Daughter of the Forest (Sevenwaters Series #1)

( 336 )

Overview

A beautiful retelling of the Celtic "Swans" myth, Daughter of the Forest is a mixture of history and fantasy, myth and magic, legend and love... To reclaim the lives of her brothers, Sorcha leaves the only safe place she has ever known and embarks on a journey filled with pain, loss and terror. When she is kidnapped by enemy forces and taken to a foreign land, it seems that there will be no way for Sorcha to break the spell that condemns all that she loves. But magic knows no boundaries, and sorcha will have to ...
See more details below
Paperback (Mass Market Paperback - First Edition)
$8.99
BN.com price

Pick Up In Store

Reserve and pick up in 60 minutes at your local store

Other sellers (Paperback)
  • All (83) from $1.99   
  • New (12) from $5.13   
  • Used (71) from $1.99   
Daughter of the Forest (Sevenwaters Series #1)

Available on NOOK devices and apps  
  • NOOK Devices
  • NOOK HD/HD+ Tablet
  • NOOK
  • NOOK Color
  • NOOK Tablet
  • Tablet/Phone
  • NOOK for Windows 8 Tablet
  • NOOK for iOS
  • NOOK for Android
  • NOOK Kids for iPad
  • PC/Mac
  • NOOK for Windows 8
  • NOOK for PC
  • NOOK for Mac
  • NOOK Study
  • NOOK for Web

Want a NOOK? Explore Now

NOOK Book (eBook - First Edition)
$8.99
BN.com price

Overview

A beautiful retelling of the Celtic "Swans" myth, Daughter of the Forest is a mixture of history and fantasy, myth and magic, legend and love... To reclaim the lives of her brothers, Sorcha leaves the only safe place she has ever known and embarks on a journey filled with pain, loss and terror. When she is kidnapped by enemy forces and taken to a foreign land, it seems that there will be no way for Sorcha to break the spell that condemns all that she loves. But magic knows no boundaries, and sorcha will have to choose between the live she has always known and a love that comes only once.
Read More Show Less

Editorial Reviews

Melinda Helfer
A simple beautiful storyteller, Ms. Marillier's debut novel brings a classic Celtic fairy tale to vibrant, glowing life with riveting prose and lyrical magic. Haunting in its intensity, this stunning reading experience will linger like the finest of wines.
Romantic Times
Publishers Weekly - Publisher's Weekly
This imaginative retelling of the Celtic Swans myth begins a promising new British romantic fantasy series. Six brothers have been turned into swans by their wicked stepmother. Only their sister, Sorcha, can save these sons of an Irish chieftain by weaving magical shirts that will turn them back into human beings. As she begins her task in the forest, she is raped and forced to flee. British nobleman Hugh of Harrowfield rescues her from the attacker while on a search for his missing brother, Simon, whose life Sorcha has saved earlier. Unfortunately, Sorcha can't reveal to Hugh her role in helping Simon, for she has had to take an oath of silence until she completes the shirts. When she marries Hugh, she assumes a new identity as "Jenny" so that she can return to England. Once there, however, she is thrust into a deadly power struggle among Hugh and his allies; his mother, Anne; and Hugh's wicked uncle, Richard of Northwoods--and she narrowly escapes being burned at the stake for witchcraft and treason. Though the novel features a stereotypically happy ending and leans more toward romance than fantasy, Marillier is a fine folklorist and a gifted narrator who has created a wholly appealing and powerful character in this daughter of the forest. (May) Copyright 2000 Cahners Business Information.|
KLIATT
Sorcha and her six brothers grow up happy in their secluded Irish haven, protected by the thick, mysterious forest that surrounds them and by their dead mother's blessing. But everything changes when their father brings home a witchy stepmother. Trying to protect their home and family, they run afoul of the witch, who casts a spell to turn the brothers into swans. The Lady of the Forest tells Sorcha she can save her brothers, but only by maintaining silence as she spins, weaves and sews shirts from the spiny starwort plant. When Sorcha is kidnapped and taken away to enemy territory, she finds herself in danger, unable to speak to defend herself... and in love, unable to speak her heart. This retelling of the beloved fairy tale is so well written it's hard to believe it is a first novel, and the reader will be glad to know that it is the first in a series about this family, both blessed and cursed by the Fairy Folk. KLIATT Codes: SA—Recommended for senior high school students, advanced students, and adults. 2000, Tor, 554p., Root
Library Journal
As the only daughter and youngest child of Lord Colum of Sevenwaters, Sorcha grows up protected and pampered by her six older brothers. When a sorceress's evil magic ensorcels Colum's sons, transforming them into swans, only Sorcha's efforts can break the curse. Marillier's first novel uses a familiar Celtic legend to tell the story of a young woman's sacrifice for the sake of those she loves and her own discovery of unexpected joy in the midst of sorrow. The author's keen understanding of Celtic paganism and early Irish Christianity adds texture to a rich and vibrant novel that belongs in most fantasy collections. Copyright 2000 Cahners Business Information.\
Kirkus Reviews
This, the first of a projected fantasy trilogy from newcomer Marillier, reworks and embroiders the fairy tale of the brothers who are transformed into swans by their evil stepmother; they can be returned to human form only by the agonizing labors of their young sister. In Ireland, patriarch Colum and his six sons and daughter Sorcha are beset by Britons in pursuit of an old blood feud. The brothers are variously gifted: Conor has druidic leanings, Cormack is the scholar, young Finbar has the Sight, etc. Then Colum's men capture a young Briton, Simon, from a raiding party, and torture him for the secrets he supposedly keeps; Conor and Finbar help him escape; and, later, Sorcha tends his injuries. Soon, however, the Lady Oonagh—clearly a witch—beguiles Colum and plots to drive the brothers and Sorcha away. They attempt to restrain Oonagh with magic, but Oonagh's too strong and transforms the brothers into swans. The Lady of the Forest tells Sorcha how she can free them—by hand-weaving each swan a shirt of barbs, and by keeping utter silence until the task is complete. In fleeing Oonagh's wrath, however, she falls in with a party of Britons looking for Simon. In distant England, meanwhile, Sorcha's mission seems more impossible than ever—and there'll be many complications before matters are resolved in traditional style.
From the Publisher
"Sorcha takes her place in the very front line of the strong, determined Irish heroines, from Queen Maeve to Molly Bloom and beyond!" -Bestselling Andrew M. Greeley, author of The Bishop and the Missing L Train

