My
Ten Favorite Excerpts from Twisted
In
chronological order
- Maeve’s advice to Aoife about a woman’s future: “Aoife, no matter what choice you make – your husband’s house, my house, or the nunnery – you are exchanging control over your body for money. Of that you can be sure.”
- After Aoife refuses Ronan’s directive and instead gives orders to his landsman, Ronan says: “A young lady who roams the woods and local brothel of Stanishire unaccompanied and who may possibly be able to manage the affairs of my estate as well as a man. Perhaps I have finally met my match.”
- After Aoife has an altercation with the Duke involving an ax, the little man intervenes to protect Aoife and says:
“When
I saw you grip that ax I knew…”
The
room fell silent. Aoife leaned forward.
“You
knew what?”
“I
knew that if someone had to kill him, I didn’t want it to be you. I
need to know that there is one person in this world who is pure and
unsullied.”
- While the little man spins gold for Aoife, he casts a spell that puts her to sleep and says: “Sleep tight while this world is bent and turned upside down – or right side up. And when you awaken you will stand amazed and thank the heavens for the miracle that has rescued you. But as the minutes turn to hours and then days, you will dismiss this event as strange and unusual, but ultimately something to put on a shelf while you continue on with your life as if everything that you have known of the world is exactly as you have always thought it was before this nameless little man appeared. Or will you prove yourself able to wake from the nightmare of this existence? Will you see the walls of this world as flimsy, arbitrary and breakable? Will you see behind it to the Truth? Will you have the power to see the real me underneath this broken frame?”
- Aoife tries to look past the little man’s physical deformities.
She
gently took hold of his hood and lifted it off his head. He turned
and hid his face from her. The murky eyes and the sagging flesh
looked as ghoulish as she remembered, yet less frightening without
the element of surprise. She cupped her right hand under his chin and
gently turned his face toward her, noting that he was less than a
head shorter than she was. He obeyed, but curled his lip. She held
his gaze steady. His growl was like a wounded animal, fighting the
hand trying to offer healing. She cupped his face with both hands.
She felt the thick folds of his flesh and the uneven stubble of hair.
His gnarled lips looked more like a protective shield than a threat.
And his eyes. Their hazy film and the heavy fog upon them seemed like
a painful curse of birth, not a reflection of his soul.
- The little man begins to fear that Aoife will betray him and says to her, “I should have let you drown all those years ago. None of this will end well. I feel it.”
- The little man takes Aoife to his cottage.
Without
warning he swung his cape over her body and a current of air blew
over her with the force of a March wind, but the temperature of a
summer breeze. Darkness shrouded her for a moment before the sparkle
of the stars burst forth in the sky all around her. She was riding
the night wind high in the atmosphere, the world below her far away,
her drama a mere speck on the map. Her arms stretched out wide like
the wings of a bird and she felt his arms extended below them,
buoying them up and guiding her flight. Her heart and her arms opened
wide to the universe with an unparalleled sense of freedom. Up she
flew, faster than any creature on earth, until she thought her heart
would burst and then down they dove until they reached the edge of
the forest.
- The little man shows Aoife how he saves memories inside jewels.
He
put one hand out with his palm facing upwards like an offering.
Closing his eyes he laid his other palm on top and began to move it
in slow circles. His hands began to circle faster until a spark of
light caught like a candle. As its glow spread and grew into a bright
golden light, his hands separated and in a flash of light there stood
a brilliant, sapphire colored stone. The room was filled with a
momentary burst of light and then the magic of the moment collapsed
inward into the stone in his hand.
- Aoife looks at herself in the mirror as she gets ready for her wedding she is coerced into.
The
opalescent pearls and the sparkling emerald that hung around the
woman’s throat housed more life than her empty eyes and mouth. Her
cool, ivory skin looked as frozen and immovable as marble. Aoife
thought she looked like a drowned mermaid ripped from the water’s
current and propped up like a fisherman’s trophy. She stood with
arms outstretched on her pedestal for all to admire and gaze upon,
the lifelessness of her body an irrelevant and inconsequential
footnote.
- After Aoife receives marital advice from her mother and Maeve, Aoife notes:
How
similar was the training of wives and whores.
I
don’t want to give any more, because I’d like to leave some
surprises for my readers!
***
Twisted:
The Girl Who Uncovered Rumpelstiltskin’s Name
Bonnie
M Hennessy
Genre:
YA Fantasy
Date
of Publication: November 19, 2016
ISBN13:
978-1539753421
ISBN-10:
1539753425
ASIN:
B01N3MC1K4
Number
of pages: 306
Word
Count: 75,000
Cover
Artist: Andreea Vraciu
Book
Description:
An
old tale tells the story of how a little man named Rumpelstiltskin
spun straw into gold and tricked a desperate girl into trading away
her baby. But that’s not exactly how it happened.
