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The wind and the waves echoed her heart- constant and pure. The storm was her soul-wild and untamed... And when the tempest raged around her, she faced it until the rainbow appeared and a new beginning was born. While whispers of wind stirred echoes of the past and scattered thoughts of a different time and place through her mind. It was then that she formed her most powerful spell; The weather spell that no living creature could stop, and she once more remembered her true name. Mab stepped out of the shadows and her raindrop crown glittered with the power of eternal starlight. ~ A. Bergloff Weather echoes the human heart, and we are connected to it. The ever changing weather of the seasons brings calm days and turbulent ones, much like how our hearts can experience love and joy, and also, tribulation and sadness. It is through experiencing and enduring all aspects of the weather around us, and the seasons that we carry inside our hearts, that balance is found and the beautiful spell of life goes on. This month, The Fairy Tale Magazine is presenting two stories and three poems in the final issue in our series of "weather-works" for 2022 that explore some element of weather - from rain to wind to snow and beyond. So, please enjoy, and as always dear readers... Stay enchanted! - Kate, Amanda, and Kelly We wait at the borders for mortals to remember the reckoning of time .. The Weather Witches Kelly Jarvis My son wishes to wed the Moon's eldest daughter... Hounds of the Heavens Rose Q. Addams Our birthplaces crumble while we ride on swans' wings... The Snow Queens of Southern California Marisca Pichette Don't stir the pot, child, don't coax the wind or tempt the rain... Curious Emma Liz Bragdon The heat of summer continues to elude me... The Song of the Rain Faniyi Oluwatomiwa Elijah MUSIC Sharing some rainy, weather-themed classical music accompany this issue: ALL COPYRIGHT to the written works in this issue belong to the individual authors. Editor-in-Chief ~ Kate Wolford Art Director ~ Amanda Bergloff Special Projects Writer ~ Kelly Jarvis Cover Painting ~ by Frederic Leighton, 1892 Graphics ~ Amanda Bergloff

Once, they worshiped at our altars, Aware our anger might erupt in torrential winds and rains. It did not take much to garner our favor, An evening prayer, a sacrifice, a respectful offering Of sweet, honeyed wine. Our pleasure would ripen like the blossoming fields, And the days would give birth To sunshine and storm clouds, The balance that sustains. Now they worship at altars of greed and corruption, Murder our forests, pollute our waters with slime. Unloved, unfeared, we wait at the borders, For mortals to remember the reckoning of time. Unseen, we remain an unbreakable coven, Above and below the sick surface of earth. Our hot tempers blistering, Our salty tears melting, Our furious fevers rising, Our parched throats thirsting, For the cool, quenching, covenant Of sweet, honeyed wine. Kelly Jarvis teaches classes in literature, writing, and fairy tale at Central Connecticut State University, The University of Connecticut, and Tunxis Community College. She lives, happily ever after, with her husband and three sons in a house filled with fairy tale books. She is also Enchanted Conversation’s special project’s writer.

