It took me a long time to become an avid reader, but one book that truly drew me in was Cinderella Is Dead. This novel offers a fresh twist on the modern Cinderella story, setting its events many years after the original tale and skilfully bridging elements of the classic narrative with a new, inventive storyline.
The protagonist, Sophia, is a 16‐year‐old who lives in a world where every young woman is expected to attend a ball in order to find her “true love”, much like in the traditional Cinderella story. Throughout the narrative, darker elements — both of the fantastical realm and the original fairy tale — are interwoven, adding depth and complexity to the tale.
For a young adult novel, this story is remarkably mature, particularly when compared to other YA titles. It fearlessly tackles weighty subjects such as coercion, societal manipulation, and the subjugation of women. While the narrative is undeniably dark, it never descends into despair; rather, it is a thought-provoking exploration of complex themes within a dystopian setting, eschewing the cliché of merely pitting the protagonist against a vaguely motivated villain.
What initially drew me to this book was the fact that its main character is a woman of colour — a refreshing and increasingly common presence in contemporary literature. I was eager to broaden my reading horizons by exploring works from a diverse range of authors, and this novel did not disappoint.
Furthermore, Sophia is portrayed as a queer character in a manner that feels entirely organic to the world of the book. In her society, she is forced into relationships with men whom she may not love, a role that she rejects. Instead, she finds herself falling for Constance — a character who has defied society’s oppressive expectations by choosing her own path. This representation is handled with sensitivity and authenticity, avoiding the pitfalls of tokenism or forced inclusion.
The novel skilfully balances its romantic elements, ensuring that the relationship feels genuine and respectful without being overly sexualised. This nuanced treatment of LGBTQ+ romance is a refreshing departure from much of the past media, where such relationships were often either hypersexualised or relegated to tragic endings, particularly in genres like Yaoi. Cinderella Is Dead stands as an example of a modern narrative that honours its romantic subplot in the same measured way that heterosexual romances are typically portrayed.
The narrative does not simply hurl its twists at the reader from the outset. Instead, it hints subtly from the beginning that something is amiss, gradually unveiling deeper layers of intrigue as the story unfolds. This slow reveal rewards patient readers with a richly developed plot and a series of interconnected surprises that enhance the overall experience.
The setting of the novel is firmly rooted in the Cinderella fantasy, complete with abundant magical elements. Yet, it also incorporates themes that resonate with both LGBTQ+ and people of colour audiences — particularly the sense of alienation from what is considered “normal” or “acceptable” by society. This blend of fairy tale wonder and stark social commentary creates a world that feels both enchanting and critically reflective.
Sophia is depicted as an integral part of this richly constructed narrative. Her rebellion against a society that rejects everything about her and other women is both convincing and compelling. Unlike the often superficial conflicts portrayed in films such as Divergent, there is a deeply motivating rationale behind Sophia’s decision to run away in search of a freer, better life.
From the outset, the book casts a veil over the familiar Cinderella story, reminiscent of regimes like that in North Korea — where the truth is obscured and certain aspects of society are deliberately glossed over, while others are idealised for public consumption. This metaphor of concealment and illusion adds a further layer of intrigue, inviting the reader to question the narratives that are often taken for granted.
On this blog, I have predominantly reviewed TV shows, games, and films; however, books offer a narrative format akin to television, allowing for more expansive storytelling and intricate plots than are typically possible in games or films. If Cinderella Is Dead were adapted into a film, many elements would inevitably be sacrificed. Its rich lore and the gradual unfolding of its story might be compressed to the detriment of its impact — a challenge reminiscent of the issues faced in the Uglies adaptation, which I shall review in due course.
The novel is replete with twists and turns, the most striking of which is the revelation that Constance is a descendant of one of the so-called “evil” stepsisters. In this narrative, the stepsisters are not portrayed as malevolent figures in the traditional Cinderella myth; rather, they emerge as rebels, determined to save Cinderella from being manipulated by the prince. These revelations are not simply thrown at the reader on a platter; they are carefully woven into the narrative through subtle environmental cues and dialogues between characters, with the unveiling of Constance’s connection to the stepsisters being particularly notable.
In conclusion, Cinderella Is Dead is my favourite book because of its myriad twists and turns and the masterful execution of its narrative elements. The characters are imbued with a complexity that makes them truly memorable, especially Sophia, who is not only grappling with her own identity but also contending with a society that is fundamentally opposed to her.
I am heartened to see the publishing industry embracing more diverse voices. The unique perspectives and varied storytelling approaches that come from a range of authors enrich our literary landscape. Even if you do not belong to one of these traditionally marginalised groups, I wholeheartedly recommend exploring works by a diverse array of writers.
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