2017 fantasy anthology in two parts, commentaries on fairy stories and
a few original ones.
All right, perhaps the commentaries are a bit one-note; they're
snark, but they're good snark.
And when they had gone a little way they came to the sea, and then
they sailed, but where they got the ship from I have never been able
to learn.
I am so explaining away my next plot-hole with this one. "And
where they got the tactical nuke from, I have never been able to
learn."
These were originally published over an extended period on Vernon's
blog—but unlike her previous serial-turned-book Summer in Orcus I
had a great time consuming them pretty much all at once. (If snark
wears on you, though, perhaps try spacing them out.)
All those who think that the prince will have learned to listen to
the absurdly competent Master-maid and will be very sure not to
break his promise, raise your hand!
Okay, if your hand is raised, you have failed Fairy Tales 101.
Please report to the office for our remedial class, entitled "Why
We Do Not Insult Old Women At Wells And Other Vital Lessons."
No good will come of
it!
In a variant of Cinderella:
She put Little Rag Girl in a corner, with a big basket over her.
When the king came into the house he sat down on the basket, in
order to try on the slipper.
Little Rag Girl took a needle and pricked the king from under the
basket. He jumped up, stinging with pain, and asked the step-mother
what she had under the basket. The stepmother replied, "It is only a
turkey I have there."
You know, one of those new fangled needle turkeys. We crossed them
with porcupines so they could eat tree bark. Tasty, but you have
to be really careful plucking them.
So that's that. The last third of the book is a collection of Vernon's
own short stories in the fairy tale form, much in the style of some of
her earlier novels: Loathly lets the Sea Witch tell her side of the
story, The Wolf and the Woodsman recalls Red Riding Hood, and so on.
Turtle, not being a stupid child, swept her muffins into a basket.
They went glop, which is not an appropriate sound for muffins to
make upon contacting wicker, but Turtle was pleased by this, because
the last batch had gone clonk and glop was progress of a sort.
As with original fairy stories, there are hard lessons here, but with
rather more logic and good sense (not to mention human villainy)
behind them rather than the arbitrariness of "oh, you were polite,
well too bad you're going to be blinded anyway". Good stuff!
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