The Orphan's Tales, Volume I: In the Night Garden

The Orphan's Tales, Volume I: In the Night Garden

by Catherynne M. Valente

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Product Details

ISBN-13: 9780553903102
Publisher: Random House Publishing Group
Publication date: 10/31/2006
Series: Orphan's Tales Series , #1
Sold by: Random House
Format: NOOK Book
Pages: 496
Sales rank: 266,696
File size: 9 MB

About the Author

Catherynne M. Valente was born in the Pacific Northwest, grew up in California, and now lives in Ohio with her two dogs.


From the Trade Paperback edition.

Read an Excerpt

The Tale of the Prince and the Goose


Now the prince stole into the night, the shadows wrapping around him like slippery river eels, and his footfalls were black and soundless on the pine needles. He journeyed through the Forest, stars flooding overhead as though they had burst through some gilded dam, having no particular plan except to get as far from the Palace as possible before the sun rose up and his father's hounds were set on his scent. The trees made a roof of many tiles over his head, a scented mosaic studded with blue clouds. For the first time in his young life, the Prince felt a fierce kind of happiness, rimmed with light.

As dawn swept up behind him like a clever thief, he rested against the trunk of a great baobab, leaning his head against the knotted wood. He breakfasted on cheese and dried meat he had stolen from the kitchens. The salt of the meat was more delicious than anything he had ever tasted, and he slept for a few hours under the sky which bloomed in the colors of wisteria and lilies.

Traveling on, it was not long before he came to a little hut in a pleasant meadow with a thatched roof and a well-made wooden door, round with solid brass studs. The chimney smoked cheerily, smelling of sage and cedar. Milling around the house was a flock of gray-feathered geese, circling like cirrus clouds, ethereal and wild. They were very fine animals and beautiful, squawking and ruffling their feathers under the curling eaves of camphor and fresh straw.

Now the Prince was young and resourceful, but not very wise, and he had taken only a little food from the kitchens and a few apples from the orchards. He had assumed that he could forage easily, for the whole world must be as fertile as his father's lands, and all trees must be as full of jeweled fruit, all animals as docile and savory, all peasants agreeable and generous. It was beginning to be clear that this might not be the case, and his stomach growled noisily. He resolved to replenish his pack before he went further. There were, after all, so many geese, and certainly whatever warm and festive creatures dwelt in that fine hut, they would not even notice if one of the long-necked animals disappeared.

The Prince had been trained to hunt and sneak from his earliest childhood, and he crept silently on well-muscled thighs from his hiding place. He stole behind a great plow and waited among the high summer grasses, searching for the right moment, controlling his breathing and slowing his hammering heart. The midmorning sun was hot on his neck. His hair crawled with sweat, trickling down into his collar, but he did not move at all until, finally, one of the lovely geese wandered away from the pack, peering around the blade of the plow and fixing him with wide black eyes. Her gaze was very strange, endless and deep as the autumn moon, pupilless and knowing.

But swift as a sleek wolf, the Prince escaped her gaze. He caught her slender neck in his hand and snapped it, the sound no louder than a twig caught underfoot. He rose from the dry grass and moved back towards the tree line, but the geese had noticed that one of their number was missing, and sent up a great alarm, terrible and piercing.

The door of the hut flew open and out stomped a fearful woman, a flurry of streaming gray hair and glinting axe blade. Her face was wide and flat, covered with horrible and arcane markings, great black tattoos and scars cutting across her features so that it was impossible to tell if she had once been beautiful. She wore a wide leather belt studded with silver, two long knives glittering at her hips. She screamed horribly and the sound of it shook the cypresses and the oaks, vibrating in the air like a shattered flute.

"What have you done? What have you done? Awful, awful boy!—Villain, demon!" She screeched again, higher and shriller than any owl, and the geese joined her, keening and wailing. Their howls gouged at the air, at the rich red earth, a sound both monstrous and alien, full of inhuman, bottomless grief. It dug at his ears like claws.

Finally, the woman quieted and simply shook her great head, weeping. The Prince stood, stunned, more chagrined over his lack of stealth than her rage. She was, after all, only a woman, and it was only a bird. She was dwarfish and no longer young, and he knew he had nothing to fear from her. He clutched the bird's corpse behind his back, hoping his broad chest and arms would hide it.