Once, when the world was young, a hermit dwelt in the desert. He had lived there all his life, wanting for nothing, for he was resourceful. In his youth, he’d earned his bread training and selling hounds to the lords of various manors. Now that his death drew nigh, he longed for an adventure. Each night he would retire to his bed, thinking it folly. But when the idea rekindled with each dawn, he finally purposed to go. He set out with a waterskin, a pair of sandals, and some bread in his bag. He walked eastward until his sandals were worn through. His stores ran out, but he survived on the fruit and juice of cacti. There was no sign of water, or mankind. When he found no plant nor animal for the third day in succession, he began to worry. Perhaps this was only an endless stretch of sand, burning under the high sun. Oh, how it burned! He had lived in the desert all his life, and still it burned so hot that his tongue cleaved to the roof of his mouth, and his vision shook. He took step after monotonous step, and finally he stumbled and did not rise. * * * “Good father, are you feeling better?” The gentle voice belonged to a lady with a bright smile and freckled skin. She gave him some water, and when he drank it her smile grew wider, making her the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen. “I am glad. Not many make it to the Sun’s home and yet live. It’s lonely sometimes. But my husband returns soon, and you must be ready. His heat will harm you if you do not make haste.” She withdrew a bottle of ointment and began to apply it, speaking quickly. “My husband loves company, but does not realize Men are fragile. If you wear this, you can withstand his heat.” “But— how did I come to be here?” he stammered, mind reeling. “Our hound brought you here, I know not from where. We would be honored to have you as our guest.” How could he refuse? He was soon before a sumptuous table between the Sun and his wife. They ate and drank until the old man thought he would burst from the abundance. The hound, for its part, never left his side, and he slipped it choice bits throughout the feast. At the meal’s end, his host spoke. “Beasts know a man’s true character. I’ve never before seen my hound befriend one so quickly, and I would ask a boon of you. My son wishes to wed the Moon’s eldest daughter, but his time is consumed with preparing her apartments. Would you be willing to bring his suit before her, for our sake?” More than willing; a journey for love was noble indeed. The Sun was pleased with this answer, and gave him a scroll declaring the youth’s suit, some jewelry for the bride, and a pair of winged sandals, so that his journey might be swift. He left the next morning, following the silver road that the Sun pointed out to him. He followed it through a strange landscape; the Sun’s gardens faded behind him as the land became a shifting mass of blue and purple hills that became an endless sea all about him, then changed again to a great, dark sky through which the path cut through like a silver ribbon. He continued for some time. He did not tire easily, but the journey seemed endless, and his mind grew weary. So he ran. Once begun, he could not stop. The sandals sped faster and faster, at speeds that would trip even a youth, and he soon did— but he did not fall, for a great, shining dog appeared and caught him in its jaws, and set him upright once more. “I am Sirius, guide of men,” it said. “I am sorry I could not catch you earlier, for I had to keep in place until the Sun rose. Are you alright?” “I am now,” the hermit said. “Thanks to you.” “Where are you going?” He told all. “The Moon’s eldest daughter? She will gladly accept. She sits at her window night and day, sewing and weaving for her trousseau, looking to the sunrise and sighing.” Sirius then offered to carry him until it was time to return to his post. This offer was gladly accepted, and soon he was flying along, the distant white palace growing clearer with every passing minute. All too soon, Sirius halted and bade him farewell, and he went alone once more, until he reached the palace door. His knock was answered by a maidservant, who escorted him to a lavish garden where the Moon sat admiring herself in a fountain. “I bring an offer of marriage for your eldest daughter, Milady,” he said. “The son of the Sun wishes her for his bride.” The Moon’s nose wrinkled. “A mortal?” He reddened, but bowed. “Even so.” “If you find her without waking her, you may give it to her. She is in the pagoda.” She waved a milky hand toward a delicate structure in the center of the garden. Within, he found an identical trio of beautiful ladies, fast asleep. Which one was she? Then he remembered— Sirius had said the eldest had been sewing and weaving night and day. One’s fingers were stained with ink. Another smelled of lilies. The third’s hands had small calluses and a pinprick of blood: on her lap he placed the bag and scroll. She awoke, and accepted with joy, for she was as in love with her suitor as he was with her. The hermit was an honored guest at their wedding, and remains in their service to this day. That is why you can sometimes see sundogs and moondogs, for whichever house they stay in, he takes the hounds for a run in the cold winter mornings. Rose Q. Addams lives in a place that is entirely inhabited by little people, and loves hats, cheesecake, and said little people. You can find more of her work and insanity at https://rewriteswithafaeriepen.wordpress.com/

In place of wedding rings we stood toe to toe & drove twin icicles into our eyes. I saw like her & she saw me flaking into an arctic wind. Frostbitten lips kiss best. In her sleigh bed of ice we tangle under snow sheets kissing away the wildfires that sent us flying away & up & away from all we made in cinders & ash. Our birthplaces crumble while we ride on swans’ wings promising to try better than melted crowns staining black tears on our cheeks. Marisca Pichette's work has appeared in Strange Horizons, Fireside Magazine, Room Magazine, Ligeia Magazine, Enchanted Living, and Plenitude Magazine, among others. Her debut poetry collection, Rivers in Your Skin, Sirens in Your Hair, is forthcoming from Android Press in Spring 2023.

