“Me and My Beast Boss, Volumes 1-4” by Shiroinu

12 Sunday Apr 2026

Posted by in A Tale Transformed

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Beast boss is best boss.

This charming manga surprised me pleasantly because upon reading the first volume a couple of years ago, I didn’t expect much after that rather abrupt and and a little messy beginning. I only kept reading because it’s like a modern Japanese version of Beauty and the Beast.

This is the story of Saki Oki, a competent and dedicated corporate secretary at a large company, and her boss, the company president, Atlas L. Mout, a gigantic and terrifying Beastfolk whom poor Saki is so afraid of that she faints in his presence. The funny thing is, there’s no reason for her to be so terrified, because Mr. Atlas is a sweetheart with fur. He’s so sweet and nice to her, and so kind to all the other employees, that it’s hilarious to see the contrast between that and his personal secretary’s fear of him.

Saki realises the absurdity of the situation and decides to overcome her fear of her boss, especially after he praises her work and acknowledges her secretarial talent—something no one had ever done in all her years in the profession. To top it off, the boss compliments her on being cute and tells her “I want you to get used to me,” because he’s worried about her physical and mental health after her fainting. Luckily for her, the boss’ chauffeur, Heldt W. Grey, who had been his previous personal secretary and had managed to stay sane for years, is there to offer advice.

Soon, what seemed like a comedic exaggeration of the maiden fainting at the sight of the monster turns out to be a sad revelation about the state of the world they inhabit. We learn that Saki has severe PTSD because her previous boss was violent and physically abusive at work. Just like Atlas, her former boss was a Beastfolk, thus poor Saki expects the worst from her new boss, fearing he’ll be just as abusive.

And so we learn that in this country—unnamed for now—there is cultural and legal segregation between the two species that inhabit it: Humans and Beastfolk. The former are the minority, comprising barely 30% of the population, and mostly live in the countryside. The Beastfolk hold political and economic power, and they often abuse their privilege by mistreating and discriminating against humans, whom they also subject to legal restrictions. Whilst marriage between the two species is permitted, and there is no prohibition for humans to receive an education, medical care, or working in any field they choose, there is so much speciesism that the Beastfolk have essentially imposed a soft form of apartheid.

And I say apartheid because the problem isn’t just speciesism; there’s also racism amongst Beastfolk themselves. On one side are the “normal” Beastfolk, and on the other are the “reverted” Beastfolk, who are products of genetic engineering. Atlas is a reverted Beastfolk, and he can’t have the same power and privileges as his own kind because the law discriminates against reverted Beastfolk. The natural Beastfolk are afraid of them because they are so strong and powerful that they fear they could become overpowered and be their overlords. That’s why Atlas suffers too, because he treats everyone well, and his fellow Beastfolk look at him almost as a traitor to his species and his class for it.

It’s in this situation that Saki has to work, dealing with the other Beastfolk trying to oust her from her position by imposing a Beastfolk secretary in her place because the boss’ colleagues don’t want a human near him and see her as weak. Of course, Atlas doesn’t want to lose his favourite secretary, and he has a plan to keep her.

He’s not alone in his scheming, because both Atlas and Saki have allies: the chauffeur Grey, and Akira Saeki, Saki’s junior trainee that joins the cast in the second volume. So, a team of two human secretaries and two kind-hearted Beastfolk is formed to fight together against this world of species-racial discrimination, questionable corporate practices, complicated interpersonal relationships, and having to walk on eggshells around the Beastfolk bigwigs of the parent company and other human businesspeople. What seemed like a romantic comedy takes on a veneer of social and office drama.

By the third volume, I was hooked. Things get even more complicated with the appearance of the human CEO of a rival company, Naohisa Magatsu, who had been Saki’s school and college classmate—oh, and her boyfriend too. You can imagine Saki’s conflicting feelings and the boss’ entertaining jealousy. But Magatsu hasn’t returned to win her back; he’s here to seize control of Atlas’ corporation through a hostile takeover. They having to deal with this intelligent and spiteful CEO to avoid losing the company is the best subplot so far. It was interesting to learn why Magatsu hates Beastfolk so much that he wants to beat them at their own corporate chess game. Like with Saeki’s resentment, his reasons are valid but more tragic.

At this point, Atlas’ feelings that were never a secret (to the reader become much more obvious. There are sweet scenes between them, to the delight of their office allies and the amusement of readers, who will find the whole one-sided thing comical. In the fourth volume, as if to encourage these two, we also learn more about Grey’s strange marriage, and we understand why he ships the boss and the secretary.

And just when it seems like things are heading in a positive direction and the company is finally settling down after the happy ending to the Magatsu affair . . . along comes Daddy Terror, the boss’ father, and everything falls apart in no time. What a cliffhanger this last volume throws at you!

I ended up liking this story’s blend of humour and comedic exaggeration with serious underlying themes. I came to appreciate that the relationship is slow-burn for one hand and instant attraction for the other, because these two drive on different highways, travelling at opposite speeds. And whilst it’s an exaggeration that Saki doesn’t pick up on the obvious signals, it’s believable given her past experience. When she finally figures it out, it’s going to be quite a sight, I think.

And I hope it’s not too soon, because this manga looks like it’s going for a long run. There’s still so much to show, and questions to answer, such as: what specific industry is the company in? We’re never told if it’s financial, factories, or real estate. Or at least I didn’t see any clues. Second, can Beastfolk-human couples produce viable offspring? It’s odd that such a prejudiced society allows interspecies marriage, and it makes me think that perhaps they don’t produce children, and that’s why the Beastfolk don’t feel threatened. It’s a theory brewing on my mind. Third, if the natural Beastfolk hate the reverted, why exactly were they created and what were they planning for them when they started the genetic manipulation? It will be interesting if the manga touches on this topic, and I hope it does; I want to see that plotline explored.

Those are my main unanswered questions, which will almost certainly be answered in future volumes. The rest are minor doubts that arise from the fact that I’m more accustomed to written stories than drawn/illustrated ones, so I want to know things that manga obviously won’t explain because this format, by its very nature, “shows” more than it “tells.”

And speaking of illustration, I really like Shiroinu’s artwork style. It’s polished and pleasing to the eye, not to mention there’s goofy drawings that are characteristic of this style of manga, which make me laugh, especially when they involve Atlas, because he’s supposed to be an intimidating beast, but in the goofy scenes, he looks like a cartoon lion. Of course, I like the look Shiroinu gave Atlas, all furry with his suit and scarf because he can’t wear a tie (haha). His appearance is a little less “grand and mythical beast” than Lionhart’s in the manga of the sacrificial princess and the king of beasts—that one really did look scary—but it suits Atlas very well considering what he is on the outside and what he is on the inside. I wonder if Shiroinu-sensei knows the 1985 TV series “Beauty and the Beast,” because certain things remind me of Vincent.

What I like about the character art for Saki is the expressiveness of her eyes. Her eyes are unusual, I’m not sure if the artist drew them that way to emphasise her emotions (Saki expresses everything with her eyes because she has to suppress them) or if there’s some future plot involving her eyes. We’ll see.

That said, Shiroinu-sensei needs to improve the transitions between scenes and settings. Those who read manga frequently might be used to it, but for me the changes from one location to another are sometimes very abrupt. And, of course, cutting on the cliffhanger endings wouldn’t hurt either.

AUTHOR INTERVIEW: Allison Tebo

08 Wednesday Apr 2026

Posted by in The Fairy Whisperers

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Welcome to Conversations with Fairy Whisperers, Allison! So happy to have you as our guest here today. I understand that you débuted as an author by publishing short stories and fairy tale retellings. Can you tell us what fascinates you about fairy tales and how did you begin writing retellings of them?

Hello! I’ve been writing retellings since I was very small. I’ve been drawn to symbolism since a young age: it’s how my mind works, and I love the overt allegorical elements of classic fairy tales, so I think that was my “on ramp” for the genre.

There are incredible themes of truth tucked in amongst the magic of these stories.  I also enjoy the whimsy. Fairy tales naturally have strange and lighthearted oddities, fantastic creatures, and wondrous settings. I also love stories that almost demand sweet endings. I love the guarantee of happy endings that fairy tales provide, where readers can be assured that they will be satisfied and happy when they reach the final page.

Of all the styles and formats retellings come in—pictorial, screen, graphic, illustrated, or written—which do you most favour as an author and as a reader?

What a fun question! Can I say all of them? I think that’s part of what makes fairy tales so exciting: they work so well in any format! I have enjoyed fairy tales as films, graphic novels, and books…but I’ll always have a soft spot for written fairy tales, since that was what I grew up with.

The first retelling of yours I read was a Cinderella one from the standpoint of the fairy godparent. How did you pick this fairy tale in particular? Do you have a favourite fairy tale, and what aspects of it appeal to you personally?

The idea of Burndee (the irascible baking fairy who finds himself embroiled in the story of Cinderella) simply popped into my head one night. I suppose The Reluctant Godfather was simply the culmination of years of loving both fairy tales and baking.

In addition, I always try to do something fresh with fairy tales. I like to do something a bit quirky, something that hasn’t been done before (or at least, something that I personally haven’t seen before). My tagline is “Retellings That Surprise” you, so that’s often my starting point with retellings. 

I love your tagline! After so many retellings, it’s rare that one surprises me these days, especially for a popular fairy tale. Do you have a favourite fairy tale? What aspects of it appeal to you personally, and why?

