Review of Malice (Malice Duology, #1) by Heather Walter
When I first stumbled upon Malice, I was instantly intrigued. A fairy-tale retelling from the perspective of the “wicked” fairy? Yes, please! Heather Walter had me hooked with that premise alone. As a sucker for queer representation and a fan of fairy tales turned upside down, I felt a spark of excitement as I dove into the story. Plus, I deeply appreciate stories that challenge our perceptions of good and evil, and this one promised just that.
Malice centers around Alyce, a part-Vila outcast who grapples with her dark lineage in a world that reviles her for it. The beautiful complexity of Alyce’s character made her journey a compelling focal point, as she discovers her powers and navigates a society shaped by prejudice and misunderstanding. Alyce’s arc is a powerful tale of self-acceptance, which resonated with me in a profound way. “I’m better than this. More than the villain they’ve created,” Alyce reflects, encapsulating the struggle between self-identity and societal expectation.
Walter’s world-building is a real treat—rich in detail and depth. The history of the kingdoms and the intricate magic system added texture to the narrative that I found refreshing. The contrast between the beloved Graces, who bring beauty and charm, and Alyce’s ability to curse reveals a fascinating exploration of power dynamics in this world. While some critics pointed to info-dumping, I didn’t mind; it felt integrated into the characters’ experiences and struggles, allowing me to fully immerse myself in the universe.
However, the pacing faltered at times, particularly in the relationship development between Alyce and Aurora, the cursed princess. Many readers may find the initial spark of their connection felt like classic “insta-love” territory. A quote that encapsulated this feeling for me was when Alyce remarked, “Once again, I’m dizzy with the feeling Aurora gives me.” The chemistry was palpable, but that organic tension I craved didn’t fully materialize as their relationship progressed, leading to instances of miscommunication based on jealousy.
Despite these hiccups, their romance shines in moments of tenderness and mutual respect—“Forgive me, Your Highness… I’m Aurora to you.” The way Alyce navigates her feelings of inferiority in juxtaposition to Aurora’s royal status struck a chord with me. Their dynamic serves as a gentle reminder of real-world experiences where acceptance and love can be found in the most unexpected places.
The characterization of supporting characters ebbed and flowed. I found Rose, the beauty Grace, to be a well-crafted antagonist, albeit predictable in her “mean-girl” trope. In contrast, I adored Hilde and her enigmatic nature, hinting at a significant role in the next book—definitely a character to keep an eye on.
Ultimately, while I rated Malice 3.5 stars due to its uneven pacing and some underdeveloped relationships, the charm and courage behind Walter’s narrative pulled me in. The writing style sparkles with poetic phrases that perfectly match the aesthetic, making me underline quotes like, “What else can I do?” as I pondered the depths of Alyce’s potential.
If you’re a fan of fairy-tale retellings that challenge norms—especially with LGBTQ+ representation—Malice is a book you won’t want to miss. It invites readers to reflect on the power of self-acceptance and the idea that darkness doesn’t inherently equal evil. As I close the cover, I find myself eagerly awaiting the next chapter in Alyce’s journey, curious to see how she’ll continue to break free from the chains of societal expectation. For me, the beauty of this tale lies in its exploration of transformation—both of the characters and the narratives we’ve come to know.
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