Friday, 4 July 2025 09:10 pm
Book Review: The Princess and the Goblin
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deckardcanineI first heard of George MacDonald from his appearance in C.S. Lewis's The Great Divorce, serving a guide role similar to Virgil in Dante's Inferno. Years later, I caught some clips of MacDonald's own writing on a Facebook group (now disbanded) dedicated to him, Lewis, and G.K. Chesterton. When I found one of his two stories I could name in a Little Free Library, I finally gave him a try. It helped that at a mere 201 pages with frequent chapter breaks, I could easily finish the book right before my beach vacation.
In an unnamed land, humans live where they normally would, and goblins and their strange livestock must live inside a nearby mountain. The latter don't like the sun, but they still want to take things from "sun dwellers." They hope to abduct human Princess Irene and force her to marry goblin Prince Harelip for leverage -- all the more disturbing when you realize she's 8. (I'm guessing "the Goblin" is Harelip, even if he barely appears.) Plan B is to kill as many humans as possible.
Irene is the usual focal character, but many chapters put the spotlight on Curdie, a miner of young but unspecified age. He's the main action hero, if only because he knows a few things about dealing with goblins: stomping their toeless feet and dispelling them with diss tracks he tends to make up on the fly. The goblin queen proves more of a challenge to him because of her stone shoes, which she wears partly to hide a sign of possible human heritage.
For all the classic fairy tale trappings in an 1872 publication, Irene does not exist just to get rescued by Curdie and develop a precocious crush on him. Indeed, she returns the favor at one point. Most of the time, she isn't in imminent danger of capture or violence. She spends little time around Curdie, whose station makes him unwelcome at the royal palace, even to the caretaker he also saves. She gets at least as much help from her great-great-grandmother, who may or may not be a ghost, judging from her secret existence, selective invisibility, magical items, borderline prescience, and youthful features.
This ancestor provides the clearest inspiration for Lewis, because for most of the story, only Irene believes in her. The apparent lesson is that we should entertain extraordinary claims from loved ones who aren't likely to lie to us or be crazy. Nothing overtly religious, but it sure sounds familiar.
As old British books go, it's easy enough for a modern young American to read. My one caution is that I needed to confirm that "this night week" means one week from tonight. (Note that MacDonald is Scottish.)
Did I like it? Kind of. I would have preferred an older, less naive princess, but at least Irene is sweet -- and apologetic for the times she forgets to be sweet. Thematically, it's rather simple, leading me to want more details. The weaponized rhymes are pretty fun.
The sequel, The Princess and Curdie, sounds surprisingly dismal. I have quite enough dark fantasies on my shelf, so I'll skip it. But I am glad to know MacDonald a little better now.
Speaking of dark fantasies, I've picked up The Blood Trials by N.E. Davenport. So far, it has an angry tone.
In an unnamed land, humans live where they normally would, and goblins and their strange livestock must live inside a nearby mountain. The latter don't like the sun, but they still want to take things from "sun dwellers." They hope to abduct human Princess Irene and force her to marry goblin Prince Harelip for leverage -- all the more disturbing when you realize she's 8. (I'm guessing "the Goblin" is Harelip, even if he barely appears.) Plan B is to kill as many humans as possible.
Irene is the usual focal character, but many chapters put the spotlight on Curdie, a miner of young but unspecified age. He's the main action hero, if only because he knows a few things about dealing with goblins: stomping their toeless feet and dispelling them with diss tracks he tends to make up on the fly. The goblin queen proves more of a challenge to him because of her stone shoes, which she wears partly to hide a sign of possible human heritage.
For all the classic fairy tale trappings in an 1872 publication, Irene does not exist just to get rescued by Curdie and develop a precocious crush on him. Indeed, she returns the favor at one point. Most of the time, she isn't in imminent danger of capture or violence. She spends little time around Curdie, whose station makes him unwelcome at the royal palace, even to the caretaker he also saves. She gets at least as much help from her great-great-grandmother, who may or may not be a ghost, judging from her secret existence, selective invisibility, magical items, borderline prescience, and youthful features.
This ancestor provides the clearest inspiration for Lewis, because for most of the story, only Irene believes in her. The apparent lesson is that we should entertain extraordinary claims from loved ones who aren't likely to lie to us or be crazy. Nothing overtly religious, but it sure sounds familiar.
As old British books go, it's easy enough for a modern young American to read. My one caution is that I needed to confirm that "this night week" means one week from tonight. (Note that MacDonald is Scottish.)
Did I like it? Kind of. I would have preferred an older, less naive princess, but at least Irene is sweet -- and apologetic for the times she forgets to be sweet. Thematically, it's rather simple, leading me to want more details. The weaponized rhymes are pretty fun.
The sequel, The Princess and Curdie, sounds surprisingly dismal. I have quite enough dark fantasies on my shelf, so I'll skip it. But I am glad to know MacDonald a little better now.
Speaking of dark fantasies, I've picked up The Blood Trials by N.E. Davenport. So far, it has an angry tone.