The Strange Case of the Alchemist’s Daughter is the story of Mary Jekyll, who discovers hints among her father’s papers that there may be a reward on offer for information leading to the apprehension of murderer Edward Hyde. Left without money upon the death of her parents, Mary follows the clues (with the help of Sherlock Holmes and Dr. Watson), only to find that her father had far more secrets than she ever dreamed. Along the way, she meets the daughters of other scientists like her father, women created as monsters who now must make their way in the world.

Because it’s Theodora Goss, of course, the narration can’t be straightforward: The conceit of the book is that Catherine Moreau is writing the story, while all the other major characters interject their comments as she goes along. Mary’s newfound younger sister, Diana, is particularly fractious as regards things like symbolism or metaphor or Catherine assuming she knows what other people were thinking as they were having their adventures. I obviously loved this, although your mileage may vary — it’s a fun way to make an already metafictional story even metafictionaler.

If you are in search of deathless literature that delves deeply into the commonalities among the many books that inspired it, The Strange Case of the Alchemist’s Daughter may not be your jam. And it’s not trying to be; it’s trying to be exactly what it is: a fun, sweet, weird, fantastical story about the monster girls — existing and imagined — of literature and the found family they create together. If your Labor Day plans involve any sort of lazing about comfortably with a glass of wine in your hand, I commend Theodora Goss to your notice. The sequel, European Travel for the Monstrous Gentlewoman, came out last month and promises (over 700 pages of) metafiction, adventure, and delight.

PS I went to my first con this past weekend! Are y’all proud of me? I got a sticker that said it was my first ever WorldCon, and it was a wonderful experience where I met many amazing humans. Much recommended!

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One reason that I love books in boxes is that if they come in a box, likely scenario is that they’re an attractive object. Books are attractive objects anyway (I say this without prejudice towards e-books), and I like it when a book reminds you of its thingness, that it is not just a vehicle for the text but is also a physical object in its own right. Hence when Ana reviewed The Thorn and the Blossom on her blog and I observed that it not only came in a box but could be read from two directions, I knew I had to get in on that action.

The Thorn and the Blossom is a love story between Evelyn Morgan and Brendan Thorne, who meet at a bookshop in Cornwall and feel a connection straight away. The story follows each of them over the course of several years as their lives pull them away from each other and push them together again and again. The book is an accordion fold, which you can read in either direction. If you read it from one direction it is Evelyn’s version of events; from the other it’s Brendan’s.

I cannot even describe to you how much this format charmed me. In the imaginary world of which I am dictator, authors would be strongly encouraged (not ordered. I would be a benevolent dictator.) to write stories in this way. Initially I tried flipping back and forth between the two stories, to compare; but I found that was no good at all. I ended up reading Evelyn’s story first, waiting a couple of weeks, then reading Brendan’s. However, I don’t think there’s a recommended order in which to read them, so do whatever you want.

There were aspects of the story I liked: it was cool that it centered on the story of Sir Gawain and the Green Knight, a personal favorite of mine by way of Gerald Morris; I liked the very dabs of magical realism (small dabs are exactly the right amount of magical realism for me); and I am on record as liking endings where matters remain slightly unresolved. (Unwarrantedly optimistic endings irritate me when the author writes them, but not when I invent them myself because the author has left it to my imagination.)

However — and this may be a complain to take up with the Novella Council — the story was too slight and the book too short for me to engage much with the fate of the characters. The obstacles the lovers faced felt thrown in, and I didn’t have any sense of who Evelyn and Brandon were apart from their relationship with each other. Basically the awesome format of the book was writing checks the story couldn’t cash.

I received The Thorn and the Blossom for review from Quirk Books (also, I discovered when I was looking at my bookshelf yesterday, the publisher of Miss Peregrine’s Home for Peculiar Children).

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