Snow & Rose

Review by New York Times Review

SINCE THE BEGINNING of "Upon a time," adults have spent so many hours analyzing and worrying over fairy tales, it's a wonder most aren't worn down to a few frazzled golden threads. But before we can get to the meaning of a fairy tale, it must delight us, or scare us, or perhaps both. Two books for young readers - Emily Jenkins's "Brave Red, Smart Frog," illustrated by Rohan Daniel Eason, and "Snow & Rose," by Emily Winfield Martin - reimagine Brothers Grimm fairy tales, treating delight, with a few grisly bits folded in, as its own reward. The deeper meanings of these stories do emerge, but the pleasure they give is paramount. "Brave Red, Smart Frog" is subtitled "A New Book of Old Tales," and the stories in it include riffs on "Snow White" and "Red Riding Hood." But Jenkins adds welcome layers of texture to parables we think we know well. She's particularly interested in flawed heroines, like Crystal, the princess in her version of "The Frog Prince," a girl with too many pretty dresses, too many pairs of shoes and "too many ladies-inwaiting instead of friends." Crystal is spoiled, but it isn't wholly her fault. She has "too few occupations and too few real conversations" - in a way she's like today's superbusy, superachieving kids, who barely have time to imagine what it might be like to kiss a frog. Eason's finely detailed illustrations balance the natural world with a fantastical one: A witch's candy cottage looks as realistic and believable as the elaborately etched bark of a tree. In "Snow & Rose," a reimagining of the Grimms' "Snow-White and Rose-Red," the lives of two sisters - practical, considerate Rose and petulant, anxious Snow - are changed forever when their father disappears in the woods. They're forced to leave their comfortable house filled with pretty things and, with their grief-stricken, somewhat checked-out mother , make a new home in the very forest that swallowed up their father. Rose attempts cheerfulness; Snow, ever wistful, can't stop thinking about all that the family has lost. As the two try to make the best of this terrible change in circumstances, they open their eyes to the new people and creatures around them. There's an ancient librarian with a wooden leg, whose shelves contain not books but strange, useful treasures; a crabby little elf-man out to stir up trouble; and a boy who specializes in growing polychrome mushrooms. He's given them fanciful names like Ruby Toadstools, Flea's Parasols, and, my personal favorite, Butterscotch Tinies. Martin, ties up the story with a graceful, satisfying flourish. Her illustrations - a bear caught in a trap, his face a world of confused, hurt feelings, or Snow, Rose and their mother heading out on Christmas Day in cozy cloaks with pointed hoods - have a gentle folkloric naivete, reminiscent of Tasha Ttidor's work. They're very pretty but also suitably mysterious. As with all fairy tales, there are lessons in these books: Cultivate inner beauty. Be kind, especially to any creature or fellow human who is suffering. And because young heroines figure so prominently, one notion emerges with particular clarity: Girls have the interior resources to do anything they want, and while a little magic helps, it's hardly necessary. Jenkins and Martin also understand that while it's important to build confidence, humility and a sense of humor about oneself are essential. In other words, that stuff about being open to kissing the frog still rings true. Now please pass the Butterscotch Tinies. Stephanie zacharek is the film critic for Time magazine.

Copyright (c) The New York Times Company [August 30, 2019]

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Review by Booklist Review

Martin's illustrated rendition of Snow White and Rose Red brings this lesser-known Grimm fairy tale out of obscurity. Taking a few creative liberties there's no prince, nor any mention of marriage Martin ventures into an enchanted wood where bandits and monsters prowl, people go missing, and a widow resides with her two daughters: Snow, who is wild and fair, and Rose, who is gentle, with dark hair and rose-petal cheeks. Still grieving their father, the girls find comfort in nature and spend their time exploring the woods, which holds an unimaginable secret. Like most of the Grimm brothers' tales, this peculiar story carries sinister overtones, but Martin does a nice job of keeping the dark atmosphere from overwhelming younger readers, largely through her whimsical touches. A quirky librarian who offers objects rather than books; a boy with an encyclopedic knowledge of mushrooms; a protective bear companion (though that is in the original); fairies; and lovely full-color illustrations all these elements lend charm and balance to this tale, where avarice and cruelty fall to kindness and love.--Smith, Julia Copyright 2017 Booklist

From Booklist, Copyright (c) American Library Association. Used with permission.

