Kara used to think her life was on track, but one divorce later she finds herself back in the small town of Hog Chapel, living in a
spare room of her eccentric Uncle Earl's tourist trap museum. She grew up among the taxidermy beasts, strange artifacts of questionable
authenticity, and other odds and end that clutter the two-story place, plus it's rent-free and she gets all the coffee she wants from
the shop next door, so she can't really complain; all she has to do is help her aging uncle run the museum, and maybe do something about
cataloging the out-of-control inventory, until she gets her feet back under her.
Then she finds the hole in the wall, beyond which lies an impossible concrete corridor... and a doorway into a world of mist and willows
and a broad, island-specked river, with innumerable other doorways and corridors and mysteries.
With Simon, the barista from the coffee shop, Kara decides to explore a little - only to discover that the seemingly empty world of the
willows isn't so empty, or as benign, as it first appeared. Malevolent entities stalk the land, slipping in and out of reality and doing
unspeakable things to whatever they catch, and even thoughts aren't safe from them. Worse, the hole that let Kara into the willow world
may also let the monsters into Hog Chapel.
Review
The Hollow Places is a nicely creepy tale of other worlds and unseen horrors, featuring a reasonably competent heroine and
sidekick and terrifyingly inscrutable monsters literally operating on an unknowable plane of existence. The southern town of Hog Chapel
and the little museum of wonders make a nicely quaint throwback setting for the horrific events that unfold, as Kara and Simon poke at
something that should best be left alone. The willow world has a surreal and menacing quality from the start, even before they encounter
anyone or anything undeniably amiss. Kara quickly realizes she's in way over her head, but cannot seem to walk away, not knowing the
dangers lurking just beyond a hole in reality itself. The story takes a little time setting itself up, and there are one or two instances
of Kara dropping the mental ball to prolong the plot, but overall it delivers the tale it promises.
Once, Studio Mandolini produced the best illuminations - magical artwork, capable of nearly anything from keeping food fresh in
the pantry to turning back a raging housefire - in the city. But those days are fading, and today's Mandolini family of artists seem
to be fading with it, disappearing into their own projects. Young Rosa hopes to become an illuminator herself, but she grows so
bored with the lessons, with having to draw the same things over and over and over again, when all she really wants to draw is
monsters like fanged radishes. It doesn't help that she also still can't infuse her art with power, the key to a true illumination,
though everyone agrees that she's almost there; "almost" still isn't good enough, and it makes all the tedium of practice, practice,
practice seem all the more useless. Discouraged and more than a little bored, Rosa ends up rummaging around in the studio's basement
and the collected artistic detritus of several generations of Mandolinis... which is where she found the forgotten box with the crow
on the lid - a crow that must have some powerful illumination magic infused, as the very sight of it keeps making her turn around
and temporarily forget she even saw the box. But one thing she definitely has in common with her family is her stubborn
determination; if a box doesn't want to be seen, let alone opened, nothing is going to stop her from doing just that.
Which is how Rosa unleashes a magical monster that may well spell the doom of Studio Mandolini: an enspelled mandrake root known as
a Scarling, whose charcoal scribbles can come to life and drain power from illuminations.
Helped only by the talking crow Payne, come to life from the box lid, Rosa decides that, since she unleashed the Scarling (and since
nobody would believe her anyway), it's up to her to stop the malicious little beast... but the Scarling has had centuries to plot its
revenge against the Mandolini family, and Rosa can't even paint a working illumination to fight against its ever-growing army of evil
scribbles.
Review
I had hoped that Illuminations would follow in the vein of T. Kingfisher's rather enjoyable A Wizard's Guide to
Defensive Baking, which had an outwardly light premise that hid darker shades and a sharper tooth underneath. This story,
though, is a doodle that stays on the surface of the page, aimed younger and being rather more silly, and even at its relatively short
length it felt a little long for the story it contained.
