Tag: romance

Fairies Have Problems, Too

Tiny Jenny: Little Fairy, Big Trouble – written and illustrated by Briony May Smith
Anne Schwartz Books, 2024

Briony May Smith‘s Jenny is a changeling, a fairy hatched from a wren’s egg, much to the family’s surprise. She has no wings, sort of like the reverse of Horton’s long-anticipated newborn in Horton Hatches the Egg. Like Hans Christian Andersen’s Thumbelina, she has to navigate her way through a dangerous world.  There are many lovely books about fairies who have a range of origins and play a variety of roles (see my reviews here and here and here).  The wrens name her Tiny Jenny and dedicate themselves to raising her, but perhaps not thinking through all the potential problems.

Wrens can fly, but wingless Jenny cannot. She manages pretty well, finding stems and brambles to eat, and even decorating her friend the hedgehog with leaves. Not every part of her day concerns survival.  One day, Jenny overhears some of her woodland friends, or least creatures she had thought were her friends, talking about her.  It isn’t pretty.  They find her most endearing traits to be annoying. When a wise owl uses his renowned quality to point out that she is not a wren, but a fairy, he also encourages her to go out and find some of her own kind to prove her true identity. She stumbles into a fairy ring, an action generally associated with bad results, at least for non-fairies.  She is pictured among a circle of oversized, from her point of view, mushrooms, as she looks up quizzically. All of a sudden Tiny Jenny finds herself surrounded by fairies. There are boy and girl fairies, ones in flowing dresses and others in trousers.  They move effortlessly because, unlike Jenny, they have wings. These fairies are not so nice. They prod her skeptically. Merletta, their queen, extends her hand to Jenny for the required kiss. Naturally, “Tiny Jenny stared at her blankly.” One fairy actually smirks at Jenny’s confusion, and her lack of wings.

The solution to her problem seems imminent, as Queen Merlette assures Jenny that she only needs wings in order to complete her fairy transformation.  Then come those ominous fairy tale words: “But first you must prove yourself worthy.” What follows is a kind of mild fairy hazing.  Jenny is relegated to the back of the line of fairies wielding wild garlic and bluebells. Disillusionment follows, as Jenny learns that fairies are not nearly as nice as wrens. Instead of foraging for food, they steal. Queen Merletta is a proto-dictator, calling out commands to “ATTACK.” When they inform Jenny that she has passed their test, she responds with the self-assurance rooted in the unconditional love of her wren parents. “No, I don’t want to be a fairy,…You’re mean, you’re bullies.” Jenny doesn’t care about getting wings anymore. Soon she is home, eating mushrooms, and sleeping in her nest, while reserving the right to occasionally be restive and annoying. There’s no place like home.

A True Heir to Jane

Emiko – by Chieri Uegaki
Tundra Books, 2025

It’s hard to keep track of all the novels, movies, and other varieties of allegedly Jane Austen-inspired works (there are children’s biographies of her as well, such as this and this).  Some of quite good, a few excellent, and others teeter on the border between obtuse and exploitative.  Chieri Uegaki’s Kimiko is an outstanding young adult novel that adults will enjoy, as well. (I also reviewed an earlier picture book by her.) She is a true heir to Jane Austen, not in the sense of attempting to replicate the novelist’s Emma, but in offering how own distinct version in conversation with the 19th century masterpiece.

Emiko Kimori is a Japanese Canadian high school student living in a spacious and idyllic home on the Pacific coast.  Her parents died when she was very young, but the memories she is too young to have retained have been transformed into an almost spiritual presence in her consciousness. She lives with Ojiichan, her grandfather, a character endowed by Chieri Uegaki with a level of wisdom and patience that, in the hands of another author, might lack credibility. Yet, like every person in Emiko’s life, from the closest to the most tangential, he is utterly believable. 

If you remember your Jane Austen, Emma Woodhouse is engaged in well intentioned matchmaking, motivated by genuine concern for others, but also

unacknowledged arrogance.  Uegaki’s Emiko is also consumed with helping her friends find the partner who will complete their happiness, and a controlling element definitely plays a role in her machinations.  She is also kind, sensitive, and sometimes able to examine her actions with some critical distance.  She has been friends with Kenzo Sanada since they were children, enjoying the embrace of his family and the peace that being with them confers.  “Kimochi ii,” as Emiko explains this warmth, “floats through my mind…The closest I can come to explain what I mean…is that…it makes my spirit feel at ease.”