"I have only just stumbled upon your house, Lady. I meant no offense." The wretched woman loosed her awful scream again, and her eyes grew hideously large. He had not noticed their yellowish cast before, but it was certainly there now, feral and sickly.

"You lie, you lie! You have killed my goose, my beautiful bird, my child! She was mine and you broke her neck! My darling, my child!" She broke into bitter weeping. The Prince could not understand. He drew the goose's body from behind his back to hold it out to the crone.

But in his fist he held not a bird, but a radiant young woman, small and delicate as a crane poised in the water, long black hair like a coiled serpent winding around his hand, for he clutched her at the root of the braided mane. She was clothed in diaphanous rags which barely covered her shimmering limbs. And her long, smooth neck was neatly broken.

The tattooed woman ran at him, swinging her axe like a scythe through wheat, and he dropped the girl's body with a horrible thump onto the grass. When she reached him, she stopped short and breathed hard into his face, stinking of rotted plums and dark, secret mosses. She lifted her axe and cut off two fingers on the Prince's left hand, licking the spray of blood from her cracked lips. He could not run, the blow was so sudden and complete, but only cry out and clutch his maimed hand. He knew if he bolted from her he would lose much more than a finger. He promised the crone a thousand thousand kingdoms, the treasures of a hundred dragons, babbling oaths like a child. But she would have none of it, and slowly moved her free hand to one of the long knives.

"You have killed my child, my only daughter."

She laid her ponderous axe on the damp earth and drew, with one long, sinuous sigh, the bright-bladed knife from its sheath—



The girl paused, and looked into her companion's eyes, which were like deep marshes at sunset.

"Don't stop!" he choked. "Tell me! Did she kill him then and there?"

"It is night, boy. You must go in to dinner and I must make my bed among the cedar boughs. Each to our own."

The boy gaped, grasping frantically for a reason to stay and hear the fate of the wounded Prince. Hurriedly, he murmured, "Wait, wait. I will go to dinner, and steal food for us like the brave Prince Leander, and creep out under cover of night like a hawk on the hunt, and stay the night with you, here under the stars, which are bright as crane feathers in the sun. Then you can finish the story." He looked at her with a hope whose fierceness was brighter than any torch now lit at court.

She was quiet for a moment, head bowed like a temple postulant.

Finally, she nodded, without looking up.

"Very well."



In the Garden



As the last harp strings of crimson sighed into the silent westward darkness, the boy returned, clutching a handkerchief filled to bursting. He clambered into the little thicket and proudly laid out their feast. The girl sat as she had when he left her, still as one of the calm profiles of the garden statues. Her strange quiet unnerved him, frightened him. He could not hold her dark gaze, her wide, almond-shaped eyes ringed about with their strange markings.

Instead, he glanced awkwardly at the steaming food. On the little square of silk lay a glistening roasted dove, fat peaches and cold pears, a half loaf of buttery bread covered in jam, broiled turnips and potatoes, a lump of hard cheese, and several sugared violets whisked away from the table garnish. He drew from his pocket a flask of pale watered wine, the great prize of his kitchen adventures.

The girl made no move, did not reach for the dove or the pears. Her crow-feather hair wafted into her face, borne by the warm breeze, and all at once she began to shudder and weep. The boy did not know where to look, did not wish to shame her by witnessing her tears. He fixed his eyes on the shivering boughs of a distant cypress tree, and waited. By and by, the sniffling ceased, and he turned back to her.

Of course, he understood that she had never eaten so well in her life, as she had never been welcome at the palace dinners—he imagined that she had lived on the fruits and nuts of the garden, foraging like a beggar. But he could not understand why plenty would make someone weep. His hands were soft and scented with rose oil, and his hair gleamed. He had known nothing but the court and the peculiar adoration it bestowed on beautiful youths. But he was a child of nobility, and would not embarrass her with displays of compassion.