"Marillier is a fine folklorist and a gifted narrator who has created a wholly appealing and powerful character."—Publishers Weekly

"This novel will delight and astound. An exceptional debut fairy tale that mixes romance, legend, and magic."—Realms of Fantasy

Read More Show Less

Product Details

  • ISBN-13: 9780765343437
  • Publisher: Doherty, Tom Associates, LLC
  • Publication date: 2/18/2002
  • Series: Sevenwaters Series , #1
  • Format: Mass Market Paperback
  • Edition description: First Edition
  • Edition number: 1
  • Pages: 560
  • Sales rank: 107,463
  • Product dimensions: 4.28 (w) x 6.70 (h) x 1.24 (d)

Meet the Author

Juliet Marillier was born in Dunedin, New Zealand, a town with strong Scottish roots. She currently lives in a rural area of Western Australia, sharing her house with a cat and a dog. A university graduate in music and languages, she has had a varied career that includes working for government agencies, opera singing, and raising four children. Juliet now writes full time. Her lifelong interest in myth, legend, folklore and traditional music is a strong influence on both style and theme in her writing. A passion for early British history, reflecting her Celtic ancestry, is evident in her choice of settings.

Juliet Marillier achieved international recognition in 1999 with the publication of her award-winning novel Daughter of the Forest. This is the first book of the Sevenwaters Trilogy, a historical fantasy set in Ireland and Britain in the ninth century, and is loosely based on the traditional fairy tale, The Six Swans. The second book in the series, Son of the Shadows, won the 2000 Aurealis Award for best fantasy novel. Child of the Prophecy completes this trilogy.

Juliet Marillier's second series is based on the first Viking voyage from Norway to Orkney, and weaves history and folklore into a saga of adventure, romance and magic. The series is made up of two novels, Wolfskin and Foxmask. Juliet is currently working on a new trilogy set in the north of Britain in the time of the Picts.

Read More Show Less

Read an Excerpt



Chapter One

Three children lay on the rocks at the water's edge. A dark-haired little girl. Two boys, slightly older. This image is caught forever in my memory, like some fragile creature preserved in amber. Myself, my brothers. I remember the way the water rippled as I trailed my fingers across the shining surface.

    "Don't lean over so far, Sorcha," said Padriac. "You might fall in." He was a year older than me and made the most of what little authority that gave him. You could understand it, I suppose. After all, there were six brothers altogether, and five of them were older than he was.

    I ignored him, reaching down into the mysterious depths.

    "She might fall in, mightn't she, Finbar?"

    A long silence. As it stretched out, we both looked at Finbar, who lay on his back, full length on the warm rock. Not sleeping; his eyes reflected the open gray of the autumnal sky. His hair spread out on the rock in a wild black tangle. There was a hole in the sleeve of his jacket.

    "The swans are coming," said Finbar at last. He sat up slowly to rest his chin on raised knees. "They're coming tonight."

    Behind him, a breeze stirred the branches of oak and elm, ash and elder, and scattered a drift of leaves, gold and bronze and brown. The lake lay in a circle of tree-clothed hills, sheltered as if in a great chalice.

    "How can you know that?" queried Padriac. "How can you be so sure? It could be tomorrow, or the day after. Or they could go to some other place. You're always so sure."

    I don't remember Finbar answering, but later that day, as dusk was falling, he took me back to the lakeshore. In the half light over the water, we saw the swans come home. The last low traces of sun caught a white movement in the darkening sky. Then they were near enough for us to see the pattern of their flight, the orderly formation descending through the cool air as the light faded. The rush of wings, the vibration of the air. The final glide to the water, the silvery flashing as it parted to receive them. As they landed, the sound was like my name, over and over: Sorcha, Sorcha. My hand crept into Finbar's; we stood immobile until it was dark, and then my brother took me home.

    If you are lucky enough to grow up the way I did, you have plenty of good things to remember. And some that are not so good. One spring, looking for the tiny green frogs that appeared as soon as the first warmth was in the air, my brothers and I splashed knee deep in the stream, making enough noise between us to frighten any creature away. Three of my six brothers were there, Conor whistling some old tune; Cormack, who was his twin, creeping up behind to slip a handful of bog weed down his neck. The two of them rolling on the bank, wrestling and laughing. And Finbar. Finbar was further up the stream, quiet by a rock pool. He would not turn stones to seek frogs; waiting, he would charm them out by his silence.

    I had a fistful of wildflowers, violets, meadowsweet, and the little pink ones we called cuckoo flowers. Down near the water's edge was a new one with pretty star-shaped blooms of a delicate pale green, and leaves like gray feathers. I clambered nearer and reached out to pick one.

    "Sorcha! Don't touch that!" Finbar snapped.

    Startled, I looked up. Finbar never gave me orders. If it had been Liam, now, who was the eldest, or Diarmid, who was the next one, I might have expected it. Finbar was hurrying back toward me, frogs abandoned. But why should I take notice of him? He wasn't so very much older, and it was only a flower. I heard him saying, "Sorcha, don't—" as my small fingers plucked one of the soft-looking stems.

    The pain in my hand was like fire—a white-hot agony that made me screw up my face and howl as I blundered along the path, my flowers dropped heedless underfoot. Finbar stopped me none too gently, his hands on my shoulders arresting my wild progress.

    "Starwort," he said, taking a good look at my hand, which was swelling and turning an alarming shade of red. By this time my shrieks had brought the twins running. Cormack held onto me, since he was strong, and I was bawling and thrashing about with the pain. Conor tore off a strip from his grubby shirt. Finbar had found a pair of pointed twigs, and he began to pull out, delicately, one by one, the tiny needlelike spines the starwort plant had embedded in my soft flesh. I remember the pressure of Cormack's hands on my arms as I gulped for air between sobs, and I can still hear Conor talking, talking in a quiet voice as Finbar's long deft fingers went steadily about their task.

    "... and her name was Deirdre, Lady of the Forest, but nobody ever saw her, save late at night, if you went out along the paths under the birch trees, you might catch a glimpse of her tall figure in a cloak of midnight blue, and her long hair, wild and dark, floating out behind her, and her little crown of stars ..."

    When it was done, they bound up my hand with Conor's makeshift bandage and some crushed marigold petals, and by morning it was better. And never a word they said to my oldest brothers, when they came home, about what a foolish girl I'd been.

