Confessions of an Ugly Stepsister
You know, I figured WICKED was just gimmicky, until I actually read the damned thing. And I loved it -- it appeals to me because of my love of fairy, I suppose, but I also loved the grounding in a believably real world, even if that world happened to be Oz.
So when I picked up CONFESSIONS OF AN UGLY STEPSISTER, I went in merely hoping to be entertained. I wondered whether, as with Wicked, we'd merely see things from the point of view of a much put-upon villainess. I mean, face, it, Elphaba is the hero of WICKED; it's her book and Glinda's not painted in a very good light. This book's a bit more complex about its main cast, though.
In CONFESSIONS, the story is told from the point of view of the "evil stepsisters". Their mother is a harridan, to be sure, but the girls themselves -- imaginative, intelligent Iris and slow-witted, oafish Ruth -- come across as quite sympathetic. And frankly, even their utter bitch of a mother has some admirable traits, such as the sheer tenacity with which she works to ensure her children are fed. The "wicked stepmother" is certainly unpleasant, but one feels a bit sorry for her -- she's fled from England after her husband's death, seeking family among the Dutch, only to find the family dead and nobody to turn to. She is hard and cold when we meet her, but it's quickly made clear that this harshness is born of disappointment and hard times, because she *is* capable of tenderness and even charity. But having been absolutely destitute, she sets her iron will to the task of never again being poor. And so she manages to secure a position as housekeeper to an artist, and eventually worms her way into the household of a prosperous tulip merchant, whose painfully lovely daughter Clara lives a secluded life -- and whose doting father initially invites the threesome to move in because Iris speaks both English and Dutch, and thus can help entertain and teach Clara a foreign tongue. Eventually, after Clara's mother dies and the girls' mother marries Clara's father, the unflinching, cynical pragmatism, coupled with a bit of plain, old-fashioned greed, evolves into cruelty and leads to a whole new desperate situation.
Clara herself is sympathetic, but because she is effectively a prisoner of her own beauty. Eventually we find out the reason why she's been secluded so long, but the fear of the world it instills in her is quite real, and after her mother dies, Clara evolves into Cinderella mostly because it keeps her at home. She loathes her stepmother but seems to like her stepsisters well enough; she's grown up with them, after all. But she withdraws and hides, and in some small way stakes out the kitchen (where not too long ago, her stepmother began to usurp her mother's place, first as housekeeper and then as wife) as her personal turf.
And so the tale manages to be told, but with rather more characters than we'd thought, and mixing in historical realities like Dutch tulip merchantry, the incredible painters of the era, low-level religious conflict between Calvinists and Catholics, musings on the differences between talent and skill, and so forth. It's about the lengths one will go to to ensure the safety and prosperity of one's family...or to right a wrong and do right by one's friends.
The famous ball, of course, occurs quite late in the book. Having fallen deep into debt with the father ailing, the women of the household have hocked pretty much all they own to attend the ball, in hopes that one of them will attract the eye of the visiting prince -- and Clara refuses to attend, rather than being forbidden to do so. A pithy mix of poverty and pride motivate her, but it's the very pragmatic problem of her father that finally forces her to confront the real wide world and attend the ball.
In the end, a very satisfying tale, full of unexpected twists, greed, and love.
So when I picked up CONFESSIONS OF AN UGLY STEPSISTER, I went in merely hoping to be entertained. I wondered whether, as with Wicked, we'd merely see things from the point of view of a much put-upon villainess. I mean, face, it, Elphaba is the hero of WICKED; it's her book and Glinda's not painted in a very good light. This book's a bit more complex about its main cast, though.
In CONFESSIONS, the story is told from the point of view of the "evil stepsisters". Their mother is a harridan, to be sure, but the girls themselves -- imaginative, intelligent Iris and slow-witted, oafish Ruth -- come across as quite sympathetic. And frankly, even their utter bitch of a mother has some admirable traits, such as the sheer tenacity with which she works to ensure her children are fed. The "wicked stepmother" is certainly unpleasant, but one feels a bit sorry for her -- she's fled from England after her husband's death, seeking family among the Dutch, only to find the family dead and nobody to turn to. She is hard and cold when we meet her, but it's quickly made clear that this harshness is born of disappointment and hard times, because she *is* capable of tenderness and even charity. But having been absolutely destitute, she sets her iron will to the task of never again being poor. And so she manages to secure a position as housekeeper to an artist, and eventually worms her way into the household of a prosperous tulip merchant, whose painfully lovely daughter Clara lives a secluded life -- and whose doting father initially invites the threesome to move in because Iris speaks both English and Dutch, and thus can help entertain and teach Clara a foreign tongue. Eventually, after Clara's mother dies and the girls' mother marries Clara's father, the unflinching, cynical pragmatism, coupled with a bit of plain, old-fashioned greed, evolves into cruelty and leads to a whole new desperate situation.
Clara herself is sympathetic, but because she is effectively a prisoner of her own beauty. Eventually we find out the reason why she's been secluded so long, but the fear of the world it instills in her is quite real, and after her mother dies, Clara evolves into Cinderella mostly because it keeps her at home. She loathes her stepmother but seems to like her stepsisters well enough; she's grown up with them, after all. But she withdraws and hides, and in some small way stakes out the kitchen (where not too long ago, her stepmother began to usurp her mother's place, first as housekeeper and then as wife) as her personal turf.
And so the tale manages to be told, but with rather more characters than we'd thought, and mixing in historical realities like Dutch tulip merchantry, the incredible painters of the era, low-level religious conflict between Calvinists and Catholics, musings on the differences between talent and skill, and so forth. It's about the lengths one will go to to ensure the safety and prosperity of one's family...or to right a wrong and do right by one's friends.
The famous ball, of course, occurs quite late in the book. Having fallen deep into debt with the father ailing, the women of the household have hocked pretty much all they own to attend the ball, in hopes that one of them will attract the eye of the visiting prince -- and Clara refuses to attend, rather than being forbidden to do so. A pithy mix of poverty and pride motivate her, but it's the very pragmatic problem of her father that finally forces her to confront the real wide world and attend the ball.
In the end, a very satisfying tale, full of unexpected twists, greed, and love.