One of my favorite fairy tales is Rumpelstiltskin. The part of that story that appeals to me is that there is no overt villain—or rather, you could say, there is no true hero. Everyone is behaving so inexplicably and so selfishly that it’s downright farcical, and I do love a good farce!

That explains your retellings being comedic as your trademark. In your opinion, what makes a retelling stand out? What do you consider the joys and challenges of writing in this specific subgenre?

One of the things that makes a fairy tale retelling stand out to me, personally, is something that isn’t just a fluffy romance. Something with a little quirkiness and humor always grabs my attention, because those are both such crucial elements of the classics I grew up reading. I also like fairy tales that make you think. Again, most classic fairy tales had very strong moral lessons, so I love a fairy tale with strong themes! 

I think one of the joys of writing fairy tales for me is that I find it very cathartic to fix things, even if it’s just stories. When life doesn’t make sense, I can still take something weird and try to inject logic and reason into it. I’m not able to answer all the world’s questions, but I can provide answers for why Cinderella’s father married the wicked stepmother! Writing fairy tales is a way for me to bring answers, order, and clarity to a part of my mind that craves it.

I would say one challenge of writing fairy tales is sometimes not being taken seriously as a writer. I’ve found, on occasion, that people can be a little condescending towards fairy tales and the people that write them. I’ve even had a few individuals tell me to stop playing with fairy tales and start writing my “own” stories. Doubtless those individuals have since encountered their fairy godparents and been turned into frogs, but I digress. 

I can relate to being targeted by that dismissive attitude all too well, it’s unfortunate that folklore’s complexity and depth is ignored. And speaking of complex, in your opinion, what fairy tale is the most complicated to reinvent, and why?

As far as which fairy tale is most complicated, Sleeping Beauty is always tough, since your heroine is out of the action for such an extended period.

Unless one is particularly inventive, the author is left with three options: don’t narrate from Briar Rose’s perspective, have most of the story take place before or after the infamous hundred-year sleep, or have part of the story take place in a dream world of sorts. An author has a little less elbow room and flexibility with that story, so they have to be extra clever.

You recently published the audiobook edition of Break the Beast, your reimagining of the medieval legend of Beowulf. When I first read the book, I was struck by it having a faint but very noticeable Beauty and the Beast thematic vibe, sans romance and infused with a Christian angle the original legend does have but is usually overlooked in retellings. How did you come across the idea for this reinvention, and what can you tell us about its creative process? 

I’ve been obsessed with Beowulf ever since I read Seamus Heaney’s translation: I think I knew that I would have to do my own reiteration of it eventually. My love for it was so intense, it was inevitable. 

Sometime after reading Beowulf, I read Into the Heartless Woods by Joanna Ruth Meyer (a book with very defined Beauty and the Beast themes) and was so enchanted by the initial narrative voice (a beast-girl that communicated with a raw, broken POV) and the fascination for that very specific narrative voice and Beowulf collided and my Grendel came to life in my mind. I wrote one scene with her and Beowulf and then temporarily shelved it, because I knew the project would be very demanding and I wasn’t sure I could do it justice.

Sometime after that, I began arranging the multi-author series, A Classic Retold. I originally intended to work on Break the Beast for that collaboration, but then hesitated, because the story intimidated me so much. I tried to work on other retellings for the collaboration but, in the end, the beast called to me and I had to answer. I was right to be nervous about it, though. Writing Break the Beast was one of the hardest undertakings of my life, but it was worth the fight. 


Many authors who started their careers writing retellings later abandon fairy tale and myth retellings for other genres and story ideas. Do you plan to continue writing retellings or will you move on to other projects?

I’ll always be writing retellings, no question! But I’ll definitely be exploring many different kinds of stories in the future. I can never limit myself to one genre. Most of my published short fiction are “original” stories and not retellings—representing various Fantasy, Sci-Fi, and even contemporary genres. I even published a Western anthology last year!

Do you ever see yourself writing an original fairy tale as opposed to a retelling of one?

I’m in the middle of developing an idea right now that has an original fairy tale flavor. It’s very Knightcore/Fairycore and features lady knights, comedic dragons, and enchanted towers. I’m excited about it!

I like the name Fairycore for original modern fairy tales very much! As for retellings, if there was a Hall of Fame for retold fairy tales, which would you consider the best retold stories and why are they worthy of inclusion in said Hall of Fame?

Well, naturally, I’d have to say Beauty by Robin McKinley! I still remember where I was when I first picked it off the shelf.

The chokehold that book had on me was truly incomparable. Most of my early stories were retellings of THAT retelling (I think I worked on about twenty different retellings of Beauty and the Beast in those first years after reading Beauty). It permanently altered my brain chemistry, that’s for sure. I still love Robin McKinley’s writing style. 

Is there an author who you view as a role model for your own writing?

Definitely C. S. Lewis. I’m inspired by his compassion and try to emulate it. It pains me to see so many stories where authors kill off and torture characters arbitrarily because they need to shock their readers to keep them interested—it’s so lazy. And it’s careless of people’s feelings. Many people read to escape from various painful situations, so why would I traumatize my readers for my own amusement? Break the Beast tackles some very intense subjects, but I make sure that tough things only happen for a good reason.

 
I can’t think of any other author that was as conscientious about his characters and his readers as C. S. Lewis. Any torment or pain in Narnia was there for a specific purpose—it was never gratuitous. The weak and the helpless received mercy and kindness. The reader was never shocked or grieved beyond all repair.

His restraint not only showed respect for his readers, but it also allowed him to keep a good, firm grip on story tension, one of the most important elements of storytelling. By not going overboard on suffering throughout his books, Lewis always had the proper amount left over for the Darkest Moment. He inspires me every day.

Thank you for sharing your thoughts with us, Allison! We will be keeping an eye on your future books, which we hope will be many more in the years to come.

Thank you so much for having me!

“Break the Beast” by Allison Tebo

08 Wednesday Apr 2026

Posted by in A Tale Transformed

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This isn’t the first time a writer attempts to give the monster from Beowulf a POV to tell his side of the story, but it’s the first time I see someone make Grendel into a woman.


In the original epic poem, it’s not clear what kind of creature Grendel is, at least not to lay readers like me, because I’m sure scholars have a better idea of what Grendel is. Personally, I visualise him as a monstrous giant, troll-like and shadow-clad, a mental image born of my impressions from the Seamus Heaney translation that is the only one I’ve ever read, which gives Grendel a shadowy humanlike appearance in the only passage in the poem where he is (somewhat) described. Amusingly, the author told me it was also Heaney’s translation that got her to love Beowulf, and I can see echoes of that in her descriptions of Grendel.

Per the poem, this monster is said to descend from Cain, the first murderer in history according to the Bible, and is surrounded by the imagery of the gigantic and evil Antediluvian offspring of fallen angels and human women (the Nephilim) as described in the Book of Genesis; and following Cain’s dark legacy, he is envious and resentful of humanity because he thinks they’re happy and blessed by God whilst he is cursed, lonely, and hated. So he attacks and murders them in revenge, only to face Beowulf, the hero of light, and be defeated.


I think knowing this Biblical subtext is helpful to contextualise the changes Allison Tebo has introduced in her retelling, especially for those readers that aren’t familiar with the biblical lore behind the poem and thus might feel Break the Beast has too much religion for comfort. The original poem itself contains the struggle of Pagan and Christian worldviews and carries a strong religious imagery, so even though Tebo did make her spin on the legend lean a bit more Christian than the epic poem, it’s not like that came out of the blue and with no basis on the original epic.


That said, Break the Beast is entirely Grendel’s story, and the female Grendel we meet on these pages has a Beauty and the Beast vibe in my trained eyes. Why? Have a look at quotes like these:

“It is the light that troubles me, not heat, for in the light I can see my shadow, and it is the shadow of a beast.”

: . . . .

“My voice is a thread. “I am a monster.”

Her voice is still gentle, as soft as the ripples lapping at the shale. “Who calls you a monster?”

I look to the mouth of the cave, the narrow slit between water and rock, where I can glimpse the light.

Beyond this mere, there are the dells full of the people of Frisia, and a settlement called Schrawynghop. And built in its center, in a place of pride, is the mead-hall called Trollhättan.

It is a beautiful place, but I am not welcome there. They have seen me in the night, and they chased me away.

I turn my gaze away from where a hideous hood trembles on the surface of the pool and answer her question. “It is the people who call me a monster.”

. . . . .

“My fear that there is something wrong with me, that I am the one unworthy, twists and snarls inside me like an animal, looking for something other than me to damage.”

It can’t be said that this retelling has significant Beauty and the Beast elements, because it is fundamentally a Beowulf retelling first and foremost. However, it’s not the elements in common that give off the vibe, because what this retelling gets the most from the fairy tale is the theme, the monster’s redemption.


Normally, what authors take the most from Beauty and the Beast regardless of the version they know is the romance, the love that transforms, but rarely do they address the redemptive theme of the fairy tale. Allison Tebo did: she took the Cain and Abel biblical story from the epic poem and decided to redeem Grendel through love. No, not romantic love. Goodness, no! Can you imagine a romance between Grendel and Beowulf? *quietly makes the ‘vade retro, Satana’ sign at the thought.*


Those of you that have read the epic poem, do you remember Grendel’s motives for being so murderous and destructive? It’s due to a curse on the monster. And do you remember Grendel’s mother eggs him on to destruction in the poem? She’s an even bigger monster than him. Tebo twists these two elements to create a tale of compassion for the cursed, the downtrodden, the fallen, and thus we see genuine love and care seeping into Grendel’s corrupted core and transforming her, redeeming her, making her rise above and beyond her twisted origins. I’m not going to describe it at length, but suffice to say that the Grendel you’ll meet in this book is like the Grendel in the poem in the beginning, but is different by the end. And that is also because she has something of another character from the poem that I won’t name to avoid spoilers.