    From then on I knew what starwort was, and I began to teach myself about other plants that could hurt or heal. A child that grows up half-wild in the forest learns the secrets that grow there simply through common sense. Mushroom and toadstool. Lichen, moss, and creeper. Leaf, flower, root, and bark. Throughout the endless reaches of the forest, great oak, strong ash, and gentle birch sheltered a myriad of growing things. I learned where to find them, when to cut them, how to use them in salve, ointment, or infusion. But I was not content with that. I spoke with the old women of the cottages till they tired of me, and I studied what manuscripts I could find, and tried things out for myself. There was always more to learn; and there was no shortage of work to be done.

    When was the beginning? When my father met my mother, and lost his heart, and chose to wed for love? Or was it when I was born? I should have been the seventh son of a seventh son, but the goddess was playing tricks, and I was a girl. And after she gave birth to me, my mother died.

    It could not be said that my father gave way to his grief. He was too strong for that, but when he lost her, some light in him went out. It was all councils and power games, and dealing behind closed doors. That was all he saw, and all he cared about. So my brothers grew up running wild in the forest around the keep of Sevenwaters. Maybe I wasn't the seventh son of the old tales, the one who'd have magical powers and the luck of the Fair Folk, but I tagged along with the boys anyway, and they loved me and raised me as well as a bunch of boys could.

    Our home was named for the seven streams that flowed down the hillsides into the great, tree-circled lake. It was a remote, quiet, strange place, well guarded by silent men who slipped through the woodlands clothed in gray, and who kept their weapons sharp. My father took no chances. My father was Lord Colum of Sevenwaters, and his tuath was the most secure, and the most secret, this side of Tara. All respected him. Many feared him. Outside the forest, nowhere was really safe. Chieftain warred against chieftain, king against king. And there were the raiders from across the water. Christian houses of scholarship and contemplation were ransacked, their peaceful dwellers killed or put to flight. Sometimes, in desperation, the holy brothers took up arms themselves. The old faith went underground. The Norsemen made their claim on our shores, and at Dublin they set up a ship camp and began to winter over, so that no time of year was safe. Even I had seen their work, for there was a ruin at Killevy, where raiders had killed the holy women and destroyed their sanctuary. I only went there once. There was a shadow over that place. Walking among the tumbled stones, you could still hear the echo of their screaming.

    But my father was different. Lord Colum's authority was absolute. Within the ring of hills, blanketed by ancient forest, his borders were as close to secure as any man's might be in these troubled times. To those who did not respect it, who did not understand it, the forest was impenetrable. A man, or a troop of men, who did not know the way would become hopelessly lost there, prey to the sudden mists, the branching, deceptive paths, and to other, older things, things a Viking or a Briton could not hope to understand. The forest protected us. Our lands were safe from marauders, whether it be raiders from across the sea or neighbors intent on adding a few acres of grazing land or some fine cattle to their holdings. They held Sevenwaters in fear, and gave us a wide berth.

    But Father had little time for talk of the Norsemen or the Picts, for we had our own war. Our war was with the Britons. In particular it was with one family of Britons, known as Northwoods. This feud went back a long way. I did not concern myself with it greatly. I was a girl, after all, and anyway I had better things to do with my time. Besides, I had never seen a Briton, or a Norseman, or a Pict. They were less real to me than creatures from an old tale, dragons or giants.

    Father was away for much of the time, building alliances with neighbors, checking his outposts and guard towers, recruiting men. I preferred those times, when we could spend our days as we wished, exploring the forest, climbing the tall oaks, conducting expeditions over the lake, staying out all night if we wanted to. I learned where to find blackberries and hazelnuts and crab apples. I learned how to start a fire even if the wood was damp, and bake squash or onions in the coals. I could make a shelter out of bracken, and steer a raft in a straight course.

    I loved to be out-of-doors and feel the wind on my face. Still, I continued to teach myself the healer's art, for my heart told me this would be my true work. All of us could read, though Conor was by far the most skillful, and there were old manuscripts and scrolls tucked away on an upper floor of the stone fortress that was our home. These I devoured in my thirst for knowledge and thought it nothing unusual, for this was the only world I had known. I did not know that other girls of twelve were learning to do fine embroidery, and to plait one another's hair into intricate coronets, and to dance and sing. I did not understand that few could read, and that the books and scrolls that filled our quiet upstairs room were priceless treasure in a time of destruction and pillage. Nestled safe among its guardian trees, hidden from the world by forces older than time, our home was indeed a place apart.

    When my father was there, things were different. Not that he took much interest in us; his visits were short, and taken up with councils and meetings. But he would watch the boys practicing with sword or staff or throwing axe as they galloped and wheeled on horseback. You could never tell what Father was thinking, for his eyes gave nothing away. He was a man of solid build and stern appearance, and everything about him spoke of discipline. He dressed plainly; still, there was something about him that told you, instantly, that he was a leader. He wore his brown hair tied tightly back. Everywhere he went, from hall to courtyard, from sleeping quarters to stables, his two great wolfhounds padded silently behind him. That, I suppose, was his one indulgence. But even they had their purpose.

    Each time he came home, he went through the motions of greeting us all and checking our progress, as if we were some crop that might eventually be fit for harvest. We hated this ritual parade of family identity, though it became easier for the boys once they reached young manhood and Father began to see them as of some use to him. We would be called into the great hall, after we'd been quickly tidied up by whatever servant currently had the thankless task of overseeing us. Father would be seated in his great oak chair, his men around him at a respectful distance, the dogs at his feet, relaxed but watchful.

    He would call the boys forward one by one, greeting them kindly enough, starting with Liam and working gradually downward. He would question each of them briefly on his progress and activities since last time. This could take a while; after all, there were six of them, and me as well. Knowing nothing of any other form of parental guidance, I accepted this as the way things were done. If my brothers remembered a time when things were different, they didn't talk about it.

    The boys grew up quickly. By the time Liam was twelve, he was undergoing an intensive training in the arts of war, and spending less and less time with the rest of us in our joyous, undisciplined world. Not long after, Diarmid's particular skill with the spear earned him a place beside his brother, and all too soon both were riding out with Father's band of warriors. Cormack could scarcely wait for the day when he would be old enough to join seriously in these pursuits; the training all the boys received from our father's master-at-arms was not enough to satisfy his thirst to excel. Padriac, who was the youngest of the boys, had a talent with animals, and a gift for fixing things. He, too, learned to ride and to wield a sword, but more often than not you'd find him helping to deliver a calf or tending a prize bull gored by a rival.

