Patricia A. McKillip

Stand-alone novels and short story collections: 


The House on Parchment Street — (1973) Ages 9-12. Publisher: While staying with her cousin in England, a young girl helps him find a way of helping the troubled ghosts inhabiting the cellar of the house.

The Throme of the Erril of Sherrill — (1973) Ages 9-12. Publisher: A knight goes in quest of the non-existent throme of the Erril of Sherill since the king will not allow his daughter to marry without it.

The Forgotten Beasts of Eld — (1974) Young adult. Winner of the 1975 World Fantasy Award, Best Novel. Publisher: Sixteen when a baby is brought to her to raise, Sybel has grown up on Eld Mountain. Her only playmates are the creatures of a fantastic menagerie called there by wizardry. Sybel has cared nothing for humans, until the baby awakens emotions previously unknown to her. And when Coren—the man who brought this child—returns, Sybel's world is again turned upside down.

The Forgotten Beasts of Eld: "My Eyes Turned Inward and I Looked..."

As one of Patricia McKillip's earlier works, The Forgotten Beasts of Eld provides an interesting comparison to her first publication Riddle-Master, a dense trilogy that made the most of her trademark poetic-prose. On the other hand, The Forgotten Beasts of Eld is a relatively slim volume with a clear concise style and a straightforward story. Since then, McKillip has managed to successfully merge the aspects of both works in her later works, but The Forgotten Beasts of Eld is by no means an example of a new writer still trying to find her voice. Far from it: The Forgotten Beasts of Eld has a fascinating premise, intriguing character interactions and a rewarding conclusion.

Sybel is the solitary wizard of Eld Mountain, living in a great white house with a menagerie of magical animals that she and her forefathers have called from all the corners of the world. She is perfectly content with her spells and her creatures, until one day a man named Coren brings a baby to her gate. The child's parentage is in dispute: is his father the King of Eldwold or a Prince of Sirle? These two countries are at war with one another, and only one fact is clear: that the baby's mother Rianna was kin to Sybel. So it is to her that Coren of Sirle has brought the infant for safety.

Years pass, and Sybel finds herself in a precarious position. Tamlorn is on the verge of becoming a young man, eager to learn about his father King Drede. Coren, who also happens to be brother of the man that Rianna betrayed Drede for, has fallen in love with her. Two entire countries seem poised on the edge of further war, and the decisions that Sybel makes could either precipitate or halt such events.

She herself wants to remain a neutral party, for aligning herself with one or the other means setting herself against either her child or her lover. But the rulers of both countries are eager to use her in their machinations, and when one takes steps to ensure her loyalty against her will, a seed of hate is bred in her that threatens to overthrow her capacity for love.

It is this internal conflict that provides the impetus for the story as a whole, and builds up an interesting conflict between love and hate, and the power that these emotions hold over an individual. Everything that Sybel holds dear is endangered by her insatiable need for vengeance, and though she can recognize this for herself, she cannot bring herself to give up her hatred of the man who was prepared to take away her free-will by magical means. McKillip finds an innovative way to address the seemingly inevitable tragedy of the story, by introducing a creature early on that embodies fear itself, challenging Sybel to relinquish both hate and love in order to retain her sense of self.

The Forgotten Beasts of Eld is a rewarding read; quick, entertaining and thought-provoking while it lasts. It's not amazingly profound by any means, for if you look closely, the plot holes and characterization flaws become more apparent. There could have been a little more development in several of the somewhat two-dimensional characters, such as the icy, emotionless Sybel and Coren's seemingly out-of-nowhere love for her. A little more depth would have made their intertwining stories more poignant.

Fans of McKillip's later books may miss her usual lucid, dream-like prose, which is largely missing here. Its absence means that the dialogue often feels a little stilted, with character awkwardly postulating their thoughts and feelings to one another in a way that just doesn't feel natural. And yet no book by McKillip could ever be bad — she's just too good at what she does. The themes and situations of the story are built up and carried out, the characters are sympathetic and interesting despite their slight two-dimensionality, and as always, the story is packed full of sparkling ideas that would sustain any other author over the course of several books. The Forgotten Beasts of Eld may not be McKillip's best novels, but it is certainly one of her most readable and entertaining. —Rebecca   Comments

Stepping from the Shadows — (1982) Publisher: ONCE UPON A TIME there was a girl named Frances, an "army brat," who lived in a world of make believe where cactuses were a giant's green fingers, the hills were full of unicorns, and the great antlered Stagman hid in the churchyard shadows.  And then Frances grew up.  But the Stagman wouldn't go away...Now her fantasies follow her from the classroom to the streets, from singles clubs to golden beaches; and everywhere he waits.  The barbaric mangod more sensual, more dangerous than any mortal lover. Silent as a dream, the Stagman is coming for her.   Stepping from the shadows.  And all he demands is her sanity.

Something Rich and Strange: A Tale of Brian Froud's Faerielands — (1984) Winner of the 1995 Mythopoeic Fantasy Award for Adult Literature. Publisher: They have lived among us for centuries—distant, separate, just out of sight. They fill our myths, our legends, and the stories we tell our children in the dark of night. They come from the air, from water, from earth, and from fire. What are these creatures that enjoin out imagination? Faeries. Something Rich and Strange creates a faerie story that's not to be missed: Megan is an artist who draws seascapes. Jonah owns a shop devoted to treasures from the deep. Their lives, so strongly touched by the ocean, become forever intertwined when enchanting people of the sea lure them further into the underwater world—and away from each other.

The Changeling Sea — (1988) Young adult. Publisher: Peri hated the sea that had taken her father and left her mother bemused in dreams. With her doubtful magic, she tried weaving hexes to keep the water from ever again stealing from the land. One night Prince Kir, who yearned for the sea, found Peri at her hexes and asked her to send a message from him. She cast it into the sea with her hexes. Then a sea-dragon hove up, bound by a chain of gold. When a magician changed the gold to flowers, the sea went wild, endangering the fishermen. And by night, the sea-dragon changed and came to land as a fair youth, strangely like Kir. Against the Sea-Queen's revenge for ancient betrayal, Peri seemed helpless. But something had to be done. And she meant to do it!

