An earnest tribute to immortal characters that doesn’t quite offer enough novelty.
Two of Jane Austen’s supporting characters tell their own stories in McVeigh’s latest novelistic homage.
In Austen’s classic 1815 novel, Emma, the eponymous Emma Woodhouse provides obstacles to her own happiness as she turns her attention solely to those around her. Harriet Smith, Emma’s penniless friend, becomes her unrefined protégé, and village neighbor Jane Fairfax comes off as an aloof object of envy amid Emma’s romantic scheming. In this new novel, McVeigh, whose previous work, Susan: A Jane Austen Prequel(2021), also delved into Austen’s literary canon, attempts to fill in what Harriet and Jane are thinking as Emma deals with the many consequences of her own actions. Their first-person accounts alternate every few chapters, staying on the fringes of Emma’s well-known story and imbue Harriet with a compelling self-awareness; she displays a cunning desire to rise above her station, using the expectations of others against them to befriend Emma and those in her circle: “I believed there to be a vacancy—not for another governess, but for someone youthful and doe-eyed, submissive and easily led, to give the young mistress of Hartfield an object. And though supremely unqualified for the post…I had faith in my powers to appear so.” Jane is not shaded as deeply as a character, but she shows a vulnerability while navigating various suitors’ affections and keeping her engagement to Frank Churchill secret.
McVeigh deviates from the source material by interpolating characters from other Austen novels and changing Harriet’s parentage, and purist fans may object to such alterations. Over the course of the work, the two girls’ stories occasionally intertwine, and the pair appear to have much in common; both are outsiders in the Highbury community by birth and class, for example. However, one may wonder what might have happened if they’d ever had a conversation about Emma rather than with her. Whenever the characters adhere to Austen’s plot points, Emma’s plotline simply becomes a distraction. Harriet’s protracted naïveté and obsession with rising from her station and Jane’s clandestine and imperfect love with Frank allow for some of McVeigh’s strongest prose: “I could not deny the ache in my heart when I remembered Frank’s kisses on the bridlepath—that terrifying temptation to yield—my breaking away—and the desolation I felt, on turning around, to find that he had gone,” reflects Jane at one point. That said, although the setting and tone are certainly era-appropriate, the expansive cast of supporting characters has a tendency to muddle some of the bigger scenes. Harriet is the stronger of the two main players here and exploits the potential for creative liberties; indeed, some readers may feel that she could have led this novel alone, allowing McVeigh to more deeply explore her origins and her ambitions for a life in which she has agency. Jane’s romantic encounters with Frank are sweet respites from all the gossip and social maneuvering, but they do little to make her more dynamic.
An earnest tribute to immortal characters that doesn’t quite offer enough novelty.Pub Date: Feb. 3, 2022
ISBN: 978-1-916882-33-1
Page Count: 332
Publisher: Warleigh Hall Press
Review Posted Online: June 1, 2022
Review Program: Kirkus Indie
Fans of Stockett’s bestselling debut will love this engaging follow-up.
Stockett heads to Mississippi for another historical novel about feisty women.
This time, perhaps recalling criticisms of cultural appropriation in The Help (2009), she sticks to feisty white women, with one exception. The setting is Oxford in 1933. For two miserable years, 11-year-old Meg has lived in “the Orphan,” a county asylum for parentless girls. Chairlady Garnett—a villain so one-note she’d twirl a mustache if she had one—makes it her mission to ostracize the older girls she deems unadoptable, stigmatizing them as offspring of the “feebleminded” mothers who abandoned them. She particularly has it in for smart, sassy Meg, who refuses to believe her mother’s mysterious disappearance was deliberate. Elsewhere in Oxford, Birdie Calhoun comes to visit her sister Frances, who married a wealthy banker, to ask for money on behalf of their mother and grandmother back in Footely. Frances isn’t thrilled by this reminder of her impoverished small-town origins. But she’s trying to climb up in Oxford society by volunteering at the Orphan, the asylum’s books need to be done before the state inspector shows up in a few weeks, and Birdie is a bookkeeper. Having neatly arranged to keep Birdie in town and draw these two storylines together, Stockett goes on to spin a compulsively readable yarn with enough plot for a half-dozen novels. Birdie and Meg become friends, Meg is adopted despite Garnett’s best efforts, Meg’s mother turns up at the Orphan demanding to know where her child is—and that’s less than a quarter of the way through a long, winding narrative that keeps piling on more dramatic developments until all loose ends are neatly, if hastily, wrapped up in the final pages. Stockett might be making a point about Southern women facing facts and standing up for themselves, but mostly this is just a satisfyingly twisty tale that should make a great miniseries.
Fans of Stockett’s bestselling debut will love this engaging follow-up.Pub Date: May 5, 2026
ISBN: 9781954118812
Page Count: 656
Publisher: Spiegel & Grau
Review Posted Online: Feb. 2, 2026
Kirkus Reviews Issue: March 1, 2026
BOOK REVIEW
Miller makes Homer pertinent to women facing 21st-century monsters.
A retelling of ancient Greek lore gives exhilarating voice to a witch.
“Monsters are a boon for gods. Imagine all the prayers.” So says Circe, a sly, petulant, and finally commanding voice that narrates the entirety of Miller’s dazzling second novel. The writer returns to Homer, the wellspring that led her to an Orange Prize for The Song of Achilles (2012). This time, she dips into The Odyssey for the legend of Circe, a nymph who turns Odysseus’ crew of men into pigs. The novel, with its distinctive feminist tang, starts with the sentence: “When I was born, the name for what I was did not exist.” Readers will relish following the puzzle of this unpromising daughter of the sun god Helios and his wife, Perse, who had negligible use for their child. It takes banishment to the island Aeaea for Circe to sense her calling as a sorceress: “I will not be like a bird bred in a cage, I thought, too dull to fly even when the door stands open. I stepped into those woods and my life began.” This lonely, scorned figure learns herbs and potions, surrounds herself with lions, and, in a heart-stopping chapter, outwits the monster Scylla to propel Daedalus and his boat to safety. She makes lovers of Hermes and then two mortal men. She midwifes the birth of the Minotaur on Crete and performs her own C-section. And as she grows in power, she muses that “not even Odysseus could talk his way past [her] witchcraft. He had talked his way past the witch instead.” Circe’s fascination with mortals becomes the book’s marrow and delivers its thrilling ending. All the while, the supernatural sits intriguingly alongside “the tonic of ordinary things.” A few passages coil toward melodrama, and one inelegant line after a rape seems jarringly modern, but the spell holds fast. Expect Miller’s readership to mushroom like one of Circe’s spells.
Miller makes Homer pertinent to women facing 21st-century monsters.Pub Date: April 10, 2018
ISBN: 978-0-316-55634-7
Page Count: 400
Publisher: Little, Brown
Review Posted Online: Jan. 22, 2018
Kirkus Reviews Issue: Feb. 1, 2018
PROFILES
© Copyright 2026 Kirkus Media LLC. All Rights Reserved.
Follow
Popular in this Genre
We can’t wait for you to join Kirkus!
It’s free and takes less than 10 seconds!
Already have an account? Log in.
OR
Sign in with GoogleTrouble signing in? Retrieve credentials.
Welcome Back!
OR
Sign in with GoogleTrouble signing in? Retrieve credentials.
