“MagnificentThis adult fairly tale entertains and delivers a message in the best tradition of the fantasy classics.”– “The Denver Post.”With the critically. Beauty is the daughter of a noble, a father with a wonderful estate but little in the way of attention for his daughter. This is just part of life. Locus Award in for Beauty. Sheri Stewart Tepper (July 16, – October 22, ) was an American writer of science.
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In “Beauty,” she broadens her territory even further, with a novel that evokes all the richness of fairy tale and fable. Drawing on the wellspring of tales such as “Sleeping Beauty, ” Beauty is a moving novel of love and loss, hope and despair, magic and nature. Set against a backdrop both enchanted and frightening, the story begins with a wicked aunt’s curse that will afflict a young woman named Beauty on her sixteenth birthday.
Though Beauty is able to sidestep tragedy, she soon finds herself embarked on an adventure of vast consequences.
For it becomes clear that the enchanted places of this fantastic world–a place not unlike our own–are in danger and must be saved before it is too late. I really, really like the idea. The book is not incredibly well written, and has a certain wooden aspect at times. However, I do revisit it every so often It’s worth a read, but it isn’t something I would read repeatedly.
Account Options Sign in. This adult fairly tale entertains and delivers a message in the best tradition of the fantasy classics. My library Help Advanced Book Search. Bantam Books- Fiction – pages.
From inside the book. Other editions – View all Beauty Sheri S. Tepper Limited preview – Tepper Snippet view – My father never speaks of her, though my aunts, his half sisters, make up for his tepperr with a loquacity which is as continuous as it is malicious. The aunts speak no good of her, whoever she was and whatever has happened to her, specifics which they avoid, however much ill they find to mutter about else.
I have always thought they would not beaty so much breath on her if she were dead, therefore she is probably alive, somewhere. De mortuis nil nisi bonum, Father Raymond says, but that only applies to dead people. When I was very young I used to ask about her. As I think any child would. First I was hushed, and when I persisted, I was punished.
Nothing makes me angrier or more intent upon finding out things than having people refuse to tell me. I don”t mind when people don”t know, not really, but I hate shegi when they just won”t tell. It”s not practical, because it just makes others more curious. It was the aunts whispering about things that started me upon the habit of listening behind doors and dallying outside open windows.
Beauty : Sheri S. Tepper :
telper Father Raymond reproaches me for this when I confess it, though he admits it is not a very great sin. It was my own idea to confess it because it felt slightly wicked, but perhaps curiosity is not really a sin at all and I need not feel guilty about it. I will try not confessing it for a while, and see. Sometimes I hear my mother”s name, Elladine, and references to “the Curse,” or “the Curse on the Child. If I had known what a curse was during my more tender years, I might have been irremediably warped or wounded.
As it was, I knew no more what shri curse was than what a mama was, except that most children had not the one, but had the other, and that I had had both without getting any discernable good out of either.
Now that I am older and know what a curse is, though not the particulars as they may relate to myself, I am used to the idea and I do not find being cursed as frightening as I probably should.
I know I am being loquacious. Father Raymond says I am very loquacious and affected.
I don”t really think I am affected, unless it tepprr by the aunts, and if it is by the aunts, how could I help it? All these words are something I was born with. Words bubble up in me like water. It is hard to shut them off. I have resolved to find out all about Mama and the curse as soon as I can.
So far I have not found out much. I do know that Mama was very beautiful, for one of the older men-at-arms said so when he told me I look much like her hseri the eyes though the rest of me seems to be purely Papa. Papa is an extremely handsome man, and therefore I am very beautiful. It is not conceit which makes me say so. It is a fact. One must face facts, or so the aunts are fond of saying, though they don”t do it at all. They say many things they don”t do. I”ve noticed that about people.
The fact is that I shall be ravishing when I grow up if I continue in good habits and do not take to drink. Aunt Lovage, I regret to say, is a tippler, though the other gepper are quite beautyy.