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Review by Publisher's Weekly Review

Sisters Snow and Rose once lived a charmed life in a grand house with a beautiful garden. After their father disappears into the woods, the girls and their mother are forced to move into a small cottage in the same forest. There, they befriend a boy named Ivo, discover a mysterious library filled not with books but objects, are tricked by a strange little man, and bond with a protective bear. Unfolding over episodic chapters that build to a well-deserved happy ending, this moody fairy tale emphasizes family, friendship, and the powerful bond of sisterhood. Martin's characterization of the two contrary sisters is especially moving: Rose is the type of person who "holds on to a thing she loved as tightly as she could," while Snow wants "to see or hear or taste something she loved over and over again, to remind herself that it was real." The sisters' contradictions make their relationship all the stronger, and Martin's prim full-color paintings and spot illustrations tenderly highlight key characters and moments. Ages 8-12. Agent: Brenda Bowen, Sanford J. Greenburger Associates. (Oct.) © Copyright PWxyz, LLC. All rights reserved.

(c) Copyright PWxyz, LLC. All rights reserved

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Review by School Library Journal Review

Gr 4-6-Once, two sisters named Snow and Rose lived a fairy-tale life, secure in a big house surrounded by beautiful gardens and a large staff to help with all of the chores. But when this story begins, their status has changed. Listeners learn that their father disappeared in the woods and their mother is almost gone as well, having wrapped herself in sorrow over her loss. Snow and Rose attempt to care for themselves, their mother, and their house, but Snow is determined to venture out into the woods in search of the truth behind their father's disappearance. Rose is not as brave as Snow, but quickly decides that she needs to help keep her younger sister safe. The unique characters they meet during their treks through the forest, such as the mysterious librarian who has strange objects but no books, and the charismatic and friendly boy Ivo, who lives underground and grows mushrooms, are engaging enough to keep listeners entranced with this adventure-filled fantasy. Listeners will be captivated as they learn if and how the sisters will break a set of spells cast by an evil dwarf who has imprisoned many in the enchanted forest. VERDICT There is enough fantasy and adventure to keep listeners' attention to the very end of this magical mystery that is loosely based on the classic Grimm tale.-Sheila Acosta, San Antonio Public Library © Copyright 2018. Library Journals LLC, a wholly owned subsidiary of Media Source, Inc. No redistribution permitted.

(c) Copyright Library Journals LLC, a wholly owned subsidiary of Media Source, Inc. No redistribution permitted.

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Review by Horn Book Review

When Snow and Rose's father vanishes, they are forced to move to a cottage in the woods, where they encounter strange beings, including a giant bear and a little man. This quiet reimagining of the classic fairy tale "Snow White and Rose Red" has an ethereal tone. The text's undercurrent of enchantment is also present in Martin's periodic full-page color illustrations. (c) Copyright 2018. The Horn Book, Inc., a wholly owned subsidiary of Media Source, Inc. No redistribution permitted.

(c) Copyright The Horn Book, Inc., a wholly owned subsidiary of Media Source, Inc. No redistribution permitted.

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Review by Kirkus Book Review

Picture-book author/illustrator Martin (The Littlest Family's Big Day, 2016, etc.) offers a reimagined chapter-book version of a lesser-known Grimm fairy tale, "Snow White and Red Rose."When their father fails to return from the woods, Snow, Rose, and their grieving mother must leave their wealthy home and move to a remote cabin in the woods. The sisters are opposite in temperament. "Rose pictured herself as a tidy bow, and Snow was a wild tangle." Meandering off the path in the woods, they happen upon an Underground House, a curious library filled with objects rather than books and overseen by the Librarian, and a tunnel under tree roots that leads them to Ivo, a boy who grows mushrooms. Ivo tells them about the Menace of the Woods, who has caused many to disappear. The girls help a very cranky Little Man with backward-bending legs and a giant bear who is pursued by the Huntsman. Although the story nearly collapses under the weight and confusion of a horde of characters (the humans all apparently white), all is sorted out in the end. The writing is lyrical, with laudable word choice, alliteration, and imagery capturing the magic of the woods. For lovers of fairy tales, this story of sisterhood, taking risks, and being kind is a physically beautiful book with an appealing cover and captivating full-color illustrations. (Fantasy. 8-12) Copyright Kirkus Reviews, used with permission.

Copyright (c) Kirkus Reviews, used with permission.

