CANR

• The Mercies - 2020 Little, Brown and Company, New York, NY
• The Deathless Girls - 2019 Orion Childrens Books, London, England
• The Way Past Winter - 2018 Chicken House, London, England

• Kiran Millwood Hargrave website - https://www.kiranmillwoodhargrave.co.uk/

  Kiran loves receiving real letters through the actual post, and will always reply to handwritten messages. Please send any correspondence to:
  Kiran Millwood Hargrave
  C/O Janklow & Nesbit
  13A Hillgate Street
  Kensington
  London
  W8 7SP

  Kiran Millwood Hargrave was born in Surrey in 1990, and her earliest ambition was to be a cat, closely followed by a cat-owner or the first woman on Mars. She has achieved only one of these things, but discovered that being a writer lets you imagine whatever you want.
  She started writing poetry in her final year at university, producing three poetry books and a play before she turned to fiction. Her bestselling debut The Girl of Ink & Stars, about a mapmaker’s daughter who must save her island, won the Waterstones Children’s Book Prize 2017 and the British Book Awards Children’s Book of the Year. Her second standalone story, The Island at the End of Everything, was shortlisted for the Blue Peter Book Award and the Costa Children’s Book Award, and long listed for the CILIP Carnegie Medal. Her third book, The Way Past Winter, was the Blackwell’s Children’s Book of the Year 2018.
  Her debut YA title, The Deathless Girls, is forthcoming from Hachette in September. Her first book for adults, The Mercies, was subject to a 13-way auction and will be published by Picador in February 2020.
  Kiran lives in Oxford with her husband, the artist Tom de Freston, and the fulfilment of one of her earliest ambitions: their cat, Luna.
  Kiran has answers to some frequently asked questions here. You can find out how to write to her above or alternatively use the form below.

• Fantastic Fiction -

  Kiran Millwood Hargrave
  (b.1990)

  Kiran Millwood Hargrave was born in Surrey in 1990, and her earliest ambition was to be a cat, closely followed by a cat-owner or the first woman on Mars. She has achieved only one of these things, but discovered that being a writer lets you imagine whatever you want.She started writing poetry in her final year at university, producing three poetry books and a play before she turned to fiction. Her bestselling debut The Girl of Ink & Stars, about a mapmaker’s daughter who must save her island, won the Waterstones Children’s Book Prize 2017 and the British Book Awards Children’s Book of the Year. Her second standalone story, The Island at the End of Everything, was shortlisted for the Blue Peter Book Award and the Costa Children’s Book Award, and long listed for the CILIP Carnegie Medal. Her third book, The Way Past Winter, was the Blackwell’s Children’s Book of the Year 2018.

  Her debut YA title, The Deathless Girls, is forthcoming from Hachette in September. Her first book for adults, The Mercies, was subject to a 13-way auction and will be published by Picador in February 2020.Kiran lives in Oxford with her husband, the artist Tom de Freston, and the fulfilment of one of her earliest ambitions: their cat, Luna.

  Genres: Children's Fiction, Young Adult Fantasy

  New Books
  September 2019
  (hardback)

  The Deathless Girls
  October 2019
  (paperback)

  The Way Past Winter
  February 2020
  (hardback)

  The Mercies

  Novels
  The Girl of Ink & Stars (2016)
  aka The Cartographer's Daughter
  The Island at the End of Everything (2017)
  The Way Past Winter (2018)
  The Deathless Girls (2019)
  The Mercies (2020)

  Collections
  Last March (poems) (2012)
  Make More Noise! (2018) (with Emma Carroll, Catherine Johnson, Ally Kennen, Patrice Lawrence, M G Leonard, Sally Nicholls, Ella Risbridger, Jeanne Willis and Katherine Woodfine)

• Bustle - https://www.bustle.com/p/the-mercies-by-kiran-millwood-hargrave-is-inspired-by-the-1620s-witch-trials-start-reading-now-17946569

  'The Mercies' By Kiran Millwood Hargrave Is Inspired By The 1620s Witch Trials — Start Reading Now!
  By Kerri Jarema
  Jun 5, 2019

  Little, Brown and Company

  It's not surprising that the witch trials — one of the earliest, and most deadly, examples of an attempted mass subjugation of women —are still finding their way into modern literature. Kiran Millwood Hargrave's new novel, The Mercies, out on Feb. 11, 2020, draws on the real events of the 1620 witch trials and the Vardø storm for a feminist story of love, evil, obsession, and women's strength in the face of oppression. Bustle has the cover reveal and an exclusive excerpt from the book below!