"Don't stir the pot, child. How many times do I have to remind you?" Emma rolled her eyes, "But why?" And she wasn't stirring - she was swishing. "You know the rule, Emma," her mother sighed and gestured for the spoon. In a reluctant sing-song, Emma recited the words every villager knew by heart: "Don't stir the pot, child, don't coax the wind or tempt the rain. While the weather is fine, we work and play and peace reigns over us night and day." "And there's your answer," her mother said. "Now run and play, if you like." But Emma didn't like - she felt restless as a squirrel before Friday Rain. There was an itch in her soul that demanded to be scratched. That itch was a sound and that sound was a word - her favorite word. Sometimes the word howled like a wolf, sometimes it squeaked like a mouse. That word was, "Why?" She ran out the door, grabbing the blackberry bucket on her way, and headed for the forest. The forest was a neat puzzle of trees and meadows, flowers and bushes. The contours never changed. Nothing in the village changed. Seasons looped in precise cycles of sun and cloud, rain and snow, stillness and wind - predictable down to the day, hour, and minute. Daily life followed suit. "Why can't it be different?!" Emma demanded aloud. She dropped the overflowing bucket and settled into a hollow under the grandmother oak. "For it to be different, you have to do something differently," said a voice. Emma was alone except for a crow sitting on a nearby root. "Can I have a blackberry?" it said. Other children might have run away in fright, but Emma was more interested in asking questions than running. She tipped the bucket, so the crow could eat his fill. Most especially she wanted to know - why could the crow speak? "Well", the crow replied, "they say somewhere somebody stirred a pot full of many different things. Or maybe one thing. Maybe magical things...maybe everyday things." Emma thanked the crow and ran all the way home. If she stirred the pot, what would happen? Would cows speak? Would flowers walk? Would it rain on a Sunday? Her mother was at market and the dinner pot was still simmering over the fire. Emma dipped the spoon in and began to stir. Slowly at first, around and around. A spiral formed. Vegetables bobbed like toy boats. Emma stirred faster. Stew slopped the sides of the pot as it rocked on its hook. Some splashed onto the coals below and sizzled and popped. The dizzily spinning liquid sucked the spoon from Emma's hand, sinking it with a glug. An impressive bubble rose to the surface and collapsed. Then, stillness. Emma's mother walked in to find her daughter staring into the pot, stew on her dress, and the spoon missing. Emma explained about the crow, talking cows and rain on Sundays, but her mother just shook her head. She had no choice, she told Emma sternly, but to tell the Village Council. Why? asked Emma. With a howl of exasperation her mother threw up her hands and departed. As it turned out, no one had ever stirred the pot before and therefore, the Village Council had never considered consequences. For now, Emma was confined to her room with a pile of mending. Emma sat by the window as she sewed, keeping eyes and ears open for walking flowers and talking cows. By the third day, she began to lose hope - until she heard raised voices from the street and saw Georgina Potter's mother hurrying Georgina towards the Village Square, scolding her the whole way. Georgina had been stirring the pot! And so it went all day long - parents hurrying their children up and down the street for stirring pots. The rhythmic passage of agitated feet churning up the packed dirt, generating dust-choked gusts that tumbled unlucky ants, confused bees, and unwary butterflies hither and fro, up chaotic currents and down unintended paths. Then it rained on a Saturday. Unheard of! And again on Sunday. And Monday. Ponds overflowed. The croaking of the frogs was deafening. Mosquitos swarmed, chased by zig-zagging battalions of dragonflies forcing pedestrians to duck and dodge to avoid collision. A bumper crop of fireflies lit the village bright enough to mistake night for day. Flowers never seen before grew. Cows did not speak, but mooed more frequently which was useful as the pasture grass grew so high they could only be located by keen ears. Some changes were promising, but others were not so agreeable, Emma decided, as she gathered