Book Review: Glass and Feathers

The world is far, far too much right now. The sadness and fear and overwhelm are all so oppressive, and the last thing I want in my choice of media entertainment is something to add to that feeling. It’s why I have almost exclusively read cosy fantasy books as of late. It’s why I decline to watch any shows or movies at home with too much violence or horror. Stories have been my safe space, my happy place.

When author Lissa Sloan sent me a copy of her forthcoming book, Glass and Feathers (out March 26th) to read, I eagerly anticipated starting it right after I finished my latest cosy read, Bookshops and Bonedust. I quickly discovered this was quite a different kind of story. The book opens on a certain glass-slippered princess who has married her prince and moved into the castle. Life is not a fairy tale, however. Her glass slippers, so admired by the court, are starting to cut into her feet, too tight. Her ladies in waiting are more like ladies in judgment, and everyone is scrutinizing to see where this country maid will inevitably disappoint. It is hard to see such a gentle person in such an antagonistic environment, but the truly hard part to read is our princess’ self-loathing. She fears that her husband only loves her because the glass slippers are a love spell she wished for. And she starts to self-harm.

This wasn’t the sort of story I was used to reading recently. Cinderella never went through the dark forest in her original fairy tale, but this was a dark forest of self-hatred and self-mistreatment, the years of abuse from her stepmother and family clearly having affected her belief in herself as anyone worthy of love or any sort of joy. Like her stepsisters, she continued to cut away at herself, trying to fit into a life that didn’t suit her. It wasn’t easy to read. It wasn’t a story about a coffee shop or a bookstore with a warm cup of tea. My heart was broken for her, and in many painful ways, her self-loathing sounded all too familiar. But I kept reading.

And I’m so glad I did.

A third of the way through the book, the story shifts. And I slowly started to realize that this wasn’t just a simple comfort read: it was something deeper. It was a dark night of the soul, and the journey to healing. It was a metaphor for mending the broken parts of ourselves that cannot be fixed through fairy godmothers or sudden meetings with princes. It was the kind of story I’d forgotten was worth reading the hard parts for: the ones that teach lessons, the ones that make us feel raw things. My heart awakened again to all the things that stories can give us. Instead of anesthetizing me to the pain, this one took me through it and showed me you can come out on the other side. I remain grateful for the books that are a wholesome and safe retreat from the world, but some stories have teeth. Some stories have glass slipper shards that cut our feet and leave us bleeding. But afterward, we look at the scars and we see that we have healed, and not only that, that we are stronger because we fought for it.

I highly recommend Glass and Feathers.