    The rest of us were different. Conor was Cormack's twin, but he could scarce have been less like in temperament. Conor had always loved learning, and when he was quite little he had struck up a bargain with a Christian hermit who lived in a hillside cave above the southern lakeshore. My brother would bring Father Brien fresh fish and herbs from the garden, with maybe a loaf or two scrounged from the kitchens, and in return he was taught to read. I remember those times very clearly. There would be Conor, seated on a bench beside the hermit, deep in debate on some fine point of language or philosophy, and there in a corner would be Finbar and myself, cross-legged on the earthen floor, quiet as field mice. The three of us soaked up knowledge like little sponges, believing in our isolation that this was quite usual. We learned, for instance, the tongue of the Britons, a harsh, clipped sort of speech with no music in it. As we learned the language of our enemies, we were told their history.

    They had once been a people much like us, fierce, proud, rich in song and story, but their land was open and vulnerable, and had been overrun time after time, until their blood became mixed with that of Roman, and of Saxon, and when at last some semblance of peace had come about, the old race of that land was gone, and in its place a new people dwelt across the water. The holy father told us that much.

    Everyone had a story about the Britons. Recognizable by their light-colored hair, and their tall stature, and their lack of any decency whatever, they had begun the feud by laying hold of something so untouchable, so deeply sacred to our people, that the theft of it was like the heart had been torn out of us. That was the cause of our war. Little Island, Greater Island, and the Needle. Places of high mystery. Places of immense secrecy; the heart of the old faith. No Briton should ever have set foot on the islands. Nothing would be right until we drove them out. That was the way everybody told it.


It was plain that Conor was not destined for a warrior. My father, rich in sons, grudgingly accepted this. He could see, perhaps, that a scholar in the family might be of some use. There was always record keeping and accounts to be done and maps to be crafted, and my father's own scribe was getting on in years. Conor, therefore, found his place in the household and settled into it with content. His days were full, but he always had time for Finbar and me, and the three of us became close, linked by our thirst for knowledge and a deep, unspoken understanding.

    As for Padriac, he could turn his hand to anything, but his great love was to examine things and find out how they worked; he would ask questions till it drove you crazy. Padriac was the only one that could break through Father's guard; sometimes you'd catch the ghost of a smile on Colum's dour features when he looked at his youngest son. He didn't smile at me. Or at Finbar. Finbar said that was because we reminded Father of our mother, who had died. We were the two who inherited her curling, wild hair. I had her green eyes, and Finbar her gift of stillness. Besides, by being born, I had killed her. No wonder Father found it hard to look at me. But when he spoke to Finbar his eyes were like winter. There was one time in particular. It was not long before she came, and our lives changed forever. Finbar was fifteen; not yet a man, but most certainly no longer a child.

    Father had summoned us, and we were all assembled in the great hall. Finbar stood before Lord Colum's chair, back straight as a spear, waiting for the ritual inquisition. Liam and Diarmid were young men now, and so were spared this ordeal. But they were present on the sidelines, knowing that this reassured the rest of us.

    "Finbar. I have spoken to your instructors."

    Silence. Finbar's wide gray eyes appeared to look straight through Father's.

    "I'm told your skills are developing well. This pleases me." Despite these words of praise, Father's gaze was chill, his tone remote. Liam glanced at Diarmid and Diarmid grimaced back, as if to say, here it comes.

    "Your attitude, however, apparently leaves a great deal to be desired. I'm told that you have achieved these results without applying a great deal of effort or interest, and in particular, that you frequently absent yourself from training with no reason."

    Another pause. At this point it would most certainly have been a good idea to say something, just to avoid trouble; "yes, Father" would have been enough. Finbar's utter stillness was an insult in itself.

    "What's your explanation, boy? And none of your insolent looks, I want an answer!"

    Father leaned forward, his face close to Finbar's, and the expression on his face made me shiver and move nearer to Conor. It was a look to terrify a grown man. "You are of an age now to join your brothers at my side, at least while I remain here; and before long, in the field. But there's no place for dumb insolence on a campaign. A man must learn to obey without question. Well, speak up! How do you account for this behavior?"

    But Finbar wasn't going to answer. If I have nothing to say to you, I will not speak. I knew the words were in his mind. I clutched Conor's hand. We had seen Father's anger before. It would be foolish to invite it.

    "Father." Liam stepped forward diplomatically. "Perhaps—"

    "Enough!" Father commanded. "Your brother does not require you to speak for him. He has a tongue, and a mind of his own—let him use both."

    Finbar seemed perfectly composed. Outwardly, he looked quite calm. It was only I, who shared every breath he took, knew his every moment of pain or joy as if it were my own, that felt the tension in him and understood the courage it took for him to speak.

    "I will give you an answer," he said. His tone was quiet. "To learn to handle a horse, and to use sword and bow, that is worthy enough. I would use these skills to defend myself, or my sister, or to aid my brothers in time of peril. But you must spare me your campaigning, I will have none of it."

    My father was incredulous—too taken aback to be angry, yet, but his eyes became glacial. Whatever he had expected, it was not a confrontation of this kind. Liam opened his mouth to speak again, but Father silenced him with a savage look.

    "Tell us more," he invited politely, like a predator encouraging its meal into a honeyed trap. "Can you be so little aware of the threat to our lands, to the very fabric of our life here? You have been instructed on all these matters; you have seen my men return bloodied from battle, have seen the havoc these Britons wreak on lives and land. Your own brothers think it honorable work to fight alongside their father so the rest of you can enjoy peace and prosperity. They risk their lives to win back our precious Islands, torn from our people by this rabble, long years since. Have you so little faith in their judgment? Where have you learned this ill-conceived rubbish? Campaigning?"

    "From the evidence of my own eyes," said Finbar simply. "While you spend season after season pursuing this perceived enemy across land and sea, your villagers grow sick and die, and there is no master to turn to for help. The unscrupulous exploit the weak. Crops are ill tended, herd and flock neglected. The forest guards us. That is just as well, for you would otherwise have lost home and people to the Finnghaill long since."

    Father drew a deep breath. His men took a pace back. "Please go on," he said in a voice like death. "You are an expert on the subject of the Norsemen, I see."

    "Perhaps—" Liam said.

    "Silence!" It was a roar this time, stopping Liam almost before he got a word out. "This matter is between your brother and me. Out with it, boy! What other aspects of my stewardship have you found fault with, in your great wisdom? Don't stint, since you are so outspoken!"

    "Is that not enough?"