The
real story began with a drunken father who kept throwing money away
on alcohol and women, while his daughter, Aoife, ran the family farm
on her own. When he gambled away everything they owned to the Duke,
it was up to her to spin straw into gold to win it all back.
With
her wits and the help of a magical guardian, she outsmarted the Duke
and saved the day.
Well
almost…
Her
guardian suddenly turned on Aoife and sent her on a quest to find his
name, the clues to which were hidden deep in the woods, a moldy
dungeon, and a dead woman’s chamber.
This
is not the tale of a damsel in distress, but a tenacious, young woman
who solved a mystery so great that not even the enchanted man who
spun straw into gold could figure it out.
Not
until Aoife came along.
Book Trailer:
https://youtu.be/3SDfW7PY3wY
Chapter
1 Excerpt
The morning mist had
almost lifted in the village of Stanishire, the farmers and fishermen
were readying the market, women were shouting chores to sleepy
children, and Aoife was on her way to collect her father from the
town brothel, where the painted ladies entertained men’s nocturnal
needs.
When she reached the
main street, she dismounted and tied her horse to a hitching post.
She walked around the corner of the brothel where no one could see
her, adjusted her skirt, and ran her fingers through her hair.
Practice had taught her how to jiggle the finicky latch so its
reluctant grip released and granted her entrance. The back hallway
was dark and quiet. Maggie, the young girl who helped cook and clean,
was opening windows to release the sweat and perfume-laced air.
Broken glass littered the floor, and cards from unfinished games lay
scattered on tables.
“Maggie,” Aoife
whispered.
Maggie turned into
the dust motes in a sliver of daylight. Over the years, Aoife had
learned to call her gently and not to sneak up on her lest she
startle the young girl as she had done the first time they met here
when Aoife was eleven and Maggie just nine.
“Eeeeef-uh!”
Maggie’s eyes lit up as she called Aoife’s name. She had always
over-enunciated each syllable in what sounded like a sigh of relief.
She took hold of
Aoife’s hand, pulling her around the corner and into the kitchen,
one of the only places in the residence that passed for a respectable
room.
“Wait here,”
Maggie said, kissing Aoife on the cheek. “I’ll be right back.”
Aoife looked around
at the pots hanging on the wall that Maggie kept so shiny. A rolling
pin on the counter was coated with flour and the smell of bread
baking in the oven filled the dimly lit room. In the corner was
Maggie’s chair with a basket of women’s stockings waiting to be
darned. Aoife turned her back to the parlor door and everything that
happened there, pretending her visits with Maggie by the fire were no
different than a visit with any other village girl. The sight of
Maggie humming as she patched up stockings always made Aoife think of
her younger sister, Tara, lying under her heavy blankets, sewing away
at some pattern their mother had her working on. Aoife felt that Tara
and Maggie would have enjoyed chatting over their sewing, if only
Tara were not stuck in bed with a perpetual cough and Maggie the
progeny of a brothel.
“Aoife. You look
quite bright and alive considering the early hour.”
Aoife jumped as
Maeve strolled over and pulled a leaf from Aoife’s hair.
“I see you’ve
been busy with your studies,” Maeve added.
Aoife touched her
hair, searching for more debris. Maeve’s dressing gown exposed her
cleavage and her long, dark curls draped over her bare shoulders
without apology. Aoife had seen her dressed, powdered, and painted
since she was a girl, and she admired the way her gaze, so piercing,
seemed to command respect from everyone. But what had captivated
Aoife the most was something more powerful and more impressive than
Maeve’s beauty. Although crow’s feet now punctuated her eyes, and
her waistline had thickened, the most powerful men deferred to her,
bowing their heads in her direction when she traveled through the
streets.
“I couldn’t
resist the path through the woods,” Aoife replied, knowing she
could hide nothing from her.
Maeve stared at her.
The affection in her appraisal was always slightly distant, stopping
just short of motherly.
“Seamus is taking
care of things,” Maeve said with her usual calm.
Aoife nodded and
looked again at the shiny pots, trying to focus on anything but
Seamus’ highly embarrassing ritual of waking her father, the fairly
infamous Finnegan, from wherever he had ended his evening and
saddling him on his horse. Maggie pulled a loaf of steaming bread
from the oven and set out plates, knives, and a bowl of fresh butter.
