forsyth wanting to hurry on with the story).

After all this, then, what about the characters? Dortchen is strong but understandably this nature is left in tatters as the story continues. The other Wild daughters are well-rounded and made easy to tell apart by Forsyth’s instant usage of stereotypes (stereotypes of a fashion used in fairy tales). The Grimm family, too, are developed, and Wilhelm is a worthy hero, all things considered. He was never going to be the knight in shining armour as real life rarely works that way, but instead he is believable and at times a fine example to use when Forsyth is discussing affects and reactions. Herr Wild shows the contradictions of religion and reality, and in Frau Wild you have at once the typical melodramatic mother you might expect from such a story, as well as a well-written example of both the hindsight of the present and the lack of knowledge – paired with discrimination – of the time. This is a hard book to read, there is no doubt about that, but it is both entertaining in its way and poignant and necessary in another.

The Wild Girl is about the women patriarchal history forgot, of the people who were crucial to the Grimms’ success. It is important, it is informative, and it is a compelling read. And it reminds you that there is always darkness to the sweetest tale and that even the hardest of times can include a little magic.

I received this book for review from Allison & Busby for Historical Fiction Virtual Author Tours.

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