You could argue this Grendel is Beast. Not the good-hearted soul of Villeneuve (the original fairy teller) but more the conflicted soul of Woolverton (the Disney screenwriter), but Beast nonetheless. This Grendel is a tormented soul, you can see the spark of light inside her, but her hatred snuffs that stubborn little inner light again and again. She sees all the corruption around her and thinks everyone is bad but herself.

“It has been a misery to see what others are blind to. It is a curse to look at a man and see his lies, to see the shadow of his true soul on his face, and to recognize that he does not mean what he speaks.

I have always hated the lies that people wrap themselves in. It is the one thing I can remember clearly about myself before Mother found me.

It is my curse of sight which birthed the anger, which in turn bred a beast.”

Grendel knows instinctively that goodness exists, but there’s nobody to show her what it is like, so she has a twisted concept of it. She’s more deserving of compassion than being put to the sword, but nobody approaches her out of terror. Until Beowulf battles her into submission.

“He can see me—without my hood.

The realization explodes in my mind, shriveling my thoughts under its blast.

I was not born a monster. I was born a girl.

I am a thing caught between two identities. And now my greatest enemy can see that. He can see me—stretched between woman and monster like a moth on a page.”

In the poem, Beowulf has three tasks to undertake, so the poem is divided in three parts dedicated to each monster he slays. This retelling is also divided in three parts, and follows the three monster-slaying narration structure, too, with necessary differences. Grendel is the first “slaying.”

“I was a monster before,” I whisper as I search his face, and I feel a lostness inside of me as wide and as barren as the sky. “What am I now?”

“You are free,” Beowulf answers, very gently. 

This first part is the best for me, together with the majority of the second part, the most emotional and painful for character growth. We witness the transformation of Grendel, her learning what a true monster is like, and gaining an identity. Events occur differently, the timeline is altered in this book, because the poem spans more time and goes into Beowulf’s old age, which Break the Beast does not. The finale is also different to the epic’s ending, and this third part is the one I’m not entirely happy with. I’m happy with the completion of Grendel’s transformation, yes, it’s touching and well-written, but I’m not happy with Beowulf’s fate, and I believe that last-minute twist shouldn’t have been introduced.


In any case, I finished this mostly satisfied with it, niggling ending mindbug aside. I’ve had my large share of B&B retellings and at least one Beowulf retelling (that I didn’t like), but so far had not found one that hadn’t included romance of some sort, which is my biggest source of contentment with this book together with the character evolution of Grendel. “Wait,” you’ll say, “can B&B actually work without romance?” And my answer is a resounding It can! Because love isn’t only romance, love has more manifestations than that between two individuals for sexual purposes. “Love is patient and kind.” And it’s this patient kindness what makes Grendel become what she does here, to shed the monster for something more elevated, the same patient kindness that uncurses Beast in the fairy tale. So, yes, love doesn’t need to be romantic to break the beast, it only needs to exist and be freely given.

Now, on to the audiobook . . .

The narration by Bethany Wild is solid. She has a good cadence and rhythm whilst narrating, with a clear voice that sounds whispery and is touched by a light finger of drama when needed. She does changes in her intonation when changing characters, to differentiate them, but you can tell she’s in the skin of the POV and doesn’t break character.

She speaks with a British accent, that for me was a bit of a distraction as I was rereading the book in chunks alongside listening to the audiobook, so I felt the disconnect between the text in American English and the narration in British English. That’s purely me, though, I created the situation with my simultaneous reading/listening. I understand the industry trend of employing the UK Received Pronunciation accent when American authors take up European folklore and history, but had the case been that the narrator spoke with an American accent, I don’t think I’d have minded it because this retelling was written by an American in American English, plus it’s a Fantasy version of the real places. I mean, even Seamus Heaney in his reading of his Beowulf translation went with his native Irish accent, and people loved it.

I received a complimentary audiobook from the author in exchange for an honest review. Thank you!

“The Red Winter” by Cameron Sullivan

02 Thursday Apr 2026

Posted by in A Tale Transformed

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If we remove the Hundred Years’ War and the French Revolution, this is a typical, clichéd witch-and-demon romance book, riddled with all the genre’s tropes, and worsened by its attitude towards women.

Which makes you wonder what the point was of making this a historical novel if a) it was going to distort true history to this extent, and b) the Fantasy elements are so dominant that the history is just noticeable. This could easily have been (and should’ve been) pure Fantasy; it would’ve worked much better.

I don’t mind real history being mixed with fantasy; Historical Fantasy is one of my favourite genres, so my objection isn’t to “mixing” them but to “how” they’re mixed. A very important point to consider for what I’m about to say. And be warned: this review contains major spoilers.

I don’t know about you, but I draw a line in the sand at taking a real historical tragedy and giving it a supernatural origin. A demonic one, in fact. Others might not care and will resort to the typical “it’s just fiction!” After all, it’s not their culture, it’s not their country, and who cares about the lives of anonymous French peasants from three centuries ago who perished by the Beast of Gévaudan? In fiction, anything goes, right?

Well, not for me. I’m very clear that historical tragedies shouldn’t be twisted to suit a novelistic construction to make an author money. I always keep in mind that real people suffered and died in those events, and using their tragedy by taking advantage of the passage of time and the “a million deaths is a statistic” mentality is questionable.

It’s worth mentioning that even back in the Beast’s time, in the 1700s, there were already speculations about its supernatural identity; there were rumours that the Beast was a werewolf, a demon, someone possessed, etc. But those were superstitions of some people at that time, because people always talk and speculate and are conspiracy theorists, and not verifiable realities. In The Red Winter, however, those are “realities” that actually happen.

This isn’t the first book to reimagine the Beast of Gévaudan as a supernatural entity, I’ve read at least three books with this same plot premise, one of them was a “Beauty and the Beast” retelling (so you can see why I came to pick this book up), all fantasy. But this one is the worst in its interpretation of the true event.

Why, you might ask? Well, because:

  1. It portrays Jehanne d’Arc (Joan of Arc) as possessed. The visions she had that drove her to become The Maid and heroine of France during the Hundred Years’ War are from a demon deceiving her by posing as an archangel with a divine message. In other words, the reason England tried and executed her is true in this version of history. (Strong anti-French bias here: keep in mind that the author is Australian and favours the English side of history.)
  • The “archangel” that deceives her and ultimately causes her death, as well as the massacres of civilians and soldiers during the war, is the Roman god Mars, who is actually a demon masquerading as a god that has existed under different names throughout history. (Again, strong anti-French and pro-English bias: the Hundred Years’ War was political; the massacres and war crimes committed by both sides were purely human, and attributing both the massacres and the French victories to a demon and a possessed woman exonerates England from their own crimes. And let’s not even talk about calling a Roman god a “demon.”)
  • Joan of Arc’s lieutenant, the infamous Gilles de Rais, is also possessed by the demon Mars, committing all his crimes under his influence, and therefore his trial and conviction are justified by his possession being real. (Once again: the crimes of a real person who most likely didn’t have a fair trial due to politics and aristocratic interests are attributed to demonic possession.)
  • The Beast of Gévaudan is the god/demon Mars using humans and animals to cause chaos and suffering simply because Mars is the god of war and enjoys death and destruction, no other reason given. This part isn’t unusual, it’s the most common element in retellings of the Beast, but what follows is unique to this book and very problematic.
  • The seeds of the French Revolution were sown in Gévaudan because… well, because the local people drank water from a mountain stream contaminated by the demon Mars, which made them violent and led them to attack the Baron and the Bishop who governed the region. Yes, poverty, hunger, and injustice are cited as reasons for the peasant revolt, but the trigger was the water, a horcrux of Mars. (Does the author realise how disturbing it is to suggest that a revolutionary movement in which people sought to improve their living conditions had “demonic” origins? It takes someone truly shameless to even suggest this, I would think.

Also, in an interview, the author said he researched the French aristocracy’s decadent life from a novel, “Dangerous Liaisons,” to get a feel for how the nobility at the time were. Look, it’s one of my all-time favourites and the reason I have this username of Marquise, but this novel was written by a pro-Revolution military grunt who had a conflict of interests here as he was advisor to the pro-Revolution Philippe Égalité, duc d’Orléans, so you couldn’t have chosen a more biased book to “research” the French nobility, it’s not a documentary.)

  • By the end, when Sebastian is reminiscing about these adventures, Napoleon is mentioned and again linked to the demonic influence of Mars because Napoleon used Roman symbolism. In other words, the Napoleonic Wars also have their cause in demonic influence. (I repeat: how is it that no one sees this blatant anti-French bias of this Anglo-Saxon author who practically attributes all the milestones of French history to demons?)

Now you understand why I think it should’ve been pure Fantasy if the author wanted to openly play fast and loose with a historical tragedy. In this interview (https://bookstr.com/article/cameron-sullivan-on-love-legend-history-and-horror/), Cameron Sullivan said that the most important thing in writing these twists on real history was not to change the outcome. That’s not possible, I’m afraid. If you change the ORIGIN and CAUSE of a historical event, the RESULT will inevitably have to change as well. You can’t have one without the other. The Butterfly Effect is set in motion.