Wordlessly, she tore a wing off the coppery dove and delicately mouthed the meat. With a small, ornate silver knife hidden in the folds of her plain shift she sliced a pear in two. As she extended one pale green half to the boy, he wondered vaguely how she had come upon such a handsome knife. Certainly he had nothing so fine, and yet her dress, such as it was, was threadbare and her fingernails dirty. A thread of fragrant juice ran down her chin, and for the first time, the girl smiled, and it was like the moonrise over a mountain stream, the light caught in a stag's pale antlers, clear water running under the night sky. When she spoke again, the boy leaned forward eagerly, shoved his thick, dark hair back from his face, bit into a ripe peach and stuffed a bit of cheese into his mouth, mechanically, without noticing the taste. Her large eyes slid shut as she spoke, so that her eyelids and their mosaic covering seemed to float like black lilies in the paleness of her face.

"The wild woman drew her long knife from her belt and held it for a moment, almost playfully, at the Prince's smooth neck, a sliver of breath before the fatal cut . . ."



The Tale of the Prince and the Goose, Continued



"Let me live, lady," he whispered, "I beg you. I shall stay here and be your servant; I will take the place of the bird-maiden and remain loyal to you for all of my days. I will be yours. I am young and strong. Please."

He did not know what moved him to make such an offer, or if he meant to keep his promise, true as law. But the words ripped from him as though the woman had put her fist into his throat and seized them for her own.

Her eyes blazed like clouds filled with a thousand tiny seeds of lightning. But they held now a calculating gleam, and indeed, in another instant the knife had vanished from the Prince's throat.

"Even if I agree it will not save you," she hissed, her voice like a great toad singing at dawn. "But I will tell you the tale of my daughter and how she became winged. Then, perhaps, you will see what it is you offer, and we shall discover whether or not you prefer death."

But she did not speak. Instead, she tore a long strip of mottled fur from the collar of her tunic and bandaged his hand. Her touch was practiced and much softer than he expected, almost, though not quite, tender. From a pouch at her waist she drew some withered leaves, among which he thought he could recognize bay and juniper. She pressed them into his ruined stumps. Tightening the poultice, she examined her work and judged it fair.

"First, I am not blind. I can see that you are young and strong, and there is no doubt I can use up your youth and vigor like well water. This is not the question. Can you listen? Can you learn? Can you keep silent? I wonder. I believe you are a spoiled brat with no ears at all."

The Prince bent his head, penitent. Already his hand had stopped its thick throbbing, and he said nothing, judging that nothing was the best shield he could fashion against her. The crone sat against a large stone and rolled a few musky leaves between her gnarled fingers . . .



The Witch's Tale



I came from the northern tribes, the steppe-women with their shaggy horses and snow-clotted braids. I'm sure you've heard stories–we were monsters, we were unnatural, we deserved what we got.

Among the unnatural monsters, I was more monstrous and more unnatural than the rest. They called me Knife. When I was young and my strength was taut as a bowstring, I was the best rider of all the young girls. I had many necklaces of jasper and wolf-tooth, three fine hunting knives, a strong bow that I could draw into the shape of the full moon, a quiver full of arrows fletched in hawk feathers, and a wildcat hide from my first kill. All around me were the wild, honey-colored steppes, the fat deer we hunted, and the sleek, brown, fragrant horses I loved. They ran like ripples in a mountain lake. I ran alongside them, and rode astride them, and I slept against their flanks.

I was happy, the sun was high. I had enough.

My sisters were all older than I, my brothers away fighting on the borders of our country, and so I was free, and feral, and my smile was often too like a snarl. One day Grandmother Bent-Bow, whom everyone called Grandmother but who was truly mine, and had the ugliest face I knew, like beaten bark, called me to her under the new moon. She told me that she had found a man for me to marry. I loved my grandmother very much, but I did not care to be married. I was a muscle-knotted mare; I needed no mount to slow me down. But Grandmother's word was the closest thing to law we had. Monsters, you know, cannot appreciate the niceties of commandments carved in stone.


From the Trade Paperback edition.

