Enchanted by Alethea KontisEnchanted by Alethea Kontis

Enchanted

byAlethea Kontis

Paperback | May 28, 2013

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"If Neil Gaiman and the Brothers Grimm had a child who grew up to weave fairy tales, she would be Alethea Kontis. Read this book-it's an absolute winner."-J.T. Ellison, best-selling author of Where All the Dead Lie It isn't easy being the overlooked and unhappy youngest sibling to sisters named for the days of the week. Sunday's only comfort is writing stories. Then she meets an enchanted frog who asks about her stories, and the two become friends. &nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp Soon that friendship deepens into something magical. A kiss from Sunday transforms her frog&nbspback into Prince Rumbold-a man Sunday's family despises. The prince hopes Sunday will love him as the man he is, not the frog he was. But Sunday is not so easy to woo, and it soon becomes clear that twisted secrets lie hidden in his past-and hers.
Alethea Kontis is the  New York Times best-selling co-author of Sherrilyn Kenyon's The Dark-Hunter Companion . Alethea was a student of the science-fiction greats Andre Norton and Orson Scott Card, and she has worked in a number of book-related jobs. She lives in Ashburn, Virginia. Visit her at www.aletheakontis.com .
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Title:EnchantedFormat:PaperbackDimensions:352 pages, 8.25 × 5.5 × 0.87 inPublished:May 28, 2013Publisher:Houghton Mifflin HarcourtLanguage:English

The following ISBNs are associated with this title:

ISBN - 10:0544022181

ISBN - 13:9780544022188

Reviews

Rated 5 out of 5 by from Lovely Book A fast pace story of love and sacrifice. The characters are well thought out and the plot will keep you wanting more.
Date published: 2016-12-23
Rated 5 out of 5 by from Enchanted A clever mix of different fairy tales, wonderful characters, delightful writing... I was delighted with this book that I happened to pick up several years ago and haven't stopped loving since. Wonderful.
Date published: 2016-12-10
Rated 4 out of 5 by from A Fabulous Mix of Fairy Tales I'm a big fan of re-written fairy tales, it's one of my favourite genres. I originally read this book as part of a challenge so I read it quick and didn't retain much of anything in regards to the plot or characters. I noticed it on my read list and couldn't for the life of me remember how the book went. Normally this would be a bad sign for the book, but in this case, it was a sign of a bad reader who was reading for a deadline and not for enjoyment. I know when I first read this I didn't realize that it was part of a series, so finding out that there was more to read, I decided to start back at the beginning and read this again. I am so very glad I did. This is a wonderful book that I didn't give enough time our first time around. The story is so sweet, and the relationship between the main characters, while very quick to build, was handled quite well and was much more believable than normally found in normal fairy tales. The way that Alethea merged the stories of The Princess and the Frog with Cinderella is almost seamless. It works surprisingly well to the point that it feels that these tales should have been combined ages ago. Some of the side plots seemed to come out of nowhere, and the explanations were a bit vague, but I would guess that there will be more explanation for them in further books. I'm looking forward to finding out more about this family.
Date published: 2016-03-03
Rated 5 out of 5 by from Enchanted Absolutel mythical, fantasy at its best. This is proper fairy stuff, i loved this book cant wait to read the second book i couldnt stop reading this delicious novel!!!!
Date published: 2015-02-23
Rated 5 out of 5 by from The Ever Wimsical Enchanted I read the first few pages of Enchanted and was hooked! The words seemed to flow of the page and everything was described well. I just could not seem to be able to put it down. It is the perfect mix of romance, mystery, and just a dash of magic.
Date published: 2015-02-17
Rated 5 out of 5 by from Readers are "Doomed" to a Happy Reading ❤ Originally posted at http://dazzlingreads.blogspot.ca "My name is Sunday Woodcutter, and I am doomed to a happy life." (Enchanted, Kontis, 2012, p.1) Books like Enchanted are the reason why I started my my blog. This book is such a Dazzling Read that I NEED to tell everyone about it. Enchanted is a magical and wondrous story that will make readers forget about reality and transport them far away to a fascinating kingdom to experience one of the most beautiful and spellbinding stories of the year! I love this book so much! It is difficult to express how wonderful Enchanted is. From the moment I turned to the first page, Kontis' beautiful and deep writing immediately captivated me. Many times I found myself marveled by it and I re-reading passages during the course of story for the only pleasure of savoring the words again. Yes, it is that beautiful! Enchanted is a faery tale with depth that I will forever treasure on my shelf. Kontis did such a masterful job retelling and enhancing a classic tale that, I am sure, will take readers' breath away. Oh! and I must mention that I have never met such a nice frog ever before! (not that I have ever talked to one) but I would have fell in love with it myself if I had! Believe me, my favorite moments of the story were those times that Sunday (the lovely and innocent heroine) met Grumble (the froggy and charming prince) at the well. The exquisite dialogues made me smile, laugh, sympathize with the characters and love them from the very first moment I met them both. The name of the book itself says so much more than just a reminder of the wondrous classic faery tale. In fact, This story is highly enchanting from beginning to end. But not only because of the enchanted prince in waiting for a kiss, but for the delightful characters that vividly stand out of the pages, and a breathtaking plot that will consume readers until they reach the happy ending. Enchanted by Alethea Kontis is a beautiful story that everyone should read. This is a tale that will make you feel like a child again. It will makes you believe that, for 305 pages, rainbows' pot of gold and leprechauns are real. That spells, faeries and magic beans are real. And that maybe somewhere, an enchanted prince is waiting for you in a well.
Date published: 2012-05-24
Rated 5 out of 5 by from An enchanting fairytale re-telling! Absolutely ADORABLE. Magical. Smile-inducing. And so incredibly sweet! This book is one of the many reasons why I love fairytales and their re-tellings so much! Enchanted may mention some of my favourite fairytales — from The Princess and the Frog to Cinderella to Jack and the Beanstalk and more! — but it's much more than just a re-telling of them all. Alethea Kontis weaves them perfectly into an original and surprisingly complex story that's her own, adding in a cast of fantastic characters that will steal your heart away. Sweet and caring and determined and clever, I adored Sunday from start to finish! Both she and Rumbold (my new favourite frog prince) warmed my heart repeatedly. I love how the very first time she kisses him as a frog, he doesn't change back right away. It was sweetly realistic. Some people may be turned off by the promise of insta-love (since this is a fairytale, after all), but the author managed to pull it off perfectly without making it feel like overwhelming devotion! And even if that instant spark does bother you at first, I promise that by the end of the book, you'll love them both too much to care. Beautiful, enchanting, and everything I could ever ask for, Enchanted is one of my favourite re-tellings of anything to date! Alethea Kontis, like Sunday, is a masterful storyteller, and you should definitely be prepared to smile when you pick up this book. :) BUY or BORROW?: An absolute MUST-have for anyone who likes (or just appreciates) fairytales at all, but even if you don't, I'd recommend this book anyways!
Date published: 2012-02-27

