“You will find the way, daughter of the forest. Through grief and pain, through many trials, through betrayal and loss, your feet will walk a straight path.”
Had Sorcha been born a boy, she would have been the seventh son of a seventh son. As it is, she is the only daughter of Lord Colum of Sevenwaters, raised motherless and alongside her six brothers, she forges a deep connection with the forest and becomes a skilled herbalist. But when her father falls under the wicked spell of Lady Oonagh, remarrying and bringing his new wife to the keep, the sorceress sets her sights on Sorcha and her brothers, turning the siblings into swans. Only Sorcha escapes with her life, turning to her ancient forest for guidance. She must weave a shirt of starwort (a nettle-like plant) for each of her lost brothers and place them over the swan’s necks to break the curse, and in the meantime, she must utter nary a word. Sorcha embarks on her ill-fated task, determinedly weaving with broken hands and never crying out, but when her task takes her from Sevenwaters and across the sea to the fortress of a British warlord and her father’s enemy.
A retelling of the Grimm fairytale the Six Swans, Daughter of the Forest feels like the old fantasy tales of yore. The prose is tender and lyrical, without ever being too heavy and veering into purple-prose. It’s simplistic, but beautiful, like it is a fairytale an ancestor would tell you over the fire, rather than a retelling of one. It has the whimsy we associate with such fairytales in spades, but maybe more importantly, it has the grittiness too.
For make no mistake, Daughter of the Forest is very much a tale of suffering. And yet, it is simultaneously so full of heart that it’s impossible not to care so deeply for Sorcha; every hardship, every stumbling block she faces feels like a punch to your own gut. Where I occasionally feel like fairytale retellings can often come across either derivative or contrived, this felt like Marillier took the basic premise of the Six Swans and breathed her own life into it. She made it so personally Sorcha’s tale that I often forget it had its beginnings in a Grimm story. The characterisation is perhaps one of the most obvious areas of this – where the original fairytale lumps its players into caricatures, Marillier takes the time to develop each. The time devoted to Sorcha’s six brothers I thought particularly clever, as it gives credence to Sorcha’s determination and making the reader appreciate all the more the deep love she has for them which drives her to endure pain, day in and day out. From the Sevenwaters inhabitants to the British keep – Lord Colum, Lady Oonagh, Lady Anne, Ben, John – they all had such clear motivations and drive, which elevates it above the original fairytale.
Marillier has such a gift in making the reader feel grounded in the setting – whether that be an isolated medieval fortress, an Irish forest, or the firelit halls of Britain. Sorcha is perhaps my favourite heroine I’ve read about – and when I say heroine, I don’t mean the typical badass warrior girl. Sorcha has such a quiet strength. She is dealt some unimaginably crappy hands, but she just gets on with it.
The majority of negative reviews seem to cite its length as a detracting factor – I couldn’t feel more differently. Because Sorcha is unable to speak, a natural consequence is that the story becomes very introspective, very quiet. I loved how much time Marillier took to tell the story. It’s something that I’m becoming increasingly frustrated with in more modern fantasy books – the feel of authors rushing their way through the story, the constant action and adventure without time to get to know the characters in full – which is why I’m reverting more and more to the older fantasy classics. So yes, this might be partially personal taste – if you’re someone who wants their fantasy to move at breakneck speed, then this probably isn’t the book for you – but for me, it was absolutely a selling point. Following Sorcha through such formative ages on her thankless journey to save her brothers, rooting for her every step of the way… I truly could have read another 600 pages of it (and another, and another). I will fall for an epic saga where the characters feel etched onto your soul every single time.
I was actively mourning the prospect of finishing and leaving the characters behind when I neared the end. I appreciated how fleshed out the ending was – again, I think a lot of modern fantasy rushes to conclude everything, whereas Marillier, in her typical fashion, takes her time. It’s hard to believe this is a debut, because it feels so masterfully crafted.
After I finished, I was truly so torn between diving straight into the next one, Son of the Shadows, and letting DoTF marinate. Eventually, I concluded that if I jumped straight into SoTS, I would probably be disappointed because Sorcha and Red aren’t our main characters (*cries*). Each book in the trilogy follows different characters, which is exciting in its own way but also have I mentioned I could read Daughter of the Forest forever and never get tired. It might be my desert-island book (if anyone would imbue me with the sort of determination and perseverance that I’d need to survive a desert island, it’s Sorcha). I know that I will return to the world of Sevenwaters very soon (I actually haven’t stopped thinking about it since and it’s been two weeks, and every other book has paled in comparison. I suppose that’s the curse of a six star book, but it’s one I’ll gladly take.)
If I’ve convinced you to give this book a try, definitely do check content warnings because Sorcha goes through a lot. It’s another point of contention about this book. I personally never felt that any of the violence was gratuitous, and I thought it was explored in a really mindful way, but everyone will have different opinions! Just thinking about everything she endured hurts my heart. Okay, I’m rambling… time for me to go back to daydreaming about sweet, red-haired British lords and yearning for forests and moss. (Seriously. Read this book.)
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