But this book tries to have its cake and eat it too, since in an effort to avoid altering the outcome of history as it actually happened, the author creates internal consistency flaws: the characters act oddly, scenes are dropped or abruptly changed, and footnotes are overused to explain what should have happened on-page.

Endnotes are the magic wand waved whenever the author needs to “fix” a logical flaw or fill gaps in the worldbuilding. They were supposed to be humorous asides to elicit laughs, but after about three chapters, it becomes clear they’re just a crutch.

Now that I’ve listed the parts of history that are problematically represented in this book, let’s move on to the plot points that are equally problematic, if not lacking in good internal logic:

  1. The author described the M/M relationship in this book as “romantic,” and the book’s blurb also describes it as “a tragic love story.” Forgive me, but . . . where is the romance and the love story?

Because if that refers to Sebastian/Antoine, there’s not much of a love story and nothing romantic about it. It’s more like lust at first sight (even Sarmodel scolds Sebastian for thinking with his breeches), because otherwise it’s incomprehensible why Sebastian loves Antoine. There’s no solid reason for a thousand-plus-year-old witch to fall so madly in love with a pretty-faced fool. Basically, Antoine is a pretty boy, they go hunting together, and they start having sex in the woods like idiotic nymphs whilst “hunting” the Beast.

And speaking of nymphs, these two have a threesome with a naiad in her pond. Because, well, because the naiad is a horny Rumpelstiltskin. I wonder if LGBTQ+ authors aren’t ashamed of perpetuating the stereotype of the gay/bisexual who sleeps with anything that has a pulse.

  • If the “forbidden love story” is Sebastian/Sarmodel . . . Oh boy, better not. Because this relationship is deeply toxic and rapey.

Yes, exactly that: rapey. Or worse than that: child grooming. Why? Because Sarmodel possessed Sebastian when he was 11 years old or so, and for millennia he has been living as a parasite in Sebastian’s body. They call each other “my love,” which is disgusting when you consider that Sarmodel has basically been grooming Sebastian for centuries. And on top of that, Sarmodel rapes Sebastian.

There’s a scene where Sarmodel and Sebastian have sex that could be interpreted as dub-con if you’re feeling generous, but it’s non-con because Sebastian clearly says no, and Sarmodel persists until Sebastian gives in.

I ask again: aren’t LGBTQ+ authors ashamed that on top of contributing to the harmful always-horny stereotype for their community, they’re also making their queer characters into sexual abusers?

  • To top off the consent issues, this book engages in slut-shaming of female characters. It’s not just the succubus Livia, because being a succubus, it’s obvious she wants to sleep with anyone: that’s her nature, she can’t help it. But both Sebastian and Sarmodel insult and denigrate her for who she is. Sebastian punishes her for “disobeying” and sleeping round on duty, and Sarmodel outright calls her a “slut.” And this from a libertine professor that describes himself as “a tomcat” and a horny demon with boundary issues, yet the author doesn’t criticise them for that, whilst he portrays Livia like a whore for the LOLs.

Besides Livia, the author also mocks Joan of Arc’s virginity with the excuse that her tribunal were obsessed with her intact “cherry” (what a misogynistic way to call it), and he also mocks Cécile, the herbalist that has a witch-familiar that transforms into her lover at night. And let’s not even talk about Dayane the naiad asking for payment in sex.

The women in this book are treated in a sexist way, and this isn’t due to the mores of the time: we’re seeing this through Sebastian’s eyes, who knows better.

  • I’ve already mentioned that endnotes are used to hand-wave worldbuilding and internal logic problems, now I’m going to talk about a specific aspect for which they are overused: the lore of angels and demons, borrowed from Christianity but modified to authorial liking. And this modification to his liking has caused problems that no one else seems to have noticed. Let’s look at some:
  • In this world, God is “asleep.” But then how and why do the archangels follow his commands? They can’t lift a finger unless God commands them to. (This is probably a lie from Sarmodel that Sebastian believes, I think.)
  • In this world, Satan doesn’t exist because God literally “ate” him. But then how and why do the demons still exist? Satan is their leader; with the commander dead, the army is dead. It’s that simple: if Satan is destroyed, so are the demons and monsters, who also cannot live without him for the same reason that angels cannot live without God.
  • In this world, neither Heaven nor Hell exist, according to Sebastian and Sarmodel, and souls and spirits are “consumed” when they die. This sounds like Annihilationism, but the problem is that only this one demon and his human host believe it because Archangel Michael practically confirms that Heaven exists.

The religious basis for angels and demons in this book is very inconsistent and made to suit the plot’s whims with little regard for consistency.

  • The same goes for Catholic relics and exorcism. They work or stop working depending on what suits the plot. For example, holy water and blessings have no effect on Sebastian or Sarmodel, but elsewhere in the book it says that exorcism would affect Mars.

And the same goes for the powers of the archangels and demons. In the Christian theology the author draws from, archangels are more powerful than demons, and Archangel Michael as their commander is the most powerful of all, yet in this book he’s powerless on demand; for example, when he can’t detect where Sarmodel and Sebastian are, whilst these two can see him even though they’re less powerful; or when the archangel is affected by silver bullets like a common vampire.

It’s incomprehensible to me, really. I understand that perhaps the author isn’t familiar with Catholic spiritual lore, which is very complex and convoluted, but he should at least have bothered to be consistent with his own invented additions to this lore.

  • It’s also unclear why Sebastian doesn’t seem to know what Sarmodel is and what he himself is, what powers his demon has, etc. Strange, because these two have been together for millennia, and are lovers, but they don’t seem to know each other well. With all of Sebastian’s education and intelligence, he should already know who he is, but it’s 2013 in the epilogue and he still doesn’t know a bloody thing. He’s all “I’m unique because I’m unique, and I don’t know why I’m unique,” and that’s it. We’re supposed to accept all of that like the endnotes, without question.

My concluding impression is that the author wanted to write a kind of queer Indiana Jones solving supernatural cases from the past, and broadly speaking, you can see that The Red Winter was trying to be that. But it fell short, very short.

I can see that that more stories are going to be published in the future because this book ends on a note implying there will be more installments. I can’t say I will be reading more about these characters, though. It has left a bad taste in my mouth that this appropriated the history and folklore of a country that has historically been a fierce competitor to the Anglo-Saxon world to which its author belongs, and used it in such an insensitive way for commercial purposes.

“The Last Curse” by A. Harvey

30 Monday Mar 2026

Posted by in A Tale Transformed

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This retelling reads like a spooky version of “East of the Sun and West of the Moon” with a dash of Nordic draugar folklore as twisted by someone who loves Horror stories.

And, surprisingly, I liked it even though I dislike Horror.

What stands out in this story is the sisterhood amongst the women of the town, who protect and help each other, and what they are willing to do to save themselves and their friends from the blight that is coming to them for breaking a pact with a divine force. I especially liked that, although there’s romance in this book (or it wouldn’t be a true retelling of the fairy tale), it doesn’t overshadow or take precedence over Isobel’s most important relationship, which is the one she has with her best friend Rose. She fights tooth and nail for Rose as well as for the Bear King. One doesn’t exclude the other, proving that you can do sorority and romance both without taking away from a story being about the women first and foremost. Even the fact that the villain is eventually revealed to be a woman is also part of this emphasis on the girls as important beings, and the villainess is given motives that align with her personality and her desire to achieve her goals at any cost, sacrificing anyone in betrayal of all these bonds.

Another plot point I appreciated was that the in-world lore of the curse is quite original compared to what’s usually written in retellings of this Scandinavian Beauty & Beast variant. I liked how the spell is broken and why; it was well thought out, and not so easy to guess for me. The concept of the Bear Brides is simply an idea I never saw before that I heartily loved, though of couse I felt like I needed more explanations about them than I got from the pages.

Finally, the atmosphere here is superb. The tension and dread that build up and increase until the resolution of both the revenge plot and the breaking of the curse plot are well-crafted. It’s a very small but vibrant world, and you can really “feel” its vitality.

As a negative, the build-up of the romance between Isobel and Finn was weak, in my opinion. This has more to do with the pacing of the entire book than with their relationship alone (which is slow-burn from the start but since the book isn’t long, you can picture the rush by the end), but it’s also due to a weakness in the characterisation, because it’s not very convincing that these two fall in love so suddenly and in such a way like it’s depicted here.

The pacing is generally poor, and the book needed more editing and proofreading to smooth out its structural cracks because it seems they rushed to publish it as is. Furthermore, whilst the Horror atmosphere is very good, not so much the worldbuilding. Some things are left unexplained (a lot about the Bear Brides and this world’s gods, for example) or revealed abruptly without preamble, which detracts significantly from this otherwise beautifully compact little world.

The author could always republish this in an improved and fully edited new version, and I hope she does, because I’m not making this comment for the sake of saying something about pace & edition. The flaws really are eviden even for a non-professional in writing and editing, and I’m rating this on the handling of the retelling aspects alone.

“Falling for the Pied Piper” by Ashley Evercott

27 Friday Mar 2026

Posted by in A Tale Transformed, PTP TWOW

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     Selene regretted the crushing heartbreak that vibrated through her soul when an agonized howl echoed through the night.

     The prince had found someone he truly loved. Selene watched the woman flee past the castle gates, her dark hair whipping in the wind, to return home.

     Her heart clenched with shame, but most of all, guilt.