Read from the Book

1: Fool’s Gold and Fairy Stones My name is Sunday Woodcutter, and I am doomed to a happy life. I am the seventh daughter of Jack and Seven Woodcutter, Jack a seventh son and Seven a seventh daughter herself. Papa’s dream was to give birth to the charmed, all-powerful Seventh Son of a Seventh Son. Mama told him seven girls or seven boys, whichever came first. Jack Junior was first. Papa was elated. His dream died the morning I popped out, blithe and bonny and good and gay, seven daughters later. Fortunately, coming first did not stop Jack Junior from being a wunderkind. I never knew my eldest sibling, but I know his legend. All of Arilland’s children grew up in Jack’s shadow, his younger siblings more than most. I have never known a time when I wasn’t surrounded by the overdramatic songs and stories of Jack Junior’s exploits. A good number of new ones continue to spring up about the countryside to this very day. I have heard them all. (Well, all but the Forbidden Tale. I’m not old enough for that one yet.) But I know the most important tale: the tale of his demise, while he served in the King’s Royal Guard. One day, in a fit of pique or passion (depending on the bard), he killed Prince Rumbold’s prized pup. As punishment, the prince’s evil fairy godmother witched Jack Junior into a mutt and forced him to take the pup’s place. He was never heard from again. They say my family was never the same after that. I wish I could know my father as tales portray him then: loud, confident, and opinionated. Now he is simply a strong, quiet man, content with his place in life. It is no secret that Papa harbors no loyalty to the royal family of Arilland, but he has never said a word against them. My second-eldest brother’s name is Peter. My third brother is Trix. Trix was a foundling child that Papa discovered in the limbs of a tree at the edge of the Wood one winter’s workday before I was born. The way Mama tells it, Trix was a son she didn’t have to give birth to, and he made Papa happy. She already had too many children to feed, what was one more? My sisters and I— "What are you doing?" Sunday’s head snapped up from her journal. She had chosen this spot for its solitude, followed the half-hidden path through the underbrush to the decaying rocks of the abandoned well, sure that she had escaped her family. And yet, the voice that had interrupted her thoughts was not familiar to her. Her eyes took a moment to adjust, slowly focusing on the mottled shadows the afternoon sun cast through dancing leaves. "I’m sorry?" She posed the polite query to her unknown visitor in an effort to make him reveal himself, be he real or imagined, dead or alive, fairy or— "I said, ‘What are you doing?’ " —frog. Sunday forced her gaping mouth closed. Caught off-guard, she sputtered the truth: "I’m telling myself stories." The frog considered her answer. He balanced himself on his spotted hind legs and blinked at her with his bulbous eyes. "Why? Do you have no one to whom you can tell them?" Apart from his interruption, he maintained an air of polite decorum. He’s smart, too, Sunday thought. He must have been a human before being cursed. Animals of the Wood only ever spoke in wise riddles and almost-truths. "I have quite a large family, actually, with lots of stories. Only . . ." "Only what?" "Only no one wants to hear them." "I do," said the frog. "Read me your story, the story you have just written there, and I will listen." She liked this frog. Sunday smiled, but slowly closed her book. "You don’t want to hear this story." "Why not?" "It’s not very interesting." "What’s it about?" "It’s about me. That’s why none of my family wants to hear it. They already know all about me." The frog stretched out on his sun-dappled rock like he was settling into a chaise lounge. She could tell from his body language—so much more human than frog—there would be no turning him down. "I don’t know anything about you," he said. "You may begin your story." It was completely absurd. Absurd that Sunday was in the middle of the Wood talking to a frog. Absurd that he wanted to learn about her. Absurd that he would care. It was so absurd that she opened her journal and started reading from the top of the page. " ‘My name is Sunday Woodcutter—’ " "Grumble," croaked the frog. "If you’re going to grumble through the whole thing, why did you ask me to read it in the first place?" "You said your name was Sunday Woodcutter," said the frog. "My name is Grumble." "Oh." Her face felt hot. Sunday wondered briefly if frogs could tell that a human was blushing or if they were one of the many colorblind denizens of the forest. She bowed her head slightly. "It’s very nice to meet you, Grumble." "At your service," said Grumble. "Please, carry on with your story." It was awkward, as Sunday had never read her musings aloud to anyone. She cleared her throat several times. More than once she had to stop after a sentence she had quickly stumbled through and start again more slowly. Her voice seemed overloud and the words felt foreign and sometimes wrong; she resisted the urge to scratch them out or change them as she went along. She was worried that this frog-who-used-to-be-a-man would hear her words and think she was silly. He would want nothing more to do with her. He would thank her for her time, and she would never see him again. Had her young life come to this? Was she so desperate for intelligent conversation that she was willing to bare her soul to a complete stranger? Sunday realized, as she continued to read, that it didn’t matter. She would have Grumble know her for who she was. For as