Hemlock & Silver: A Mixed Potion of Intrigue and Frustration
When I first laid eyes on Hemlock & Silver, I was captivated not only by the gorgeous cover but also by the promise of a fresh perspective on the beloved fairy tale of Snow White—a tale whose fluidity allows for endless retellings. T. Kingfisher, known for her whimsical and often humorous takes on fairy tales, raised my hopes. Yet, as I delved deeper into Anja’s story, I found myself wrestling with both excitement and disappointment.
At the heart of the narrative is Anja, a healer in the Kingdom of Poisons, summoned to investigate the mysterious ailment afflicting Princess Snow. Initially, I was charmed by this unconventional protagonist—a poison specialist navigating a world steeped in magic and intrigue. The choice to tell the story from Anja’s point of view, rather than that of the traditional characters, initially felt like a stroke of brilliance. However, as the story unfolded, what could have been a thrilling exploration of ethical dilemmas surrounding poison and healing became muddled in predictable trappings.
While I appreciate that Kingfisher attempted to distance herself from the typical fairy tale formula, I was puzzled by Anja’s transformation into an archetypal "Special Snowflake." It stretched credulity to see a healer in a kingdom known for its poisons lacking a fundamental understanding of antidotes. Wouldn’t a society named after poisons have developed some knowledge about them over the centuries? This oversight led to increasingly frequent moments where Anja’s “quirkiness” felt more contrived than authentic.
The writing style remains engaging, with Kingfisher’s trademark humor seasoning the narrative. Yet, it often felt like the pacing was off—too slow in the beginning and rushed towards the conclusion, leaving gaping plot holes in its wake. I often found myself yearning for deeper character development and emotional investment, particularly in the final act, which relied too heavily on magic to resolve the story’s conflicts—undermining what could have been a rich exploration of tragedy and consequence.
As I navigated through the book, I often thought back to my previous experience with Kingfisher’s Thornhedge. I was baffled that while its more cartoonish elements drew criticism, Hemlock & Silver seemed immune to such scrutiny despite recycling a similar plot point. Why was Anja allowed to inherit the mantle of "clever discoverer" in a world that lacked any nuance in its understanding of poisons? The erratic handling of established lore felt like a letdown, especially when Kingfisher’s earlier works displayed a sharper wit and engagement with fairy tale tropes.
While I don’t believe Hemlock & Silver is Kingfisher’s worst by any means, it doesn’t rise to the heights of her best work either. The blend of humor and deeper societal critiques—a hallmark of her earlier novels—often felt lost amidst the glaring structural holes and superficial character arcs. It’s a shame because the concept presented such potential for a compelling narrative.
In conclusion, Hemlock & Silver might still find a home among readers who appreciate humor layered with fantasy and prefer light escapism. However, for those of us who relish deeper intricacies in retellings, this installment may prove unsatisfactory. To me, it served as a bittersweet reminder of the delicate balance between creativity and execution—a challenge that, unfortunately, Kingfisher did not quite overcome in this retelling. If anything, it has left me pondering where my reading journey with her will lead next, as I remain hopeful for that golden retelling yet to come.