A Sorceress Comes to Call Is Whimsical, Subversive Fantasy Perfection
At the risk of sounding like a broken record, I am once again here to tell everyone that it’s very likely T. Kingfisher is the best fantasy writer you’re not reading. The pen name of children’s author Ursula Vernon, Kingfisher’s books mix a deliciously old-school fantasy feel with a decidedly modern sensibility. Her stories are simultaneously bittersweet and beautiful, blending humor, heart, and no small amount of horror to create a tale that somehow feels both refreshingly new and like something that has always existed. Such is the case with her latest novel, A Sorceress Comes to Call, a seemingly traditional tale of evil mothers and oppressed daughters that still has plenty of modern things to say about topics ranging from emotional abuse and anxiety to misogyny and the ways women are told they must exist in the world. It feels positively timeless in all the best possible ways, a feat which is admittedly no small act of magic in and of itself.
As a writer, Kingfisher has a unique gift for embracing the best versions of classic tropes and themes from fairytales, folklore, and legends even as she uses them to subvert and expand the idea of what fantasies can be and do. In A Sorceress Comes to Call, women take center stage, direct the story’s action, and play the parts traditionally given to men. Middle-aged female characters are vital and complex, allowed to claim happily ever afters on their own terms. Even the tale’s central villainess is given a refreshing amount of agency, allowed to be greedy and cruel without apology, chasing her own happiness for no reason other than she simply desires it. Male characters generally serve as love interests and sidekicks, spending most of these pages reacting to things in the ways that women are often forced to do. (Kingfisher’s men are also remarkably multifaceted and emotionally vulnerable in ways this genre is often loath to allow. It’s lovely.)
The story follows Cordelia, a fourteen-year-old girl whose mother is a sorceress. And not friendly the fairy godmother kind. No, Evangeline is the sort of enchantress who likes to compel others to do her bidding, often forcing her daughter into complete, docile obedience whenever she does anything that annoys her. Their house has no doors, and Cordelia is allowed little privacy and fewer dreams of her own, frequently left isolated with no company beyond Falada, her mother’s beautiful, but deeply creepy horse.
Determined to entrap a rich man into marriage, Evangeline concocts a scheme to stay at the house of a wealthy squire and his spinster sister, dragging her daughter along with her. But Lady Hester, who feels an awful presentiment of doom about Evangeline, is immediately suspicious of her motives and works to thwart the woman’s obvious designs on her brother, Samuel. But only Cordelia knows the full, potentially murderous extent of her mother’s powers, and lives in terror of what she might do if her plans are threatened or her true identity is discovered. Will she be able to find the strength to try and fight back against a woman who has spent all her life controlling and abusing her?
Told via dual narrators, Cordelia’s voice is balanced by that of the sardonic Hester, a crotchety spinster with a bum knee who brings a mature, sensible spirit to the story and serves as a stoic balance to the timid, socially awkward younger girl who has never been allowed to imagine a life of her own. Neither of these women is what anyone might call a traditional fantasy heroine. Cordelia is shy and frightened, struggling to undo a lifetime of learned helplessness and find her strength. Hester is independent and courageous, but has become so committed to life on her own terms that it’s quite likely she’s thrown a happily ever after away with both hands. The two form an unlikely bond, and their humorous, heartwarming scenes together are some of the best in the novel.
The duo is joined by a cast of charming supporting characters, including an uber-efficient butler, a ruthless female card shark, an effortlessly charming widow, a loyal local aristocrat who shares a romantic past with Hester, and a disturbing magical horse named Falada. Kingfisher’s signature banter and pitch-perfect dialogue are frequently laugh-out-loud funny, and her characters are multidimensional and endlessly sympathetic.
Even Evangeline, who is unapologetically awful, is fascinating to watch on the page, from her utter determination to be more than society has told her she is allowed to claim to her cutting, purposeful cruelty. Sure, she has magical powers, but she’s also a skilled manipulator and social climber, in a way that feels painfully realistic at times. The supernatural abilities help, of course, but you get the distinct sense that Evangeline would still be a plenty powerful threat without them.
Kingfisher deftly blends familiar fairytale tropes with elements of uncomfortable, creeping horror, and her work once again refuses to sugarcoat the misogynistic realities that lie at the heart of most of these legends and folk tales we’ve loved for so long. Much like Nettle & Bone and Thornhedge, A Sorceress Comes to Call is a fantasy with an unexpectedly dark underbelly and plenty of sharp teeth. From emotional abuse to body horror and possession, a disturbing, uncomfortable undertone runs throughout much of this story. Cordelia’s journey is most assuredly not an easy one—her growth comes slowly, in fits and starts and setbacks that see her stumble and fail before she succeeds. But perhaps that’s what makes it feel so magical. No spells necessary.
A Sorceress Comes to Call is available now wherever books are sold.
Lacy Baugher Milas is the Books Editor at Paste Magazine, but loves nerding out about all sorts of pop culture. You can find her on Twitter @LacyMB