long as she had sat under the tree writing, she thought the reading of it would have taken longer, but Sunday came to the end in no time at all. "I had meant to go on about my sisters," she apologized, "but . . ." The frog was strangely silent. He stared off into the Wood. Sunday turned her face to the sun. She was afraid of his next words. If he didn’t like the writing, then he didn’t like her, and everything she had done in her whole life would be for nothing. Which was silly, but she was silly, and absurd, and sometimes ungrateful, but she promised the gods that she would not be ungrateful now, no matter what the frog said. If he said anything at all. And then, finally: "I remember a snowy winter’s night. It was so cold outside that your fingertips burned if you put them on the windowpane. I tried it only once." He let out a long croak. "I remember a warm, crackling fire on a hearth so large I could have stood up in it twice. There was a puppy there, smothering me with love, as puppies are wont to do. I was his whole world. He needed me and I felt like . . . like I had a purpose. I remember being happy then. Maybe the happiest I’ve been in my whole life." The frog closed his eyes and bowed his head. "I don’t remember much of my life before. But now, just now, I remember that. Thank you." Sunday clasped her shaking fingers together and swallowed the lump in her throat. He was definitely a man in a frog’s body, and he was sad. She couldn’t think what in her words had moved him so, but that wasn’t the point. She had touched him. Not just him as a frog but the man he used to be. A more gracious reply Sunday could never have imagined. "I am honored," she said, for she was. "And then I interrupted you." Grumble snapped out of his dreamlike tone into a more playful one. "Forgive me. As you can imagine, I don’t get many visitors. You honor me by indulging me with your words, kind lady. Do you write often?" "Yes. Every morning and every night and every moment I can sneak in between." "And do you always write about your family?" Sunday flipped the pages of her never-ending journal—her nameday gift from Fairy Godmother Joy—past her thumb. It was a nervous habit she’d had all her life. "I am afraid to write anything else." "Why is that?" Maybe it was because the honesty was intoxicatingly freeing or because he was a frog and not a man, but she felt strangely comfortable with Grumble. She had already told him so much about her life, more than anyone had ever before cared to know. Why should she stop now? "Things I write . . . well . . . they have a tendency to come true. And not in the best way." "For instance?" "I didn’t want to gather the eggs one morning, so I wrote down that I didn’t have to. That night, a weasel got into the henhouse. No one got eggs that morning. Another time, I did not want to go with the family to market." "Did the wagon break a wheel?" "I got sick with the flu and was in bed for a week," she said with a smile. " ‘Regret’ is not a strong enough word." "I imagine not," said Grumble. "And now you’re wondering what would happen if I wrote that you were free of your spell." "The thought had crossed my mind." "You might not come back as a man but as a mouse or a mule or a tiger who’d eat me alive. You might come back as a man but not the man you were. You might be missing something vital, like an arm or a leg or—" "My mind?" Grumble joked. "—breath," Sunday answered seriously. "Ah. We must always be careful what we wish for." "Exactly. If I write only about events that have already come to pass, there is no danger of my accidentally altering the future. No one but the gods should have power over such things." "A very practical decision." "Yes." She sighed. "Very practical and very boring. Very just like me." "On the contrary. I found your brief essay quite intriguing." "Really?" He was just saying that to be nice. And then she remembered he was a frog. Funny how she kept forgetting. "Will you read to me again tomorrow?" If her ridiculously large smile didn’t scare him off, surely nothing she wrote could. "I would love to." "And would you . . . be my friend?" he asked tenuously. The request was charming and humble. "Only if you will be mine in return." Grumble’s mouth opened wide into what Sunday took to be a froggy grin. "And . . . if I may be so bold, Miss Woodcutter—" "Please, call me Sunday." "Sunday . . . do you think you could find it in your heart to . . . kiss me?" She had wondered how long it would take before he got around to asking. A maiden’s kiss was the usual remedy for his particular enchantment. Normally Sunday would have declined without a thought. But he had been so polite, and she was surely the only maiden he would come across for a very long time. It was the least she could do. His skin was bumpy and slightly damp, but she tried not to think about it. After she kissed him, she straightened up quickly and backed away. She wasn’t sure what to expect. A shower of sparks? Some sort of explosion? Either way, she wanted to stand clear of whatever was involved in turning a frog back into a man. Sunday waited. And waited. Nothing happened. They stared at each other for a long time afterward. "I don’t have to come back, you know, in case you were offering just to be courteous." "Oh no," he said quickly. "I look forward to hearing about your sisters. Please, do come back tomorrow." "Then I will, after I finish my chores. But I should go now, before it gets dark. Mama will be expecting me to help with dinner." She stood and brushed what dirt she could off her skirt. "Good night, Grumble." "Until tomorrow, Sunday."