an armload of fresh straw to patch their water-logged roof. "Excuse me," said a small voice. Emma looked down. Clinging to her bundle of straw was a mouse in a black velvet waistcoat carrying a tiny book with a gold clasp. "Can you help me? I didn't expect all of this weather and got blown off course into a hay bale." Emma smiled. Maybe leaky roofs were a good thing, after all. She offered the mouse her palm. He nodded his thanks and leapt onto her hand. "Where would you like to go?" she asked. "Grandmother oak. I must arrive by midnight or I won't be able to find the secret door." Emma's eyes widened. She had lots of questions, beginning with, "Why?" "That, young lady, is a long story. But I'll tell you all about it if you take me there." And off they went. On their way, they were joined by the other village children, each carrying something different and unusual- a rabbit in trousers, a frog with a crown, a bag of magic beans, a glass shoe, a red-orange bird with a fiery tail - all conjured by questions and spoons, by magical things and everyday things and with stories to tell. What will happen next? Emma wondered And right then she discovered her new favorite words. Liz is a movement educator, storyteller, and writer. In her Louisiana studio, she helps folks create healthier movement stories to live by. Beyond the studio, she reimagines folk and fairy tales, mixes in creative movement, and shares them with children through her “Tales with a Twist: Stories That Move!” programs.

Something in the atmosphere has shifted And I can't quite wrap my finger around it The tips of the winter edge have finally receded Though graciously, the heat of the summer continues to elude me. The breeze blows cold, the Earth sends a signal I'm thirsty rain, please come The cloud crumbled, the sky thundered Beams of lightening formed a path in the sky. Millions of massive rain-drops have fallen all around They came dancing on household and hid in the ground. They were liquid-like musicians with anything for keys Beating tunes upon the window How sweet the music of the rain that the sound fills the air. I took shelter in a silent empty house Lit by flat grey sky, spiced with rainbow Over everything the flatness lies Thick with words unspoken Can you feel it there, in the walls, in the floor? As a cold song in a cold weather Or as a fairy tale when the moon smile Love can blossom with the warmth and can also blow up storms The more involved we are together, the less we’ll have of stormy days. Faniyi Oluwatomiwa Elijah popularly known as Tommy Brian is a poet, freelance writer and Editor/proofreader. As a lover of art, nature and mystics, he finds solace and inspiration from soliloquy, meditations and poetic conversation. His work has appeared in numerous poetry journals, such as Wittywords, Writers Magazine, Chrysolite Writers etc.

“Phaedra” is a powerful, well told tale of a minor character from Greek mythology whose story will matter a great deal to the reader. Set in the time of Theseus, Medea, Minos, and other ancient Greek figures of myth, this novel moves swiftly, and Laura Shepperson’s prose is astonishingly crisp and clear. Indeed, the clarity and unsentimentality of her words are what lift this book up among the current crush of novels about ancient myth and folklore. Phaedra is young, a pawn, and doing her best in a world that is brutal—it’s important that readers know that Shepperson does not shrink from telling how hard it was for women in ancient Greece. But as I read it, at times deeply unsettled about just how badly women fare in the Athens of Shepperson’s imagination, I thought, well, based on what we know of women’s status in Ancient Greece, the depictions in “Phaedra” are pretty plausible. I appreciated the feeling of truth this book had, despite its being grounded in myth. (Note: Rape and sexual assault are a point of focus in this book, but it is not gratuitous and is handled carefully. The book is also not a depressing read, despite its subject matter.) In this book, you’ll find mystery, tragedy, loss, myth, bull jumping, artistry, intrigue, bravery and treachery. All of the characters and plot lines work well together. “Phaedra” captured me and held my attention the whole way through. I’m glad I read it. Thank you to NetGalley for providing this book for review. Review by Kate Wolford, editor-in-chief, The Fairy Tale Magazine.

