Review by orionmerlin - A Sorceress Comes to Call

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orionmerlin 's review for:

A Sorceress Comes to Call by T. Kingfisher

4.5

dark emotional funny hopeful mysterious tense medium-paced

Plot or Character Driven: A mix

Strong character development: Yes

Loveable characters: Yes

Diverse cast of characters: No

Flaws of characters a main focus: Yes

Characters – 9.5/10
I fell hard for these characters – and by “fell,” I mean tumbled headlong off a possessed horse in love. Cordelia is a cinnamon roll in mortal peril: a shy, traumatized 17-year-old who starts as her sorceress mother’s literal puppet and blossoms into a quietly brave heroine. I wanted to reach through the pages and hug her (especially during those heartbreaking obedience scenes where she’s fighting back tears over a fly crawling on her hand). Evangeline (the titular sorceress/mother) is so deliciously vile that I adored hating her – she’s the kind of villain who smiles sweetly while casually musing about murder over dinner. The book gives us one of the most satisfying found-family ensembles I’ve read: Hester, the cranky middle-aged spinster with a heart of gold (and razor-sharp wit), absolutely steals every scene with her snarky pragmatism. (She mentally nicknames the sorceress “Doom” and quips about needing a butler to stop unwanted marriages – I cackled!). Even the side characters shine; from Alice the gutsy maid who isn’t afraid to shoo away her mistress’s evil mother, to Lord Evermore the gallant old friend, everyone felt distinct and memorable. Most importantly, their relationships and growth arc believably – Cordelia’s wary, tender bond with Hester made my heart warm, and I was rooting for this impromptu Scooby gang to defeat Doom-mom as hard as they were. By the end, I was sad to leave this quirky little family behind, which is always a sign of great characters.

Atmosphere/Setting – 9/10

The atmosphere swings expertly from claustrophobic horror to cozy regency charm, and I lived for every mood. Kingfisher paints Cordelia’s early home life in grim, oppressive strokes: a house where no doors are ever allowed closed (yes, even the bathroom), giving me constant low-grade anxiety on Cordelia’s behalf. I could practically smell the wormwood and candlewax clinging to Evangeline’s skirts whenever she entered a scene – a sour, witchy scent that heralds dread. The small-town church and farmhouse setting of the beginning feel stifling and eerie (the tension of Cordelia sitting rigidly “obedient” in a pew while a fly crawls on her face had my skin itching). Then we move to the Squire’s country manor, and it’s like a breath of fresh air – temporarily. The manor is described with all the lush comfort of a period drama (crackling hearths, warm baths, lavender sachets tucked in drawers), and I found myself reveling in Cordelia’s amazement at basic luxuries. Yet, even in that safe haven, an undercurrent of gothic tension persists whenever Evangeline is around. Kingfisher conjures an immersive regency-era setting – fancy dress fittings, carriage rides into town – but skillfully threads it with spooky fairy-tale vibes (creaking floorboards, ghostly whispers, and one hellish horse lurking in the stable). By the time fog rolled over the moonlit grounds and a headless demon horse started stalking the manor, I realized I was holding my breath. This world felt both enchantingly familiar and uniquely unsettling, and it emotionally resonated with the story’s tone of hope battling doom. In short: atmosphere on point.

Writing Style – 9/10

T. Kingfisher’s writing style is an addictive blend of whimsical and wicked, and it fits this story like a custom-tailored riding habit. The prose is straightforward and compulsively readable, yet peppered with cheeky humor and vivid metaphor that had me grinning in one chapter and shuddering the next. Kingfisher switches between Cordelia’s and Hester’s perspectives, and the voices are distinct and consistent. Cordelia’s chapters carry a muted, anxious energy – appropriate for a girl who overthinks every word in fear of her volatile mother – whereas Hester’s POV is wry, unflappable, and often laugh-out-loud funny. I especially loved Hester’s internal monologues; her dry commentary on everything from men (“Like many men not overly encumbered by intelligence…” snort) to imagining Evangeline literally ripping off her own face at dinner kept the tone from ever feeling too dark. And when things do get dark, the narrative doesn’t shy away – it can be hauntingly lyrical in describing horror (the murder scene is relayed in plain but gut-punching language, and Cordelia’s dissociation during trauma is captured with chilling clarity). Despite the fantasy setting, the dialogue and narrative have a modern, accessible snap to them – characters say things like “Hang it all” or toss off deadpan one-liners without it ever feeling anachronistic, a tricky balance that absolutely worked for me. Most importantly, the voice remains true: I never doubted whose head I was in. Kingfisher’s style basically waltzes between Austen-like social comedy and Grimm-esque macabre, and somehow that crazy combo dances beautifully across the page. It’s compelling, clever, and so much fun to read.

