A wicked fairy’s curse sends Sleeping Beauty to her bed for a century, or so the story goes. What if, instead, she chose to sleep? What if life is simply “waking up and enduring” over and over again? What if is it all too exhausting to keep pretending to be happy?
BookTuber Cindy Pham (Read With Cindy) takes this as the starting point for her debut novel, The Secret World of Briar Rose (First Ink, £9.99), in which Princess Amelia is “a pastel dream of a girl to soothe people’s ideas of what beauty should look like”, despite the “ugly, gnawing thing inside her” that makes her yearn for oblivion.
A hundred years after Amelia closes her eyes, the details of her life are regarded by most as myth rather than history. In a war-torn land, this fairy tale feels like a pretty fantasy but not something to be taken seriously – so when Corin arrives into Amelia’s dreamworld, or as she puts it, “some girl’s imagination fuelled by demon magic”, she is more than a little shocked to discover the old stories are real.
Haunted by the decisions she’s been forced to make, and trying to rescue her younger sister Elly from this strange realm, Corin has secrets of her own. The darkness within her is not quite the same as Amelia’s, but they are both caught up in grief and despair, and the unreality of the dreamland is safer than the ugly, flawed reality of “a world that’s not worth saving”.
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This is an appealing retelling; the magical system and world-building may be a little flimsier and more vibes-based than many fantasy devotees would prefer, but the reworking of the familiar structure lends to itself to a thoughtful exploration of both depression and bereavement, alongside quietly rejecting heteronormativity and (more clumsily, but still pleasingly) monarchical systems. Enjoy!
Wren James, moving into graphic novels after many bestselling prose works, similarly revisits familiar myths, but their question is, what happens after the so-called end of the story? What happens after the good guys have won? The Victors (Walker Books, £12.99), illustrated by Irish artist Beth Fuller, introduces us to Dirk Earnest, who “er, saved the world when I was fifteen. A couple of times. It was fine.”
His roommate at Earnest Victory University, renamed in honour of his “triumph against the demon overlord”, turns out to be Medusa – last seen across a battlefield. What does peacetime look like when sharing a space with your former nemesis? And what’s with all the birds?
This is a playful, clever take on familiar fantasy tropes, with student elections, social media and awkward moments as much a part of daily life as the aftermath of a huge magical war. The mix of the visual and verbal lends itself to establishing this part-magic, part-mundane world quickly; the more nuanced, emotional aspects of the fast-paced plot are well supported with the images. A rewarding read for both classics nerds and graphic novel fans.
And now on to books set in the real world, though one could certainly question if the booming sports romance genre quite falls into this category or if it is a particular variety of fantasy. (A deeply cynical person might note that dragons seem just about as unlikely as the number of sensitive, considerate male athletes one finds in this corner of the bookshop.)
Edward Schmidt’s debut The Open Era (Penguin, £9.99), pitched for older teens and up, invites us – as the title might suggest – into the world of pro tennis. Having dropped out of college to focus on sport, Austin Hardy is competing in his first Grand Slam, but all the media are interested in is that he’s the first openly gay man to do so. “I don’t want to make history,” he thinks. “I just want to play tennis. I just want to win.”
Alongside his discomfort at being viewed through only one lens, Austin struggles with anxiety: “no one deserves to be in my brain.” It’s not something he wants to talk about publicly – “I’m not saying it was an anxiety attack. I can’t be the gay guy with anxiety” – but lying about it doesn’t feel ideal either. And then there’s “world number two Diego Cruz” turning up at Austin’s door to hang out one evening, sparking a friendship that quickly blossoms into attraction (you may add your own “tonsil tennis” themed puns here).
The nods to reality – for example, the financial cost of elite sports – and the careful depiction of mental health issues ground this swoony, aspirational romance. It also does a terrific job of capturing the energy of tennis on the page, even for those among us reading for the feelings rather than the sportsing (I believe that is the technical term). An addictive, heartwarming, hopeful summer read.
If the world of men’s sports has not traditionally been kind to its queer participants, the land of musical theatre tends to be regarded as a safe space – though this can still be more nuanced than one might assume, as Tom Ramsay deftly explores in Showstopper (Firefly Press, £9.99).
Olly is big, loud, and unapologetically himself, but he’s being advised to tone down his campness in the final showcase – by a mentor who has learned that being openly gay in the industry can still impact your capacity to be cast in certain roles. Olly is faced with that classic artistic dilemma, idealism versus pragmatism, alongside a burgeoning relationship with Tarun, whose strict father doesn’t even know he’s attending a musical theatre course.
It’s musical theatre summer camp – I was primed to adore this book. There are some overly clunky and earnest moments, even allowing for the fact that these are theatre kids, and the villain of the piece is a little cartoonish, but overall it is a sweet and uplifting story about finding your tribe and following your dreams. Or, as Olly puts it: “Is that not what musical theatre is all about? Going on a journey, and finding a place to call home on either side of the rainbow?”
“How is it that girls can be as close as they like without anyone thinking they’re together, but when two boys show a semblance of care for each other they end up being shipped by an entire town?” In the quiet seaside town of Lombard, there is a public noticeboard that changes every week. The week school resumes, the board announces that Simo and Luca are in love – news to the two best friends, who very pointedly avoid talking about the fact that Luca is gay.
German writer Kai Spellmeier makes his English-language debut with Boy Friends (Bloomsbury, £8.99), narrated by both Luca, who is indeed in love with his best friend, and Simo, who refers to Luca as his “emotional support human” and “centre of gravity” but hasn’t quite copped on to his feelings yet. Family drama in the form of Luca’s wealthy, estranged grandparents moving to town helps propel the plot, and although there are a few frustrating moments throughout – a twist reveal that doesn’t quite land, a last-minute arrival too clearly signposting the sequel potential – the characters are immensely endearing. Cosy without being sickly-sweet; a warm hug of a book.