Rosa starts out as, frankly, a whiny and selfish little kid, complaining to her family about her boredom and expecting them to solve
the problem. Everything about the crow box in the basement screams "Dangerous Magic - Do Not Touch", and a girl raised in a studio
full of people who work with magical artwork should well recognize trouble when she sees it, but nevertheless she does the selfish,
short-sighted thing... after quite a bit of drawing out and dithering by the story, enough that I came close (more than once) to
finding another audiobook. Once the Scarling is released (along with its guardian, the living artwork crow Payne), things pick up a
little, but still often wander into tangents about the exaggerated and often silly Mandolini family (who are Artists in the purest,
most eccentric and distractable sense of the term) and Rosa's frustrations with being a kid, often talked down to when she isn't
outright overlooked. There are some themes about family and friendship and forgiveness and how complicated all three can be, and how
art as a job can feel more like a repetitive grind and less like a joyous connection with the muses (further exacerbated by how
illuminations work: styles and specifics differ, but each illumination must contain specific elements if it is to do its job, meaning
that, for instance, a cat must have blue eyes if it's to ward off mice... and painting dozens of cats, even of different sizes and in
different poses, with blue eyes will inevitably start to feel monotonous by the fifth or six feline on the easel, even if that's what
one must do to pay the bills). Rosa does some growing up, of course, and it's almost inevitable that she levels up in the art
department while fighting malicious scribbles (that her family initially assumes must be her, even though she never once, not even as
a child, drew on the studio walls or made art in such a crude style and would have no reason in the world to act out against the
other Mandolinis). Some points are repeated more than even a younger reader should need to figure things out, and characters often
need several blows to the skull to figure some things out. The ending draws itself out (and never follows through on an earlier setup
that I was absolutely positive would come into play, given how much time went into showing off that particular project), after a
climax where I was almost shouting at the characters to do the one thing that they obviously needed to do (which they eventually did
even without my input).
There's a light, whimsical tone and several silly moments, and Payne in particular was a fun character (for all that even he could've
used a rap on the skull more than once for wandering off on tangents and not spitting things out clearly). The concept of
illuminations also was interesting. I just found Rosa and the others a bit too frustratingly obtuse and the story itself a little too
thin for my tastes.
In fairy tales, the princess who marries a prince gets a happy ending... but not Marra's sisters. As the third daughter of a minor
king and queen, she watched as Mother sent eldest Damia off to marry Prince Vorling of the Northern Kingdom, there to secure peace for
their own small nation - only for her to return in a funeral shroud not long after, victim of an unfortunate accident. When Marra's
second sister, Kania, is sent to marry Vorling in Damia's place, Marra is packed off to a convent to serve the Lady of Grackles (and
be kept safely out of the way, against future political need). But when she visits Kania years later for the birth of her neice, Marra
realizes something is very, very wrong in the Northern Kingdom. Damia died of no accident, but was killed by her husband, and Kania
will only last until she's delivered the male heir he needs... if that long. And if she fails, Mother will not hesitate to sacrifice
Marra for the safety of their realm in yet another doomed marriage to an abusive and murderous man.
Eventually, she comes to one conclusion: the only way to secure the safety of her sister and herself is for Prince Vorling to die.
Thus, Marra sets out in secret from the convent, to find a witch to help her do what she cannot do herself. Her journey will take her
to cursed lands and goblin markets, facing impossible challenges and unexpected dangers at every turn. Along the way, she might find
the hero she needs - or she might find nothing but her own grave.
Review
It's been a bit since I read a story that earned that elusive full fifth star in the ratings, with that little extra inexplicable
click or spark that kicks it over the top. Nettle & Bone managed that feat, somehow packing a full novel's worth of story
and character and worldbuilding and depth into fewer than 250 pages.
At the start, Marra is an atypical heroine for a fantasy story, for all that the reader first meets her in a bone pit wiring together
dog bones while hiding from cursed cannibals. She's not a slim, beautiful princess, but a bit short and a bit round and a bit plain,
plus more than a little sheltered, without the sass or pluck or inherent cleverness that would mark her for great things in other
tales. Her relationships are complicated things, especially with her close family, and she struggles sometimes to reconcile how, for
instance, a mother who loves her and her sisters can also callously slide them about the political game board, the good of their
little kingdom always winning out. Marra tries to tell herself she's exempt from these manipulations, especially during her years of
peace and simplicity at the convent; even when the full truth finally settles on her, seeping through naivete and ignorance and
willful blindness to cruelties and truth she just does not want to believe, she clings to her own insignificance as an unattractive
third daughter as proof against misfortune... but, even if she is safe (which she knows, deep down, she is not), she finds she cannot
live with Kania's suffering at Vorling's hand. Nor is it so simple to just strike down Vorling through poison or a hired sword; he
and his entire line are protected by birth gifts from a poweful godmother, far stronger than the one that blessed Marra's line (a
fairly feeble gift of health, which clearly didn't do Damia much good against Vorling's rage). Thus begins her quest to find a way to
circumvent the magic, a journey that brings her to the doorstep of an irascible bone-witch tending a long-forgotten graveyard with a
demon-souled chicken as a familiar. Under pressure, Marra finds strength and determination as she's faced with three impossible tasks
before the bone-witch will deign to help her, but that's just the beginning of a truly arduous journey. Victories are not easily
gained, and even most of the way through she has no idea just how she's going to save Kania without dooming her own kingdom to the
wrath of a much larger nation, but she manages to keep going, mostly because she has no other choice. Along the way, she gathers more
sidekicks, including Bonedog (the dog made of silver-bound bones, as loyal a mutt as ever lived... or died... or lived again) and a
disgraced knight of a distant land. Nobody is flat or obvious, their interactions interesting and sometimes quite fun and lively, nor
is anyone beyond mistakes. Around them, an interesting world unfolds, some bits familiar from old fairy tales and others being unique,
or at least assembled into something new and intriguing. There are a few sparks of romance, but nothing that comes to dominate the
plot, as they all have much bigger issues to cope with. The tale unfolds without many obvious twists, all building to a solid and
satisfying climax and resolution.