     How could jealousy and rage have blinded her to lash out at an innocent being? The anger she had directed toward him was misplaced. All her insecurities, shame, and loneliness were due to a lifetime of proving herself to a man who would never be satisfied. The prince did not deserve this fate—he did not deserve to perish as a beast.

Thank you, Ashley Evercott, for writing these lines. Finally, someone admits that the enchantress that cursed the prince into a beast did very, very wrong and deserves no excuse whatsoever.

This isn’t the first time I’ve read a retelling that tries to tell the story of Beauty and the Beast from the enchantress/fairy godmother’s point of view to “redeem” her, but it is the first one I’ve found (or at least the first in so long I can’t even remember a previous instance) that unconditionally admits that the enchantress went too far with the curse and that it was undeserved, because the prince was innocent.

In all the three main versions of Beauty and the Beast, the prince is innocent. Although Disney’s version tries to shift the blame onto the victim, something that has always bothered me about the film.

And what bothers me even more is that in all the retellings with the enchantress/fairy godmother as the “good” side, the same thing happens: either the prince is entirely to blame for being a bad person and doing something wrong, or the enchantress acts with complete moral justification. In other words, the Beast is villainised so that the enchantress/fairy comes out looking good, as the right side.

This trick of simply switching the roles of hero and villain is abhorrent to me because it’s so simplistic, and it ignores the moral context of the stories that gives meaning to each character’s role in a tale. Even Evercott fell into this trap in a previous retelling of hers that I read and didn’t like it precisely for this reason, amongst others.

So I was surprised that she got it right this time, especially since the beginning suggested that the prince was going to be blamed for his own misfortune. In this world, magic users are called stewards/stewardesses, and magic is strictly regulated by rules overseen by a council of High Stewards, before whom the stewardess Selene is standing trial for cursing the prince. But it’s said that it isn’t exactly for the curse itself but for unauthorised use of magic. Following the Disney story beats, the prince is said to be out of control whilst grieving the loss of his parents and goes on a rampage mistreating his people, so his assigned Stewardess disguised herself as an old woman and offered him a rose as payment to stay inside during a storm, but he threw her out.

With this, I was prepared to not like the book, because this reason for the curse is even worse than Disney’s. How can you curse someone grieving the loss of their parents? Someone like that isn’t in their right mind, so from then on I expected the worst.

It took me a while to realise that it wouldn’t be as I thought. When Selene is sentenced to capture the Pied Piper of Hamelin within three months to return the kidnapped children or be stripped of her magic, and she is branded and her magic is diminished, you gradually begin to suspect there’s more to the affair between her and the prince than what was revealed at the trial. A web of lies, half-truths, and mysteries unravels as she locates the Pied Piper and chases him until captured to hand him over to the High Stewards.

This Pied Piper, Reid, is a hilariously funny clown, a stark contrast to Selene’s stern and grumpy personality, creating a Sourpuss/Sunshine pairing that’s quite entertaining. Since he has his own secrets to hide, he easily guesses what she’s hiding—and lying about—and with his persuasive skills (and his good looks, let’s be honest), he forces her to confront the truth she so desperately denies.

He forces her to redeem herself kicking and screaming.

This is the second thing I liked most about the book: Reid essentially plays the same role in Selene’s life that Beauty plays in the Beast’s. Neat, isn’t it? I couldn’t say if the author did it on purpose, but in this book there are two stories with the redemptive theme of Disney’s Beauty and the Beast: the Pied Piper who redeems the enchantress, and Beauty who redeems the Beast (who in this case doesn’t need it).

Therefore, I would say that Beauty and the Beast is the story that predominates here over The Pied Piper of Hamelin, firstly because of thematic reasons, and secondly because Pied Piper has already “finished” in-story and we are in the post-fairy tale period (Reid has already stolen the children of Hamelin because the mayor didn’t pay him what he was owed for the rats), whereas in the case of Beauty & Beast we aren’t in the aftermath: we are in whilst the story is unfolding (from beginning to end), only that the plot is in the background because we don’t see those involved but rather hear a little about them.

And speaking of that, it wouldn’t be a bad idea to complement Falling for the Pied Piper by writing the story of Rosabelle and Prince Leander. At least, I would like to read it, especially because Leander has intrigued me with the little bit I saw of him, all the trauma he must have gone through losing his parents and having his suffering worsened by Selene, and how he deals with the issue of forgiving her or not.

Now, the theme of forgiveness is another point I really liked. In my previous review, I mentioned that it bothered me that the victim of paternal abuse is portrayed as being so kind to her abusive father and forgiving him so easily, without remorse or even an apology for the mistreatment. Here? That doesn’t happen here. Selene is deeply remorseful, but she knows very well that it’s not right to feel entitled to forgiveness. She doesn’t justify herself to the prince, she doesn’t ask for his forgiveness, she simply apologises and lets her victim decide for himself. And Leander’s reaction seemed very realistic to me, perfectly understandable. For me, this is how forgiveness should be handled, and the truth is, it’s not usually done that way.

So, despite all the book’s flaws, it’s the fact that it managed to redeem the villain without denigrating or villainising the victim/hero that earns this book all the stars I’m giving it. Keep in mind that I’m judging Falling for the Pied Piper as a retelling of Beauty and the Beast, which is a different criteria than those used to judge it as a story.

Whilst there are aspects of the writing and editing in this book that could’ve been done better, I prefer not to dwell on them—others will do that anyway—and instead focus on a couple of things I think should’ve been done better for the sake of the story. Namely, the characters’ appearances and the matter of Steward Rosendale, Selene’s father.

I didn’t like that both Reid and Selene, as well as the High Stewards, have an appearance more befitting a clown than serious and dignified professional magicians. For example, Selene has purple hair (which is why Reid calls her “Violet”), and she and others in her trade have garish, ugly hair, like something out of a clown show. How ridiculous! It’s not just that I don’t like clowns, but that this garish clothing and hair detracts from the dignity of the position. In this world, there are two kinds of magic: structured and wild, and to learn to use the former, you have to study and get a degree as a steward. Why don’t the stewards have a uniform that identifies them instead of walking round dressed in jester rags and with hair as if they killed a Little Pony to use its mane or tail as a wig?

If I had been an editor, I would’ve suggested removing this ridiculous detail. Which, by the way, I’m not sure if it’s only for those who are magical or if it’s a cultural dress code thing, because when they’re “disguised” to fool the bounty hunters, Reid and Selene wear garish, ugly wigs that would identify them anywhere.

But the most significant weakness of the book is Selene’s father. From what we saw, he’s a domineering and selfish man who only cares about the prestige of the Rosendale family, and he’ll sacrifice his daughter for it. He’s the one pushing Selene to extremes in her attempts to earn his affection and approval, forcing her to be an overachiever perfectionist because, for her cold and distant father, nothing she does is ever good enough. After Reid makes her confront the harm she’s caused motivated by her desire to please her father, she should’ve had a moment of reflection, of closure, where she should at least have mentally moved on from her unhealthy relationship with her dad and put all of that behind her.

But she doesn’t. There’s a scene of closure with the prince she cursed, but not with her father, the one behind her actions. Why? There should’ve been a scene of closure with her father, who only appears at her trial and is never heard from again. There’s no closure, not even a moment of reflection from Selene. Nothing. And this is a serious plothole, a glaring one because of its size.

That’s why I didn’t think it was the best idea to end the book with that saccharine little scene at the school with the children. I would’ve preferred that the author hadn’t left anything unresolved about the father-daughter issue. After how well the redemption aspect was handled, it’s a bit jarring that it ends like that, in a void.

Anyway, as I was saying before, if this story must be judged through the lens of the fairy tale, then its thematic development makes it one of the best B&B retellings of the year so far, with all its imperfections.

AUTHOR INTERVIEW: Rachelle Nelson

27 Friday Mar 2026

Posted by in The Fairy Whisperers

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Welcome to Conversations with Fairy Whisperers, Rachelle! Glad to have you here in our space connecting the fairy tale retellings readership with the creators of the stories they love. Tell us about yourself, what fascinates you about fairy tales and how did you begin writing retellings of them?

Hello! I am so happy to be a guest on the blog today. It’s a special thing to connect with readers outside the pages of my novels. I’ve thoroughly enjoyed the recommendations and content on your website, so thank you for including me.

Fairy tales are so deeply woven into the fabric of our culture, it’s hard to know where my love for them began. Was it classic Disney? Was it the giant, hardback copy of Grimm and Andersen that sat on my bedroom shelf? I think the best stories have stuck around for centuries because they resonate with the human condition. Fairy tales help us to feel seen, to feel hopeful, or to feel frightened of the right things. They are a reflection of the darkest and lightest parts of our lives.

So, when I began writing, fairy tales naturally found their way into the structures of my plots.

Of all the styles and formats retellings come in—pictorial, screen, graphic, illustrated, or written—which do you most favour?

I grew up reading Robin McKinley, Shannon Hale, Gail Carson Levine, and so many other beautiful writers who brought fairytales to life in a brand new way. Novels will always be my favorite way to experience a story because of the depth of character.

That being said, I also went through a serious obsession with the artwork of Brian Froud. I don’t know if you can call his paintings direct retellings, but his characters are often inspired by ancient folklore from the British Isles.

Oh, I can totally see how his paintings can be seen as retellings! Some academics, like Jack Zipes, argue that illustrations are as valid a form of fairy tale retelling as written ones, and I agree with him. And since you mentioned growing up with anthologies of the mainstream fairy tellers’ work, do you have a favourite fairy tale? What aspects of it appeal to you personally, and why?

