October 13, 1998 For those into quick reviews: This is the best anthology I have read in ten years, perhaps closer to twenty. From the jacket copy, "Each section of the book takes its impulse from a particular theme, and these themes are linked within the manuscript in a renga-like fashion." After reading the book, I went back to a book (Renga: A CHAIN OF POEMS) which Octavio Paz and three others did in 1971 which seemed an analog, of sorts. Aside from the chain aspect, the books have little in common, but, as usual, Paz' introductory essay is valuable: The element of combination consists in the making of a poem by a group of poets; following a circular order, each poet in succession writes his stanza in turn, and his intervention is repeated several times. It is a movement of rotation, which little by little, delineates the text, from which neither calculation nor chance I will go further: It is a movement in whichis excluded. " calculation prepares for the appearance of chance. I underline that the renga is not a combination of signs, but a combination of makers of signs: of poets. At another point, Paz, obliquely suggests that the linking is a westernization of an eastern idea, despite his own version of the convention. QUINTET, given both themes and variations, is perhaps closer to western Baroque music than the original concept of renga. Enough yap about theory. Let a mid-book selection speak as synecdoche: "If Only If only I had a name like Born-With-a-Tooth. If only I, too, could enjoy a remarkable Indian summer. If only my diary could replace my life. If only my diary were not replacing my life. If only I lived between the lines of a pastoral poem. If only I lived between the lines of any poem. If only I could pull myself up by my bootstraps. If only I had bootstraps. If only I could understand the deep structure of my computer, of myself, my children. If only I could remember the meaning of ‛strange attractor.' If only most of the men I love were not dead white males. If only God were watching me. If only God were not watching me. If only I could remember Indo-European roots. If only postmodernism would go away. If only ism would go away. If only I had written , La chaire est triste, hélas, et j'‛ai lu tous les livres. If only an angel would appar to me as one did to Caedmon and command, 'Sing me something.' If only I knew how Sir Thomas More really pronounced 'custard.' If only I could be mad and eloquent like Kit Smart-but then I'd be put away, as he was. If only I could write "‛Heighho', yawned one day King Francis"and not be thought precious and archaic. If only there were some way to end and open-ended poem." -Jean Mallinson J. Michael Yates

Gerda, a naive though endearing teenage girl living in nineteenth century Denmark, could never be called the adventurous type. And yet, when her dear friend Kai is stolen by a mysterious woman known as the Snow Queen, she knows that there is nothing she can do besides follow him to the ends of the earth to rescue him! And this she does, until she is captured by the warrior robber-maid Ritva...
This truly was an entertaining story; with two interesting and unusual heroines, who are sure to win the heart of anyone who reads this book. The plot was fast paced enough so I didn't get bored, but not so unbearably tense (at least not til the end) that I couldn't relax while I was reading it. I adore fantasy stories, and yet I'm also completely sick of the repetative rendition of the young boy hero rescuing the girl from evil. This refreshing, unusual tale is a real gem, completely turning things around, which I greatly enjoyed. Good for anyone twelve or older.

My copy of _The Snow Queen_ was in my mailbox when I came home from work on one of the coldest nights of the winter. (Here in Missouri, the fact that it was technically March and not January didn't necessarily mean anything.) I curled up in my favorite chair with a blanket, and read the book in a matter of a few hours.

_The Snow Queen_ is a short novel, a single-sitting book, and more enchanting than many longer works. Nothing in this book is superfluous; Kernaghan tells the story she has come to tell--a reworking of Andersen's fairy tale of the same name--and that's it.

The enchantment begins with the cover, graced with a lovely illustration drawn from a 1913 book of fairy tales. Then, in the first paragraph, I was taken back to my childhood storybooks as Gerda and Kay sat among the flowerboxes, conversing across the narrow space between their townhouses. The setting is homey, but all is not well--Kai has grown snobbish and callous, insulting Gerda's poetry as "childish". He has set aside poetry and dreams for the coldly logical world of mathematics. And now a stranger, the mysterious Baroness Aurore, has come to town. Kai is quite taken with her, and she takes him on a long journey. He does not return.

Gerda, worried, sets off to find him--but the journey proves much longer and more difficult than expected. Along the way she is robbed, and taken in by the robber-girl, Ritva, who has a story of her own. Ritva is a shaman-in-training who isn't so sure she wants those talents, and longs to run away from her family. When Gerda resumes her adventure, Ritva goes with her--both as an excuse to run away, and because of the girls' budding friendship. Ritva is as street-smart and cynical as Gerda is trusting and naive, and they [but] heads at first, but in the end they forge a wonderful bond. Neither of them could accomplish this mission without the other, and together they face the Snow Queen.

I long for a sequel--the ending leaves me wondering what happens next--what Gerda and Ritva do with their lives, and whether Kai ever grows up.

All in all, a lovely book, which makes me want to go and read the Kalevala, not to mention the original fairy tale. Well done. The obscurity of this book belies its quality.

Once again Kernaghan brings thorough research and a new twist to an old favorite. The Snow Queen is a delightful blend of Victoriana and magic that young readers will be unable to put down. I'm over 50 and I loved it too.