  The Mercies opens in 1617, in the town of Vardø, Norway. Thanks to a large storm, 40 of the town's fisherman — including 20-year-old Maren Bergensdatter's father and brother — have drowned. With the men wiped out, the women must learn to fend for themselves. Three years after the tragedy, Absalom Cornet visits Vardø from Scotland, where he burned witches in the northern isles. He brings with him his young wife, Ursa, who is both heady with her husband’s authority and terrified by it. In Vardø, and in Maren, Ursa sees something she has never seen before: independent women. But Absalom sees only a place untouched by God and flooded with a mighty evil. As Maren and Ursa are are drawn to one another, Absalom’s iron rule threatens Vardø’s very existence.

  The Mercies won't be out until Feb. 2020, but you can check out the stunning cover below, and read the entire first chapter:

  Chapter One
  The storm comes in like a finger snap. That’s how they’ll speak in the months and years after, when it stops being only an ache behind their eyes and a crushing at the base of their throats. When it finally fits into stories. Even then, it doesn’t tell how it actually was. There are ways words fall down: they give shape too easily, carelessly. And there was no grace, no ease to what Maren saw.

  That afternoon, the best sail is spread like a blanket across her lap, Mamma and Diinna at its other corners. Their smaller, neater fingers are working smaller, neater stitches into the wind-wear tears, while she patches cloth over holes left by the mast fastenings.
  "The storm comes in like a finger snap. That’s how they’ll speak in the months and years after, when it stops being only an ache behind their eyes and a crushing at the base of their throats."
  Beside the fire there’s a stack of white heather drying, cut and brought by her brother Erik from the low mountain on the mainland. Tomorrow, after, Mamma will give her three palmfuls for her pillow. She’ll wrench it apart, stuff it earth and all into the casing, the honey scent almost sickening after months of only the stale smell of sleep and unwashed hair. She’ll take it between her teeth and scream until her lungs wheeze with the sweet dirt tang of it.

  Now, something makes her look up and out towards the window. A bird, dark against dark, a sound? She stands to stretch, to watch the bay, flat grey and beyond it the open sea, tips of waves like smashed glass glittering. The boats are loosely pegged out against it by their two small lights, bow and aft, barely flickering.
  She imagines she can tell Pappa and Erik’s apart from the others, with its second-best sail rigged tight to the mast. The jerk and stop-start of their rowing, their backs to the horizon where the sun skulks, out of sight for a month now, and for another month to come. The men will see the steady light from Vardø’s curtainless houses, lost in their own sea of dim-lit land. They’re already out beyond the Hornøya stac, nearly at the place where the shoal was sighted earlier in the afternoon, worried into bright action by a whale.

  'The Mercies' by Kiran Milwood Hargrave
  $27
  |
  Hachette Book Group
  Pre-Order On Amazon

  ‘It will have passed on,’ Pappa said. Mamma has a great terror of whales. ‘Well eaten its fill by the time Erik manages to haul us there with those herringbone arms.’
  Erik only bowed his head to accept Mamma’s kiss, and his wife Diinna’s press of thumb to his forehead that the Sámi say will draw a thread to reel men at sea home again. He rested a hand on her belly for a moment, bringing the swell of it more obviously through her knitted tunic. She pushed his hand away, but gently.
  ‘You’ll call it early. Let it be.’ After, Maren will wish she rose and kissed them both on each rough cheek. She will wish she had watched them go to the water in their stitched sealskins, her father’s strung-out stride and Erik’s shambling behind. Wish that she had felt anything at all about them going, other than gratitude for the time alone with Mother and Diinna, for the easiness of other women.
  "After, Maren will wish she rose and kissed them both on each rough cheek... Wish that she had felt anything at all about them going."
  Because, at twenty and with her first marriage proposal come three weeks before, she at last considered herself one of them. Dag Bjørnsson was making them a home from his father’s second boathouse, and before winter was done it would be finished, and they wed.