Despite a little initial wariness about the protagonist Marra, I was won over quickly enough. I can't think of a single quibble worth
noting here, so I went ahead and crowned this book with the top rating.
A widow in her thirties, despised by her in-laws (mostly for not getting a child by her short-lived husband, making her a worthless
burden as far as they're concerned), Halla had minimal expectations in life, especially when the only one who would take her in was
eccentric old Uncle Silas. Now that he has passed, she expects to be cast out in the street - but the man left her his fortune and his
house full of oddities. Suddenly, shrewish old Aunt Malva and her spineless son Alver, who had no use for her before, find they do,
indeed, have a purpose in mind: marry her to Alver, then kill or incapacitate her while they take control of the inheritance. Halla's
objections get her locked in her room until she "sees reason" (or until they can get her declared too feeble-minded to make her own
decisions). She sees no way out of the predicament save taking her own life - but the old sword she grabs, part of the late Silas's
clutter, has other plans...
Centuries ago, mercenary Sarkis was cursed into the steel after a terrible defeat. Ever since, he is bound to serve the sword's master,
following it from hand to hand through the years. Be they good or evil, Sarkis has no choice. Even death cannot release him; a
fortnight later, when the blade is drawn, he reappears, healed in body if not necessarily in spirit. When he finds himself summoned to
the waking world once again, he expects to find battle, or a warlord. He does not expect a tearful, desperate woman about to be married
off against her will. This is, perhaps, the most ignoble waste of his talents he's ever been forced to endure, but rules are rules:
she drew his sword, so she is, for all intents and purposes, his master, and he is bound to help.
Halla has never met anyone like Sarkis, and vice versa. After their inauspicious meeting and escape, they set out to find help from the
Temple of the White Rat, which specializes in untangling thorny knots like the one she finds herself in... a journey with numerous
dangers, from followers of a fanatic god to bandits. The greatest danger, though, may come from within, two wounded hearts who may not
recognize their chance until it's too late.
Review
Though technically part of a larger world, I read (or listened to, rather) it as a standalone. Maybe that was part of the problem,
but I doubt it, because my issues with the book have very little to do with the worldbuilding, a passably interesting fantasy land with
the usual pseudo-medieval aesthetics, a handful of gods and goddesses in uneasy coexistence (particularly in relation to the fanatical
followers of the "Hanged Mother"), and magic and mystery around the edges. Nor was it necessarily with the main story arc, which - when
it didn't bog itself down in somewhat silly diversions, not helped by Halla's tendency to babble and do, frankly, stupid things for the
sake of doing stupid things - was also interesting enough to keep me reading (or listening).
What cut a full fourth star from the rating was the romance angle, particularly the beyond-stale, well-into-fossilized cliché of
a woman having to be romantically and sexually naïve so her True Love in some way owns her pleasure and satisfaction, being the only
one to induce either. Even when the woman is a widow, it's emphasized how uninterested her late husband was in matters romantic or carnal,
how little she actually cared about him, because apparently there is only ever one person a body can ever truly love. (Some books go so
far as to make said woman childish in appearance, too, just to drive home the creep factor with the older male love interest introducing
her to sex; fortunately, that wasn't the case here, even if Halla is almost impossibly sheltered and naïve about people in general
to the point where she often behaves with a childish guilelessness.) She's also supposed to be smarter than her demeanor lets on, her
off-putting streams of questions a form of camouflage to get people to dismiss and ignore her (instead of bullying or hurting her), but
to be honest that silly/stupid demeanor runs far deeper than it ought to for a grown woman. As for Sarkis, he's a gruff, grizzled,
put-upon soldier, worn down by unwanted immortality and service through the centuries, often to less than pleasant masters. He finds
himself drawn to Halla, the first person to treat him as a human rather than a tool in far too long... and despite the fact that she
could make a career out of blundering into danger, to the point where one honestly wonders how she made it to her third decade with all
her limbs. But he's also hiding a secret that could threaten everything... one that, naturally, doesn't come out until The Wrong Time to
trigger the low point of despair before the climax. I was grinding my teeth in annoyance with both of them at this point; so much of the
angst between them could have been resolved if they just opened their mouths for something other than a silly question. It also feels
like it wants a sequel, but there appears to be no sign of one.