    I detected, at last, a touch of unsteadiness in Finbar's voice. He was after all still just a boy.

    "You value the pursuit of a distant enemy before keeping your own house in order. You speak of the Britons as if they were monsters. But are they not men like us?"

    "You can hardly dignify such a people with the title of men," said our father, stung to direct response at last. His voice was harsh with building anger. "They come with evil thoughts and barbarian ways to take what is rightfully ours. Would you see your sister subject to their savagery? Your home overrun by their filth? Your argument shows your ignorance of the facts, and the sorry gaps in your education. What price your fine philosophy when you stand with a naked sword in your hand, and your enemy before you poised to strike? Wake up, boy. There is a real world out there, and the Britons stand in it with the blood of our kinsmen on their hands. It is my duty, and yours, to seek vengeance, and to reclaim what is rightly ours."

    Finbar's steady gaze had never left Father's face.

    "I am not ignorant of these matters," he said, still quietly. "Pict and Viking, both have troubled our shores. They have left their mark on our spirits, though they could not destroy us. I acknowledge that. But the Britons, too, suffered the loss of lands and lives from these raids. We do not fully understand their purpose, in taking our islands, in maintaining this feud. We would be better, perhaps, to unite with them against our common enemies. But no: your strategy, like theirs, is to kill and maim without seeking for answers. In time, you will lose your sons as you lost your brothers, in blind pursuit of an ill-defined goal. To win this war, you must talk to your foe. Learn to understand him. If you shut him out, he will always outwit you. There is death and suffering and a long time of regret in your future, if you follow this path. Many will go with you, but I will not be among them."

    His words were strange; his tone chilled me. I knew he spoke the truth.

    "I will hear no more of this!" thundered Father, rising to his feet. "You speak like a fool, of matters you cannot comprehend. I shudder to think a son of mine could be so ill-informed, and so presumptuous. Liam!"

    "Yes, Father?"

    "I want this brother of yours equipped to ride with us when next we travel north. See to it. He expresses a wish to understand the enemy. Perhaps he will do so when he witnesses the shedding of blood at firsthand."

    "Yes, Father." Liam's expression and tone were well-schooled to neutrality. His glance at Finbar, though, was sympathetic. He simply made sure Father wasn't looking.

    "And now, where is my daughter?"

    Stepping forward reluctantly, I passed Finbar and brushed his hand with mine. His eyes were fierce in a face bleached of color. I stood before Father, torn with feelings I hardly understood. Wasn't a father meant to love his children? Didn't he know how much courage it had taken, for Finbar to speak out this way? Finbar saw things in a way the rest of us never could. Father should have known that, for people said our mother had possessed the same gift. If he'd bothered to take the time, he would have known. Finbar could see ahead, and offer warnings that were ignored at your own peril. It was a rare skill, dangerous and burdensome. Some called it the Sight.

    "Come forward, Sorcha."

    I was angry with Father. And yet, I wanted him to recognize me. I wanted his praise. Despite everything, I could not shut off the wish deep inside me. My brothers loved me. Why couldn't Father? That was what I was thinking as I looked up at him. From his viewpoint I must have been a pathetic little figure, skinny and untidy, my curls falling over my eyes in disarray.

    "Where are your shoes, child?" asked Father wearily. He was getting restless.

    "I need no shoes, Father," I said, hardly thinking. "My feet are tough, look," and I raised one narrow, grubby foot to show him. "No need for some creature to die so I can be shod." This argument had been used on my brothers till they tired of it and let me run barefoot if it suited me.

    "Which servant has charge of this child?" snapped Father testily. "She is no longer of an age to be let loose like some—some tinker's urchin. How old are you, Sorcha—nine, ten?"

    How could he not know? Didn't my birth coincide with his loss of all he held most dear in the world? For my mother had died on midwinter day, when I was not yet a day old, and folk said it was lucky for me Fat Janis, our kitchen woman, had a babe at the breast and milk enough for two, or I'd likely have died as well. It was a measure of Father's success in closing off that former life, perhaps, that he no longer counted every lonely night, every empty day, since she died.

    "I'll be thirteen on midwinter eve, Father," I said, standing up as tall as I could. Perhaps if he thought of me grown up enough, he would start to talk to me properly, the way he did to Liam and Diarmid. Or to look at me with that hint of a smile he sometimes turned on Padriac, who was closest to me in age. For an instant, his dark, deep-set eyes met mine, and I stared back with a wide green gaze that, had I but known it, was the image of my mother's.

    "Enough," he said abruptly, and his tone was dismissive. "Get these children out of here, there's work to be done."

    Turning his back on us, he was quickly engrossed in some great map they were rolling out on the oak table. Only Liam and Diarmid could expect to stay; they were men now, and privy to my father's strategies. For the rest of us, it was over. I stepped back out of the light.

    Why do I remember this so well? Perhaps his displeasure with what we were becoming made Father take the choice he did, and so bring about a series of events more terrible than any of us could have imagined. Certainly, he used our well-being as one of his excuses for bringing her to Sevenwaters. That there was no logic in this was beside the point—he must have known in his heart that Finbar and I were made of strong stuff, already shaped in mind and spirit, if not quite grown, and that expecting us to bend to another will was like trying to alter the course of the tide, or to stop the forest from growing. But he was influenced by forces he was unable to understand. My mother would have recognized them. I often wondered, later, how much she knew of our future. The Sight does not always show what a person wants to see, but maybe she had an idea as she bade her children farewell, what a strange and crooked path their feet would follow.

    As soon as Father dismissed us from the hall, Finbar was gone, a shadow disappearing up the stone steps to the tower. As I turned to follow, Liam winked at me. Fledgling warrior he might be, but he was my brother. And I got a grin from Diarmid, but he wiped his face clean of all expressions but respect as he turned back toward Father.

    Padriac would be away off outdoors; he had an injured owl in the stables that he was nursing back to health. It was amazing, he said, how much this task had taught him about the principles of flight. Conor was working with my father's scribe, helping with some calculations; we wouldn't be seeing much of him for a while. Cormack would be off to practice with the sword or the staff. I was alone when I padded up the stone steps on my bare feet and into the tower room. From here you could climb up further, onto a stretch of slate roof with a low battlement around it, probably not sufficient to arrest a good fall, but that never stopped us from going up there. It was a place for stories, for secrets; for being alone together in silence.