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The Orphan's Tales, Volume I: In the Night Garden 4.5 out of 5 based on 0 ratings. 43 reviews.
BookishBlonde More than 1 year ago
A great collection of intertwining tales, haunting and well written. You might think that the stories within stories within stories might get confusing but they flow so well you don't lose the thread. When I was reading this every time I stopped [which was only when I HAD too!] lifting my eyes from the pages gave me the sensation of wakening from a mysterious and beautiful dream. The same was true of the second Orphan's Tales
KQS More than 1 year ago
This book and its sequel (In the Cities of Coin and Spice) are absolutely stunning fairy tales. The story is a "frame story," which is to say that the first level of the story is about an orphaned girl living wild in the Sultan's gardens who is befriended by one of the Sultan's many sons. The orphan has tattoos all around her eyes which are the tiny words of stories, which she begins to share with the prince. Each story leads to new characters who tell their own stories, leading ever-inward like layers of an onion, eventually finishing and closing again as though re-stacking Matryoshka dolls. Every so often I read a book that makes me feel drunk on the printed word. This book and its sequel are the literary equivalents of rich, Swiss chocolate - a very good year of Bordeaux - a newly discovered Renaissance masterpiece. These books light up the brain and the imagination with intoxicating vividness. One word of warning - like many original fairy tales, some of the stories are grim and gruesome. I cannot recommend these books for children younger than ten, unless a parent reads them first.
Guest More than 1 year ago
This book was incredible. If you love fairy tales and make believe and amazing characters (both human and not) and stories within stories, you've got to read this book.
Guest More than 1 year ago
I couldn't go to sleep it was so wonderful!! I just loved the way the stories weaved through each other and how they all connent. This was my 1st time ever reading a book written in that style like the Arabian Nights... 'which i must admit i never heard of before' but it was great!!!
Guest More than 1 year ago
This book is amazing!!! i could not put it down. And i cannot wait for the next installment!!
Guest More than 1 year ago
I have been restrained by my family from buying any more books, but I am sneaking out to buy this one for my very own. Poetic, romantic, violent, fantasy, so good that I was sorry when I finished it for I would never have the pleasure of reading it for the first time
harstan More than 1 year ago
The female has been shunned for her exotic mystical presence starting with her birth mark tattooed eyelids. The other nobles assume she is a demon or at least a demon¿s offspring, but the Sultan could not decide whether she is or is not. Though she is an innocent child, she is to be ignored while being ¿incarcerated¿ in a palace garden, a place she is not to leave. She survives on scraps and rotting fruit tossed at her. No one will talk with her for fear of being tainted by her demonic connection or worse by others at the court.------------ That is no one will speak with her except a curious brave boy who finds her fascinating especially as she begins telling him a fairy tale starring a Prince who killed a goose. However, her story is not finished when it is time for the lad to leave, but she is a Pied Piper as he returns and keeps coming back risking his place in the castle to hear more about magical quests.------------- Obviously an Arabian Nights derivative, IN THE NIGHT GARDEN holds up very well in comparison to the classic. The tales are delightful and the accompanying art illustrated by Michael Kaluta adds depth. Besides the storyteller¿s enraptured audience of one, people of all ages will appreciate the colorful vivid tales that the lonely girl spins.------------ Harriet Klausner
slothman on LibraryThing More than 1 year ago
An intricate collection of fairy tales presented in the tradition of the Arabian Nights. Valente nests the stories within each other, often many levels deep, and weaves several threads of plot through the various stories for a resolution at the end. She draws on many ideas from classical stories¿ some of the exotic creatures she depicts are right out of medieval bestiaries and even Pliny¿ in creating her own richly detailed world. The frequent jumps up and down the levels of story recursion make it easy to put the book down, and it only turns into a page-turner toward the end.
phranchk on LibraryThing More than 1 year ago
Valente certainly has a way about her words. I love her writing style. I really enjoyed the book but I have to say I found certain portions difficult to get through. Not because the writing was bad or even the stories weren't interesting. It was because of the fragmentation of the stories through the nesting. You'd get really into one story just to be ripped away into another. Sometimes by the time you got back to the main line you'd forgotten where you were. I enjoyed both the books, but I think I enjoyed the second set better. The set started off slow but once I got to a certain point I flew threw it. I'm debating picking up the sequel. While I loved the stories and her writing it certainly was a bit of work getting through the whole thing. On top of that it is a pure fairy tale, meaning you won't find much deeper meanings in this than you would in a traditional novel. So if you don't want to challenge your mind and want to live in a fantasy world for a little wild, this book is fantastic for that.
clfisha on LibraryThing More than 1 year ago