Detailed Review Summary of Beauty by Sheri S. Tepper
Father Raymond took over teaching me when I was ten or eleven years old, but my earliest memories are of an education supervised by the aunts. Mary of Perpetual Surprise and music tepperr Aunt Lavender who, though teppwr deaf, plays upon the lute with great brio and a blithesome disregard repper accuracy.
She refers to her sherj as “spontaneous,” and urges me to emulate it. I have found I can play the right notes quite as easily as the wrong ones, though to satisfy Aunt I do flap my arms rather more than the music requires. I am quite talented in music. I am told I sing nicely. When I was four or five, Aunt Tarragon taught me my letters in order that I could read improving works and be confirmed in the faith. Some of the writings I like best do not feel very improving, though whenever Aunt Terror is around I pretend I am reading religious books.
I was confirmed when I was nine, rather late in life, xheri, though Father Raymond considered it soon enough. Even then I thought some bits and pieces of doctrine were unlikely at best. Aunt Tarragon is very pious. The other aunts call her the Holy Terror–a play upon her name. They twpper things like, shdri the Holy Terror gone? It was my grandfather”s notion to name his seven daughters after herbs, a black mark in the heavenly score book which was no doubt wiped clean by his death or enslavement at the age of seventy-four while on his way to Rhodes to offer his services to the Knights Hospitaler of St.
We are a long lived family, so Papa says, beautu Grandfather was still very hale and fervent at that age. Grandfather”s ship was blown off course in a storm and was taken subsequently by Mamluks, so Grandmama was informed by an escaped survivor. Luckily, Grandfather”s demise or disappearance came long after he brought home the builders who saw to the reconstruction of Westfaire Castle. Some say the architects were pagans from the Far East, and some say they were inheritors of the Magi, but they could not have been anything evil to have built so beautiful a place.
There is no other castle like it in England; there may be no building like it in the world. Westfaire is without peer. Even those who have traveled to the far corners of the earth, as Father Raymond did in his younger years, say it is of matchless beauty.
Grandfather”s first wife had no sons and two daughters. The sisters do ebauty visit us often.
I believe they took holy orders simply to escape being called Tansy and Comfrey, though it is possible they were summoned by God. Sister Mary Elizabeth was rather tepped when I last saw her, though it is likely Sister Mary George will go on forever, getting a little leaner and drier with every passing year.
Trpper second wife had no sons and five daughters. Aunt Lavvy, at fifty-eight, is the youngest of them.
Aunt Love is sixty. Aunt Terror is sixty-two. Aunts Bas and Marj are twins of sixty-five. I am almost sixteen, and the difference in our ages as well as their reticence about things I want to know seems an impenetrable barrier between us. They often fail to perceive the things I perceive, and this makes communication between us exceedingly difficult.
I cannot say that there is more than a superficial affection on either side of our relationship. Father Raymond talks about filial duty, but it seems to me there should be something more in a family than that.
Grandfather”s third wife, my father”s mother, died soon after Grandfather vanished, of grief it is said, though in my opinion she died of simple exasperation. I sometimes imagine what it would be like to be wife to a man and mother to a son who are always off on pilgrimage, as well as being stepmother to seven daughters, all of them considerably older than I. I would die of it, I think, just as Grandmama did.
She was only fifteen when she married Grandfather, after all, and about thirty-five when he was killed. What had she to look forward to but decades more of the herbal sisters, all of them dedicated to eccentric celibacy? Buried among all those stepdaughters, Grandmama would have been unlikely to find a second husband, especially since there was nothing left of either her dowry or her dower.
Grandpapa used everything rebuilding Westfaire: Grandmama was left with nothing to attract suitors, and death might have seemed a blessed release. At least, so I think. I spend a lot of time thinking about people. If one leaves out religion, there is very little to think about except people.
People and books are just about all there is. I don”t have anyone much to talk with and only Grumpkin to play with, so