  Inside, he told her, panting hot, scratching breath beneath her ear, would be a fine hearth and separate food store so he wouldn’t need to walk through the house with his axe like Pappa did. The wicked glint, even in Pappa’s careful hands, brought bile to her tongue. Dag knew this, and cared to know. He was blond as his mother, delicately featured in a way that Maren knew other men took to mean weakness, but she didn’t mind. She didn’t mind that he brushed his wide mouth against her throat, as he told her of the sheet she should weave for the bed he would build for them. And though she didn’t feel anything at his hesitant caress at her back, too gentle and high to mean much at all through her navy winter dress, this house that would be hers — this hearth and bed — sent a pulse low in her belly. At night she’d press her hands to the places she’d felt the warmth, fingers cold bars across her hips and numb enough not to be hers.
  Not even Erik and Diinna have their own house: they live in the narrow room Maren’s father and brother tacked along the back edge of their outer wall. Their bed fills the width of it, is pressed flush against Maren’s own through the divide. She put her arms over her head on their first nights together, breathing in the musty straw of her mattress, but never heard so much as a breath. It was a wonder when Diinna’s belly started to show. The baby would be here just after winter left, and then there would be three in that slender bed.
  After, she will think: perhaps she should have watched for Dag too.

  But instead she fetched the damaged sailcloth and spread it over all their knees, and did not look up until the bird or the sound or the change in the air called her to the window to watch the lights shifting across the dark sea.
  "Mamma is fetched to the window by the light and the noise, the sea and sky clashing like a mountain splitting so they feel it through their soles and spines."
  Her arms crackle: she brings one needle-coarsened finger to the other and pushes it under her woollen cuff, feels the hair stiff and the skin beneath it tightening. The boats are still rowing, still steady in the uncertain light, lamps glimmering. And then the sea rises up and the sky swings down and greenish lightning slings itself across everything, flashing the black into an instantaneous, terrible brightness. Mamma is fetched to the window by the light and the noise, the sea and sky clashing like a mountain splitting so they feel it through their soles and spines, sending Maren’s teeth into her tongue and hot salt down her gullet.

  And then maybe both of them are screaming but there is no sound save the sea and the sky and all the boat lights swallowed and the boats flashing and the boats spinning, the boats flying, turning, gone. Maren goes spilling out into the wind, creased double by her suddenly sodden skirts, Diinna calling her in, wrenching the door behind to keep the fire from going out. The rain is a weight on her shoulders, the wind slamming her back, hands tight in on themselves, grasping nothing. She is screaming so loud her throat will be bruised for days. All about her, other mothers, sisters, daughters are throwing them- selves at the weather: dark, rain- slick shapes, clumsy as seals. The storm drops before she reaches the harbour, two hundred paces from home, its empty mouth gaping at the sea. The clouds roll themselves up and the waves fall, resting at each other’s horizons, gentle as a flock settling.
  "And then maybe both of them are screaming but there is no sound save the sea and the sky and all the boat lights swallowed and the boats flashing and the boats spinning, the boats flying, turning, gone."
  The women of Vardø gather at the scooped-out edge of their island, and though some are still shouting, Maren’s ears ring with silence. Before her, the harbour is wiped smooth as a mirror. Her jaw is caught on the hinges of itself, her tongue dripping blood warm down her chin. Her needle is threaded in the web between her thumb and forefinger, the wound a neat circle of pink.
  As she watches, a final flash of lightning illuminates the hatefully still sea, and from its blackness rise oars and rudders and a full mast with gently stowed sails, like underwater forests uprooted. Of their men, there is no sign.
  It is Christmas Eve.

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  Start Reading 'Havenfall' By Sara Holland Right Now
  By K.W. Colyard
  Oct 3, 2019

  'Havenfall' is the new book from New York Times bestselling author Sara Holland. Photo courtesy of Bloomsbury YA.

  If you've been looking for a new fantasy series to read, you owe it to yourself to check this one out. In Sara Holland's Havenfall, a teenage girl sworn to protect the portals between Earth and the other worlds finds out just how complicated life can get, after her summer romance goes awry, and someone turns up dead at her uncle's hidden inn. Havenfall is out on March 3, 2020, but you can read an exclusive excerpt, and get a sneak-peek at the cover, right here on Bustle.
  Maddie Marrow isn't like other teenagers. Her mom is on Death Row, accused of murdering Maddie's brother, and Maddie divides her school days between attending classes and visiting the prison. Every summer, however, Maddie takes a getaway vacation in the Colorado Rockies, where her uncle's hidden inn, the eponymous Havenfall, is located. Her uncle guards the portals between Earth — aka Haven — and the other realms, and one day Maddie will take over from him.
  Duty and magic aren't the only reasons why Maddie loves her summers at Havenfall. It's also the only place she can connect with Brekken, the boy she loves. But this summer will bring new challenges, and they aren't limited to the arrival of Taya — the motorcyclist staffer who nearly runs Maddie over on her way to Havenfall. This summer, someone at Havenfall will die, and Maddie will find out what secrets her family has hidden from her all this time.
  Check out the cover for the novel below, and start reading it today, only on Bustle:

  Excerpt: Havenfall
  The dark is coming down fast, the rain intensifying as I start my long walk up the mountain. Most of the townsfolk of Haven don’t know the truth, I think, about Havenfall and the Adjacent Realms and the Accords that we commemorate every summer with a summit. But everyone knows there’s something special about this place — an undercurrent, a breath of wind from another world.
  A few different stories float around town, passed along when you’re getting your hair cut, in line at the general store, chatting on sagging front porches. That a tiny village once here disappeared from the face of the earth, and no one knows where everyone went. That a cult leader during a camp meeting walked a group of devout followers off a cliff. That Lewis and Clark types came here a little later in the nineteenth century, trying to map the Rockies, only to all vanish. People say the mountain has a will of its own. It can be magnanimous or cruel. If you come here with ill intentions, you’ll find yourself beset by rain, hail, and wind strong enough to dislodge rocks above and send them tumbling onto your path. But if you come here for refuge, the fog will swallow you up like a protective blanket and hide you from whatever you’re running from.
  The point is, people know that this is a place where you can vanish, even if they don’t know why. We’re hardly in Briar County, Colorado, anymore. We’re elsewhere.
  Giving up on keeping my feet dry, I look up from the ground and take in what’s around me. The town is diminished, as is Havenfall itself. The inn used to be the crossroads to uncountable realms, each behind its own door, and all but two have been sealed magically shut. There are only three worlds left — Byrn, Fiordenkill, and Haven, which is what everyone from the Adjacent Realms calls Earth; that’s how the town got its name. But even though neither the town nor the inn are what they once were, the air still feels laden with possibilities. Havenfall is the neutral zone between all the worlds, a peaceful, magical crossroads.
  The rain slackens enough for me to close my umbrella as I leave town behind and trudge up toward Havenfall — good weather always seems to wrap the inn like a bubble, no matter what’s happening in town. But it’s rapidly getting darker even as the clouds slide away, and here’s the part of my plan I wish I’d thought more about. There are no streetlamps, and the whispering pines block any light from the inn above or the town below. It’s twilight now, but soon I’m going to have nothing to guide me but the moon and stars.
  My duffel is on the ground, my hands over my mouth. I run to the driver, who pushes unsteadily to stand. “Are you okay?”
  I’ve been walking on the side of the road for half an hour, squinting at the ground to make sure I don’t misstep, when an engine sound from down the road makes me look up.
  A motorcycle’s headed right at me.
  I leap back just as the bike roars around the bend.
  My chest jackhammers as I watch the driver swerve, tires skidding over the dirt road, the bike going out from under them. The rider tumbles into the road, rolling over, while the bike shoots across the gravel, the motor sputtering out, and tangles in the brush between the trees. My duffel is on the ground, my hands over my mouth. I run to the driver, who pushes unsteadily to stand. “Are you okay?”
  He’s wearing a helmet — one of those shiny black ones that make you look like a Martian — and a leather jacket. He pulls off the helmet and oh — not a he, I realize as two dirty-blond braids tumble on either side of a pale, heart-shaped face.
  “No thanks to you.”
  She’s pretty, with a thin, wide mouth. A white scar runs down her chin, like this isn’t her first fall. Dark circles beneath her blazing, dark eyes. She swipes the back of her hand across her mouth.
  “What the hell were you doing in the middle of the road?” She reaches up and touches a silver locket around her throat, as if to make sure it’s still there.
  “I’m sorry, the fog —” I start to say something about how she could have taken it easy on the turns, but then I register the smear of red across her cheek. “Sh*t, you’re bleeding.”
  Panic speeds my heart. I yank out my phone, not sure if I should call Marcus or 911. If she’s really hurt, could an ambulance even get up here?
  Her hand shoots out and grabs my wrist before I decide. Her grip is hot, too tight.
  “Don’t. I’m fine. Just bit my tongue.” She lets me go and spits blood onto the road, then troops off toward her bike, fists clenched. “This bike is my everything, though, so you better hope it still runs.”
  “Sorry,” I mumble, at a loss for what to do. A second ago I was panicked, then mad, and now guilt fills me as I trail after her. “Are you from around here?” I call out. “Is there someone you could call to — I really don’t think you should try to ride that thing right now.”
  She glares at me as she drags her bike from the underbrush back onto the road. Besides the left rearview mirror being cocked at a funny angle, the bike looks fine to me, but then it’s not like I know anything about motorcycles, and the way she took that fall...
  Once her bike’s back on the road, she props it on the kickstand and turns to me, crossing her arms. “Worry about yourself,” she says. “The real question here is why the hell are you wandering around in the dark?”
  Around us, the chorus of frogs and crickets slowly starts up again. I hadn’t realized they’d stopped singing.
  I lift my head, trying to match her manner, though I can’t imagine I’m all that intimidating with my damp clothes and sagging umbrella. “I’m headed to the Inn at Havenfall.”
  “What a coincidence, me too.”
  “What for?”