¿Stories are like prayers. It does not matter when you begin, or when you end, only that you bend a knee and say the words.¿ If it wasn't for the abrupt ending (there is a part 2) this book would get a perfect score. It's everything I require in a fairytale; beautifully written, clever, intelligent, heart-felt, amusing and modern. Using the device of Arabian Nights, we have a spinner of tales and one avid listener. A girl lives by her wits in the sultans garden, thought to be cursed because of the deep black marks around her eyes.. marks which are really multitudes of tales, imprinted until she speaks them.. The books is split into two parts, each one story but oh these stories are tales within tales within tales. So we travel with a naive prince who meets a witch who tells him a story when she rescued a monstrous princess who then tells the story of her fate and on and on in a delicious winding path, though one in which everything is connected, the story emerging like a intricate thousand piece jigsaw. The writing is beautiful but accessible, so for those who have tried Valente before and disliked it is worth another go. The characters are of course fantastic, fully realised and refreshing. The central mythology full of twisted tropes and rich invention: there are serpent gods, bears who becomemen, living ships, fox women and goose girls, gold wars between gryphons and monstrous elephants. It's exuberance is overwhelming. Ok maybe sometimes too overwhelming and if a story doesn¿t gel with you, it is sometimes frustrating but in the end I think worth it. Lovers of fantasy and fable, fans of playful post modernism I cannot recommend this enough, it is definitely worth a try. For those who prefer just a few characters to know and love and like a linear narrative I would avoid
weeksj10 on LibraryThing More than 1 year ago
My plan was to describe this book as a magically painted family of Russian nesting dolls... then I saw someone else had already described it that way, but I guess that just shows how accurate a description it is. It is a story, told through stories, within stories, voiced by storytellers. Along with the magical plot and enchanting characters, the language that Valente uses makes the story entirely unique. She writes each segment with the elegant air of a storyteller and has invented her own folk sayings and dialects in keeping with the folk origins of the tale. She has entirely reinvented the world to fit her pages.This book contains all the best from the classic fairytale worlds and crosses all folk traditions. Characters such as Baba Yaga, Cinderella, and even C.S. Lewis's dufflepuds have been edited and woven into this amazing book. Although it is January 2 I believe this will probably one of the best books I read this year... I've already started the next one.
ofstoneandice on LibraryThing More than 1 year ago
A GORGEOUSLY written Ouroboros.
ViciousJ on LibraryThing More than 1 year ago
For me, the similes started getting out of hand within the first 20 pages (and as I think about it, was more of a challenge engaging me than the effect of the multiple story-lines)... it's like, "I get it, you like to describe things... let's get the story moving!" In this regard, I almost wonder if this book could have been pared down quite a bit had some real editing been done - but that could be more on my distaste on that particular style of writing rather than poor reviewing of the editors.The Feminist angle actually bugged me a bit as well. Not for what it is, but that it just seemed a little over-the-top, like it was trying too hard to make a point regarding how evil and stupid men can be and occasionally because of this, I felt like the male characters were a little two-dimensional (when she wasn't blurring the lines of gender with the skin-swapping characters - which was actually a very cool device).Outside of those arguments though, I enjoyed the stories and would probably have kept a faster pace reading the book had there been more commitment to one story before stopping and starting another 2 or 3 tales before returning to back to the original one I found more interesting. Not coming back to the book after a while became a huge challenge because I would have to re-read the last chapter to remember just where I was and which character was telling the tale.The "adult" fairy tale was a great concept and was what really pushed me to finish. The first section was good, but the 2nd one I ended up enjoying much more and part of that was probably some of the copious background Valente introduced us to in the first section. She built a rich world with some very interesting characters and I frequently found myself forgetting about the original girl with the dark circles around her eyes telling said stories and getting engrossed in the stories of the others.And while I never thought of it, a friend suggested that the Leucrotta would be perfectly voiced by Stephen Fry... also one of my more favorite character within the story.
BobNolin on LibraryThing More than 1 year ago
Read the first half (book one). Second half lost me almost immediately, both my interest and comprehension. It's a difficult book to read, due to the nested stories. It's a neat idea in theory, but it disrupts the story flow. Would be better if each story was kept separate, and intact, IMO. Or rewrite the whole thing as a cohesive novel.
PamelaDLloyd on LibraryThing More than 1 year ago
I loved the ways in which the many stories in this unique novel were all strands in a woven tapestry. Or, perhaps it was a knitted tapestry, for there were stories, within stories, within stories, all linked. The blend of myth, fairytale, and legend, and the way the stories cross a world that feels at least as big as the one we live in, make this one of the richest novels I've read in a long time.
noneofthis on LibraryThing More than 1 year ago
I've had a habit lately of picking of books so complicated that they need to be read in one sitting or I lose the thread of narrative and then my enjoyment in the story. This wouldn't ordinarily be a problem, but I haven't had the headspace of late to sit like this. I either don't have the time on hand or I have the time but not the focus.I borrowed In the Night Garden from my library and returned half unread because the narrative was so complex and my time to read it was so fractured I could not appreciate it. It's like a novelist format of There Was an Old Lady Who Swallowed a Fly, an infinitely complicated framing structure, and unless I kept track of (1) who was telling what story, (2) which story that person belonged to, and (3) how those stories were related, I was entirely lost.What's worse is I think it¿s a really good book and that this construct and invent is fantastically interesting, but I felt like I had to put it down now so that I could enjoy it more fully at a more opportune time.
storyjunkie on LibraryThing More than 1 year ago