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Once, there were two sisters. Rose had hair like threads of black silk and cheeks like two red petals and a voice that was gentle and sometimes hard to hear. Snow had hair like white swan down and eyes the color of the winter sky, with a laugh that was sudden and wild. They lived in a cottage in the woods, but it hadn't always been so. "Tell me a story," Snow called in the dark. She moved restlessly, wide awake in her bed. "You'll wake Mama," Rose murmured. "Go back to sleep." Snow sat up, her bed creaking. "Rose?" Her whisper drifted in the dark. "Please?" Their bedroom was a loft that lay above the hearth and kitchen and below a pointed ceiling. On one side were the sisters' beds. On the other side was their mother's bed. Rose peered through the gap in the faded screen that turned one small room into two very tiny ones. The blue light in the window showed the curve of their mother's side rising and falling softly. Rose sighed. "Okay, but I'll come over there." The hush of a match sounded as Rose lit the yellow beeswax stump between their beds, followed by a few soft tiptoed thumps as her feet padded across the floor. She climbed under the covers of Snow's bed. "Your feet are freezing," Snow whispered. Rose drew her knees up to her chest. "Which story do you want to hear?" Rose asked. Her dark hair glowed with glints of red and gold in the candle's light. "The one about the magic lamp?" "No," Snow said, pulling the covers tightly around her shoulders. She smiled, her pale hair a messy tumble on the pillow. "The mermaid and the monkey?" Rose asked. "No," Snow whispered impatiently. "Not that one." "Or the fairy tale about--" "No, no fairy tales." Snow tugged gently on the sleeve of Rose's nightgown. "Tell the story of us." After another sigh, Rose began. "Once upon a time," Rose whispered in her best storyteller's voice, "there were two girls, one with black hair and one with white. They were born to a nobleman who was as tall and as broad as he was gentle and kind. Their mother was from a common family, but she had a rare and delicate beauty, like--" "Like a Siamese cat," Snow offered. "Yes, like a Siamese cat," Rose continued softly. "And their mother was a painter and sculptor, who loved to wake up the things she said were asleep inside big slabs of marble, and her statues filled the sculpture garden. And their father loved to build places that didn't exist until he imagined them. He loved to read about all the things that other people had imagined and built, so he had a library with shelves that reached to the ceiling. "Their mother and father loved each other, too, of course, more than books or sculptures. But more than anything else, they loved their two daughters. "And since love is something you cannot see, the mother and father tried their best to make an invisible thing visible. So when the girls were both still very small, their parents commissioned a spectacular garden, a wonder that people would come from miles and miles to see. Stretching the entire length of the house, this garden was like no garden that had ever existed or will ever exist again. "Half of the garden was filled entirely with white flowers of every kind--with pale, delicate bells of lily of the valley, spires of vanilla foxgloves with speckled throats, climbing moonflower vines, and bright-eyed anemones, from the tiniest white daisy to ivory dahlias the size of dinner plates. And--" "And it was called the Snow Garden," Snow interrupted. "And it was called the Snow Garden," repeated Rose with a sad smile. "And the other half bloomed only in red: vermilion poppies and scarlet pansies and wine-colored snapdragons and Japanese lanterns the color of fire. And dozens and dozens of roses, each with a hundred red petals . . ." Rose trailed off. She knew hearing the story made Snow happy; otherwise she wouldn't ask for it all the time. But for Rose, in the telling of it, she was left with a hollow that grew with each word. Rose knew her sister was the kind of person who wanted to see or hear or taste something she loved over and over again, to remind herself that it was real. Rose was another kind of person: she wanted to hold on to a thing she loved as tightly as she could. She wanted to keep it special and safe, for fear that it might get used up--or worse, that it might escape, like sand or sugar slipping between her fingers. "You know a lot of words for red ," Snow whispered. Her eyes were closed. "Now tell about the swans." Rose looked at her sister's face, a content pale moon in the dark. Rose breathed in and pulled the quilt to her chest. She continued the story dutifully, her voice as low as she could make it, so low it was barely there. "And in the center of the Snow Garden and the Rose Garden was a pond ringed with willows, and tracing circles on the water were two swans, one white with a dark golden beak, and the other coal black with a beak of the brightest red. "And this is where the girls were born, the place they grew up. This is where they had closets stuffed with dozens of beautiful dresses, where their porcelain dolls had so many lovely things to wear they needed closets of their own. This is where they had an extremely fat cat named Earl Grey, and where they had their lessons and acted out plays and had their tea. And when they played hide-and-seek, Snow would always hide in the sculpture garden and Rose would always hide in the library, so it wasn't even that good a game. . . ." Rose looked down to see if Snow was awake. Her sister's eyelids fluttered, but she didn't seem to notice that the story had stopped. Rose went on, her voice even softer than before, as quiet as a breath. "And at night, this is where they were tucked into big brass beds wrought with flowers and birds, and where their father would read them to sleep or tell them stories about magic lamps and dragons and faraway places. . . ." Gently, Rose climbed out of the warm covers and tucked them around Snow's shoulders. "As their mother put out the lights, their father would say, 'Go to sleep, my only Snow. Go to sleep, my only Rose.'" She made her way back to her own bed and snuffed out the candle. " The end ." Excerpted from Snow and Rose by Emily Winfield Martin All rights reserved by the original copyright owners. Excerpts are provided for display purposes only and may not be reproduced, reprinted or distributed without the written permission of the publisher.

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