Last year I read and enjoyed Ebony McKenna’s whimsical, dreamy debut Ondine: Summer of Shambles, and was delighted when the second in the series landed on my desk. What made Ondine so utterly enjoyable in my mind was its charming mix of nostalgia, magic, absurd pop culture references and, well, talking ferrets, and the follow up offers more of the same, but in an even stronger and more delightful package.

Ondine and her lover Hamish, a lovely chap who boasts a Scottish brogue and the unfortunate habit of turning into a ferret, were clearly dreaming when they hoped that their previous adventures–involving attempted regicide, familial double-crossings and more–were long behind them. Unfortunately, their summer of sweet nothings and laziness promptly turns into a Serious Mission, with Hamish being recruited by the Duke to help, er, ferret out a possible assassin whom he suspects has it in for him. Ondine tags along with him to the Duke’s Autumn Palace, but finds herself with a rather less MIB-style job. Rather than spying and stalking, she instead spends her days getting red wine stains out of laundry and generally being berated by all around her.

However, being the sharp lass that she is, and with her impeccable tea-steeping skills, Ondine catches the interest of the Infanta Anathea, and is brought on as her personal assistant. Though the very idea of working for the Infanta initially terrifies Ondine, who suspects that a better name for her might be the Enfanta Terrible, Ondine slowly begins to warm to her new boss, realising that there’s more to the woman than she first suspected. The only issue is that Hamish thinks the same–but that it’s not a depth of personality that’s to blame, but rather a murderous intent.

As much as I revelled in the silliness and whimsy of the first in this series, it’s undeniable that The Autumn Palace demonstrates substantial growth from McKenna, who has overcome many of the issues of the first book–a slightly meandering plot and an unclear audience. Though ripe with all of the shenanigans and hilarity of its predecessor, The Autumn Palace has a strong, if simple, plot that keeps pressing forward, and though it’s driven largely by the mischievous escapades of the characters (believe me, a Scotsman who regularly turns into a ferret can get up to all sorts of mischief) feel impressively organic rather than plotted.

Ondine also demonstrates increasing maturity in this novel, which helps to endear her more to the reader, and which slots this novel more into to the YA reader age group, rather than in that awkward Venn overlap between MG and YA. Now that the “chase” aspect of her romance is complete, and she has her spunky guy, she has to reflect on her expectations of that relationship and whether what she wants is viable or reasonable. With Hamish spending more time with the Duke and so evidently loving his work, he has less time for Ondine, and for Ondine, who had initially conceived of her relationship as non-stop cuddles and walks in the park, this is a challenge. Ondine is also put in the position where she has information that will help Hamish in his Spy Guy mission, but that would also incriminate someone else she cares about, and this is a test of not just loyalty, but also Ondine’s character, and McKenna works through it beautifully whilst still keeping the tone light and friendly.

On the subject of the romance, though, I have to say that it’s a delight to see a YA novel where the romance isn’t the overriding plot, and where the romance doesn’t require vast, self-sacrificing demands. Better yet, it’s wonderful to see a male character who isn’t brooding, antagonising or alpha-male in tone, and whose loyalty isn’t up for debate. I applaud McKenna on not opting for the age-old love triangle in order to raise the stakes, but letting other aspects of the plot do this instead. Hamish and Ondine are delightfully in love (indeed, I do believe the phrase “lovely kisses” is used several hundred times in this book), and it’s such a pleasure to read about a healthy relationship where the feelings of both parties are reciprocated and respected.

Of course, I can’t end without mentioning McKenna’s made-up country of Brugel, a former Soviet State-meets-Grimms’-Fairytales type thing where magic abounds and no one has ever won Eurovision (despite much trying). Her approach to world-building is tongue-in-cheek and self-aware, and there are a good number of instances where Brugel is contrasted with McKenna’s native Melbourne and Australia to great effect: though this may seem counterintuitive, this approach helps to anchor her imagined country in the real world. Many of the world-building gems can be found in the kooky footnotes that are sprinkled throughout the novel, and I admit to dog-earing my copy (I know, naughty me) in many places so that I could read these out to my poor long-suffering fiance. Possibly my favourite: “chotskys” are apparently figurines that look like “Trotskys”, a riff on “tsotchkes” and the poor ol’ Marxist revolutionary who got pickaxed.

Ondine: the Autumn Palace is rich, silly and very, very charming, and if you’re after a fairytale where your hero and heroine are actually equals (assuming ferrets are equal in the eye of the law), then you’ll enjoy this immensely.

Rating: (excellent)

With thanks to Hardie Grant Egmont for the review copy

This book was read as part of the Australian Women Writers 2012 challenge

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