Nested tales in the tradition of 1,001 Nights are framed by a Sultan's palace, where one of the Sultan's sons dares to listen to the tales of an outcast "demon" girl who lives in the palace gardens. When I describe them as "nested", I mean it. One tale begins, a character in it has a tale of their own to tell, so that begins, and so on. I have yet to read witches done quite as well as Valente does here. Her witches are truly human, yet full forces of nature. The stories are also nested in the fact that characters reoccur, or their relations do. A very nice continuity drives the tales, with familiar or remembered characters appearing like treasure to the attentive reader, along with the promise that the girl's own story is something to hear. I found her situation, and interactions with the boy more interesting than many of the stories in the second half of the book. Which is to say: the girl becomes very interesting to me.Everything is very lush and sensual, from the plots to the language. Very enjoyable.
veevoxvoom on LibraryThing More than 1 year ago
A girl lives alone in a garden, stories tattooed to her eyelids. Shunned by the court, her only friend is a young prince, to whom she tells fantastic stories. This is the basic premise of The Orphan¿s Tales and it seems deceptively simple compared to the masterpiece that comes out. The bulk of the book are the stories told by the girl in the garden. There are two of them: the Book of the Steppe and the Book of the Sea, but each story devolves into dozens of smaller stories, with characters and mythology weaving in and out of them.I had forgotten how much I love words until I read this book. Reading it is like an exercise in the beautiful raw power of language. Catherynne Valente is a consummate storyteller and every one of her tales is bright, original, sensuous, and ruthless. When she describes a city of gold, you can see it sparkling in the distance. When she describes the smell of a tavern, your own nose crinkles. Her imagination seems inexhaustible, always able to throw out a new surprise just when you think nothing left will surprise you. There are elements of her stories that do seem familiar, like pieces of fairy tales and myths, but Valente takes them and makes them her own. Not only does she draw on European traditions, she traverses Middle Eastern culture, Asian culture, African culture. Her stories read like the original Grimm tales¿lovely and unflinching¿with a dash of the exotic borrowed from the Arabian Nights.I can¿t praise this book enough. It¿s wonderful. If you love stories, if you love language, if you love splendid mythos, pick up The Orphan¿s Tales.
kmaziarz on LibraryThing More than 1 year ago
In the Sultan¿s garden there lives a young girl, an orphan abandoned to her fate because of the dark, inky-black stains upon her eyelids. Thought to be a demon or a witch, she is shunned but not harmed. But one day, the curiosity of one of the Sultan¿s children gets the better of him, and the boy speaks to the orphan girl. She tells him that the dark stains on her eyelids are stories tattooed there in tiny letters, and offers to tell him one of her stories. He eagerly accepts, and is immediately caught up in the wonder and beauty of the tales she begins to tell.Such is the framework of ¿The Orphan¿s Tales,¿ a far-reaching work in two volumes. Each of the stories is multilayered and complex, with other stories nested inside each other, branching off in diverse directions as all the various characters provide their own histories. As the stories continue, however, strange and artful connections between them become apparent and they all tie suddenly together into a wonderfully cohesive whole. Borrowing heavily from the conventions of the fairy tale, these stories subvert those conventions and perform a subtle alchemy, creating dream-like gold from the mundane dross of familiar tales. Written in flowing, lyrical language, ¿The Orphan¿s Tales¿ is an absolute masterpiece.
VeronicaH. on LibraryThing More than 1 year ago
I came across this book via a recommendation by Kusheline Legacy author Jacqueline Carey. I am so glad I decided to try it! I have never read a book like this before. A bare bones plot summary would say that this is a riff on The 1,001 Nights. There are two central characters; one is a girl who has hundreds of stories imprinted on her eyelids, and is considered cursed by the rest of the palace. Because of this they are afraid to kill her and anger the spirit who cursed her. Instead, they leave her to fend for herself in the vast palace gardens. The other is a princeling who befriends her one night. To say that this is just a new take on the Arabian Nights is to deny the lyrical beauty of Valente's prose. Her words and images flow over each other to create a cascade of imagery and metaphor unlike anything I have ever read. Other reviewers have said that it becomes too much, that the narrative drown in its language, but I never felt that the prose was overwrought; it completely fit both the project and the unique cast of characters who give them voice. In this book, you will find many familiar tales told from a fresh perspective, as many of the tales seem based out of familiar European traditions. There is however a strong Eastern feel to the over-arching narrative, and this seems to come more to the forefront in the second volume. Valente never lets us get lost in too many layers of narrative, at most the stories run three layers deep at any given moment. I was honestly in awe of Valente's talent as a story-teller, let alone writer, and it is rare for this to happen with me (maybe I am too analytic; well, I am a grad student in English). I encourage you to let yourself be taken away by these stories, to let yourself be swept away by their beauty. This is pure enjoyment. I am excited to have discovered Catherynne Valente and already have several of her other books on my to-read shelf.
kalliope on LibraryThing More than 1 year ago
What a richly imagined and lushly described world! These are fairytales in the old-fashioned vein, complete with sadness, violence, hints of the grotesque, and lacking a sure-bet happily-ever-after. They are nothing like the Disneyfied fairytales most of us are familiar with today. (Nothing against Disney's fairytales, I loved them too.)

