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WICKED LOVELY
by Melissa Marr
Reviewed by Sarah Sawtelle
Hardcover
HarperTeen
ISBN: 9780061214653
336 pages
Author Biography |
Review |
Excerpt
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-- ABOUT THE BOOK --
Faerie intrigue, mortal love, and the clash of ancient rules and modern expectations swirl together in this spellbinding urban tale.
-- AUTHOR BIOGRAPHY --
Melissa has never been good at choosing just one path. After finishing high school with the dubious honor of being voted "most likely to end up in jail," she went to college and graduate school. There, curiosity (and tuition bills) led her to the dual jobs of teaching and slinging drinks at a biker bar. During the daylit hours, she indulged in long literary chats; at night, she lingered with intriguing people with one word names.
Eventually, she went on to bartend at a number of other weird little bars, teach lit both live and online, and discover the joy of tattoos. All three have been great rushes. The latter borders on addiction, but is held in check by the desire to attend the opera without flashing too many tattoos.
After marrying someone who shares the love of ink --- on the page and on the skin --- Melissa began moving around the country. In the process, she discovered how vast the Mojave really is, how many incredible museums are out there, and how hard it can be to think about settling in one place. She's continued teaching along the way, but traded beer-slinging for book writing.
-- REVIEW --
Aislinn has dealt with a lot in her life. She has lived with her grandmother, Grams, ever since her mother died shortly after giving birth to her. While open-minded to Aislinn leading an independent life, Grams is fiercely protective of the girl. Like her grandmother, Aislinn has the Sight: she can see faeries --- not just delicate-looking, mischievous fey, but also the powerful, ugly and dangerous kind. Aislinn always has been mindful of the rules of her Grams: Rule #3: Don’t stare at invisible faeries; Rule #2: Don’t speak to invisible faeries; and Rule #1: Don’t ever attract their attention. However, the rules begin to change when faeries start paying more attention to Aislinn, particularly one named Keenan and his companion Donia.
Keenan happens to be the Summer King, who for the past nine centuries has been locked in a seemingly losing battle against the Winter Queen, his conniving mother Beira, whose June Cleaver-like guise is unsettling. As the Summer King, Keenan must find his Queen in order to unleash his full powers and save his court. If the "chosen" girls are willing to prove their love to the Summer King, they must risk winter’s chill. If they pass, they become the much sought-after Summer Queen; if they lose, they become the Winter Girl, forced to endure the unbearable cold until the next mortal comes along. Donia is the current Winter Girl, who must adhere to the rules of the game while keeping both sides happy as she tries to come to terms with her imminent and uncertain fate.
Aislinn becomes understandably frightened by the unwanted attention, and she seeks the refuge of the steel (which, coincidently, most faeries are allergic to) train car where her best friend Seth lives. Aislinn is afraid, but not as fearful as she is at the possibility of losing her freedom. She becomes determined to match wits with the faeries while keeping her mortal life fairly intact.
Although Aislinn is considered the main heroine of WICKED LOVELY, Donia is also a worthy one, as each of the girls --- one mortal, the other fey --- fight for independence (and love) while trying to navigate the at-times sensual and mysterious, always wondrous and wicked worlds that threaten to overwhelm them.
I liked the character of Seth, a “bad boy” who in actuality is intelligent and respectful. The friendship–turned-romance between Aislinn and Seth is original and fortunately not as clichéd as it could have been. The descriptions of Winter and Summer are captivating, and the various fey make the storyline even more interesting. The only drawbacks are Aislinn’s friendships with her classmates and their never-ending innuendos, which could have been a bit more developed. I also wish that Grams could have had more appearances and that the dark fey in one particular stomach-churning scene could have gotten what they thoroughly deserve.
All in all, WICKED LOVELY is a notable debut novel from the unique Melissa Marr. It is highly recommended for fans of dark fantasy, faeries and a little out-of-the- ordinary romance(s), as well as for anyone who appreciates heroines who may seem vulnerable but can surely stand up for themselves and others.
--- Reviewed by Sarah Sawtelle
-- EXCERPT --
Chapter One
"Four-ball, side pocket." Aislinn pushed the cue forward with a short, quick thrust; the ball dropped into the pocket with a satisfying clack.
Her playing partner, Denny, motioned toward a harder shot, a bank shot.
She rolled her eyes. "What? You in a hurry?"
He pointed with the cue.
"Right." Focus and control, that's what it's all about. She sank the two.
He nodded once, as close as he got to praise.
Aislinn circled the table, paused, and chalked the cue. Around her the cracks of balls colliding, low laughter, even the endless stream of country and blues from the jukebox kept her grounded in the real world: the human world, the safe world. It wasn't the only world, no matter how much Aislinn wanted it to be. But it hid the other world --- the ugly one --- for brief moments.