    He was, as I'd expected, sitting on the most precarious slope of the roof, knees drawn up, arms around them, his expression unreadable as he gazed out over the stone-walled pastures, the barns and byres and cottages, to the smoke gray and velvet green and misty blue of the forest. Not so far away the waters of the lake glinted silver. The breeze was quite chill, catching at my skirts as I came up the slates and settled myself down next to him. Finbar was utterly still. I did not need to look at him to read his mood, for I was tuned to this brother's mind like the bow to the string.

    We were quiet for a long time, as the wind tangled our hair, and a flock of gulls passed overhead, calling among themselves. Voices drifted up from time to time, and metal clashed on metal: Father's men at combat in the yard, and Cormack was among them. Father would be pleased with him.

    Slowly Finbar came back from the far reaches of the mind. His long fingers moved to wind themselves around a strand of his hair.

    "What do you know of the lands beyond the water, Sorcha?" he asked quite calmly.

    "Not much," I said, puzzled. "Liam says the maps don't show everything; there are places even he knows little about. Father says the Britons are to be feared."

    "He fears what he does not understand," said Finbar. "What about Father Brien and his kind? They came out of the east, by sea, and showed great courage in doing so. In time they were accepted here, and gave us much. Father does not seek to know his foes, or to make sense of what they want. He sees only the threat, the insult, and so he spends his whole life pursuing them, killing and maiming without question. And for what?"

    I thought about this for a while.

    "But you don't know them either," I ventured, logically enough. "And it's not just Father that thinks they're a danger. Liam said if the campaigns didn't go right up to the north, and to the very shore of the eastern sea, we'd be overrun one day and lose everything we have. Maybe not just the islands, but Sevenwaters as well. Then the old ways would be gone forever. That's what he says."

    "In a way that's true," said Finbar, surprising me. "But there are two sides to every fight. It starts from something small, a chance remark, a gesture made lightly. It grows from there. Both sides can be unjust. Both can be cruel."

    "How do you know?"

    Finbar did not reply. His mind was closely shuttered from mine; not for now the meeting of thoughts, the silent exchange of images that passed so often between us, far easier than speech. I thought for a while, but I could think of nothing to say. Finbar chewed the end of his hair, which he wore tied at the nape of the neck, and long. His dark curls, like mine, had a will of their own.

    "I think our mother left us something," he said eventually. "She left a small part of herself in each of us. It's just as well for them, for Liam and Diarmid, that they have that. It stops them from growing like him."

    I knew what he meant, without fully understanding his words.

    "Liam's a leader," Finbar went on, "like Father, but not quite like. Liam has balance. He knows how to weigh up a problem evenly. Men would die for him. One day they probably will. Diarmid's different. People would follow him to the ends of the earth, just for the fun of it."

    I thought about this; pictured Liam standing up for me against Father, Diarmid teaching me how to catch frogs, and to let them go.

    "Cormack's a warrior," I ventured. "But generous. Kind." There was the dog, after all. One of the wolfhounds had had a misalliance, and given birth to crossbred pups; Father would have had them all drowned, but Cormack rescued one and kept her, a skinny brindled thing he called Linn. His kindness was rewarded by the deep, unquestioning devotion only a faithful dog can give. "And then there's Padriac."

    Finbar leaned back against the slates and closed his eyes.

    "Padriac will go far," he said. "He'll go farther than any of us."

    "Conor's different," I observed, but I was unable to put that difference into words. There was something elusive about it.

    "Conor's a scholar," said Finbar. "We all love stories, but he treasures learning. Mother had some wonderful old tales, and riddles, and strange notions that she'd laugh over, so you never knew if she was serious or not. Conor got his love of ideas from her. Conor is—he is himself."

    "How can you remember all this?" I said, not sure if he was making it up for my benefit. "You were only three years old when she died. A baby."

    "I remember," said Finbar, and turned his head away. I wanted him to go on, for I was fascinated by talk of our mother, whom I had never known. But he had fallen silent again. It was getting late in the day; long tree shadows stretched their points across the grass far below us.

    The silence drew out again, so long I thought he might be asleep. wriggled my toes; it was getting cold. Maybe I did need shoes.

    "What about you, Finbar?" I hardly needed to ask. He was different. He was different from all of us. "What did she give you?"

    He turned and smiled at me, the curve of his wide mouth transforming his face completely.

    "Faith in myself," he said simply. "To do what's right, and not falter, no matter how hard it gets."

    "It was hard enough today," I said, thinking of Father's cold eyes, and the way they'd made Finbar look.

    It will be much harder in time. I could not tell if this thought came from my own mind, or my brother's. It sent a chill up my spine.

    Then he said aloud, "I want you to remember, Sorcha. Remember that I'll always be there for you, no matter what happens. It's important. Now come on, it's time we went back down."

(Continues...)

Read More Show Less

Table of Contents

Read More Show Less

Reading Group Guide

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Juliet Marillier was born in New Zealand and raised in the town of Dunedin, which is known as the “Edinburgh of the South,” which explains her love of Celtic mythology. Juliet holds advanced degrees in music and languages, and now lives just outside of Perth, in Western Australia, where she is the mother of two daughters and two sons. Her first book, Daughter of the Forest, was published in 2000 to overwhelming critical and public acclaim.

IN HER OWN WORDS

“Fantasy is escapist: sometimes we don’t much like the world we live in, so we bury ourselves in a genre which conjures a multitude of worlds. And fantasy can be a substitute: in an age of scientific rationalism and dwindling religious faith, it demonstrates clear moral codes; basic choices between good and evil, explorations of light and dark.

Still, that doesn’t explain the fascination tales of the unreal, the imagined, and the Otherworldly have held for folk since well before Spenser or Mallory set quill to paper. Celt and Norseman had their epics of magic and mystery, heroism and romance. The Dreaming stories of Australia’s indigenous people and the Icelandic sagas, the Maori creation myths and the lore of the druids hold universal themes; they make sense of the relationship between man and nature, between man and his own kind. They are our key to the world around us.

Once, we’d have heard these tales around the fire after nightfall. This shadow time was for listening and reflection, and though the world could be confusing, the tales helped explain it. Folk understood their symbolism as they understood the patterns of planting and reaping, storm and calm, birth and death. In the stories, the very pattern and purpose of existence were encapsulated.