The Book of Atrix Wolfe — (1995) Publisher: Twenty years ago, the powerful mage Atrix Wolfe unleashed an uncontrollable force that killed his beloved king. Now, the Queen of the Wood has offered him one last chance for redemption. She asks him to find her daughter, who vanished into the human world during the massacre he caused. No one has seen the princess-but deep in the kitchens of the Castle of Pelucir, there is a scullery maid who appeared out of nowhere one night long ago. She cannot speak and her eyes are full of sadness. But there are those who call her beautiful.

The Book of Atrix Wolfe: "I Would Have Brought You Every Bird in the Wood..."

Patricia McKillip once again takes a seemingly simple plot and shapes into something mysterious and beautiful through the use of her poetic, luminous language. It must be said that McKillip's writing style is entirely unique, to the point where it is slightly off-putting to anyone reading it for the first time. Because she incomparable to anyone else I can think of, the best I can do to explain it is to say that her books are like Shakespeare in the fact that it seems indecipherable when you first begin to read, but after getting used to the technique, it gradually begins to make more and more sense till you can finally appreciate its beauty and the skill that went into creating it.

The powerful mage Atrix Wolfe is known throughout the lands as the White Wolf, due to his tendency to shape shift into a wolf during the winter to avoid human company. He seldom interferes in mortal affairs, but in his wanderings he comes across the kingdom of Pelucir, under siege by the conquering kingdom of Kardeth. Now the merciless winter holds both sides in a stalemate, and when Atrix fails in his parley with the Prince of Kardeth, the mage comes to a solution all his own. Drawing up magic from the carnage around him, he creates a being to cease the fighting on both sides; the haunting visage of an antlered Hunter.

But the consequences of his magical tampering have greater effects than even he is aware of. In the nearby woods dwells the mystical Queen of the Wood, who has watched the proceedings with her consort Ilyos and her daughter Sorrow. Now with Atrix's sudden and violent surge of magic, the Queen's beloved and her daughter are swept up into the mortal world, beyond her powers to retrieve them again.

Now, twenty years later a range of seemingly-unconnected incidents occur that bring the mystery to light once again; involving the missing Atrix Wolfe, the magician-prince Talis and the strange spellbook he finds, and a mute scullery maid named Saro who diligently scrubs cauldrons in the busy world of the palace kitchens. All three characters are intimately connected to each other, though none of them are aware of it, and are called into the service of the Queen of the Wood to find her daughter and rid the world of Atrix's terrible mistake.

McKillip always instigates components of real legend and folktale; in this case it is the mythical figure of the Queen of the Wood and the Hunter of the Wild Hunt; archetypal figures that have no names but are recognizable wherever they appear in literature. I make mention of names, because they are another main theme of the story - there is a commentary running throughout the tale of the meaning, mysteries and purpose of names; and if the final line doesn't make you smile then...well, let's just say it will make you smile.

My first experience with McKillip (The Riddlemaster of Hed) left me absolutely baffled, but by this stage I was familiar with McKillip's work and knew what to expect; a vague narrative that relies more on dreamy imagery and poetic descriptive passages than three-dimensional characters and clear plotlines. It may not sound very appealing to some, but give it a try. Like Shakespeare and fine wine, it gets better the more you try it. —Rebecca   Comments

Winter Rose — (1996) Publisher: Sorrow and trouble and bitterness will bound you and yours and the children of yours... Some said the dying words of Nial Lynn, murdered by his own son, were a wicked curse. To others, it was a winter's tale spun by firelight on cold, dark nights.  But when Corbet Lynn came to rebuild his family estate, memories of his grandfather's curse were rekindled by young and old — and rumours filled the heavy air of summer. In the woods that border Lynn Hall, free-spirited Rois Melior roams wild and barefooted in search of healing herbs. She is as hopelessly unbridled — and unsuited for marriage — as her betrothed sister Laurel is domestic. In Corbet's pale green eyes, Rois senses a desperate longing. In her restless dreams, mixed with the heady warmth of harvest wine, she hears him beckon. And as autumn gold fades, Rois is consumed with Corbet Lynn, obsessed with his secret past — until, across the frozen countryside and in flight from her own imagination, truth and dreams become inseparable...

Winter Rose: Get lost in this dream

OK, I admit it, I'll read anything based on Tam Lin. There are at least four novels I know of that are based on that old story, and each has its good points. Pope's The Perilous Gard is the best-plotted; Diana Wynne Jones' Fire and Hemlock has the most sympathetic characters; Pamela Dean's Tam Lin is the funniest. And this one, McKillip's Winter Rose, does the most amazing job of making the faery world real.

In this beautifully poetic novel, wild Rois and her quiet sister Laurel both fall in love with a newcomer to town, Corbet Lynn, heir to a ruined castle, his grandfather's curse, and lots of unanswered questions. He longs for the stability he believes Laurel can give him, but at the same time he knows that only Rois will be able to solve the mystery of his past and help him find his future. When Corbet vanishes in the dead of winter, and Laurel pines away for him, Rois journeys deep into the wood, and deep into a gorgeous but frightening dream world, to find out how she can save her sister and her friend. McKillip's prose is magical and poetic, and we are left wondering what is dream and what is real, even as we shut the back cover.