Plot – 8.5/10

As a dark retelling of The Goose Girl, this plot could have been predictable, but Kingfisher kept me on my toes the whole time. The core is a classic fairy tale setup – an evil sorceress mother impersonating a genteel lady to marry rich, while the true “princess” (Cordelia) suffers in the shadows – yet the story weaves in murder mysteries, ghostly allies, and Regency social intrigue to spice things up. I was hooked from the start: the first act reads almost like horror, with the suspense of Cordelia’s secret abusive life and hints of ominous magic. Then the story steadily expands in scope and stakes. The pacing felt just right; each chapter escalates the tension, from the axe-murder revelation (a jaw-dropper for both Cordelia and me) to the increasingly high-risk cat-and-mouse game at the manor. There are twists I legitimately did not see coming – major goosebumps when Cordelia discovers her beloved horse Falada is actually a creepy demon familiar spying on her, and a later scene involving a supposedly dead character’s return had me gasping. Admittedly, one development verged on over-the-top: by the time a headless zombie horse was rampaging at midnight, I thought “okay, we are FULL Grimm’s fairy tale now.” But you know what? I was 100% here for it – the bonkers climax felt earned by the slow-build setup, and it delivered satisfying comeuppance in a very fairy-tale way. The final showdown with Evangeline is tense, clever, and surprisingly emotional (props for finding a way to involve geese in the sorceress-beatdown, in true Goose Girl fashion!). If I have any quibble, it’s that a couple of the later plot solutions rely on magical rules introduced somewhat suddenly (the whole “reagent ritual” with water, wine, salt comes in late in the game). But the characters themselves acknowledge how odd magic logic can be, so it didn’t break my immersion. Overall, the plot is engaging and cohesive – a little wild, perhaps, but that wildness gave it a distinct flavor. It’s a twisting ride that left me thoroughly satisfied by the end.

Intrigue – 9.5/10

This book had me in its thrall (thankfully a more pleasant thrall than poor Cordelia’s!). I plowed through chapters past my bedtime because I had to know what would happen next. The intrigue is palpable from page one: Kingfisher establishes immediate stakes with Cordelia’s eerie “obedience” condition, and the sinister mystery of her mother’s motives kept me constantly curious. I mean, when you see a mother casually turn her teenager into a marionette at church, you strap in for some suspense. Each reveal is timed to perfection – just as I’d get comfortable with one aspect of the story, a new wrinkle would appear, dragging me to the edge of my seat. The best example is how the novel handles dread: we know early that Evangeline is dangerous, but the extent of her villainy unfolds gradually. There’s a scene where Hester sees Cordelia acting too perfectly at dinner and realizes the girl is being puppeted in real-time; Hester steps into the hall and Cordelia is standing there slack-faced with panic in her eyes – I had full-body chills, genuinely worried for Cordelia’s safety at that moment. The book is full of those “oh NO” moments that made me physically tense up. Yet it also balances them with hopeful intrigue: the budding alliance between Hester, Cordelia, and their friends gave a delicious heist-like vibe as they plot to outwit Evangeline. I was invested not just in what would happen, but how – how do you stop a sorceress who can literally control minds? The answer involves secret research, covert tests, and even a ghostly communication, all of which kept me glued to the page. And let me tell you, the climactic confrontation had me biting my nails. Will Cordelia resist her mother’s final command? Will the ritual work on the second try? I was dying to know. Every time I thought I could breathe easy, another twist or danger cropped up (the hits just keep on coming – evil murder accusations! Vengeful undead horse! Tea with too much sugar!). This novel maintains intrigue through suspense, mystery, and emotional investment, and it never lets the tension fully dissipate until the very end. My attention was held captive (willingly!) throughout.