Times change. The fantasies we read are now highly developed, cunningly crafted, drawing not on a single shared culture but on our multiplicity of backgrounds. Yet at their heart there are the same universal messages; their symbolism is that of our ancient folklore, a powerful code which we still crave, for all our apparent sophistication. Yes, they entertain and divert; we read them for fun. But in the best of them we recapture something almost lost; a map for our own journey forward.” —JULIET MARILLIER

ABOUT THE BOOK

It is no easy task to take a story as famous and oftrepeated as the Celtic myth of the Swan Brothers, and imbue it with a new and powerful vitality. And yet, Juliet Marillier has done just that with Daughter of the Forest. Her richly imagined world and haunting prose cast an irresistible spell over readers, drawing us deep into the mist-shrouded forests and along the wind-swept shores of the British Isles, back into a time of savage brutality and surprising beauty, when the Fair Folk played their arcane games and magic still walked the land.

In the ancient forests of Ireland, Lord Colum of Sevenwaters guards his family and his lands from the ravages of the invading Britons, unaware that his greatest peril lies much closer, hidden in the guise of a newfound love. That danger will become clear only too late, when his six proud, strong sons are magically transformed into swans, and only his youngest child, the girl called Sorcha, can release them from their enchantment.

The task Sorcha must first complete is long and arduous, however, and when she is ripped from her homeland and taken into the heart of the enemy’s territory by a Briton lord, it seems her challenge may prove too great. Yet, in this foreign place, Sorcha finds a new strength, an unexpected love, and a deeper understanding of herself and of her people’s place in an inevitably changing world.

Hailing the arrival of a fresh and utterly compelling new fantasy voice, Daughter of the Forest is just the first book in what is sure to become a beloved Celtic fantasy trilogy

Read More Show Less

Customer Reviews

Average Rating 5
( 336 )
Rating Distribution

5 Star

(281)

4 Star

(40)

3 Star

(7)

2 Star

(5)

1 Star

(3)

Your Rating:

Your Name: Create a Pen Name or

Barnes & Noble.com Review Rules

Our reader reviews allow you to share your comments on titles you liked, or didn't, with others. By submitting an online review, you are representing to Barnes & Noble.com that all information contained in your review is original and accurate in all respects, and that the submission of such content by you and the posting of such content by Barnes & Noble.com does not and will not violate the rights of any third party. Please follow the rules below to help ensure that your review can be posted.

Reviews by Our Customers Under the Age of 13

We highly value and respect everyone's opinion concerning the titles we offer. However, we cannot allow persons under the age of 13 to have accounts at BN.com or to post customer reviews. Please see our Terms of Use for more details.

What to exclude from your review:

Please do not write about reviews, commentary, or information posted on the product page. If you see any errors in the information on the product page, please send us an email.

Reviews should not contain any of the following:

  • - HTML tags, profanity, obscenities, vulgarities, or comments that defame anyone
  • - Time-sensitive information such as tour dates, signings, lectures, etc.
  • - Single-word reviews. Other people will read your review to discover why you liked or didn't like the title. Be descriptive.
  • - Comments focusing on the author or that may ruin the ending for others
  • - Phone numbers, addresses, URLs
  • - Pricing and availability information or alternative ordering information
  • - Advertisements or commercial solicitation

Reminder:

  • - By submitting a review, you grant to Barnes & Noble.com and its sublicensees the royalty-free, perpetual, irrevocable right and license to use the review in accordance with the Barnes & Noble.com Terms of Use.
  • - Barnes & Noble.com reserves the right not to post any review -- particularly those that do not follow the terms and conditions of these Rules. Barnes & Noble.com also reserves the right to remove any review at any time without notice.
  • - See Terms of Use for other conditions and disclaimers.
Search for Products You'd Like to Recommend

Recommend other products that relate to your review. Just search for them below and share!

Create a Pen Name

Your Pen Name is your unique identity on BN.com. It will appear on the reviews you write and other website activities. Your Pen Name cannot be edited, changed or deleted once submitted.

 
Your Pen Name can be any combination of alphanumeric characters (plus - and _), and must be at least two characters long.

Continue Anonymously
See All Sort by: Showing 1 – 20 of 337 Customer Reviews
  • Posted November 11, 2010

    more from this reviewer

    Part fairy tale, fantasy, and best of all, part timeless love story

    This book and it's sequels were first recommended to me by a girl I went to school with. We were on a school sanctioned field trip to Belize at the time. I bought the book soon after we returned home, but as close minded as this sounds, because it came from the fantasy section, I had many reservations about whether or not I'd be into the book or not. Plus, the girl who recommended them was very nice, but at the same time a bit eccentric and over all into completely different things than me. So the book sat on my shelf for a good 7 years, until one day this past year I entered my old room at my parents house, wiped away all the dust and took it home. To make an already long story short, I read it and fell in love. Yes it was a bit different than the books I usually read with fair folk and a soceress, but it contained the one thing that's always sure to please me, a realistic and beautiful love story! If you like books that have a love story, but just as importantly have a well written, unique and interesting story line to go with it, this book and it's sequels are for you!

    6 out of 6 people found this review helpful.

    Was this review helpful? Yes  No   Report this review
  • Posted March 14, 2010

    more from this reviewer

    Daughter of the Forest

    This is the first book that I've read by this author and I am completely hooked. The story is based on a fairy tale and the author takes it to a whole new level of story telling and writing. I enjoyed every page. There are books that you read and while you're reading them, you imagine that you are one of the characters and are going through every action and emotion that they are. While I enjoyed going through Sorcha's journey with her, it was difficult to imagine myself in her position. Not because it seems unlikely, but quite the opposite. She seems like such a strong person and were I in her shoes, I don't know if I would've been able to withstand everything that she has been through. I am looking forward to purchasing the second book in this series and having the journey continue.....

    4 out of 5 people found this review helpful.

    Was this review helpful? Yes  No   Report this review
  • Posted September 22, 2012

    more from this reviewer

    One of my favorite books

    I was a sophomore in high school the first time I read this book. That was 2002, and I have probably read this book once a year since then. At the time I read this book, it really impacted me, and i could not put it down. Still, even now, every time I re-read this book, I know that I will read the story with the fervor I read it with that very first time.

    The story is based off an old fairy tale, and I even remember a cartoon from several years ago that was a different interpretation of the same story, but for those who love re-imagined fairy-tales, celtic adventure, and have a penchant for the genres that re-visit the past, then this is the book for you.