Haunting and beautiful.  —Kelly   Comments

Winter Rose: “I Bequeath All to the Woods…”

The first time I read Patricia McKillip, I didn’t get very far. The book was the Riddlemaster of Hed, and I was completely unprepared for her complex use of language. But there must have been something in her style that intrigued me, because I tracked down Winter Rose not long afterwards, and since then have been a big fan of all her work. Out of all Patricia McKillip’s books (at least the ones I’ve read) Winter Rose is perhaps the most opaque. McKillip’s language has always been eloquent and atmospheric, often obscuring both plot and characterization, but in this case the plot itself is also rather vague and ambiguous. Based on the ballad of Tam Lin, this is a dreamy and mysterious tale of family secrets, unrequited love and the allure of faerie.

At the risk of making this book sound boring, there is little in the way of plot in Winter Rose. Moving in and out of the domestic circle and what may or may not be lucid dreams, the unprepared reader might be surprised at how little action there is. Instead, Winter Rose is a mystery that must be unfurled — not just in the understanding of the central figure in the story (the stranger on his buttermilk horse), but in the protagonist’s understanding of her own being.

Rois and Laurel Melior are sisters, and yet complete opposites. Whereas fair-headed Laurel is beautiful, sensible, kind-hearted and thoroughly domesticated, younger sister Rois is wild and free-spirited, liable to wander in the woods for hours at a time. They live with their father in a humble farmhouse, but while Laurel is engaged to marry her childhood sweetheart, Rois has no interest whatsoever in affairs of the heart. That is, until the day Corbet Lynn steps out of the shadows in order to reclaim his ancestral home and restore it to its former glory.

Right from the start Corbet causes a stir among the village. There are rumours and whispers surrounding his lineage: that Corbet’s father killed his grandfather, and that with his dying breath Nial Lynn cursed all future generations. Of course, what exactly this curse entails changes from storyteller to storyteller, but Rois can sense that there is more to the enigmatic Corbet than what he lets on in casual conversation. Though he seems to be a benevolent figure, his presence among them is soon causing trouble. Capturing the hearts of both sisters, Laurel begins to waste away (as did the girls’ mother long ago) whilst Rois is drawn into his dangerous fey-like world in which a dangerous queen holds sway.

Touchingly, the bond between the sisters is never sacrificed, even when both are aware of each other’s feelings for Corbet. Rois proves herself a pure and selfless heroine when she takes measures to save Corbet — partly for the sake of her sister’s life, and with full knowledge that in doing so, she might not win his love in return.

As always, McKillip’s style is filled with dense imagery and symbolism, perhaps more so in Winter Rose than in any other of her novels. Her creation of winter is particularly evocative: I think it will make you feel a little chilly even when reading it on the warmest summer day! But as I said, the plot of this story is borderline-incomprehensible. Rois travels in and out of dreams and hallucinations, and is never quite sure what is real and what isn’t. Come the conclusion, neither is the reader. For the record, this is not a bad thing. I have no doubt that it was in fact McKillip’s intention, and the mystery that it creates (in keeping with the theme of secrets and illusions) makes it thought-provoking as opposed to frustrating. At least, it did for me, and what with such dreamy prose throughout, it would be rather foolish to expect anything other than an ambiguous ending.

One minor pet peeve of mine was the name “Rois.” Given the emphasis on roses throughout the story, I assumed that the name of the main character was meant to be pronounced “rose.” But the odd spelling meant that I kept hearing it as “Royce,” rhymes with “Joyce.” After a while, it kinda got on my nerves. Couldn’t the girl just be called “Rose”?

But that’s (obviously) very minor. On the whole, this is one of McKillip’s most successful novels — full of magic and mystery. Certainly not for everyone, but those who take the time to read it thoughtfully — and perhaps even more than once — will be amply rewarded.  —Rebecca   Comments

Song for the Basilisk — (1998) Publisher: As a child, Rook had been taken in by the bards of Luly, and raised as one of their own. Of his past he knew nothing — except faint memories of fire and death that he'd do anything to forget. But nightmares, and a new threat to the island that had become his own, would not let him escape the dreadful fate of his true family. Haunted by the music of the bards, he left the only home he knew to wander the land of the power-hungry Basilisk who had destroyed his family. And perhaps, finally, to find a future in the fulfillment of his forgotten destiny...

The Tower at Stony Wood — (2000) Publisher: Invited to the wedding of his king, Cyan Dag, a loyal knight, is warned by a mysterious old woman about the true nature of the king's beautiful new bride and embarks on a perilous quest into the unknown in order to discover if the new queen is the king's true love, or a dangerous, sorcerous imposter.

The Tower at Stony Wood

I started The Tower at Stony Wood because I wanted to see what Patricia McKillip, with her talent for wordplay and complicated magic, would do to get the "Lady of Shalott" out of her predicament. How do you save a woman who will die if she leaves her prison? But The Tower at Stony Wood goes far beyond that seed of a story, meandering through subplots that don't seem relevant until the end, weaving a complex tapestry of old grudges, old debts, love, and magic. For along the way to save the Lady, the knight Cyan Dag must sort out several other problems.

In the end, The Tower at Stony Wood is a deeper and more complicated story than it seemed on the surface, and richer than Ombria in Shadow , which is prettily written but relies on cardboard Good and cardboard Evil to carry the plot.

Not quite as enchanting as Winter Rose, in my opinion, but in the same league as The Sorceress and the Cygnet. Fairly standard McKillip, and "standard" for her means "very good."  —Kelly   Comments

The Tower at Stony Wood: "You Are the Measure of What I Win or Loose in Gloinmere..."

Patricia McKillip is one of the most unique fantasy writers out there, blending echoes of ancient stories in with intricate and elegant poetic-prose that may surprise those new to her writing style. I must admit that her work is an acquired taste, it took me a few tries to fully understand and appreciate her work; to grasp the story underneath the many-layered poetic language that she invokes.