  Marcus always hires all sorts of people to work at the inn every year during the summer summit; the meetings, parties, and events require extra maids and stable hands, cooks and attendants. But I can’t imagine this girl blending into the background like a staffer is meant to. Besides, all the new staff was supposed to arrive last week, a few days before the delegates, to get ready.
  “I saw an ad in the paper for a landscaper.” She lifts one shoulder in a shrug. “Seemed like a good deal.”
  Havenfall’s got to be less than half a mile away now, and I can feel it, an insistent tugging like a balloon string tied to my breastbone.
  “You’re late,” I snap. Then realize I didn’t mean to say it like that, but the adrenaline from a moment ago broke down my filters. “I mean, it’s okay. I’m sure it doesn’t matter.” I feel myself blushing, and quickly bend down to pick up my duffel bag.
  Her eyes are narrow. “I would be less late if you hadn’t been walking in the middle of the road.”
  “If you hadn’t been taking that bend like a madman —” I stop myself. Becoming irritated won’t help things. “You know what, arguing about it isn’t going to get us there any faster.”
  Havenfall’s got to be less than half a mile away now, and I can feel it, an insistent tugging like a balloon string tied to my breastbone. I don’t want to fight with this girl. I just want to get there, and I offer an olive branch. “I’m Maddie.”
  “Taya,” she says. But she doesn’t take my outstretched hand. Dark, unreadable eyes examine my face, and the scrutiny freezes me, makes me want to shrink away. It brings me back to my home in Sterling and the constant stares of everyone there, where I keep my head down and walk fast, hoping to fly under the radar.
  But that’s not who I am here, not in the mountains and not at Havenfall. So I hold my ground and meet her eyes, even if something about her gaze feels dangerous. In Havenfall, I am brave. I must be, if I want to prove myself worthy of preserving the peace we celebrate with every summit, protecting the portals to the world’s lost realms of magic. The omphalos.
  And in the long run, it’s not like she’ll remember any of this. Marcus always sees to that. No one ever remembers — except me.
  Eventually, Taya turns away with a shrug. She throws a leg over her motorcycle, then looks back at me. “Well?” she says after a moment. “Are you coming?”
  Surprise freezes me in place. A few moments ago, I’d have said I’d never be caught dead on a motorcycle, but I’m ever more conscious of how dark it is and how far I have to go. I glance at the motorcycle, and Taya must be able to read the hesitation on my face, because she grins.
  “I’m a good driver. I swear. But if you’re worried, you can wear my helmet.”
  “There’s no need —” I begin, but Taya has already lifted the helmet and plunked it down over my ears. I cock my head, a little charmed and a little indignant, as she turns and strides back toward her bike, seeming to assume I’ll follow.
  She pauses and looks over her shoulder at me, lifting one eyebrow. “Unless you’d rather walk. Alone. In the dark. With coyotes.”
  Unable to think of a way to reply to that, I trail after her. “So, do I just, um...”
  Taya already has her leg over the bike, and it kicks to life with a growl. “Get on behind me and hold on.”
  I do as she says, nervous but trying not to hold her too tight. I don’t remember the last time I’ve gotten this close to, well, anyone. But Taya is easy, comfortable as she grabs my hands and situates them so they’re wrapped around her, not resting on her sides. I need to scoot up, my chest pressing against her back.
  “Sorry,” I mumble, glad she can’t see me blushing.
  “It’s fine,” she replies distractedly, kicking the bike into gear. Then it leaps forward, and under the roar of the engine I hear her oof, because I’ve instinctively squeezed her tight as the unpaved road spools away beneath us. “Mind loosening your death grip?”
  “Sorry,” I call again, adjusting my hold and trying to breathe normally. Taya drives us up the road, and I know we aren’t going that fast from the leisurely way trees slide by, but it feels like we are. The motorcycle rumbles beneath me.
  “So how did you hear about this place?” Taya shouts as she takes us smoothly around the curve of a switchback. The fresh, damp air whips past, and the last of the clouds are scudding away in the sky, revealing a few stars starting to blink through the gathering dark.
  The air is chilly and sharp with scents of pine and wildflowers. More stars are winking into existence above us.
  “My uncle.” I have to try the words twice, because the first time the wind steals them away.
  “Think you can put in a good word for me?” Taya asks.
  A little flame of pride curls in my chest. “I’ll think about it.” I risk taking my hand off her waist to point up ahead, where a ridge juts up dark against the sky. “Focus till we get over there.”
  Taya half-turns her head to glance at me. “What’s there?”
  “You’ll see.”
  Not much longer. The mountains seem bigger now than they did on the bus. The air is chilly and sharp with scents of pine and wildflowers. More stars are winking into existence above us. And —
  We crest the ridge. Even over the rumble of the engine, I hear Taya gasp.
  Mirror Lake is laid out before us, a silver crescent slash in the landscape, reflecting the night sky perfectly beneath the black line of the bridge. The water looks like indigo silk sprinkled with diamonds, the round moon’s reflection — floating right in the lake’s center — seeming to give off its own light. And on the other side, lit by the pale rays of the twin moons and by gold light spilling from inside:
  Havenfall.
  You can now pre-order Havenfall by Sara Holland, out March 3, 2020.