Since the story is told with a myriad of nested tales, it sometimes seemed easy to put the book down for a bit while I read other things, but whenever I picked it up again it was just as easy to fall back into (once I oriented myself to the story, that is, since the narrators can get several voices deep in the nested structure).

To be honest, I'm glad I took my time reading this instead of racing through it in my normal fashion. Valente's language is extravagant with metaphor and has the rhythm of an ancient tale, and it would have been a shame to miss any of it.
lisa_marli on LibraryThing More than 1 year ago
Darker than the first book and even more convoluted. It brings an interesting conclusion to all the stories within stories, and wraps it up without a large number of surprises. Provided you've been paying attention.
Rubbah on LibraryThing More than 1 year ago
This book was so good it is hard to describe how good it was. The many stories the girl with the tatooed eyes tells weave together expertly and sometimes so subtly you don't realise initially how they connect.It is, as the blurb describes it, a new arabian nights.
oldbookswine on LibraryThing More than 1 year ago
This is an excellent fairy tale and fantasy. I have waited for a long time for a book to read after reading all the fairy tale books in the library. This is Volume one of a trilogy
khelmsmith on LibraryThing More than 1 year ago
Fairy tales for grownups, one unfolding from the next. Valente really knows her witches. Tree imagery. Heading towards a reworking of that fundamental founding myth of Judeo-Christian culture, the one about the woman and the tree and the apple and the snake and that guy who blamed her for it all.