Editorial Reviews

A Kirkus Best Teen Book of 2012A World Book Night SelectionAn ALA Top Ten Best Fiction for Young Adults SelectionAn Andre Norton Award Nominee* A fabulous fairy-tale mashup that deserves hordes of avid readers. Absolutely delectable."- Kirkus Reviews, starred review* "Kontis delivers a fairy-tale mash-up that outright sparkles."- School Library Journal, starred review"Fantasy readers will undoubtedly enjoy the . . . mash-up of these famous stories, spiced with comedy, romance and magical powers."- VOYA "A wonderful mix-up of fairy-tale tropes, a clever love story, and a delightful tale all on its own!"-Tamora Pierce"A charming tumble of fairy tales, spiced with humor and sprinkled with true love." -Sharon Shinn, best-selling author of the Samaria series"If Neil Gaiman and the Brothers Grimm had a child who grew up to weave fairy tales, she would be Alethea Kontis. Read this book-it's an absolute winner."-J.T. Ellison, best-selling author of Where All the Dead Lie "As mischievous as a garden full of fairies and twice as clever, Enchanted proves there's more than life left in the oldest genre in the world-there's a lot of heart, too." -Sean Williams, New York Times best-selling author"Kontis is a born spell-caster and her work is spellbinding. In the style of great fairy tales, Kontis has created a delightful, heartfelt new classic that can charm the sun out from behind the clouds." -Leanna Renee Hieber, author of the Strangely Beautiful and Magic Most Foul series"Alethea Kontis's debut is full of inventive whimsy. Take your favorite fairytale and spin it to the side, throw in a half-dozen other tales all dancing, and you get this Enchanted ball."-Mary Robinette Kowal, award-winning author of Shades of Milk and Honey "It's the relaxed humor of Kontis' presentation that not only ups the realism of characters unfazed by talking frogs and fey characters but also gives this offering its sweet, distinctive stamp."- Booklist "