I do have a terrible weakness for Beauty and the Beast. Wouldn’t it be beautiful if true love could break all curses and change men from monsters to princes? Unfortunately, this . . . kind of hope has led many women to stay in abusive situations for too long.

But Beauty and the Beast is about more than just saving monsters from themselves. It shows a love the transcends physical attraction, and I think a lot of us long for a deep heart connection like that. Despite the many critiques of Beauty and the Beast (Stockholm syndrome as romance), I still will devour a good retelling. And I tried to show a healthier relationship in my version than might be expected. Although boundaries are so important, I will always be moved by the sacrificial love intrinsic to the tale.

My debut novel, Sky of Seven Colors, was inspired by Beauty and the Beast in small ways (A gothic castle. A bargain to save a life.), but really it came from the stories of goblin kings stealing human brides. Sky of Seven Colors is not about true love. It is about the difference between being loved and being wanted. It’s a story about finding your voice and taking back your power. Plus a touch of the Dark Crystal and The Giver.

My novel Embergold stays true to the happily-ever-after of a fairy tale, but there are still so many twists in the plot.

That’s interesting! I have seen B&B retellings that use goblins as the Beast. So, you could say you have two books that drink from the fairy tale’s plot to retell it. In your opinion, what makes a retelling stand out? What do you consider the joys and challenges of writing in this specific subgenre?

A good story is a good story, even if you’ve read it before. Sometimes, familiarity is comforting, and then all the creative little twists can be more appreciated. I love Melanie Cellier’s retelling series, even though I always know where the plot is going. She’s just so clever, and she make you love her characters.

Little changes can make a big difference, like an untraditionally grumpy heroine, a new consequence to magic, or a combination of classics that makes everything feel new.

And speaking of changes, in your opinion, what fairy tale is the most complicated to reinvent, and why?

A literary agent once told me that Peter Pan and Alice in Wonderland are the most common retellings they see. With Alice in Wonderland, the original story was meandering and disjointed on purpose. So, though it might be often done, writing Alice to fit the expectations of the fantasy genre is no easy task.

You recently published Embergold, a story that combines “Beauty and the Beast,” our favourite tale on this site, with dragon-and-maiden folklore and some bits of historical inspiration for the world. How did you come across the idea for this story, and what can you tell us about its creative process?

I started out thinking about the story of Rumplestiltskin. Why would a creepy little man want a baby to raise in the wilderness? Of course you can think of a hundred horrible reasons right out of the gate, but I wanted a more creative reason than pure depravity. So I started to imagine the character of Gilde, a child raised in isolation for a magical purpose.

That’s quite the revelation! This puts the relationship between Gilde and her father under a new light I hadn’t considered and it clarifies a lot in hindsight. And on the matter of dragons and maidens, do you have a favourite story with this archetype and what do you find most appealing about it?

The Two Princesses of Bamarre by Gail Carson Levine has a haunting depiction of the maiden and dragon relationship. I was always fascinated by the way the heroine pities the dragon, fears it, and appeases it in order to survive.

None of that made it into Embergold, though. I was more inspired by the story of Eustace from Voyage of the Dawn Treader, where being a dragon is a curse. It makes Eustace powerful, and it makes him lonely.

Many authors who started their careers writing retellings later abandon fairy tale retellings for other genres and story ideas. Do you plan to continue writing retellings or will you move on to other projects?

I suspect my stories will always feel a bit like a fairy tale. It’s been a lifelong obsession. But my debut novel, Sky of Seven Colors, wasn’t a real retelling. Many readers described it as a new fairy tale they’d never read before, and my next book is more like that. The story I’m crafting now combines pieces of Davy Jones’s Locker with tales of sea monsters and maidens lost to the waves.

So you’ll be doing Folkloric Fantasy next! We look forward to that. And looking back at great books already published, if there was a Hall of Fame for retold fairy tales, which would you consider the best retold stories books and why are they worthy of inclusion in said Hall of Fame?

I’ve already mentioned a few here, but I think my absolute favorite is Beauty by Robin McKinley. I also adore Hollow Kingdom by Claire B Dunkle (A terrible Stockholm syndrome story about a goblin beast. The world building is unmatched.)

Is there an author who you view as a role model for your own writing?

I’ve read everything ever written by C. S. Lewis, though my writing is nothing like his. Juliet Marillier is an inspiration for character development and historical grounding, though my books are geared toward a young adult audience, so they are much more tame than her adult fantasy romances. I love Kierra Cass’s hooky stories, but nothing I write is quite that flashy. If I could write prose half as well as Rebecca Ross, I would rejoice.

Mostly, I just love to read. I love so many books I can’t name them all. One day, I found I had my own stories to write, so I did. I’m sure they are a patchwork of all the authors I’ve read.

Thank you for sharing your thoughts with us, Rachelle! We will be keeping an eye on your future books, which we hope shall be many more in the years to come.

Thank you for the opportunity! What a pleasure.

“Embergold” by Rachelle Nelson

23 Monday Mar 2026

Posted by in A Tale Transformed

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This book reminded me a little of The Ritual, although they aren’t similar beyond being stories about a dragon and a maiden. It’s the part the maiden spends at the dragon’s castle that reminded me of the Dyachenkos’ book, but this story isn’t humorous like theirs, and although the romance is sweet, it doesn’t reach the same level of tenderness. And the ending is different, and somewhat conflicting.

THE GREEN DRAGON

In retellings of Beauty and the Beast, the father is usually loving towards his daughters, because the father in the fairy tale is too, albeit weak-willed, but in versions where the animal bridegroom is a dragon, I have noticed that he usually is not. I suppose authors tend to see giving your daughter away to be eaten by a flying lizard as very cruel and so they highlight it. In Embergold, this negative side of the father figure is emphasised on to the point that the father of the female main character is a physical and emotional abuser, so we begin this story in a domestic context of apparent peaceful life in the marshes that masks the familial violence suffered by the girl, Gilde.

What’s most striking is that Gilde doesn’t seem to understand well that she is an abused child. She has a mentality common amongst victims of domestic violence that makes her desperate to please her father, to hear him say he loves her, and to be convinced that when her father exhibits this controlling behaviour and punishes her, it’s because she must have done something wrong and it’s her fault. This is very realistic, and not seen often in Fantasy. Gilde isn’t the typical “strong woman” who is quick to talk back and gets slapped for being loud-mouthed and ill-tempered; she really believes that this is normal and lives like a little mouse that has to be careful not to accidentally anger the cat (and there’s another drunk cat in the household). To make matters worse, she has no positive role models to teach her that what is happening to her isn’t normal. She knows nothing but toxic relationships, because even Isadora, her companion who lives and works in the marsh cottage, is verbally abusive and doesn’t treat her well, even though she’s also a victim of beatings. Everyone here is mean to Gilde.

It isn’t until she is betrayed and handed over to a dragon in exchange for certain powers that only black magic can give that we begin to see signs that the girl could have PTSD from all this. And it’s because Wil shows her the other side of the coin: he treats her well, reveals to her the harsh truth about her father that she isn’t aware of, tells her stories, teaches her to read (how often do you find an illiterate girl in Fantasy? They all know how to read even when realistically they shouldn’t due to their social status or familial circumstances), protects her, and helps her even when she goes TSTL and disobeys his order not to open certain doors in the castle. I loved this part, the time Wil and Gilde spend in the castle full of trapped black magic and a mine underneath that produces a certain rare material called “embergold,” highly coveted by wizards like her father. It’s this part, which is definitely reminiscent of The Ritual, that makes me wonder if Rachelle Nelson has seen the film, because the book hasn’t been translated yet.

And it’s also this part that gives context to why the girl falls in love a bit soon. I mean, if you’ve always been treated as if you have no value as a person, of course you’re going to develop feelings for someone who shows you that you do have value, and whether you fall in love or not is just a bonus.

If it were up to me, they should’ve stayed there in the castle, if not for the whole story, at least for much longer than they did, because once they leave, the story is no longer so beautiful. Necessary for plot advancement, yes, because Gilde had to open her eyes and mature, and Wil had to fight to regain his humanity and resolve the issue of the curse and the troublesome mines, but that could perhaps have been done without dragging them to Xantic.

THE YELLOW DRAGON

What would become of stories of dragons and maidens without dragonslayers! Every self-respecting dragon has to face a dragonslayer, that’s the law in dragonhood and knighthood alike, and here the person in that role is Gilde’s father, a man that would sell not only his daughter but his own soul for the power of dragonfire. Magic, or rather his excessive ambition to possess fire magic, has corrupted him so much he will do anything to destroy the dragon and take its magic for himself, regardless of how the dragon has treated his daughter and what she thinks about the matter. It’s clear that the wretch won’t hesitate to sacrifice her again.

The worst thing is that Gilde forgives him and still loves him.

I know that forgiving those who mistreat you and loving your enemies is very virtuous and all that, and it does happen that victims of abuse still maintain ties with their abusers. No two victims of abuse react the same way: one may forgive and another may hold a grudge for life; there are many factors that influence the outcome, and I’m not going to dive into a lengthy analysis of the complex psychology of post-domestic abuse, but one thing does have me concerned: mixing forgiveness with maintaining ties with the abuser, especially if the abuser isn’t remorseful and doesn’t ask for forgiveness. The verse is “forgive us for our trespasses as we forgive those who trespass against us,” for goodness’s sake, not “justify our trespasses as we justify those who trespass against us.” Forgiving means letting go, getting rid of the burden in your heart; it doesn’t mean you have to maintain ties with that person to prove that your forgiveness is genuine.