The Tower at Stony Wood is no exception to this style, so if you are a first-time reader to McKillip, and find this book incomprehensible; don't give up — try another of her books and you'll most likely become attuned to her way of writing and become as big a fan as I am. In this case, McKillip borrows two ideas from Celtic folklore: the legend of the selkies, half-seal, half-fish women that sometimes abandon the seas to live on the earth, and the famous image of "The Lady of Shallot" (best known through the works of poet Alfred Tennyson) — the lonely woman who weaves the images she sees in her mirror, imprisoned in a stone tower.

In Arthurian legend, this woman is Lady Elaine, who died of her unrequited to Sir Lancelot, but here McKillip gives her a new identity. Cyan Dag is a loyal knight of the King of Gloinmere, who also rules over the isle of Skye and the Northern Isles of Ysse. King Regis Aurum has just taken a bride from Skye, but a bard that has travelled with the bridal party shares with Cyan a terrible revelation: that the new queen is an imposter, and the real Lady Gwynne is imprisoned in a tower, forbidden from seeing the world in its reality.

Meanwhile, Thayne Ysse, the heir to the throne of the Northern Islands broods over his country's defeat at the hands of Regis's men, which resulted in his father's madness, his younger brother's crippling, and the terrible penalties of tribute and taxes that followed. He is determined to right the wrongs placed against him, and so goes out in search of a dragon guarded tower which is said to contain a treasure that will certainly provide for an army marching on Gloinmere.

And finally, on the island of Skye, in the Stony Wood, in a sea-tower sits Melanthos, who spends her days weaving and watching the images in a small mirror that reveals another woman watching another mirror... Melanthos and her mother Sel are entranced by this vision, steadily rejecting the real world in favour of this strange sight.

Before the story is over, each of these tales will find each other, woven together by the arts of three mysterious sisters and connected by three very different towers.

Ultimately, I don't think The Tower at Stony Wood is McKillip's best work — she instigates two plot twists during the course of the story, and whilst the first one is rather intriguing, it isn't followed up properly, making the second twist rather irksome. Perhaps it warrants a second read, but it just didn't seem entirely convincing to me.

As a side-note, if you own Loreena McKennitt's album The Visit, then you might be interested in reading this book whilst listening to the track "The Lady of Shallot" — it's what inspired McKillip to write this novel, and its lyrics are based on Tennyson's original poetry. —Rebecca   Comments

Ombria in Shadow — (2002)  Winner of the 2003 World Fantasy Award, Best Novel. Publisher: Ombria. It is a city that echoes with the footfalls of sapphire-heeled shoes that holds its breath as a straw-haired apparition glides through its streets that sees its dreams and nightmares take shape in the drawings of a bastard-heir... When Ombria's prince, Royce Greve, breathes his last in palace rooms high above the city he leaves his young son at the mercy of his ancient great-aunt, Domina Pearl a woman who has plotted her rise to power in Ombria for far too many years to allow a little boy to stand in her way. Already she has thrown Greve's pretty mistress out into the streets, where no one would expect her to live an hour. The boy will take her a little longer. Meanwhile, in a dreamlike underworld peopled by Ombria's ghosts, a sorceress weaves her spells and brews her potions, never revealing her real face or true heart. Andsomewhere in between, the struggle to rule the whole of Ombria both its light and shadows will rest in the hands of those whose fractured lives align like the lost pieces of a magical puzzle.

Ombria in Shadow: "Surely you Expected no Reward for Loving"

Like all of Patricia McKillip's books, Ombria in Shadow is a dreamy, intricate tale, made memorable by her distinctive poetic prose. Symbols, circumstances and meanings can be interpreted on any number of deeper levels, making her books ones to be savored and re-read. If you are a lover of eloquent poetry and subtle imagery, then let Ombria in Shadow be the first of McKillip's range of stories to let you drift away on language that must have been meticulously chosen in order to create a sense of faery and dreaming.

The royal prince of Ombria is dead, leaving a child-heir, a grieving mistress and a confused bastard nephew at the mercy of Domina Pearl ('The Black Pearl'), the regent of the city, who is seemingly immortal and has her own dark plans for the ruling of the oldest city in the world. Casting the young mistress Lydea onto the streets and poisoning the young prince Kyel into a state of deep depression is just the beginning. The bastard-son Ducon is drawn almost against his will into the designs of the noble conspirators, when all he wishes to do is attempt to fulfil his passion for drawing doorways, windowsills and other openings — searching for something in his pictures that he doesn't understand.

Meanwhile, the mysterious sorceress Faey dwells in the shadows beneath the city, doing whatever magical task the highest bidder pays her for, along with her magical "waxling" Mag. A creature of magic is what Mag has been led to believe she is, but after accidentally swallowing a heart-spell of Faey's, she begins to feel rather human emotions that bring her tangled into the conspiracy of the crown, with her own part to play...

Perhaps the inclusion of all these characters without a clear protagonist is a slight fault of the novel, but in a way I think that is a technique that McKillip sought to take, in the way of putting Ombria itself in the title role, with all her characters fitting together like a jig-saw puzzle in order to save it. Certainly out of everything, Ombria is her most fascinating creation. Below the sunny streets lies another Ombria, a shadow Ombria: the city's own past. Ghosts and magic dwell there, and the entrances are through abandoned doors and shadows. It is almost as if time itself runs differently in the city — it runs not horizontally, from left to right, but vertically, with the city's past gradually sinking downwards into the underworld (an idea helped along greatly by the imagery presented in the great underground river, lined with empty houses and its black surface lit by lamps). I was utterly intoxicated by such an idea, and the language with which it was used suited it perfectly.

As it is, I wasn't entirely satisfied by the conclusion; it was suitably ambiguous, but still didn't answer all my questions, especially concerning the relationship and the real nature of Faey and the Black Pearl. But nonetheless Ombria in Shadow is a wonderful read, and comes complete with another of K.Y. Craft's beautiful title covers, which is well worth the price of any book!  —Rebecca   Comments

Ombria in Shadow: Lovely, but somehow lacking

What I liked: The prose was gorgeous. Much like Patricia McKillip's nearly perfect Winter Rose, this book is like one of those lush dreams that seems more real than reality. McKillip shows her writing "chops" off to best advantage in Ombria in Shadow.