Each of them took their place around the table as Maggie generously
portioned out the bread. Maeve let her shawl fall over the back of
her chair and straightened up her shoulders, exposing even more of
herself. Aoife flushed and bit quietly into her bread, savoring the
flavor and the moment.
There was an honesty
and warmth in this kitchen that she never felt in the presence of her
own mother. Conversation and warm bread was what made coming to get
her father for all these years worth the lashings she used to receive
from her mother when she returned home.
“I hear that your
latest suitor was seen heading out of town yesterday,” Maeve said.
“I gather his hasty departure means that there will be no
nuptials?”
Aoife shook her head
and cast a quick smile at Maggie.
“I can’t imagine
why you didn’t want to marry that one,” Maeve said. “Lots of
gold, a manor house to the east with more land than you and your
horse could ever discover, and handsome, too. What more could a girl
want than a man with piles of gold and a good set of teeth?”
“A man who is
blind and deaf and preferably feeble – with deep pockets, of
course. Then I can live my life in peace and never have to worry
about his teeth – or mine for that matter.”
Maggie giggled, and
Maeve raised an appreciative eyebrow, offering her signature
half-smile, half-smirk. Aoife grinned and took another bite of the
steaming bread.
“And what do your
parents say?” Maeve asked. Her features had softened, but her
thoughts remained inscrutable. “I can’t imagine they find your
refusals as entertaining as we do.”
Aoife fell silent.
This was an unexpected detour in the script. They avoided direct
references to Aoife’s family. It made breaking bread between them
possible, since the money Maeve took from Aoife’s father by night
was one of the greatest strains on her family’s resources,
reputation, and love. The medicine that Tara often went without after
her father’s reckless trips was reason enough for Aoife to despise
Maeve, but she had learned to avoid dwelling on these realities. She
needed Maeve enough to tolerate her father’s indiscretions, since
rescuing him had now become a means of escaping her life. Discussing
her family jeopardized everything.
“Well, no, they
are not exactly pleased,” Aoife replied, her brashness fading.
Maeve wiped the
corner of her mouth and cleared her throat. Something in the air had
changed.
“You know, at some
point, perhaps sooner than you might expect, they will stop coming.
First, the young ones with stacks of gold and good teeth. They have
the most fragile egos and will seek out friendlier pastures. Then
eventually, even the wrinkly ones, with and without gold, will find
calling on you not worth the effort,” Maeve paused. “The tales of
your beauty will be replaced by tales of new faces with more
welcoming smiles. The choices left to you will be slim.”
The bread balled up
in Aoife’s throat. She could have had breakfast in her own home if
she wanted this type of talk. She suddenly felt incensed that Madame
Maeve dared to criticize her.
“My mother mires
me in these traps daily,” Aoife dusted the crumbs from her hands.
“She appreciates neither the risk to my reputation I take coming
here nor the fact that I am the one who has run the farm for years
now.”
“This is true.
Your family would be in the poor house and your sister probably with
God if not for your courage and your brains,” Maeve said. “But
I’m not talking about them. I’m talking about you and your
future. You must understand that there are consequences for you,
whether you say yes or no to the suitors who come your way.”
She raised an
eyebrow, which seemed loaded with a warning left to Aoife to
decipher. It had a familiar ring to it, like the warnings her mother
made so often about the consequences of Aoife’s trips to Maeve’s
house.
“No respectable
man will ever want to marry a girl who consorts with vile women, not
when he thinks he can pay a few coins for her instead,” her mother
would say.
Her mother lived in
such a dream world she did not recognize that Aoife was trying to
protect the family’s reputation and as much of their finances as
was possible. Her mother worried more about Aoife’s reputation than
the food on the table and Tara’s medicine. And because of that, a
chasm had grown between them too deep to ever cross.
“My choices are
just as narrow as every other girl’s. I know that,” Aoife said
standing up abruptly. Her shawl dropped to the floor, its power to
protect her no match for the storm brewing in the kitchen. “But I’d
never compromise myself – or give men control over my body for
money like you do. Of that you can be sure.”
“I wasn’t
suggesting that,” Maeve replied, completely unruffled. “But it’s
interesting that you did. And, Aoife, no matter what choice you make
– your husband’s house, my house, or the nunnery – you are
exchanging control over your body for money. Of that you can be
sure.”
“I have given half
my life already to protecting my family. Everyday, whether I’m
seeing that fields are reseeded and sheep are sheared or carting my
father home from here, I am picking up the pieces of my family’s
fortune that my father has broken apart,” Aoife said with less
command of her voice than she would have liked. “And now, after
I’ve done everything I can to save this family, they – and you –
expect me to sell myself off to the next buyer, supposedly to protect
them? I can’t do it.”
