I loved this book.
I loved this book.
I loved this book!
I went back over the reviews I’ve written for Fantasy-Faction and found I’ve used love to describe aspects of books I enjoyed, but I haven’t flat out said “I loved this book” without caveats or equivocations on this site.
Precedent broken.
If you follow my reviews, you might be saying, “Now wait a minute—I thought she’s into dark fantasies.” It’s true, I do love dark fantasy, and Miss Percy is about as far as you can get from that. Yet I also love Jane Austen, and any book that successfully captures her style and wit—particularly a fantasy—will have me popping my head out of the sand and wriggling my nose like an excited meercat.
And Miss Percy’s Pocket Guide fully satisfies my craving for authentically rendered historical narratives set in the Regency era. The book is an absolutely charming silk grab-bag of Austen tropes—from the lonely spinster to the scheming matron to a scandalous elopement. Plus, there are the bonus points for it being a fantasy. The spinster inherits a bizarre collection of geodes and other oddities from an eccentric relative, and lo and behold, one of the geodes cracks open, releasing a fire-breathing, winged lizard. Throw in a handsome vicar—conveniently still a bachelor—who aids the spinster in the management of the hatchling whilst gently wooing her (while she thinks he’s just being kind), and you’ve got Persuasion with a dragon.
Sign. Me. Up.
I first heard about this novel when I happened upon this speech that the author, Quenby Olson, posted in social media:
“I believe in God,” Mr. Wiggan continued, still watching the hatchling, still watching the children as they settled on the ground with him, urging him to pick up small twigs in his delicate claws and carry them back and forth from one lap to the other. “I believe in miracles that every logical part of my mind says I should not give credit to. I pray, every day, to an unseen spirit I believe—I truly believe—guides each and every part of our lives. And yet, through everything, I am told that a creature such as that–” a nod in the direction of the scene before them, “–should be an impossibility. Something from a fairy tale, a made up story. I am going to write to these learned gentlemen, who claim to believe in God and floods and fish that can swallow men and spit them back out again after three days, and I am going to tell them that I watched as a dragon,” and then a small exhalation, almost a laugh at the admittance of that word, “burst free of its shell and tried to bite off the edge of my thumb only three weeks ago. And yet, I’m hesitant. Because I fear they will not believe me, that they will claim what I stand here and see with my own two eyes is a thing that cannot exist.”
I love the rhythm of the language in this speech, but I also connected immediately with the content. I am a big science geek, and Nineteenth Century naturalism is my jam, so I read this excerpt and thought, I have to have that book. That feeling has been rare for me lately. In fact, over the summer I dropped out of judging the SPFBO because I just couldn’t muster any enthusiasm for reading. I planned to take a break and watch Bake Off on Netflix. Then this book came along, and Bake Off had to wait.
Mildred, our spinster protagonist, is a thoroughly identifiable and loveable everywoman who is stuck in a nowhere life before Fitz—the dragon—hatches and breaks her (that is, Mildred) out of her shell:
Mildred let [Mr. Wiggan’s] words roll around her, envelop her for a moment before they were borne away on the breeze that pushed through the leaves he’d just plucked from the trembling branches above. “When I was a girl,” and she paused, and licked her lips, and tried not to dwell on just how long ago the time was to which she referred. “I believed in the fantastic. I believed I would grow up and have a great adventure.” She raised her eyebrows and let them fall again, a shrug acting out upon her face.
Don’t we all feel this way? We grow up hoping to get that invitation to Hogwarts on our eleventh birthday, or to have Gandalf turn up for our fortieth. Like Harry Potter, Mildred Percy lives with relatives who don’t much like her and consider her presence in their house an act of charity, even though in this case Mildred provides free childcare and tutoring as the de facto governess to her nieces and nephew. Like Bilbo Baggins, Mildred embarks on her first adventure well into middle age, and her survival depends on her ability to think on her feet and take advantage of opportunities as they arise. But unlike Bilbo, Mildred’s goal is to save a dragon’s life, not take one, and the foes she must outwit are her own life’s version of the Sackville-Bagginses, that is, the folks who want to steal her stuff (including Fitz): her sister Diana, her niece Belinda, and Belinda’s deceitful suitor, Mr. Hawthorne.
Each chapter of the book opens with a quote from the Pocket Guide referenced in the title, although this is an origin story, wherein we learn how Miss Percy became an expert in dragon husbandry. It’s delightful to watch Mildred slowly unfurl her own wings after Fitz hatches. With antics as hilarious as they are endearing, Fitz tugs at the heartstrings with his very tiny claws. Meanwhile, Mildred fights for Fitz with all the passion of a mother for her child, although this Mother of Dragons doesn’t want to rule the Seven Kingdoms, she just wants to have a nice cup of tea and some cake without anyone belittling her or making off with her dragon. But don’t let the domesticity fool you—whilst falling in love with a dragon and a kindly vicar, Mildred faces some genuine threats to her safety as well as Fitz’s, and the climax of the novel brings the reader enough suspense and tension to satisfy anyone’s craving for adventure.
In summary, in case I forgot to mention it, I loved this book. I laughed. I cried. I loved the first word of this book to the last, and I cannot wait for the sequel.
Rooftops, consider yourselves shouted from.
Julia Kitvaria Sarene
Jennie Ivins