What I didn't like: The villain was a one-dimensional cliché, and several of the protagonists were just too Nice And Sweet for my taste. I guess the real gripe is that McKillip spent so much time on her setting that the characters suffered by comparison. And while several of her other books feature ambiguous situations where you don't know whose side to take, it's clear from page one of Ombria in Shadow that Domina Pearl has to go. I prefer my good and evil a little murkier and grayer.

Overall, Ombria in Shadow works as a sort of prose poem; read it for the beauty of the writing, and maybe for the interesting concept of the shadow city, but don't expect an epic.   —Kelly   Comments

In the Forests of Serre — (2003) Publisher: In the tales of World Fantasy Award-winning author Patricia McKillip, nothing is ever as it seems. A mirror is never just a mirror; a forest is never just a forest. Here, it is a place where a witch can hide in her house of bones and a prince can bargain with his heart...where good and evil entwine and wear each others' faces...and where a bird with feathers of fire can quench the fiercest longing...

In the Forests of Serre: "I Broke My Heart to Get It for You..."

Patricia A. McKillip once more takes us into her intricate and ornate imagination with In the Forests of Serre, which has the feeling of an old fairytale that McKillip has discovered in some old book and fleshed-out for us in her unique style of writing. Combining several components from various myths and legends, (predominantly the Firebird and a witch who bears more than a passing resemblance to the Russian Baba Yaga), In the Forests of Serre is a book that McKillip's fans will find to their liking.

In the Forests of Serre are many creatures of enchantment, both beautiful and deadly, predominantly the Mother of All Witches: Brume, who lives in a moving house of bones. It is one of her white chickens that Prince Ronan of Serre kills on his way home from the wars and so is cursed. For Ronan however, the threat of bad fortune is meaningless — he's already lost his wife and infant son to death: what could possibly be worse?

As it turns out, an arranged marriage could be worse. In his absence, his tyrannical father has organised a marriage to Princess Sidonie of Dacia, attracted to the small kingdom's promise of magic and power. Though Sidonie is a reluctant bride, she realises the threat posed toward her home — if King Ferus cannot have Dacia through marriage, he will take it by force. The court wizard Unciel is sympathetic to her plight, and has arranged his young acquaintance Gyre to accompany the princess to her new home in Serre. But Gyre has his own agenda concerning the magic in Serre, and the hidden past between himself and Unciel has not yet reached its conclusion...

And then Ronan is captivated by the sight of the Firebird, which reveals to him its secret, beautiful face. Without a second thought, Ronan escapes into the forests, which is only the first of many comings and goings into the Forests of Serre, which are traversed by almost all of our characters throughout the course of the novel. Each time something new is discovered, something is lost, something precious switches hands or is left behind. By the time the story ends each of the characters (even the far away Unciel and his new scribe Euan Ash, who is working to piece together his history) have all their secrets revealed.

The characters are not especially vivid, especially when compared to others that appear in McKillip's previous books, but their dilemmas and mysteries are interesting — from Ronan's earth-shattering grief, to Sidonie's entrapment between two countries, to Gyre and Unciel's shadowed past together.

The forest itself is gorgeously written in McKillip's distinctive use of language and imagery, and Kinuko Y. Craft's beautiful cover illustration once more embodies the atmosphere of the book. Filled with meaning and symbolism, this is a treat for any fantasy lover, especially those who are already fans of McKillip's work. Although at times it can be a bit needlessly complicated (I kept loosing track of who was in the forest and why, since there are so many coming and goings), and perhaps not the best McKillip novel out there, it was still an intriguing and fascinating read. —Rebecca   Comments

Alphabet of Thorn — (2004) Publisher: One of the most spectacular fantasists of our time, Patricia A. McKillip creates fairy tale worlds of wonder and magic. Now, she opens the page on a time and place where an orphan girl is haunted by thorns...a reluctant queen rules between sea and sky... and epics never end...

Alphabet of Thorn: She Has No Idea What Brute Force and Subtleties Can Hold a Realm Together..."

Once again Patricia McKillip crafts a wonderful story, and although I must admit that I haven't read all of her novels, I think it's safe to say that Alphabet of Thorn is one of her best works. Out of her many books I have read, this one is definitely my favourite. Her beautiful language, her startling imagery, her intricate plot, her mind-twisting ideas...all come together in this stunning story.

In a beautiful cliff-top palace by the sea (so high that one cannot hear the ocean from the top) a coronation is taking place for the young and inexperienced Queen Tessera. Delegates and dignitaries from the Twelve Crowns (the term given to the divided countries that rule under the Queen's supervision) have come to bestow their blessing — and their judgments — on the new Queen. Tessera is in a precarious situation, as any number of her new subjects could take this opportunity to overthrow the monarchy and establish themselves as high-ruler of Raine.

But beneath all the pomp and color, dug deep into the cliff, is the royal library, where scholars and librarians go about their business out of sight of the bustle above. Nepenthe is a young foundling, raised by the librarians and now working as a transcriptor in the underground library when she travels to the nearby floating school of wizardry to fetch a book that needs translating. But as soon as she has the mysterious book in her hands, one that is written in a twisted language of thorns, she finds herself transfixed. Slowly she begins to translate the strange text, uncovering the history of the Emperor Axis and his sorceress/lover Kane (I only wish McKillip had given them better names).

Axis was obsessed with conquering, and Kane was obsessed with him: together the two swept across their world, and in translating the text, Nepenthe is swept up in their tale. She is hardly aware of the political machinations going on above-ground, though she is slightly more attentive toward Bourne, the young wizard in training (unfortunately part of a treasonous family) who delivers her the book. But what compels Nepenthe to translate the book, how will it finish, and what does it have to do with the trouble brewing in Raine?