Aoife knew there was
no way for a woman to survive in the world without the protection of
a man, yet the security they offered was never guaranteed. Her
father’s choices still chipped away at the pieces of what was once
her mother, Bronagh. Still bedecked in the jewels of their courtship,
she found her only solace and comfort in embroidering ornate and
regal designs and patterns by the night fire, awaiting his return
from Maeve’s as if her delicate hands could somehow stitch back
together the girl he had unraveled and the lives he had torn apart at
the seams. Bronagh would not even consider selling her tapestries or
needlework to help support her family, for that would have been
beneath a woman of her status. Aoife, however, was not built to sit
and sew while their fortune and Tara’s health deteriorated at the
hands of her father. She needed to be on her feet fixing the problem,
not decorating the home they were sure to lose if no one intervened.
Bronagh had traded
away her soul for a broken promise of safety and love, and she
expected Aoife to do the same. But now Maeve, too? Her advice was
nothing less than a betrayal.
“For women not
made to curtsey obediently through life, there is no easy choice.”
A subtle urgency belied Maeve’s calm. “However, refusing every
suitor is not a means of controlling your life, but rather giving
over control to whatever or whomever is left over.”
“So I should marry
the next man who comes along or end up in a whore house like you?”
Aoife said, wincing at her angry words.
She was angry that
Maeve had taken her mother’s side, but she did not relish wounding
the one person who had always been a source of strength and
understanding. Despite her words, Maeve’s features revealed not
even the slightest hint of hurt.
“What I am saying
is that you ought to turn away any option which would leave you
without hope of peace and contentment,” Maeve replied. “But do
not fool yourself into waiting for a perfect choice to present
itself, because it never will.”
Aoife felt her
stomach lurch. She needed to get away from this house, this woman,
and the truth. Turning around, she marched outside where her father
was standing. She walked to her horse and looked to see if he needed
assistance. The legacy of too much mead weighed on his haggard figure
as Seamus helped him to his horse.
“I’m so sorry to
have inconvenienced you this morning, my sweet Aoife,” her father’s
worn voice eschewed sadly.
“I know, father,”
she replied. “You’re always sorry.”
He swayed
precariously in either direction and then took Aoife’s hand
suddenly.
“You’re too good
to me, Aoife,” he whispered. “You should be reaching for the–”
“Stars,” she
finished. “I know, Father.”
He closed his eyes
and pressed her hand between his.
“My hand’s grown
since we spent our nights stargazing.”
He nodded and Aoife
felt a pang of nostalgia sweep over her. She missed the way he used
to pick her up from her mother’s side by the fire and take her out
of doors to look at the moon and stars. The memory of the polished
scent of him from her childhood came back over the stench of mead
that clung to him now. He had been a good father once upon a time.
She looked up, searching for any fragment of the man who tossed her
high in the air as a little girl. The sparkle of a tear danced at the
corner of his eye. There he was. She kissed his forehead tenderly and
he sighed with the soft smile reserved only for Aoife. His favorite.
About
the Author:
Bonnie
grew up a shy, quiet girl who the teachers always seated next to the
noisy boys because they knew she was too afraid to talk to anyone.
She always had a lot she wanted to say but was too afraid to share it
for fear she might die of embarrassment if people actually noticed
her. Somewhere along the line, perhaps after she surprised her eighth
grade class by standing up to a teacher who was belittling a fellow
student, she realized that she had a voice and she didn’t burst
into flames when her classmates stared at her in surprise.
Not
long after that, she began spinning tales, some of which got her into
trouble with her mom. Whether persuading her father to take her to
the candy store as a little girl or convincing her parents to let her
move from Los Angeles to Manhattan to pursue a career at eighteen as
a ballet dancer with only $200 in her pocket, Bonnie has proven that
she knows how to tell a compelling story.
Now
she spends her time reading and making up stories for her two
children at night. By day she is an English teacher who never puts
the quiet girls next to the noisy boys and works hard to persuade her
students that stories, whether they are the ones she teaches in class
or the ones she tells to keep them from daydreaming, are better
escapes than computers, phones, and social media.
Author
website: http://www.bonniemhennessy.com/
Twitter:
@bonnieMHennessy
Facebook:
https://www.facebook.com/twistedthebook/
Tour
giveaway
3
copies of Twisted
2
$10 Amazon cards
Thank you books and Tales for hosting my book today!
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