And Gilde doesn’t get it. Even after finding out what a bastard her father is and learning about the barbaric human sacrifices practised by wizards of his kind, she still loves him when he returns. Fine, you’re not obliged to hate him and wish for him to be crushed by an elephant, and no one wants to see you as a spiteful bitch hardened by abuse (which is also realistic, not everyone becomes bitter because of their tragic life experiences), but you didn’t have to be SO NICE to that old bastard and still love him after he threw you at a dragon. If I were you, I’d let the dragon eat him for a snack without batting an eye.

But as much as I disliked it, this was consistent with Gilde’s character: she’s empathetic, meek-tempered, has a big heart, a gentle strength, and cares for others even if they don’t care back. It would’ve been strange if she had reacted differently, it’s true, but I still don’t like the subliminal message.

One little thing that did bother me more than expected was Xantic. It’s supposed to be Rome, right? Of course Xantic is Rome. You can’t show me all that Roman Empire paraphernalia, including Latin names, and expect me not to realise where the inspiration came from. But then, what is the land of marshes and dragon castles? Germania or Britannia? It seems to me that it’s mostly a bit of a Germanic world, because some of the names (Gilde, Guntor, etc.) and the type of dragon lore and gold mining lore here are Germanic, and the English element is just a tiny bit. Ah, right, so we have Rome and Germania in a Fantasy version, what’s the problem? None really, except that we see almost nothing of Xantic apart from the trial that takes place there to decide the future of Gilde and Wil, which makes it look superfluous.

I love Rome, it’s one of my favourite historical periods, but for what it was used for here, it would’ve been best if the world was entirely Germanic. You just had to send a couple of tall, blond, beer-drinking soldiers to grab those two brats accused of forbidden magic and take them before the tall, blond, beer-drinking magistrate Pontius von Pilatusberg. What did it matter? There was no need to use Roman aesthetics as make-up.

Is this enough to ruin my enjoyment of this book? No, it’s just that my Rome-loving side wasn’t impressed by this part compared to the parts in the marsh and the castle.

THE RED DRAGON

The final verdict on the resolution of this story will depend greatly on individual taste because the plot itself is the kind that some will find sweet and others will find bland; that’s how these stories with a clear purpose that speaks to their target audience work. I think the ending will appeal more to those who have understood the purpose of the story, and those who haven’t will find something to nitpick in the details of the ending.

I have no objection to the ending, at least none of any significance. My main complaint, as I said above, was moving the second part of the story to Xantic, which detracts from the atmosphere and aesthetics established up to that point, but that is a mixed bag for me rather than an issue. Nor do I disagree with how the curse is resolved, or the involvement of that weird Ghost character, who I found more amusing than anything else.

Oh, but Gilde’s bastard of a father deserved a sound beating at the very least, that’s for sure. He got off lightly, and I like to see characters like him pay more dearly. That’s what I would’ve liked was different in the ending. I say, since you’ve faux Rome here, then why not also apply to the bad father some good old Roman customs like crucifixion or something?

Anyway, I liked practically everything here, which is something I can rarely say about a B&B retelling. It’s sweet, entertaining, the characters are likeable, and it honours the fairy tale’s core themes; you can’t ask for more.

“Yes, Your Serpentine Excellency” by Kate Stradling

18 Wednesday Mar 2026

Posted by in A Tale Transformed

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“If I loved you less, I might be able to talk about it more,”

—Henry Knightley, Esq., 1815 / Marquise, godmother-in-training, 2026.

I’ve had this problem for a couple of years now: every time I find a book that resonates with me completely and unconditionally earns all the stars, I’m at a loss for words. Last year, which was my worst year in decades in terms of reading, I still had two books like that which I loved so much I couldn’t write about them in the verbose way you’re used to read from me. And now this! The third book in two years that has left me speechless.

How exactly are you going to explain to everyone, some of whom will have tastes completely opposite to yours, why a story has resonated with you so deeply? It’s like trying to explain all the ingredients and their flavours and textures as you’re eating your favourite dish. You can do it, yes, but it detracts from the enjoyment, from the simple happiness of eating something you love.

Sometimes you just want to enjoy, bask in the sensations, and let it all go.

For me, this happens very rarely. I’m a very critical reader, which is why I can count this book as the third of its kind in two years. But I’m going to try to review this book as best I can.

Yes, Your Serpentine Excellency is another Dragon and Maiden story, in which the maiden is a spinster who can teleport from one place to another and the dragon is a fortune teller for the mafia. What a joke, right? Now that I think about it, I believe the first sweet spot this book touched on was the theme, because I’ve loved Dragon and Maiden stories since long before I started seriously reviewing books. I even own a collection of illustrations of dragons and knights fighting called “Dragonslaying is for Dreamers.”

Let’s start with the theme, then. This Dragon/Maiden story doesn’t have the typical medievalish setting; instead, it’s more like the late Victorian period where magic exists (but it’s not High Fantasy, it reads more like Austen/Heyer with fantasy) and where magical creatures and citizens born with magic must register with the Crown to perform military or civil service. You can imagine the situation Joanna and His Serpentine Excellency find themselves in, because neither of them wants to serve the Crown.

And it’s because neither of them wants it that this pair gets caught up in countless adventures thanks to the Crown Prince, the Crown inspectors, the Crown’s magical agents, the Church, the three organised crime syndicates that dominate the realm, the dragon’s wealthy clients, and Joanna’s meddlesome brothers, cousins, niece, aunt, and two cats.

It’s a city dragon story, not a country dragon story. What’s the difference? The city slicker dragon eats Beef Wellington, the country bumpkin dragon would rather eat Wellington.

All these situations are convoluted and comical. Which brings me to my second point: the humour here resonates with me. And that’s not usually the case, as I’ve said before: humorous literature usually just doesn’t do it for me. That’s why I ended up disliking Georgette Heyer and why Jane Austen’s most humorous books are the ones I like least. “British humour” has peculiarities that many people enjoy, which are diluted when someone from outside tries to imitate it. It’s as if the most relevant details get lost in the cultural shift. It’s a bit complicated to explain, but American authors who imitate the absurdist style of English jokes when writing Regency/Victorian fantasy generally make the mistake of forcing the joke (as happens with T. Kingfisher) and end up being irritatingly goofy, because American humour tends to walk in that direction.

This doesn’t happen with Stradling. Somehow, she managed to use absurdism in a way that fits perfectly with the pseudo-European world he created. And I liked it because this humour flows naturally; the situations are funny because that’s how the scenes develop, they don’t appear out of nowhere to make you laugh. Like the world itself, it doesn’t have to be explained, no “please laugh.” And that’s how this surprises you with hilarious scenes, like the one that had me laughing for nearly half an hour, and I had to put the book down for a bit to laugh heartily. It’s been so long since I laughed like that over a book scene, a too long time.

I know you’re going to ask me which scene made me laugh for half an hour, but I’m not going to tell. Partly because it would be a bit of a “please laugh” plea, but mostly because humour varies, and you might not find that scene as funny as I did. And of course, also because I don’t want to intellectualise it but just enjoy it.

The third point would be the world itself. As it’s based on a real place, it’s a “prefabricated” mould, so to speak, a type of world that all readers of Austen, Heyer, and the Regency Romances will recognise (although Westbridge is NOT real England but an alternate world), and that’s precisely why the author doesn’t need to explain the worldbuilding and magic system; you can already guess them, and everything from the social system to the customs is pre-understood. This doesn’t mean the author doesn’t contribute to the worldbuilding with her own stuff; it’s just that since the framework is already established and she prefers to reveal the world by moving the characters around, it’s a more subtle worldbuilding to notice. Is it predictable? Oh, yes. Does it matter? Oh, no.

At least, not to me. Predictability doesn’t always spell doom for a story; it depends a lot on the execution. Kate Stradling once said that her books are “handcrafted using the finest tropes,” and I can understand the point of her saying that: the trick is not in avoiding tropes but in how you handle these tropes. I saw what would happen with the dragon and what it was rather early; I’ve read so many stories about dragons & maidens & knights, and almost nothing can surprise me anymore. And I emphasise “almost,” because this novel did have a surprise for me, related to what made me laugh for half an hour.

And speaking of finest tropes, we come to the fourth and final point: is there any Beauty and the Beast theme here? In short, yes. Firstly, because stories about dragons and maidens usually fall into two main tropes: either the knight rescues the maiden and keeps her, or the dragon takes her and keeps her. What kind of dragon it will be depends on the author, and in this case, I prefer that you see for yourselves what kind His Serpentine Excellency is. And secondly, because apart from the dragon and maiden motif, there are several of the same elements as in the fairy tale, except for sacrificing the maiden to the dragon/giving Beauty over to Beast. Point in Stradling’s favour.

And here I bow out, seeing that I did have something to say after all.

“Angelica and the Bear Prince” by Nguyen Trung Le

14 Saturday Mar 2026

Posted by in A Tale Transformed

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Do you think such a thing as a “meta-retelling” exists, my dear Vicomte? The encyclopedias tell me there’s metanarrative as a formal academic name for this kind of storytelling technique that I discovered in today’s reading. It’s not striking me as fitting this story quite as nicely as “meta-retelling,” though, so I think I shall be formally coining the term for this style of storytelling from now on.