I'll say this as simply as possible: this is a terrific book, with an intricate plot and a great twist mid-way through. Newcomers to McKillip's style can sometimes be a bit off-put by the language, and when I first discovered McKillip it took me a while to get used to the fact that the story was often hidden behind the dense use of language. But the more of McKillip you read, the more you get used to it, and I found Alphabet of Thorn compulsive reading. Every chapter I finished, I couldn't wait to get to the next one. There are a couple of unnecessary quirks — I couldn't understand Bourne's presence at the wizard-school (simply because McKillip doesn't explore the rules of magic-users in this world; leading me to wonder why every country didn't send their kids into the school to learn how to use useful magic that can be used in their favor) and the romance between Bourne and Nepenthe wasn't entirely convincing.

But those are minor quibbles, and do nothing to affect the flow of the story. There are so many good ideas packed into this book that a less-gifted author would have probably split them up into several different books. I loved the parallel between the darkness of the subterranean library and the bustle of the palace, as well as the intricate political maneuvering that Tessera must negotiate (including the prickly relationship between herself and her deceased father's old advisor Vevay, who doesn't think Tessera has the mettle to rule). Then there's the way McKillip plays with the mutability of history and legend, plus it never ceases to amaze me at how McKillip can take a simple image, for example, a folded cloth — and form an entire theme around it. If you want to know how, you're just going to have to read the book! If I say anymore, I'll just end up giving away the entire plot — so get your hands on it.  —Rebecca   Comments

Od Magic — (2005) Available for download at Audible.com Publisher: Brenden Vetch's unique gift for connecting with the agricultural environment has brought him to the attention of the enigmatic wizard Od. Recruited as a gardener, Brenden suddenly finds himself at the wizard's school in Kelior, where every potential mage is required by law to serve the Kingdom of Numis. But unknown to the rulers of Numis, Brenden is far more than he seems-and his presence just may tip the balance of power back into the hands of the wizard community.

Od Magic

The city of Numis is home to the famous Od School of Magic, founded years ago by the legendary giantess Od. She’s apparently immortal, but appears only occasionally, and therefore the school lies in the hands of the king Galin and the wizard-headmaster Valoren, who demand strict obedience from its students. Any unorthodox magic is outlawed, any student that step outside the boundaries set for them are expelled. This is especially true of any student who goes wandering in the Twilight Quarter of the city: a neighborhood that comes alive only after dark, a place of wild and uncontrollable magic that the king is determined to stifle.

This is particularly true when two new faces arrive in Kelior. One in a simple gardener named Brenden Vetch, sent by Od herself to the school in order to take up a position as a new gardener. His magical skill with plants is astonishing, as well as threatening to those who can’t understand it. The second is a man called Tyramin (traveling with his daughter Mistral), a wandering magician who has gained a reputation in the city for magic tricks that go beyond the slight-of-hand expected of a mere showman. Between the two of them, the king and his administrators are worried.

Surrounding these two is a vast range of characters, each with their own opinions and agendas concerning the upheavals in the city. Arneth Pit is the restless son of a law enforcement official, instructed to keep the peace in the Twilight Quarter: it is he who is sent to investigate the newcomers and ascertain whether they are a threat to the crown or not (and falling in love with Tyramin’s daughter in the process). Yar Ayrwood is a teacher at the school, sympathetic to students who feel constrained by the laws in place to limit their powers. His lover Ceta Thiel is compiling a history on the magic of Numis, and finds several intriguing references to old magic on the mountainside which seems to be linked with the secret labyrinth under the school. Lastly, (and most importantly) is Princess Sulys, restricted and restless with her life, concealing her own magical abilities, and dismayed to find that she’s betrothed to the dour Valoren.

As with most of her stories, McKillip introduces a wide range of characters and their separate storylines, only to begin linking them together as the story progresses. As with Ombria in Shadow, there is no clear protagonist in Od Magic (the blurb concentrates on the gardener Brenden Vetch, but in fact this character is probably given the least amount of attention — in fact, McKillip seems to loose interest in him halfway through, giving us no resolution regarding his lost lover or any real reason as to why Od would send him to Numis in the first place) and the story feels a little vague as a result. Even in an ensemble cast, there should be at least one-stand out to ground the reader. Patricia McKillip is usually very good at keeping her characters distinct, but in this case, I kept getting Yar and Arneth mixed up.

As I've heard another reader say, this is a “mild” book. The stakes are not as high in Od Magic as it is in some of her novels: in this case it is not some evil villain to be overcome, or worlds hanging in the balance, but rather an ideology that needs adjusting. Nothing too drastic happens, making Od Magic a story that is more meandering and less intense than most of McKillip’s other novels. There are no villains — only misunderstandings. There is no life-threatening conflict — only mysteries that need to be solved to reach a greater understanding. This time around McKillip explores the tension between the untamed magic of free-spirited characters, and the conformity and restrictions imposed on them by the state, acting out of fear and misunderstanding. However, because we see so little of magic, and what we do see is so varied and unstructured, I’m not entirely sure what magic is meant to be a metaphor for (free speech? Individualism? Creativity?) or even if it is a metaphor at all. The two “rebels” in the story are a gardener and a performer — hardly instigators of any dangerous sedition, making the government look foolish for having targeted them.

But for argument’s sake, what if they had been a threat to the safety of the populace? Shouldn’t magic then have some sort of restrictions placed around it? When someone has the power to slay dragons or shape-shift, then there should be some sort of system in place to make sure such magic is not abused. Sometimes a little control (particularly self-control) is a good thing.