"Three, corner pocket." She sighted down the cue. It was a good shot.
Focus. Control.
Then she felt it: warm air on her skin. A faery, its too-hot breath on her neck, sniffed her hair. His pointed chin pressed against her skin. All the focus in the world didn't make Pointy-Face's attention tolerable.
She scratched: the only ball that dropped was the cue ball.
Denny took the ball in hand. "What was that?"
"Weak-assed?" She forced a smile, looking at Denny, at the table, anywhere but at the horde coming in the door. Even when she looked away, she heard them: laughing and squealing, gnashing teeth and beating wings, a cacophony she couldn't escape. They were out in droves now, freer somehow as evening fell, invading her space, ending any chance of the peace she'd sought.
Denny didn't stare at her, didn't ask hard questions. He just motioned for her to step away from the table and called out, "Gracie, play something for Ash."
At the jukebox Grace keyed in one of the few not-country-or-blues songs: Limp Bizkit's "Break Stuff."
As the oddly comforting lyrics in that gravelly voice took off, building to the inevitable stomach-tightening rage, Aislinn smiled. If I could let go like that, let the years of aggression spill out onto the fey . . . She slid her hand over the smooth wood of the cue, watching Pointy-Face gyrate beside Grace. I'd start with him. Right here, right now. She bit her lip. Of course, everyone would think she was utterly mad if she started swinging her cue at invisible bodies, everyone but the fey.
Before the song was over, Denny had cleared the table.
"Nice." Aislinn walked over to the wall rack and slid the cue back into an empty spot. Behind her, Pointy-Face giggled --- high and shrill --- and tore out a couple strands of her hair.
"Rack 'em again?" But Denny's tone said what he didn't: that he knew the answer before he asked. He didn't know why, but he could read the signs.
Pointy-Face slid the strands of her hair over his face.
Aislinn cleared her throat. "Rain check?"
"Sure." Denny began disassembling his cue. The regulars never commented on her odd mood swings or unexplainable habits.
She walked away from the table, murmuring good-byes as she went, consciously not staring at the faeries. They moved balls out of line, bumped into people --- anything to cause trouble --- but they hadn't stepped in her path tonight, not yet. At the table nearest the door, she paused. "I'm out of here."
One of the guys straightened up from a pretty combination shot. He rubbed his goatee, stroking the gray-shot hair. "Cinderella time?"
"You know how it is --- got to get home before the shoe falls off." She lifted her foot, clad in a battered tennis shoe. "No sense tempting any princes." He snorted and turned back to the table.
A doe-eyed faery eased across the room; bone-thin with too many joints, she was vulgar and gorgeous all at once. Her eyes were far too large for her face, giving her a startled look. Combined with an emaciated body, those eyes made her seem vulnerable, innocent. She wasn't.
None of them are.
The woman at the table beside Aislinn flicked a long ash into an already overflowing ashtray. "See you next weekend."
Aislinn nodded, too tense to answer.
In a blurringly quick move, Doe-Eyes flicked a thin blue tongue out at a cloven-hoofed faery. The faery stepped back, but a trail of blood already dripped down his hollowed cheeks. Doe-Eyes giggled.
Aislinn bit her lip, hard, and lifted a hand in a last half wave to Denny. Focus. She fought to keep her steps even, calm: everything she wasn't feeling inside.
She stepped outside, lips firmly shut against dangerous words. She wanted to speak, to tell the fey to leave so she didn't have to, but she couldn't. Ever. If she did, they'd know her secret: they'd know she could see them.
The only way to survive was to keep that secret; Grams taught her that rule before she could even write her name: Keep your head down and your mouth closed. It felt wrong to have to hide, but if she even hinted at such a rebellious idea, Grams would have her in lockdown --- homeschooled, no pool halls, no parties, no freedom, no Seth. She'd spent enough time in that situation during middle school.
Never again.
So --- rage in check --- Aislinn headed downtown, toward the relative safety of iron bars and steel doors. Whether in its base form or altered into the purer form of steel, iron was poisonous to fey and thus gloriously comforting to her. Despite the faeries that walked her streets, Huntsdale was home. She'd visited Pittsburgh, walked around D.C., explored Atlanta. They were nice enough, but they were too thriving, too alive, too filled with parks and trees. Huntsdale wasn't thriving. It hadn't been for years. That meant the fey didn't thrive here either.
The foregoing is excerpted from Wicked Lovely by Melissa Marr. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced without written permission from HarperCollins Publishers, 10 East 53rd Street, New York, NY 10022
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