Part Sleeping Beauty and part Inception, The Secret World of Briar Rose is a queer retelling of the classic princess fairytale with a dark twist. Written by Cindy Pham, the young adult novel layers in themes of grief, depression, and trauma that make for a challenging but eventually rewarding read. An early content warning about suicidal ideation sets the tone for a story heavily marked by mental anguish and physical suffering.
The book’s main protagonist is an 18-year-old thief named Corin who lives in the war-ravaged land of Gyldan. As she searches for her recently vanished younger sister, she is haunted by the loss of her family and friends over the years. The kingdom has witnessed an endlessly harsh century of poverty and violence since the disappearance of Amelia, heir to the Gyldan throne. In her search, Corin stumbles upon the princess’s hidden place of slumber and magically enters her supernatural dreams, encountering fantastical lands and her own terrifying subconscious at the same time.
As Corin wrestles with her own inner demons, she also meets Malicine, a real demon with powerful magic who brought Amelia into this alternate dimension a hundred years ago. The trio comprise the core perspectives of The Secret World. Through flashback chapters, the true story of Amelia’s situation is revealed. She is not merely a passive, pretty princess, but someone trapped in the stifling expectations of royal-born blood (and in love with someone she can never be with). And Malicine is not a straightforward, evil villain but an unexpected (and non-binary) ally to Amelia and Corin.
Pham creates a richly drawn, almost cinematic fantasy world and enriches the well-known fairytale of Sleeping Beauty with unique elements. The strange situations in the ever-shifting dreamscape draw from high fantasy as well as classic fairytale lore. Snowy mountains, sandy beaches, and castle libraries create a varied landscape. There’s even Alice in Wonderland-esque tea parties set at a cottage haven. (Another Lewis Carroll-like element is the underground tunnel that transports Corin from her own world to Amelia’s.) Of course, the characters themselves are somewhat archetypal at the surface level until it becomes more apparent that the guilty elder sister/war child, the suicidal lesbian princess, and the frosty sorceress looking for escape from family drama make for an unlikely group of comrades.
Infused with the experiences of clinical depression and its self-defeating patterns of thought, The Secret World is, at times, too much of a downer to get through in one sitting. But there is a realism to the despondent rhythms that all the main characters go through. Each time this happens, the dream world bends and fractures along with the characters’ overwhelming thoughts of self-destruction and hopelessness. It happens multiple times, bogging down the pace a bit and adding a lot of violent imagery that is hard to stomach at times. The few moments in the book that manage to counter these are not ones of joy but of quiet respite and relief.
It also takes a long time for the characters to show agency and for the story to pick up. Corin stumbles into the bigger fairytale as if guided by magic, but it’s a little too convenient how she manages to fall into Amelia’s dream world despite the many obstacles that other, more dedicated characters face. She is left to flounder and freak out while a million things happen at the same time. Other storylines also get introduced in flashback chapters, so there is a lot of setup at the start, but the ending is fairly satisfying for an alternative fairytale.
Pham’s ultimate messaging is of the importance of community to lift oneself out of the darkest pits of despair and of turning personal pain into a reason to show care to others. These lessons are slowly learned by the characters and earned by the author. The Secret World successfully manages to transform the classic Brothers Grimm fairytale with a queer revisionist twist that hopefully brings some healing to the traumatized.