Logic/Relationships – 8.5/10

For a story with magic horses and ghostly sidekicks, A Sorceress Comes to Call has a solid internal logic and believably human relationships. The worldbuilding is light – we aren’t inundated with lore – but the magical rules that do appear feel consistent. Evangeline’s mind-control has clear limits; for instance, maintaining Cordelia’s “obedience” for long periods tires her out, and if she pushes to control too many people at once, it backfires (information we learn in a very dramatic way during the finale). I appreciated little logical details like that, which make the sorcery feel grounded in cause-and-effect. The big “ritual” the heroes discover is admittedly based on fairy-tale logic (water, wine, salt symbolizing different essences), and when it fails the first time, the explanation is essentially “we needed a person whose soul is like wine – it makes magic sense, if not normal sense”. That’s a bit hand-wavy, but it works in context because the characters approach it intelligently: they test it on the familiar first, gather data, and adjust their plan. In terms of relationships, I was impressed by how realistic and layered they felt. Cordelia’s dynamic with her mother is tragically believable – the mix of fear, obligation, and a desperate flicker of longing for love is written with nuance (there’s a gutting moment where Cordelia dispassionately watches her own childish hope for maternal affection crumble). On the flip side, the way Cordelia slowly learns to trust Hester and crew made me cheer. Their bond doesn’t form overnight; Cordelia wrestles with guilt and doubt (she even hesitates to tell them about her ghost friend, worrying they’ll be angry she hid it). But the mutual respect and care grow naturally through shared danger and kindnesses. Hester’s protective aunty vibes toward Cordelia by the end feel earned – she started as a skeptical stranger and becomes, in action, the mother Cordelia never had. Smaller relationship beats, like the servants quietly rallying around Cordelia after seeing her courage (Alice calling her a hero for saving the stablemaster), added to the sense of a believable social world responding to the events. I never found myself yelling “Why would they do that?!” at the characters; their decisions and feelings made sense given their motivations. In a story with mind-control magic, consistency could have easily flown out the window, but Kingfisher kept the magic rules and character behaviors pretty tight. (Okay, maybe the ease with which everyone accepts a literal ghost joining the battle required some shrugging – but hey, I would roll with it if it meant defeating a sorceress.) Ultimately, the book’s internal logic and portrayal of relationships were strong enough that I fully suspended disbelief and just enjoyed the ride.

Enjoyment – 9.5/10

I enjoyed the heck out of this book – in fact, I’m still grinning thinking about it. It’s like this novel was tailor-made for my tastes: a dark fairy tale retelling with a feminist twist, infused with humor and heart, and starring a crotchety older woman teaming up with a traumatized teen to slay evil? Sign me up forever. I was emotionally engaged from start to finish – there were moments that made me genuinely angry (every time Evangeline called Cordelia “silly” or hurt her, my blood boiled), moments that made me want to cheer out loud (Hester and Cordelia pulling off their clever ruses or standing up to Evangeline gave me life), and a few moments that touched me deeply (I may have gotten teary when Cordelia finally realizes she’s free and safe at the end – excuse me, something in my eye). The snarky narrative tone kept it from ever feeling bleak, so reading this was fun even when the subject matter was dark. And oh boy, was it satisfying to watch the villain get her comeuppance. The final chapters deliver some Grade-A payoff – without spoiling specifics, let’s just say it involves poetic justice courtesy of one very angry horse and I was gleefully muttering “Yes, YES, that’s what you get!” at the pages. The novel met and exceeded my expectations: I expected a cool concept, but I didn’t expect to fall in love with a 51-year-old society lady turned action-hero, nor did I expect the blend of comedy and horror to work so seamlessly. Would I recommend it? In a heartbeat (with the caveat that there is some disturbing abuse content – it’s handled with care, but it will make you loathe the antagonist). Will I reread it? Honestly, I’m already planning to, if only to savor Hester’s zingers and catch any foreshadowing I missed while racing breathlessly to the end. A Sorceress Comes to Call was an absolute delight for me – whimsical, dark, and empowering. Consider me thoroughly enchanted.

Content Warnings