If this review sounds a little harsh, it is only because I’m measuring it against the excellence of Patricia McKillip’s other novels. It’s not a good place to start if you are new to McKillip, but it is lovely in its own way, particularly in McKillip’s usual mastery of poetic-prose, and the unique world that she creates, particularly in the mysterious Twilight Quarter (if I was a student from the school, I doubt I could stay away from it either!). It is not her best book, but once again I applaud Patricia McKillip for doing what seems to be lost on many fantasists: she tells a story, with a beginning, middle and end. There are no endless sequels that need to be purchased in order to get the entire picture, just a rewarding tale to be enjoyed. —Rebecca   Comments

Harrowing the Dragon — (2005) Publisher: Now, for the first time, Patricia A. McKillip presents a book of previously uncollected short stories-full of beautiful dragons, rueful princesses, and handsome bards, and written in the gorgeous, and often surprisingly funny, prose she is known for. This is her world, wrapped up in the finery of fairy tales.

Harrowing the Dragon: "Hoarsbreath is a Dragon's Heart..."

Patricia A. McKillip is the author of several wonderful books (my favourites being Alphabet of Thorn and Winter Rose) and is one of the few fantasists in the publishing world that is original. Although her stories may contain typical fantasy elements (dragons, heroes, kingdoms, quests, good versus evil, etc) they are written in such beautiful poetic-prose that the stories transcend the clichés they stem from; reading more as luminous fairytales than hum-drum fantasy. Although the prose is beautiful, it is also an acquired taste. When I was first introduced to her work, I found it rather difficult to adjust to a story that was often hidden under such dense, rich language. Of course, it's worth it in the end, but for those just starting out on McKillip, perhaps this anthology of short stories is a good starting place.

And for those already well-versed in the magic of McKillip's writing, a series of stories is an added bonus to add to a collection. McKillip is just as skilled in the creation of short stories as she is in full-length novels, and sometimes a quick-fix of her work is just what a devoted reader needs. Containing fifteen stories (some of which span a few pages, others which are better described as novellas); there's enough variety amongst them to keep each one fresh and interesting.

In the story that gives the book its title, "Harrowing the Dragon", a dragon-slayer comes to the island of Hoarsbreath in order to harrow the dragon from its shores. He is joined by a native of the island, a young woman who isn't too sure if she wants the dragon to go. "A Matter of Music" concerns Cresce Dami, a bard who has freshly graduated from her school with ambitions of playing in Daghian. Attempting to negotiate her way through the rules and etiquette of playing music in a high court, Cresce becomes involved in the political machinations of the countries surrounding her. These stories are by far the longest in the entire book, and are typical of McKillip's wonderful world-building and imagery.

McKillip borrows from other fairytales too: in "Baba Yaga and the Sorcerer's Son", she uses the Russian folklore of Baba Yaga and her chicken-legged house to imagine a meeting between the witch and a young wizard who needs her help, whilst the Hans Christian Anderson tale of "The Snow Queen" imagines a contemporary setting in which Kay cheats on his devoted wife Gerda with a beautiful stranger...but Gerda - whose entire life has revolved around Kay - finds a hidden strength of her own to survive his betrayal. "The Lion and the Lark" is an amalgamation of several fairytales, (most obviously Beauty and the Beast, though keep your eyes open for the others) which makes it a little predictable, though ends with an image of amazing imaginary force. Finally, in the story that ends the book, "Toad" is an explanatory back-story of "The Frog Prince", explaining why the prince would agree to marry such a spoilt princess. McKillip looks deep into the imagery at work throughout the fairytale, using the golden ball and the frog's intrusion into the princess's life as a metaphor for her burgeoning maturity. I'll never look at the Frog Prince the same way again.

As well as building on other sources, McKillip creates fairytales all her own. In "A Troll and Two Roses" she weaves the tale of an ugly troll who becomes enraptured by a beautiful rose and its connection to two enchanted lovers, while in "The Fellowship of the Dragon" five bards go out in search of the Queen's favourite harper, only to fall prey to the traps and snares strewn throughout the wood they must traverse. "Lady of the Skulls" (one of my favourites) involves a mysterious tower in the desert, to which many questing knights travel, attracted by the promise that should they take the most precious thing that it holds, they will be allowed to keep it. The catch? If they choose wrongly, they die. Then there's "The Stranger", which concerns a man who forms dragons out of the colors in nature and his own imagination, and the weaver-woman who tries to prevent him from the destruction he wreaks. In "Voyage into the Heart", we are privy to a unicorn hunt in which the bait (a young virgin naturally) is unaware of her part to play in its capture.

There are two other stories that don't seem to fit into any category: "The Witches of Junket", which involves three prodigal grand-daughters returning to their hometown to help destroy an escaping evil, and my personal favourite "Starcrossed", which concerns the investigation into the deaths of Romeo and Juliet by a soldier who is disillusioned with love. It's a fantastic concept, and McKillip pulls it off brilliantly.

Lastly there are two little stories (which come across more like experimental writing exercises) "Ash, Wood, Fire" and "Transmutations", the former concerning the dynamics of a medieval kitchen, the latter exploring what goes on in an alchemical laboratory. They are probably the weakest stories of the anthology, but they are both reasonably short (and with other such exemplary stories on display, it doesn't really bear complaining about). Besides, thirteen out of fifteen ain't bad.

Altogether, this is a great collection and a must for any McKillip (not to mention K. Y. Craft, who always provides beautiful cover art) fan. —Rebecca   Comments

Solstice Wood — (2006) Publisher: No stranger to the realms of myth and magic, World Fantasy Award winning author Patricia A. McKillip presents her first contemporary fantasy in years. Solstice Wood is a tale of the tangled lives we mere mortals lead, when we turn our eyes from the beauty and mystery that lie just outside of the everyday. When her beloved grandfather dies, bookstore owner Sylvia Lynn knows she must finally return to her childhood home in upstate New York and face the grandmother who raised her and the woods which so beguiled- and frightened-her. But it's not until she meets the Fiber Guild-a group of local women who meet to knit, embroider, and sew-that Sylvia learns why her grandmother watches her so. A primitive power exists in the forest, a force the Fiber Guild seeks to bind in its stitches and weavings. And Sylvia is no stranger to the woods.