  Start Reading 'Tigers, Not Daughters' By Samantha Mabry Right Now
  By Cristina Arreola
  Oct 10, 2019

  In 2017, Samantha Mabry established herself as one of the most crucial voices in young adult literature when her second novel, All the Wind in the World, was longlisted for a National Book Award. That story, set on a cursed ranch in the Southwest, was a stunning tale about young love, impossible dreams, and redeeming magic. If you love that book, you're in luck: Samantha Mabry's new novel Tigers, Not Daughters, is coming out next year, and Bustle has an exclusive first look at the cover and first chapter below.
  At the beating heart of Tigers, Not Daughters are three San Antonio sisters who are haunted by the memory of their older sister — figuratively and literally. Yes, she is dead; but no, they have stopped seeing her. Here's what you can expect:
  "The Torres sisters dream of escape — escape from their needy and despotic widowed father, from their San Antonio neighborhood, and from the old San Antonio families and all the traditions and expectations that go along with them. In the summer after her senior year of high school, Ana, the oldest sister, falls to her death from her bedroom window, and a year later, her three younger sisters, Jessica, Iridian, and Rosa, are still consumed by grief and haunted by her memory. Their dream of leaving Southtown now seems out of reach. But then strange things start happening around the house: mysterious laughter, mysterious shadows, mysterious writing on the walls. The sisters begin to wonder if Ana really is haunting them, trying to send them a message — and what exactly she’s trying to say."
  Tigers, Not Daughters is out on March 24, 2020 — but you can start reading now:

  The Night the Torres Sisters Tried to Run Away from Southtown
  The window to Ana Torres’ second-story bedroom faced Hector’s house, and every night she’d undress with the curtains wide open, in full view of the street. We’d witnessed this scene dozens — hundreds —of times, but still, each night Ana had us perched there, pained and floating on the edge of something tremendous.
  With her back to us, Ana would strip off her shirt and her bra — that bra made of white cotton, the fabric so thin we could see the shimmer of her sandstone skin through it — and toss them onto the floor at the foot of her never-made bed. She’d lift up her arms, stretch her spine like a cat, and roll her head side to side to ease out the kinks in her neck. She’d run her fingers through her long, ink-black hair before gracefully winding it up into a knot. Then she’d turn — so slowly it made our eyes gloss with tears. She’d sigh and gaze through her window — never straight at our faces, which were always twisted tightly with hope — but always past us, over the top of the crooked oak tree in her front yard, over the top of Hector’s two-story house, over the tops of tilted palms several streets away, to some far-away place. She’d have this wistful expression on her face, like she was waiting for something, or someone, to come down from the night sky and take her away.
  We would do whatever it took and would suffer any number of indignities to be with her, this girl of our young, fresh dreams..."
  We were barely fifteen, and Ana was nearly eighteen, but we were convinced that we could be her heroes. We could be the ones to rescue her and take her wherever she wanted to go. Up and over into New Mexico? No problem. Down into Matamoros? Just say when. Peter knew the basics when it came to driving a car, and Luis had close to fifty bucks stashed away in a drawer. We would do whatever it took and would suffer any number of indignities to be with her, this girl of our young, fresh dreams, to save her from our old neighborhood, with its old San Antonio families and its traditions so strong and deep we could practically feel them tugging at our heels when we walked across our yards. We wouldn’t have cared if Ana made fun of our gangly bodies, our terrible, squeaky voices, the way no deodorant could come close to covering up our puberty-stink, or the very, very dumb things we inevitably would say.
  Just tell us where you want to go, Ana. And we’ll take you there. We never got the chance.
  Just over a year ago, on an unusually warm spring night during Fiesta, Ana Torres opened her second-story window and stuck out her head. She was checking to make sure the street was clear before she latched on to the sturdy branches of the old oak tree. She shimmied down the wide trunk, and once the soles of her flip-flops landed on the patchy grass, she dusted off the bits of bark from her palms and turned her gaze up.
  There, at Ana’s window, was her sixteen-year-old sister, Jessica. Jessica tossed down a pink backpack, then a blue one, then two matching tweed suitcases like the kind traveling salesmen used to carry back when there were such people as traveling salesmen. Ana caught each of them, one after the other, her knees buckling only slightly under the weight. She set them in a row near the base of the tree and looked up again, to watch Jessica hitch her left leg awkwardly through the window and then reach for the nearest branch with unsure hands.
  Even from across the street at Hector’s house, we could see Jessica’s lips pulled back and her teeth clamped together in cold determination. She was gripping too hard — first to the window frame, then to the branches. It was obvious she’d never done anything like this before. Her fingers were popping the leaves loose, and the soles of her high- tops were chipping off bits of bark. Both the leaves and the bark were fluttering to the ground, right to where Ana was bouncing on the balls of her feet. We could tell Ana wanted to call out to her sister. She couldn’t say anything, though — couldn’t risk it — because the base of the tree, right by the row of luggage, was directly in front of their dad’s bedroom window.
  By now, fifteen-year-old Iridian — the girls, we realized, were making their escape in birth order—was leaning halfway out the window, scowling at Jessica’s slow and clumsy progress. She kept glancing nervously over her shoulder, then down to the top of her sister’s head. Her fingers drummed against the window frame. Finally, she couldn’t wait anymore. She pulled her hair back into a quick bun and climbed out. Her movements — like Ana’s — were solid and sure. She knew exactly where to grip, how to shift her balance, when to inhale, when to exhale. Soon though, Iridian was forced to pause and dangle, waiting for Jessica. She glanced to the window above, where the youngest of the Torres sisters, Rosa, who was twelve, was starting to emerge.
  Finally, Jessica hit the ground — hard and flat-footed. Her arms pinwheeled round and round like a cartoon character’s until she caught her balance. Seconds later, Iridian swung off a high branch and landed in a crouch in the grass. She pulled her hair out from her bun, and the strands spilled across her shoulders.
  Now that the three of them — Ana, Jessica, and Iridian — were all on solid ground, they looked up in unison. Rosa was wearing a calf-length dress because Rosa always wore a calf-length dress. Tonight, though, in honor of Fiesta, the front of that dress was covered in medals — like awards, like pins in the style of a Purple Heart, except most of hers were made of plastic with bright, multicolored ribbons attached to them. As Rosa was suspended with just the tip of one bulky shoe braced against the window frame, the fabric of her dress caught in a breeze, and we wouldn’t have been surprised if, instead of climbing down to join her sisters, Rosa climbed up into the tallest, most tender branches of the tree to search for birds’ nests or pluck off the prettiest leaf or just be closer to the stars in the night sky. We’d always thought that if Rosa were an element, she’d be air, the lazy kind that gets tossed around a room when a ceiling fan is on its lowest setting.