The Golden Age of Illustration is a term applied to a time period (1880s - 1920s) of unprecedented excellence in book and magazine illustrations by artists in Europe and America. Advances in technology at the time allowed for accurate and inexpensive reproductions of their art, which allowed quality books to be available to the voracious public demand for new graphic art. Today, The Fairy Tale Magazine is shining a spotlight on one of our favorite European artists from this time period, Kay Nielsen, whose art was influenced by the Arts and Crafts movement, Art Nouveau, and the Pre-Raphaelite and Post Impressionist artists of their time. In turn, Nielsen went on to influence many modern illustrators as well. Learn more about this artist below: Kay Rasmus Nielsen (March 12, 1886 - June 21, 1957) was a Danish illustrator who was popular in the early 20th century. After studying art in Paris from 1904 to 1911, Nielsen moved to England where he received his first commission from Hodder and Stroughton in 1913 to illustrate a collection of fairy tales. His 24 color plates and 15 monotone illustrations for the book, In Powder and Crinoline, Fairy Tales Retold by Sir Arthur Quiller-Couch, led to The Illustrated London News hiring him to produce illustrations for the tales of Charles Perrault (Sleeping Beauty, Puss in Boots, Cinderella, and Bluebeard) for their 1913 Christmas edition. From 1914 to 1925, Nielsen produced illustrations for several books including East of the Sun and West of the Moon; Fairy Tales by Hans Christian Andersen; and Hansel and Gretel and Other Stories by the Brothers Grimm. He also worked, during this time, for the Royal Danish Theatre in Copenhagen where he painted stage scenery. In 1937, after moving to California, he was hired by the Walt Disney Company where his art was used in the film, Fantasia, in the "Ave Maria" and "Night on Bald Mountain" sequences. To me, Kay Nielsen's striking art has a timeless, graphic quality that still speaks to modern viewers. Check out Nielsen's art: From East of the Sun, West of the Moon, 1914 L'art Magique, 1913 From The 12 Dancing Princesses, 1913 From In Powder and Crinoline, 1913 From East of the Sun, West of the Moon, 1914 From East of the Sun, West of the Moon,1914 From East of the Sun, West of the Moon,1914 From East of the Sun, West of the Moon,1914 From East of the Sun, West of the Moon,1914 From East of the Sun, West of the Moon,1914 From Hansel & Gretel and Other Stories by The Brothers Grimm, 1925 From Hansel & Gretel and Other Stories by The Brothers Grimm, 1925 From 1001 Arabian Nights, Published in 1976 From 1001 Arabian Nights, Published in 1976 From In Powder and Crinoline, 1913 From In Powder and Crinoline, 1913 And if you'd like to read East of the Sun, West of the Moon, illustrated by Kay Nielsen, you can read it free HERE Enchanted Conversation's contributing editor, Amanda Bergloff, writes modern fairy tales and speculative fiction. Her work has appeared in various anthologies, including Frozen Fairy Tales, After the Happily Ever After, and Uncommon Pet Tales. Follow her on Twitter @AmandaBergloff Join her every Tuesday on Twitter for #FairyTaleTuesday to share what you love about fairy tales, folktales, and myths. Also, if you like sharing your #vss fairy tales on Twitter, follow @fairytaleflash and use #FairyTaleFlash so we can retweet! Cover: Amanda Bergloff

The idea of writing poetry may call to mind the image of an isolated artist bent over a notebook trying to permanently anchor ideas with drops of ink, but Enchanted Creator Kristen Baum DeBeasi has found a way to bring poetry into the heart of the home by combining deep thoughts and lighthearted word play as she creates fairy-tale themed magnetic poems to grace her kitchen refrigerator. Kristen, who holds a Master’s in Music Theory and Composition, lives in Los Angelos where she plays the piano and composes scores for movies and concerts. She has also studied Writing for the Youth Market at UCLA, taken classes at The Carterhaugh School of Folklore and the Fantastic, and attended several poetry workshops where she has fallen in love with the idea of composing with words. Kristen has generously agreed to share more about her creative endeavors with Enchanted Conversation readers: How did you get started writing Refrigerator Poetry? Years ago, my fantastic aunt gifted me a set of magnetic words, and I have come across fridge magnets at collaborative writing retreats, but I got started during lockdown. I wasn’t sure what to do with myself, and the house was magically shrinking, so, I went online and ordered several different magnetic word sets so I could mix and match them. For two months I stared at my refrigerator