England, 1384—
Evangeline is the illegitimate first cousin of King Richard II. She has never wanted for food, clothing, or shelter. She can read and write in Latin and English (and presumably French, although that never comes up). She’s also been blessed with good looks, natural athleticism, and an angelic singing voice. But Evangeline lacks the one thing she yearns for: freedom. She envies the peasants, even though their life is mostly hard labor, because at least they can marry as they choose.
When Richard arranges for Evangeline to marry his ambitious, skeevy advisor, one Lord Shively, the girl makes a break for it, accompanied by her nervous maidservant/only friend, Muriel. They wear their shabbiest clothes and pass themselves off as servants, joining a group headed to the village of Glynval. There, Evangeline hopes to find a job and blend in until Shively gives her up for dead. At Muriel’s suggestion, our heroine is pretending to be mute lest her dulcet voice give her away.
The travelling band is led by Westley le Wyse, son of the Lord and Lady of Glynval. He is kind, handsome, and in every way the opposite of Shively. Lovestruck, Evangeline finds herself in a strange predicament: the young man thinks she’s too lowly for him to marry, but in reality she’s probably too high a rank to marry him. More to the point, would he even want to marry someone as inept, useless, selfish and dishonest as she believes herself to be?
When Evangeline’s cover is blown, can she rely on the le Wyse family and her other new allies? Or will Shively successfully force her to marry him, and use that unholy union to overthrow the King?
Content Advisory
Violence: Westley and Evangeline both get beat up a bit. He is clobbered over the head and thrown into water to drown, twice. She is forcibly seized several times, bound and gagged and struck once. She accidentally cuts someone the first time she uses a scythe. A violent mob gathers around a kitchen maid suspected of poisoning their soup. Shively makes a veiled rape threat.
Mentioned but not seen: a woman was beaten by her husband and died under mysterious circumstances. A woman is tortured in a dungeon until she breaks and reveals a secret.
Sex: Some kissing between Wes and Eva.
Language: Nothing.
Substance Abuse: Nothing in particular.
Nightmare Fuel: Young woman faces forced marriage to upper-middle-aged, likely domestic abuser with rotting teeth. ‘Nuff said.
Politics and Religion: As I’ve come to expect from this series, there’s a wimpy priest. He is ready to participate in a marriage ceremony where one party clearly doesn’t want to be there, which was frowned upon even back then. The priest is unfazed by Shively openly plotting against the king right in front of him, but freaks out when Westley kisses Evangeline in the chapel. Some medieval clergy were indeed uptight, but others could be downright randy, as one could deduce from The Canterbury Tales. It was really only after the advent of Puritanism—two hundred years after this story takes place—that people really started spazzing about stuff like that.
Dickerson also throws some subtle shade at the sacrament of Penance—Evangeline wants desperately to go to Confession and be absolved of her deception, but she’s kept too busy at the castle to make it…and eventually concludes that she doesn’t need it because Jesus forgives her anyway. NO ONE THOUGHT LIKE THIS IN 1384. Catholicism was to medieval Christians as water is to fish.
Conclusions
This story is ostensibly a historical, magic-free retelling of The Little Mermaid, but I would not have been sure of that without Dickerson’s notes at the back of the book.
It has almost nothing in common with the original Andersen tale, although I doubt anyone really expected or wanted it to. The only things carried over from the original are those that Disney kept—our heroine has a beautiful voice, which she either loses or chooses not to use, and she saves her beloved from drowning. The message of Andersen’s story was: don’t make deals with the Devil. You may get what you want, or close to it, but something will go horribly wrong. Obviously, the original story is as depressing as heck. I can’t blame Dickerson for not using it as a source.
Superficial traces remain of Disney’s happy revision. Evangeline’s ignorance of farm equipment and household tools parallels Ariel’s combing her hair with a dinner fork. Our heroine has another girl trying to undermine her; her guardian is a king unaware of a threat to his power; she has a sidekick who…er, flounders away from home. Finally, Westley has dark hair and blue eyes while Eva is a redhead.
There’s no character remotely comparable to the diabolical Sea Witch. Sabina is conniving against Evangeline and lustful toward Westley, but not really evil. Shively is, but as a male politician with no supernatural powers real or projected and standard villain motives, he’s just not that frightening compared to a female hell-creature who delights in fear and cruelty. It’s like the Chronicles of Narnia—after the White Witch, King Miraz is rather underwhelming. It doesn’t help that this is the fourth Hagenheim-Glynval chronicle to feature a forced marriage plot.
Perhaps the strangest of all, this novel has nothing to do with the ocean. The original story is one of the only famous fairytales not bound to a sylvan setting, which could really make this book stand out among the rest in its series. And the coast of Britain is such an evocative landscape…real missed opportunity here.
So while barely related to the tale it claims to retell, The Silent Songbird is a grandly entertaining adventure in its own right, full of daring escapes, betrayals, intrigues, disguises, and a sudden but genuine attraction between our two leads. There were points near the finale where I was actually worried about the characters. Dickerson built up the intensity well in those chapters.
This is the first book of the series to feature a real historical figure as a character: King Richard II of England. Unfortunately, you could replace him with pretty much any king from the pre-War of the Roses period and have the same effect; very little of his personality comes through. Last year I had to read Shakespeare’s Richard II for school, which was a fascinating commentary on the very concept of kingship. It’s too bad that Wes and Eva couldn’t have warned Richard about the Bolingbroke conspiracy.
This is definitely one of the better Hagenheim-Glynval tales, in spite of its flaws. Not quite as good as The Merchant’s Daughter or The Golden Braid, but still wholesome, summery fun.