The book I wanted to share my thoughts on with you is a graphic novel, Angelica and the Bear Prince, that was marketed as a retelling of the Norwegian fairy tale “East of the Sun and West of the Moon,” one of those links in the evolutionary chain from Greek myth to French fairy tale that you can spot in the history of Beauty and the Beast. But I would call it a meta-retelling because it isn’t a retelling, not even a loose one, nor is it a parallel story to mark the main story’s beats. It’s a fairy tale that has been placed within the book’s plot and is already retold independently of Angelica and Gable’s story (yes, bet you didn’t notice that the fairy tale is presented here as already retold on its own) and that evolves on its own with only the slightest touches of the main plot.

In other words, the fairy tale here isn’t supposed to retell Angelica and Gable’s story as a modernised “East of the Sun and West of the Moon,” nor does it intend to. Rather, what it actually does by its very existence is describe how the theatrical adaptation of the fairy tale is staged according to the script the Log House Theatre are rehearsing. Indeed, that is the reason and purpose of the Nordic fairy tale in this story: to exist as an internal theatrical adaptation. And that’s why it’s not “complete” within the timespan of the graphic novel, nor is it supposed to be. That’s what those who complain that this is incomplete and incomprehensible haven’t realised.

And how do I know that the fragments of the fairy tale are an in-story adaptation for the stage and not a retelling? Well, because the first line of the book already begins as a retelling. In the original, the polar bear doesn’t ask the father to make his daughter his “girlfriend,” he wants her for his wife. Furthermore, in the fairy tale both (bear and girl) sleep together, whilst here each goes to their own room to sleep, and so on. It’s all already been retold and sanitised for a young audience, which indicates that it’s an adaptation that the people at Mrs Jorgensen’s theatre company have written for the stage and changed to make it suitable for a young public (teens). And besides, the artwork for the fairy tale fragments shows theatre props anyone who has been behind the scenes at theatre companies would recognise. With all this, it’s obvious that what’s being told is the play Gable and Chrissy are acting out.

In short: this play is a meta-retelling. Simple conclusion to reach, isn’t it, my dear Viscount? But so few people know how to grasp the nuances of fairy tales.

And then, you might ask, if this book isn’t a retelling and the storyline isn’t a parallel narrative, what is Angelica and the Bear Prince supposed to be? Let me quote this passage from the author’s notes:

I realized Angelica and the Bear Prince is about grief. I pitched it as a modern retelling of EotS, WotM, but it wound up being an exploration of how the experience of mourning feels so lonely and unwieldy simply because there appears to be no right way to do it.

I had heard this book talked about as a story about burnout when it was marketed pre-release, and I had heard that it didn’t do quite a satisfying job of it because it only touched on this topic superficially. And now that I’ve read it myself, I can say that I’m going to disagree with that opinion. I don’t think this is a story about merely the typical burnout experienced by overachiever teenagers and that it does a bad job of exploring this experience or that it does so superficially. Why?

To begin with, the fact that the author, Nguyen Trung Le, says he based this story on his own experience of suffering extreme exhaustion a few years ago, and that he says the theme is grief and not burnout, makes me think that the mental condition afflicting Angelica isn’t burnout but depression. In real life, the author suffered from depression, and in the story, Angelica enters a very severe depressive period of grief after her grandmother dies, and in both cases (author and character), burnout is a manifestation of that depression, not the root cause. One leads to the other, and they feed off each other; they aren’t mutually exclusive and can coexist, but depression is usually the root cause.

So I think that Angelica suffers from severe depression that resulted in burnout and led her to abandon the countless extracurricular activities she enjoyed. It’s a very common reality for teens and adults. Why does this book seem to avoid delving deeper into a topic of such importance and interest, one that thousands of readers will surely find easy to empathise with?

Because we are already at the tail end of Angelica’s depression, not at its peak.

When the story begins, Angelica is starting to emerge from her grief, beginning to revive, and she’s applying for theatre internships and figuring out how to resume some of her hobbies without stressing herself out again. The worst is over. If the story took place when Angelica was still in the depths of her exhaustion and sadness, readers’ complaint that the treatment is superfluous would be understandable. But at this point, when she’s recovering, it makes about as much sense as seeing a cancer patient at the end of chemotherapy and complaining about them having hair. It’s all about paying attention to the internal timing of the plot, my dear Vicomte, and for me, the fact that Angelica’s mental health is discussed infrequently and in the past tense has a purpose.

Personally, what I liked about this part about burnout and depression is that it implies Angelica’s mother bears some responsibility for what happened to her daughter. The woman is the typical Asian tiger mom who wants to do everything perfectly and pressures her children to be perfectionists. It’s clear that Angelica inherited her overachieverism and perfectionism from her and parental pressure, because her father is chill and loving (and, in my opinion, the best character), not at all a fan of the capitalist, over-educating rat race that his wife and daughter embrace to the point of hurting themselves. In these kinds of stories with teenagers suffering from mental health breakdowns due to the unrealistic demands from parents and culture, the parents’ culpability is often overlooked. In reading this, it’s easy to get caught up in trivialities like Angelica talking online with a boy that her parents don’t know about (forgetting that there’s a difference between descriptive and prescriptive portrayals of teen behaviour in fiction, and teens do this more often than parents would like), and not take note of the overbearing mother because that might feel like holding a mirror up to themselves. This isn’t just an issue with Asian parents, unfortunately.

Nguyen Trung Le gently and softly makes them confront their role in their children’s burnout, without lecturing or reproach. But whether they want to see it is another matter. I would have liked him to delve deeper and for his message to be stronger, but this author seems to be this way by nature, saying things quietly and gently, understating it and letting readers catch or miss his drift. Nguyen has chosen to focus on Angelica’s grandmother’s death as the trigger for her burnout, and I understand why, although I don’t think it’s the cause, but rather the catalyst. I know this from ample experience.

Now, of course, there were things I didn’t like.

While the story as a whole is beautiful and easy to understand, you only realise this at the end, once you’ve finished reading it. Because whilst you’re reading it, it’s not easy and it can either bore you or make you abandon it because you don’t see what it’s about. The way Nguyen Trung Le writes it is like a jumble of everyday scenes that don’t seem to have a connecting thread. One moment you’re with Angelica and her friend Chrissy, and suddenly a fragment of the fairy tale appears. Another moment, you’re with Angelica’s parents and suddenly you’re taken to the theatre. There doesn’t seem to be a cohesive story, and that’s infuriating.

Aside from the lack of a more cohesive plot, the author doesn’t handle scene transitions well. The shifts from one slice-of-life scene to another are so abrupt. And to make matters worse, the characters tend to emote into the void as if they’re talking to a camera, without any context (what in writing would be called “tell and not show,” and in illustration it’s even worse because the point of illustration is precisely to show). And finally, there are scenes that are simply unnecessary and don’t contribute anything. Some can be understood in the context of the big picture, like Chrissy’s relationship struggle, which I didn’t care about at all but can see it makes sense if you consider that she’s the girl with the polar bear in the meta-retelling, but… what on earth was Angelica’s mother’s food cart doing there, and what was that silly scene with the white woman talking about DEI and health permits? Not much.

At times, I thought that the author, being a man, perhaps didn’t know how to handle a teenage girl’s emotional story on its own and instead threw into the plot practically half the town—even the neighbourhood gay couple, even more useless to the plot than the food truck scene—to help him construct a somewhat understandable story from a collage of experiences and situations that are half loose and half related. It’s like you want to tell your personal story and end up including your entire street in the book because you don’t know what else to do.

It might have been better if the main character to narrate had been Per the Bear instead of Angelica, because Nguyen Trung Le could tell his story (remember that his own mental health struggles inspired this) with more confidence through a boy than a girl. Gable would have been a better canvas for pouring the author’s emotions and experiences. It’s very complicated to tell a story of depression and burnout through a child, and all things considered, the author didn’t do such a bad job. But he did it with a significant number of blunders that I couldn’t help but notice.

And yes, it’s true that the ending is very predictable. I’m referring to the revelation of the bear prince’s identity, and it’s not like it was going to be some great, unfathomable mystery, but even so, it could have been more… I don’t know, subtle? Because Angelica even comes across as foolish for not guessing sooner.

Something I did like about the ending is that Angelica and Gable’s story concludes the tale they’re adapting for the stage. I don’t know if others will see it this way, but for me, the fact that we don’t see the end of the story in the plot is because the plot itself concludes it. And that’s when the meta-retelling becomes strong and obvious: it begins by telling the story as a play and ends with the story finishing the play we no longer see. Of course, you have to know the original fairy tale to see it this way, and many won’t, so it wouldn’t have been a bad idea to end the story as a play, just as it began.

But then it wouldn’t have been a true meta-retelling, would it? It would have simply been showing us what the play looked like, just another slice-of-life scene to add to the collage.

I found it a beautiful graphic novel, my dear Vicomte, despite its many and stark flaws. Meta-retellings are a fascinating philosophical exercise to me. And I do hope that, in some way, these musings will help you to better understand in what ways I see and interpret fairy tale motifs and themes in real life and in many people’s lives, something you have asked me about before.

I sign off with one last look at the lovely artwork, which I’m thinking does a lot to earn the book its four stars.

March 14th, 2026.

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This review is dedicated with all my love and admiration to Cub, who inspired me to write in this ‘Dangerous Liaisons’ style when he offhandedly asked the question that led me to discover fairy tale “meta-retellings” to describe a certain type of retellings I had previously found difficult to describe analytically.

Happiest of birthdays to you, my Little Red Riding Cub! I love you in all the languages and all the lives.