Between my annoyance at the romance dithering and Kingfisher's overuse of Halla's babbling (and Sarkis's irritation with said babbling,
which lost its humor early on and just made me wish I could fast-forward to when the plot moved again), Swordheart fell to a
bland three-star Okay rating, which is a shame because I liked some of the secondary characters and the world, and the rest of the tale
could've easily carried four stars. I'm on the fence about reading on in this world, unless I can get some assurance that the parts I
found annoying aren't replicated.
Once upon a time, there was a beautiful princess trapped in a cursed sleep, high in a tower hidden by an impenetrable tangle of vines
and thorns... but were the brambles there to keep brave knightly rescuers out, or something else in?
Toadling - once a human child until snatched by fairies, raised in their world, and returned irrevocably changed by her experiences - lives
in the hedge, protecting the secret within as she was bound to do many mortal lifetimes ago. As time passes, it seems that people have
finally forgotten all about the tower, to her relief... until a curious knight turns up, determined to unravel the mystery of the hedge,
the tower, the princess, the curse - and Toadling herself.
Review
Thornhedge puts an interesting spin on the Sleeping Beauty story, weaving in elements of fae lore and changelings. It starts
out a little slow, playing it cagey about what's going on and why a young woman with fairy powers - raised by marsh-dwellers known as
greenteeth in the fairy realm, she learned small magics over water, as well as how to talk to animals and turn into a toad - is hiding
out in Sleeping Beauty's hedge. Watching as time passes and a road is built past the hidden tower, Toadling reveals mixed feelings
about humans, fearing them and longing for their company at the same time, while ultimately burdened by the task/curse that shackles
her to the forgotten tower on the forgotten hill. Time meanders past, centuries drifting by, before the knight shows up and kicks off
the story proper. As she tries to discourage him from his explorations of the hedge, her backstory is revealed, as well as what really
happened in the lost kingdom of the tower, from the fateful christening to the day the thorns grew - not at all the story one knows
from popular fairy tales. After the initial meandering, the tale picks up very nicely, developing into a dark retelling that highlights
the casual cruelty of both fate and the fairies, how beauty and virtue are not always bedfellows, how misplaced love and loyalty can do
great damage, and how family can be found in the most unexpected places and people. It all wraps up with a strong finish, though that
earlier dithering just barely held it down to four stars.
Like many people in the land, fourteen-year-old Mona has magic, but isn't much of a wizard. She can't summon lightning bolts or move
mountains or wake dead soldiers to fight on the battlefield. Her gifts are smaller and more practical, over baked goods and yeast; she
can keep the biscuits from burning, make the gingerbread men dance, and one time accidentally put too much power into a batch of sourdough
starter and thus created Bob, the yeast blob which now lives in a bucket in the cellar and has been known to devour rats (but which still
makes the best sourdough in the city.) Fortunately, she lives in Riverbraid, where people aren't as fussed about wizards in their midst
as some places. But when she discovers a dead body on the bakery floor one morning, Mona learns of a dark side to her city, a hidden
assassin striking down Riverbraid's wizards - and a plot that could leave the city at the mercy of vicious mercenaries.
Review
I wanted something quick and fun, and this fit the bill nicely. Mona's just a girl who wants to be left alone to bake sweet rolls and
sourdough; she fights being drug into nefarious plots and potential coups, just as she fights the idea that her gifts could be much more
than she's made of them. At times, the story reads light and almost simplistic, with Mona a little too stubborn and slow to pick up on
obvious danger signals; if it weren't for her partner of convenience, the street thief Spindle, she'd be dead a few times over by the
time she figures out how to stand on her own two feet. At other times, the tale offers some pointed commentary on the nature of heroism,
the dangers of xenophobia (and how it can be harnessed and inflamed by those with the worst of intentions), and how politics and power
have a way of manipulating truths and bending people until they break. The concept of bakery as wizardry makes for an enjoyable plot
device, reasonably well explored, as Mona learns that it's not the strength of your power, but how creatively you can employ it, that
makes the greatness of a wizard. It reads fairly fast and reaches a reasonably satisfying conclusion, with enough sacrifices and pain
along the way to add substance and keep it from being just a puff pastry of a tale.