    The content of the story is mature, and it is a little slow to start, but once the book picks up, it flies. As a military family, we moved a lot. The first time I read the book, it was a copy from my school library. The second time, I bought the book. The book was lost in a move. I bought it again. During our next move it was misplaced in a box that I still have not found. Long story short, I am sure that I have purchased this book at least 5 times for myself, and at least twice as a gift for a friend. After yet another move and search this summer, I gave in and purchased the eBook. Hopefully I cannot lose this version. I highly recommend the story, and hope that you love the book as much as I did.

    3 out of 3 people found this review helpful.

    Was this review helpful? Yes  No   Report this review
  • Posted April 22, 2011

    awesome

    this is such a great book. ms. marillier did such a great job with the characters i literally put the book down and stopped reading it for two months when i thought Sorcha was going to die in the end. i just finished reading it finally and let me tell you, you will not waste your money.

    2 out of 2 people found this review helpful.

    Was this review helpful? Yes  No   Report this review
  • Anonymous

    Posted October 1, 2012

    You'll "swan"t to read this book

    Pros:
    - A very rich and detailed fantasy world - The world and the characters in it were fleshed out beautifully. I fell in love with each of the narrator's seven brothers in turn and was invested in their story.
    - A relatively easy read - The fantasy elements were not extremely heavy, dealing mostly with Celtic lore, the Faey, druids and sorceresses to some extent. Most of the story however was very rateable and believable
    - A female narrator - I love to see a woman protagonist, one that is strong and good and saves the day. She existed outside the men in the story and while her main task was to "save" them, she maintained her own identity.
    -Length: I love a good long book, it makes me feel like I got my money's worth

    Cons:
    -Length: I felt as though the author dragged out several scenarios and scenes that did not need such a lengthy description and found myself skimming a page or two here and there
    -Ending: SEMI SPOILER ALERT - Since this book is the first of a trilogy the "big bad" is not apprehended at the end. I would rather have the story completed with an actual resolution, but that is a personal preference.

    Verdict: If you like fairy tales, female protagonists, Celtic lore and history mixed into your fantasy this book really is a no-brainer. You will NOT be disappointed.

    1 out of 2 people found this review helpful.

    Was this review helpful? Yes  No   Report this review
  • Anonymous

    Posted July 12, 2012

    Read it!

    This is the first book i read and enjoyed enough to continue the series. Marillier inspired me to read, literally! I fell in love with her mix of romance, strong female leads and of course the fairfolk and their queen. I count down the months til each of her new books is released.

    1 out of 1 people found this review helpful.

    Was this review helpful? Yes  No   Report this review
  • Anonymous

    Posted July 31, 2014

    Superb

    I bought this book to bide my time awaiting other books from several other series. I couldn't believe how much i enjoyed this. The characters are very easy to cling to. I'm not easily impressed, especially by love stories. I'm more a Steven Erikson, Brandon Sanderson kind of girl (a bit of a snob) this is the only one in the series i read so far, but i BLASTED right through it. Beautiful story. Beautifully written.

    Was this review helpful? Yes  No   Report this review
  • Anonymous

    Posted March 9, 2014

    Megs

    Walks in and sits down

    Was this review helpful? Yes  No   Report this review
  • Anonymous

    Posted January 7, 2014

    Best book

    One of the best books I have ever read! Right up there with the Harry Potter series and The Hobitt

    Was this review helpful? Yes  No   Report this review
  • Anonymous

    Posted September 17, 2013

    Amazing!

    I bought this book out of curiousity. At that time I wasn't reading much but this book caught my eye. When I got home I was hooked fast. I read as much as I could, as long as I could, until I was finished. I have been through maybe 6 copies because that book is always loved until it falls apart. I have it on my nook as well, but I always keep a copy that I can feel and actual pages to smell. This book shows feminine power, love and loyalty to family, and true love. This series helped me get back into reading and my 4 bookcase library with well over 100 books that I love getting lost in are with me because of the Sevenwaters beginning.

    Was this review helpful? Yes  No   Report this review
  • Anonymous

    Posted September 14, 2013

    Greywing

    Okay, everyone who is participating, post now. We can split up into two teams: yellow and red. 'Cos we're Sunclan, right? Anyway, put your team color in the headline after your name and after your post, since some can't read headlines. Now, the goal is to beat the other team in PAW-TO-PAW COMBAT. That essentially means that we shouldn't use powers, even if your character has them. ALSO, another thing: your character should get tired after a while, just like in real life. This doesn't have to be for every battle, but this is a mock-fight and l think we need some practice with paw-to-paw fighting. And NO CLAWS. This is a training exercise. We don't want injuries.

    0 out of 3 people found this review helpful.

    Was this review helpful? Yes  No   Report this review
  • Anonymous

    Posted September 14, 2013

    GVMS

    They padd in, Sailorkit ridin gher mother and flopped down tired. Grassythorn smiled. "Is this the right place?"

    0 out of 2 people found this review helpful.

    Was this review helpful? Yes  No   Report this review
  • Anonymous

    Posted September 11, 2013

    Snowpaw

    Gtg bbt .

    0 out of 2 people found this review helpful.

    Was this review helpful? Yes  No   Report this review
  • Anonymous

    Posted September 11, 2013

    Lightpaw

    Gtgtb. Bbas.

    0 out of 1 people found this review helpful.

    Was this review helpful? Yes  No   Report this review
  • Anonymous

    Posted September 7, 2013

    Hawkpaw

    ok

    0 out of 1 people found this review helpful.

    Was this review helpful? Yes  No   Report this review
  • Anonymous

    Posted September 1, 2013

    One of the best

    I love this series and all the author has written. She sucks you in from the beginning with well formed characters you can follow in the series and with just a dash of magic to make it fantasy.

    Was this review helpful? Yes  No   Report this review
  • Anonymous

    Posted August 6, 2013

    Favorite book of all time

    I've loved it since high school. Great romantic read

    Was this review helpful? Yes  No   Report this review
  • Anonymous

    Posted August 3, 2013

    Waterkit

    She dashed out of the bushes and cut the collar off before the electricity in it came back to life. She stepped back.

    Was this review helpful? Yes  No   Report this review
  • Anonymous

    Posted August 3, 2013

    Jaguarkit

    He jumped. "What the!!!!"

    Was this review helpful? Yes  No   Report this review
  • Anonymous

    Posted April 17, 2013

    Oh

    oh sorry! I didnt see that review.

    Was this review helpful? Yes  No   Report this review
See All Sort by: Showing 1 – 20 of 337 Customer Reviews

If you find inappropriate content, please report it to Barnes & Noble
Why is this product inappropriate?
Comments (optional)