The Bell at Sealey Head — (2008) Publisher: Sealey Head is a small town on the edge of the ocean, a sleepy place where everyone hears the ringing of a bell no one can see. On the outskirts of town is an impressive estate, Aislinn House, where the aged Lady Eglantyne lies dying, and where the doors sometimes open not to its own dusty rooms, but to the wild majesty of a castle full of knights and princesses…

The Bell at Sealey Head: “That’s Where the Bell is…Between the Lines…”

Patricia McKillip’s latest novel takes us to the little fishing village of Sealey Head; tiny and inconsequential, and dominated by four influential families: the Cauleys (father and son innkeepers), the Blairs (a large family of merchants), the Sproules (rich farmers who have gained some degree of nobility) and the Aislinns (living in the crumbling manor house). Actually, there’s only one Aislinn now: old Lady Eglantyne, who lies dreaming in her bedchamber, waited on by a host of servants. The extensive cast of characters have interconnecting friendships, rivalries and romances with one another, but everyone in the seaport is linked by one specific peculiarity of their hometown: each night as the sun goes down, a ghostly bell tolls over the coastline.

There is various speculation over what and where exactly the bell is, but no one has been able to satisfactorily answer any questions about it, and most don’t even notice it anymore. But naturally, the bell is of more consequence than anyone gives it credit for, and is the mysterious centerpiece of the story.

There is a domesticity and humour to the proceedings that’s certainly unusual in a McKillip novel: Judd Cauley cares for his elderly father at the Inn, lamenting over the terrible cooking; Gwyneth Blair scribbles away at stories at her casement window for the amusement of her younger siblings; the foolish Raven Sproule courts a disinterested Gwyneth at the encouragement of his romanticized sister Daria; and Emma Wood and the rest of the Aislinn household try to serve their dreaming mistress as best they can, whilst worrying about the security of their jobs should Lady Eglantyne’s inheritress turn them out of the house. One would hardly think there’s a fantasy element to it at all…

But then odd things begin to transpire. Judd Cauley welcomes an unusual guest at the inn, who claims to be looking for the source of the tolling bell. Lady Eglantyne’s heiress appears: a strange and aloof young woman with an even more disinterested manservant. And we discover that young Emma Wood has a secret concerning Aislinn House: for as long as she can remember she has been able to open doors into another Aislinn House, one that seemingly exists alongside her own world of shut rooms and covered furniture. This world is filled with silent knights and bloodthirsty crows, but Emma has struck up a friendship with a young Princess called Ysabo, who lives her life by the strange and mindless rules of a ritual that she has been raised to follow exactly and ordered to never question.

As you can see, there’s a sprawling cast of characters to keep track of: family members, otherworldly hosts, servants and strangers, and it is a testimony to McKillip’s skill that she keeps them all (no matter how inconsequential) clear and unique. Likewise, her portrayal of a world is vivid and imaginative. She rarely creates large, sprawling sub-universes, but rather brings to life little corners of a fantasy realm could exist anywhere: in the distant past of our own world, the realm of faerie, or in another world altogether. It doesn’t matter where it exists, for Sealey Head is real enough to its inhabitants, and therefore to the reader as well.

The inter-joining stories throughout The Bell at Sealey Head are juggled as delicately as the myriad of the relationships, and no one character’s thoughts and ambitions are given prominence above another’s. Gwyneth’s frustration at her dull suitor, and her Judd’s secret pining for his childhood sweetheart are just as poignant as Ysabo’s life of dreary ritual, pervading fear that any break in the ceremony will destroy her world, and terror at the thought of marrying a perfect stranger. Everyone seems to have a secret, as well as hidden talents.

The characters are vivid, the situation is fascinating, the language is beautiful (even if the word “spindrift” pops up too many times) and the themes and symbolism is fascinating. It is best compared with my favourite McKillip novel Alphabet of Thorn in which a commentary on the mutability of time centered round the image of a folded cloth. Here, the “worlds-within-the-world” idea of books and stories take prominence, in which Patricia McKillip’s characters must learn to “read between the lines” of their own story.

Up until the last few chapters, I was delighted, certain that The Bell at Sealey Head was about to become my new favourite McKillip novel. Unfortunately, and I hate to say it, but the story unravels a bit in the final chapters. The villain is defeated easily and anti-climatically, and we never get any real sense of his motivation. Three important characters turn up in order to lead a rescue mission…only to end up sitting in a cellar, doing nothing. The relationship between the real Aislinn house and the “spirit” Aislinn house is never explained. And if you thought there would be some sort of clever twist concerning Lady Eglantyne (like maybe everything in the secondary Aislinn house was her lucid dreaming, or that somehow she was a older version of Ysabo that was caught out of time)…well, you’ll be disappointed.

Still, The Bell at Sealey Head is high up on my list of McKillip’s vast collection of books, and I always appreciate fantasy writers who tell intricate and thought-provoking tales that don’t have a deluge of sequels that have to be waded through in order to get the complete story. The odds of her ever reading this review are slim, but Mrs McKillip, if you’re out there: please don’t ever stop.

Finally, as I’ve said many times in my reviews for McKillip’s novels, this particular author has a unique way of telling a tale. Her language is dense and poetic, and often it can be hard to get through the ornamentation of a sentence in order to grasp its meaning. McKillip, like Francesca Lia Block, has a style that is an acquired taste — one must get used to it before it can be enjoyed. However, the syntax of Sealey Head is significantly less complex than some of her earlier novels, and so would be a perfect introductory novel to a McKillip newbie. Either way, The Bell at Sealey Head is to be savored and enjoyed — you do yourself a disservice if you rush a McKillip book.  —Rebecca   Comments