door moving magnets around, learning the limitations and possibilities. What is your process for writing Refrigerator Poetry? I let inspiration percolate until I get specific ideas. Sometimes I take notes and other times I go straight to the magnets. Once I start building a poem, the process unfolds in spontaneous writing bursts. Phrases bubble up in my mind and get sorted out. I like plays on words, double meanings, and pointing to things and saying, “Look! What’s up with that?” and, “Why do we subscribe to that concept?” Fairy Tales feature heavily in your creative work. What is it about fairy tales that inspires you create? Fairy tales provide a strong through line in all my creative work, and I have completed a full-length middle-grade manuscript of a Pied Piper retelling. Fairy tales give me the safety to point at things happening today through a “once upon a time” lens. One example is the tale of Donkeyskin which features a plot that we don’t want to think can still happen. When I compose my refrigerator poetry, the magnets give me permission to be brief, while the fairy tale subject matter gives me permission to test the limits of the comparisons I’m making. This sets my imagination free within the confines of the words on my fridge so I can create poems that are outrageous, outraged, silly, or ironic. Have you ever worked with an obscure fairy tale that is less known? The more obscure fairy tales I’ve worked with include The Goose Girl and The Fisherman and His Wife. When I worked with The Fisherman and His Wife, I wanted to explore the idea of “serious” fish stories by Hemingway and Melville against the cultural tendency to consider fairy tales a less serious art form. So, I created a poem that points to the “fishiness” of that hierarchy. Your work often features words and phrases around the borders of your poem that meaningfully interact with the poem’s message. What inspired you to try this innovative form and what is the effect that you hope to achieve through your artful arrangement of extra words and phrases? I have always had an irreverent streak. When I was a child, it repeatedly got me into trouble! My fridge poems have given me an outlet for this irreverence. As I build each of these poems, I think of every phrase I can imagine relating to the poem’s subject matter. Then, as the poem comes into focus, some of those phrases don’t fit—or they never fit to begin with. They just made me giggle as I was creating the poem. The extra phrases function as my Greek Chorus (if a Greek Chorus were comprised of sassy fairies who like pointing out things in our society that are weird or off or funny). It’s a shift of the lens on our world that I’m interested in. So, I leave silly things in the margins—things that didn’t make it into the poem. Now people look for those extra words and phrases. My first hope is that they surprise and delight readers. I also want to provoke thought, especially if the poem’s focus is on current issues or things that are close to my heart. I want to draw attention to things that seem messed up in our world by placing them in fairy tales, which I believe amplifies the issues and lifts them up to scrutiny from a new perspective. I hope that new perspective makes people laugh because it’s unexpected. And through that, I hope it stays with them and they begin to think of our world—this realm, whatever it is (are we already in fairy land?) as important. Kristen likens her refrigerator poetry to the sand mandalas created by Tibetan monks which emphasize the process of creation rather than the final product. Composing through magnetic letters allows her to embrace the ephemeral nature of poetry because each fridge poem must be deconstructed so that its pieces become the building blocks of new poems. Kristen was kind enough to debut a brand-new fridge poem below entitled “here’s looking at a power struggle kid” for Enchanted Conversation readers! The poem offers a playful and poignant look at a conversation between the Evil Queen and her Magic Mirror. You can find out more about Kristen’s work on her writing website kbdebeasi.com and you can purchase the magnets she uses for her compositions at MagneticPoetry.com (they even feature a Brothers Grimm edition). We hope Kristen inspires you to participate in the joy of creation by writing your own fairy tale inspired refrigerator poems! Kelly Jarvis teaches classes in literature, writing, and fairy tale at Central Connecticut State University, The University of Connecticut, and Tunxis Community College. She lives, happily ever after, with her husband and three sons in a house filled with fairy tale books. She is also Enchanted Conversation’s special project’s writer.

