The North Wind Lacks A Guiding Star

~spoilers~

The moment I became angry reading The North Wind, a romantasy that markets itself as a Beauty and the Beast retelling with strong elements of the Persephone myth from Greek mythology, was when the protagonist pays a visit to her twin sister. Our protagonist, willing kidnap victim Wren, saved her sister Elora from the fate of being taken by the title character and is unexpectedly given the chance to visit the human realm to allay her sister’s anxieties. Wren, a pseudo-self-loathing functioning alcoholic with an attitude problem, is shocked when Elora is angry at her return. We are told this is because Elora, actually, has been the selfish twin all along, manipulating Wren’s willingness to shield her from the dangers of their wintery world. The narrative wants us to forget that Wren drugged her sister without her sister’s knowledge so she could take Elora’s place as the North Wind’s captive, putting her in danger so that Wren could play hero.

    This is a book that is fundamentally uninterested in exploring any relationship other than the one between Wren and the North Wind. If this relationship was stronger—if it wasn’t so obviously built on the foundations of more engaging Beauty and the Beast stories—this wouldn’t be a major issue. It would, however, still miss the mark of being a Persephone myth retelling, because that story centers around the power of a mother’s grief. Hades’s kidnapping of Persephone matters affects her mother Demeter, whose outpouring of grief creates the cycle of the seasons. In The North Wind, grief for a lost child becomes part of the North Wind’s backstory but doesn’t intrude on the budding romance. 

Here, the reason why it’s always winter (and never Christmas) is because the North Wind’s powers have grown too strong. He needs to take a mortal to this world’s version of the land of the dead to use her blood to strengthen the barrier between the mortal world and the underworld. This is merely the premise, however, and is promptly discarded after two blood offerings. What we’re really here for is Wren’s transition from slovenly, prickly, scarred wench into a homemaker who tames the heart (and other body parts) of the callous (but perhaps simply misunderstood??) North Wind. Wren is a broken bird who clings to alcohol to avoid thinking about all the things she’s had to do to survive. But don’t worry, she’s also an independent woman who doesn’t need a man’s permission. But don’t worry, she’s also a snarky joke machine. But don’t worry, she’s also a selfless martyr who will sacrifice her life because she understands anger. Got that?

The North Wind, alias the Frost King, alias Boreas, fulfills the standard clichés for a contemporary romantasy. He’s tall, dark, and handsome—shaped like an impossibly tall anime romantic hero, with cheekbones for days and a sneering yet tempting mouth. He is only beastly in his cruel formality and apparent disdain for humans (until it’s revealed that he does indeed possess animalistic features). Like Wren, much of his emotional turmoil traces back to a sibling, in this case the cocky West Wind. The North Wind softens over time toward Wren, and much like everything else, the reason given in the text is unconvincing.

The book takes its sweet time getting anyway or grasping onto a plot point because the author is too busy jamming in references to other stories. The similarities to A Court of Thorns and Roses are comically obvious: the captor is a handsome humanoid rather than a monster, Wren literally hunts a beast in the first chapter, and there is a scene with only one bed that fits into any romance novel. Similar to the original fairy tale, the “beast’s” castle is filled with doors that lead to other worlds that the heroine visits. At one point, the North Wind’s anger scares Wren into temporarily running away, similar to the Disney version. Warwick also cribs from Rose’s Daughter (an example of a good Beauty and the Beast retelling) in giving the North Wind a greenhouse where he can express his appreciation for life. And, to complete the reference bingo card, the hero is also in danger of changing permanently into a beast á la the title character in Howl’s Moving Castle. All these revelations about the North Wind’s true character keep grinding the book to a halt, adding only surface-level developments.

References to other retellings, while occasionally annoying, do not directly impact this book’s quality. But because it fails to tell a cohesive plot or give its heroine a story worthy of the first, most consequential choice she makes, I can’t help but look for satisfaction elsewhere. Slogging through The North Wind, I realized that Wren’s journey had no substance to it. She begins as a messy human trying to cope in a world that has left her with few choices. But instead of maturing into a woman able to balance selflessness with self-care, she blames others for the choices she makes and replaces her sister with the North Wind as her primary fixation. The epilogue turns this badass hunter into a giggly baby-making machine who lets her husband fondle her in front of their child. The North Wind may succeed as a traditional romance, but it’s certainly not my idea of a fantasy.