3.5, actually, but I can never decide how to handle books that are attempting excellent things and fail. (Sometimes I end up grading excellent failures and mediocre successes the same way and that feels wrong, but these aren't student papers and I'm entitled to resent books that don't sweep me away.)

So, you know, sometimes I write one or two line reviews that just give me a sense that a) I read this book and b) I had feelings about it.

Had I done that the first time I'd read this book, I wouldn't be writing this essay right now. I started listening to this book and realized, with the first line, that I had read it before despite not remembering anything about it. At which point I remembered who the villain was and how much I hated the main character. That means that this was actually a reread, and an audio-reread at that. So the pacing is different, the narrative is not surprising in the same way, and I end up having a different response because I tend to reread through the lens of the critic. Which means I'm going to go much further into depth and point out things that I don't usually discuss because, well, I made it to the end of this book again and I deserve this space to rant as my reward.

Anyway, I don't actively hate the main character anymore, but I still don't like her. Part of what brought me away from hatred was recognizing how much of her behavior was a response to trauma. There is a fine line between plot-induced stupidity and a character who can't see the damaged way she views the world. That's up to the author and the reader - if the reader is receptive and the author is expressive, then you can feel the main character's destructive choices as the product of trauma. But if something fails there, it starts to feel like the main character is doing destructive things to keep the plot moving because you don't get a sense of motivation. That was how I felt on my first read. Perhaps because I knew more on the second read, I was more generous in my reading and could see Rachelle as a victim of trauma. I mean, she obviously is, but seeing it made manifest in her behavior is different. If the narrative doesn't manage to convey that what she's been through influences her actions (or, and here's something of my problem, is inconsistent), then it's hard to empathize with her as a viewpoint character.

This dislike, in fairness, also plays into my personal opinions about what I like in characters. And this is, by definition, an observation and not a criticism of the book as such because a book is not bad because it does things I don't like. And I am SO BORED of "strong" but broken/fragile female characters. I don't mind ruthless and I quite like kind (there are a few authors who write straight-up KIND characters and the stories are no less compelling, but they make me happy and I want more stories like that). Rachelle is neither. She sins and breaks and this is the story of her putting herself back together (except only sort of because I'm not sure she actually does) and that's a good story, but it is a story I have read too many times (more than twice, certainly) and it just isn't one of the stories that tugs at my heart.

This book is pretty comparable to Uprooted, except I liked Uprooted better because the main characters has the kind of flaws I like rather than the kinds I hate and because Uprooted has the weird and problematic romantic tropes that I like rather than the ones I don't like. Welcome to reviewing, it's 90% arbitrary.

So, with that out of the way, the story itself is good and clever and does amazing things with the Red Riding Hood paradigm.

With THAT out of the way, I also found it deeply conventional. There were elements of the story that could have gone differently and that didn't feel justified for turning out the way they did other than that this is the way things go. The heteronormative romance, the Christian-based religion, and the older guy falls in love with a child tropes are all present and, to my mind, unjustified by the narrative.

Okay, yes. It's a love story. But, honestly, most of the truly moving moments were between Rachelle and Amelie. Their relationship felt like it had more depth, more justified emotional investment, and more attachment than Rachelle and Armand's. And, yes, fiction needs its compelling female friendships, but if you write the main character's romantic entanglement as a less-compelling version of her female friendship, forgive me for being skeptical of the romance. I have no idea what she sees in Armand and the sheer sensuousness of her relationship with Amelie makes the actual romance feel like someone shoehorned in a heterosexual relationship. (Incidentally, this would have been an awesome opportunity to have a fairy tale without a romance. Just sayin')

And why is there an ersatz version of Christianity? That's two questions, actually. The first is why there's an old-but-true heathen religion that everyone forgot and an unconfirmed Christian religion that supplanted it? I mean, the obvious answer is "Uhhh, France?" Because that's where she's referencing. But it also feels shoehorned in to the narrative. It feels not merely extraneous, but like it interferes with the larger world-building. It's not exactly needed to damn the blood-bound or to set up the good versus evil dichotomy. And, insofar as it does anything, it justifies what I see as a deeply Christian and (from my perspective) deeply problematic attitude towards absolution that still doesn't know what to do with those who commit mortal crimes and so cheats by having the dead stick around to absolve. What does it mean to forgive and what does it mean to be forgiven? I don't know - here, have a bishop.
Given that, I just finished a different series that made a really interesting choice to create an ersatz Judaism instead of Christianity so I also just found the Christian default in terms of both thinking and fantasy to be...annoying. Especially for the default, there's nothing wrong with this story. I just get bored of it.

Finally, and this does make me a bit of hypocrite because I don't always call this trope out, why is a grown man in love with a child? I don't mind age gaps (especially when you give enough evidence that they are equally mature), but I found the forest-born's interest in younger Rachelle to be completely inexplicable. He falls in love with her? Why? How? (This may also go back to my problem with the actual love story - I have no idea what anyone sees in Rachelle, except maybe Amelie, so all the conversations about love don't make sense.) I was also kinda pissed that Rachelle didn't get to take joy in his destruction - he stalked her and emotionally abused her. It feels like the deeply Christian attitudes towards forgiveness also deny her her rage and relief at the end. I'm okay with her trying to save him anyway (see kind character comment), but I felt like she should have more anger, more...interiority.

So this sounds a lot like I didn't enjoy this book, which is not true. It was good and it was a really good take on Red Riding Hood. I just...for a book that was so creative in world-building, couldn't it have been a bit more innovative in character and tropes?