All novelistic characters have an ethnic identity, whether as an integral part of the narrative or a kind of default, of less significance.  Uegaki weaves Japanese culture throughout the book, with a graceful conviction of its importance.  She is not taking readers on a tour, but inculcating a feeling of interest and empathy.  Whether describing foods in detail or naturally choosing phrases that are the best way to convey the events and her responses to them, Emiko is at ease in two intersecting worlds. She shares with Ojiichan the ritual of offering incense at the butsudan (altar) to honor deceased family members, closing her eyes in front of their photos and requesting guidance.  She and Ojiichan also bond watching Audrey Hepburn in Sabrina.

There are several surprises for readers. Like Austen’s characters, Uegaki’s are three dimensional.  A friend, like Harumi, may be oblivious to her own needs. Jun, the stepson of Emiko’s aunt, Mitsuko, is brimming with both pride and prejudice that place him on a dangerous course.  Kenzo’s basic decent strength is never in doubt, but, like everyone, he needs to find a counterpart. 

There is a scene that epitomizes the way that Uegaki translates Austen into Emiko’s movement towards growth.  Mitsuko prepares to help Emiko transform one of her mother’s kimonos into a prom dress. First, she dresses in the kimono and traditional accessories, then poses for a picture. Finally, Ojiichan blesses the project: “I am happy for you to do as you wish, Emiko. I think your mother would be as well, knowing you are taking something of hers and making it your own.” Then it’s time to “deconstruct” the kimono and recreate it into something new. Emiko eventually learns both how to scrutinize the past and present, and how to start from scratch.

You’ve Got Delicious Cuban Food

Guava and Grudges – by Alexis Castellanos
Bloomsbury, 2024

Sometimes it seems that there are an infinite number of possible homages to The Shop Around the Corner and You’ve Got Mail, specifically in young adult fiction.  Guava and Grudges, by Alexis Castellanos, more than justifies a new entry in this category, with strong characters, great description and dialogue, and affectionately accurate allusions to Cuban American culture.  The protagonists spar, but can’t deny their attachment to one another from their first encounter.  Family opposition is tough, if not on the Romeo and Juliet level.  Food obsession is far from essential to liking this novel, but dedication to one’s craft, in this case cuisine, is certainly central to the plot.

Ana María Ybarra and Miguel Fuentes are both Cuban American high school students whose families own popular bakeries in Seattle.  They meet in L.A. at a college tour, although Ana María has serious doubts about her future as a U.C.L.A. student.  Her dream is to become a pastry chef, unconstrained by the traditional expectations of her father, who has always been wary of innovations at Café y Más, their establishment.  (Ana María’s original ideas have been kept “a dark secret” from her family.) Miguel’s last name is Fuentes, but he is a member of the Morales family through his mother.  As Ana María painfully admits, “hating the Morales family was something I was born into and that I had accepted as a family tradition.” In case you needed a reminder that some family traditions can be ugly, here it is.

The plot contains elements of miscommunication, but the core of Ana María and Miguel’s affection is never seriously in doubt.  The looming specter of college applications only forces Ana María to a different commitment, and to hope that her entry in a culinary contest run by her favorite publication will lead to a scholarship. The outcome of the competition is handled well in the novel, as Castellanos carefully avoids pandering to the reader’s expectations.  Social media is also part of the story, because expertly produced food without a visual media presence is worthless, as everyone knows.  The author’s verbal flourishes create images that are just as powerful. Mishandled groceries lead to damaged goods: “‘Stupid milks,’ I mutter, dropping down to the floor with the desiccated croissants in my hands. They look so shriveled and sad. Is there a market for croissant raisins?”

The support of Ana María’s mother helps to offset her father’s often-oppressive parenting. A great best friend and a sister whose personality serves as a foil also enrich the cast.  Miguel isn’t perfect, but nor is he a self-centered male who must be redeemed by a girl’s love.  Guava and Grudges is rich is more ways than one, and includes a recipe for guava cream cheese thumbprint cookies.