A Sea of Disappointment: A Review of Upon a Starlit Tide
When I first heard about Upon a Starlit Tide, the latest offering from Kell Woods, I felt a wave of excitement wash over me. After absolutely loving After the Forest, a whimsical mashup of Hansel and Gretel with Snow White, I was eager to dive into this new retelling of Cinderella and The Little Mermaid. However, the experience was akin to setting sail only to find yourself adrift in a sea of disappointments. As the Mean Girls phrase goes, “Damn, Kell Woods, what happened?”
From the outset, the pacing of Upon a Starlit Tide emerged as my primary grievance. The narrative felt clunky and sluggish, taking what felt like ages to build momentum. By the time the iconic ball scene rolled around, I hardly found it captivating; it felt more like a box to check rather than a pivotal moment in the story. Luce, or as I lovingly—if a bit derisively—refer to her, "Lice," was already entrenched in her love life before the ball even arrived. As the youngest daughter of a wealthy merchant, her transformation into a "fancy" persona seemed completely unnecessary; she already lived in luxury! The entire sequence was devoid of tension or character growth, leaving me quizzically skimming through pages, hoping for a burst of excitement to divert my attention.
The character of Luce left much to be desired. By page 100, I found myself compiling a list of the relentless praise heaped upon her by nearly every male character, which only served to deepen my irritation. There’s a distinct lack of flaws or conflicts in her character—she’s simply the darling of the narrative. Her heroic act of rescuing a drowning man was laudable, sure, but it felt like an isolated incident in an ocean of self-aggrandizing moments. Where was the nuanced character development? Luce’s journey lacked the essential arc that makes a protagonist relatable or interesting. Instead, I felt as if I was reading about a pedestal instead of a person.
The love triangle involving Samuel and Morgan was also disappointingly uninspired. Samuel’s character is almost painfully clichéd—consumed with love for Luce and disdain for the wealthy. Meanwhile, Morgan flirts his way through the narrative without any real depth or self-awareness. The lack of chemistry between the trio made it hard to root for any of them, especially as Luce seemed oblivious to the double standards she maintained, critiquing her sisters for their flirtations while eagerly entangling herself in her own romantic escapades.
The author’s writing style, while charming in After the Forest, felt repetitive here. The myriad praises for Luce became jarring, making me wish for a bit of humility or, dare I say, a character flaw! The beautifully woven fae elements and sea mythology had potential, but they often appeared as mere plot devices instead of integral parts of the narrative. The development was predictable, leaving me wishing for more depth and clarity.
In conclusion, Upon a Starlit Tide seems to target readers looking for a light fantasy read, perhaps those who appreciate fairy-tale retellings with an emphasis on relationships rather than character depth. For me, however, it became a lesson in the challenges of retelling beloved tales. Despite my hopes, I found myself stranded in a story devoid of tension and relatable growth. In the end, I’m left pondering how missed opportunities can sometimes sink the ship, even when the seas seem calm.
In all fairness, I recognize that not every reader will share my sentiments. If you enjoy tales where the perfect protagonist reigns supreme, this book might still float your boat. For readers like me, though, I implore you: don’t let a beautiful cover lure you into murky waters.