Check out Kate's fabulous finds that you can enjoy, too! This week's pick: The Practical Wristlet This week’s pick is an inexpensive, practical wristlet that you can carry on its own or stick in purses to help keep things organized. It’s the SCOUT Kate wristlet. I bought it on Amazon in June for only $18 in the black gingham check, and it’s practical and earns me compliments. What’s so special about it? Well, it’s the right size for lip balm, a plus-size iPhone, ID, a credit card, a key fob and folding money. You could easily put a small comb in there too. In other words, it carries a lot of essentials. If you want something you can pop into purses, just remove the wristlet handle and go for it. Even better than its size is that it’s made of wipeable coated cotton. And absolutely best of all? It’s padded. Why is that good? Because it makes the wristlet easier to find in your purse, if you are using it on its own, it doesn’t get lost easily. It’s very light but has heft. The only downside is that the brand is summer oriented, so the designs are best for the hotter seasons, but there is a “Cindy Clawford” animal print I think will work great for colder weather, and I’m going to give it a try. Now I need to start thinking of a new pick for next week. See you next then!

This book comes together in a very meaningful way. By the end, I was teary-eyed, in a good way. The action takes place on a fictional island, (Mallow, outside of Charleston), and at the Dellawisp, a beautiful and haunted old place that’s got a few condos and a lot of ghosts. Indeed, the main characters are all haunted. They include college freshman Zoey, skittish Charlotte, sweet and lonely Mac, and Frasier, the apparent caretaker of the building who has a supernatural relationship with the rare Dellawisp birds who live in the garden. This being a Sarah Addison Allen book, the supernatural unapologetically exists in this story. I’d have been very disappointed if it hadn’t been. But the book itself seems haunted, and like ghosts, the outlines and details come together slowly. That’s okay, because Addison Allen pulls it all together slowly, then much faster and very completely. There are literal and figurative ghosts here, and Addison Allen doesn't shrink from showing that everyone suffers and that everyone keeps secrets. Yet it is not a book about suffering. It’s more a book about how we continue to grow up and surprise ourselves and others all of our days—and beyond. And the last few pages are exceptionally moving. Sarah Addison Allen is back, and in top form. Hooray! NetGalley very kindly gave me this book in exchange for a review. Review by Kate Wolford

The Vermilion Emporium by Jamie Pacton is a young adult fantasy novel that drips with beauty as it explores the value and cost of artistic creation. The novel alternates between the limited omniscient perspectives of Twain, an orphan boy who discovers a strand of long-lost starlight, and Quinta, an orphan girl who learns how to weave starlight into lace that can heal wounds, tell stories, and sway opinions. The 17-year-old protagonists discover a magical curiosity shop, become the target of powerful forces who want to use their starlight lace for political gain, and, of course, fall in love. The romance is predictable, as are the forces that conspire to pull the couple apart, but beneath the plot is a poignant commentary on art, science, beauty, and power that leads readers to contemplate the human desire for magic and the terrible sacrifices it requires. Pacton creates an intriguing world where human story and starlight intersect. Her settings burst with color and light. Her characters experience love and loss. The Vermilion Emporium will sweep you away to a fantasy world and return you to reality with a deeper understanding of magic and the artists who create it. Review by Kelly Jarvis