  Rosa did decide to climb down instead of up, but just as she was just about to take the final, short leap to the ground, her dress got caught on something — maybe the sharp nub of a snapped-off limb — and her skirt was hoisted up to her ribs, exposing not just her pale underwear but the bottom edge of her bra. Our breaths caught — all at the same time. We saw Ana reach over and grip Jessica’s wrist. Iridian took a step forward, then stopped, then put her hand over her mouth. Rosa shifted her weight, released one hand from the tree branch. and pulled — once, twice — before the fabric gave way. Then, finally, she leapt.
  From there, the girls didn’t hesitate. They each grabbed a piece of luggage and were gone, down Devine Street and then north and away from Southtown.
  For a moment, we just stood there, shoulder to shoulder at Hector’s bedroom window, our skin buzzing with the kind of feeling a person gets before jumping off a high cliff into water: bravery mixed with low-level terror. Eventually, we looked at one another. We knew that this was our moment. We crept out of Hector’s room and tiptoed down the stairs. One by one, we pushed through the Garcias’ squeaky storm door and stepped out into the night.
  If the Torres sisters were headed north and carrying luggage, we figured their destination was the Greyhound station on St. Mary’s and Martin, even though it was over a mile away and on the other side of downtown. Sure enough, when we got to the end of Devine, we saw the sisters hustling in that direction. We didn’t know for sure where they’d catch a bus to, but if we had to guess, we would’ve said the girls were heading south, to the Rio Grande Valley, where their Aunt Francine lived in a big house in the middle of the orange groves.
  Ana led the way. Behind her was Iridian. Then Rosa. Bringing up the rear was Jessica. Her suitcase was so heavy it banged against the side of her leg with every step, and she had to keep switching it from her right hand to her left and back.
  The girls chose to run away during Fiesta probably because they thought they could disappear in the huge, ambling crowd...
  All warm, star-flecked spring nights in downtown San Antonio bring out the tourists, but this night was different than the other warm, star-flecked nights. The girls were making their getaway on one of the busiest nights of the year, during Fiesta, when the streets were packed, even in the middle of the night — and not just packed with tourists, but with locals draped in medal-covered sashes and wearing crowns made from paper flowers. They were out in droves to celebrate the Texians who fought long ago in the battles of the Alamo and San Jacinto. And even when we were still a couple of blocks away from downtown proper, we could hear the music — the blare of horns, the percussive thumps of guitars. Little bits of colored crepe paper floated through air and covered the sidewalks and the streets.
  The girls chose to run away during Fiesta probably because they thought they could disappear in the huge, ambling crowd and no one would notice them, and maybe that was a good plan. We, however, could do nothing but notice them. None of the Torres sisters was particularly tall — Iridian was the tallest, but still not tall. Their heads didn’t bob above the crowd, but we could still see it shift and part as the girls pushed through. We followed, shouldering and ducking our way through people who smelled like beer and cinnamon and drugstore cologne. We thought we could stay hidden and that we could go unnoticed, but once the sisters had finally plowed through the crowd’s northernmost edge and were picking up their pace, Jessica, who was still bringing up the rear, glanced over her shoulder and saw us.
  She stopped. Her eyes narrowed. We froze. She advanced.
  “Shit,” Jimmy squeaked. Even with a little square of pink crepe paper stuck just above her right eyebrow, Jessica Torres was still scary as hell. It seemed like she was always, always angry. In kindergarten, she bit a teacher on the wrist because snack time was over and he tried to take away her peanut butter crackers. In junior high, she keyed Jenny Sanchez’s mom’s car because she didn’t like the color of it, and just this last December, she got detention for three days after she’d jammed the tip of a lead pencil into Muriel Contreras’s pinky finger. The lead is still in there. Muriel tries to say it’s a freckle, but everyone knows the truth.
  For a moment, there on the far edge of the Fiesta celebration, none of us spoke. Jessica stared us down. Her teeth were clamped together, bared slightly, just like they were when she was climbing down that tree. The other Torres sisters—realizing Jessica was no longer with them—halted and spun around.
  It was Hector who finally mustered up some courage. He cleared his throat and asked, “Where are you going?”
  “We can help,” Calvin quickly chimed in. Ana took a step forward. She shrugged off her heavy backpack and slid herself in front of Jessica. She looked us over, met each of us in the eye for the briefest moment, but said nothing. A breeze caught her hair, lifting the strands, blowing them in our direction.
  We’d never been this close to Ana Torres before, and it was disorienting. She was so, so beautiful. We’d imagined before — many times — what she might’ve smelled like. Maybe it was roses, vanilla, lemons, or maybe the first, fresh slice of white bread pulled from the plastic sleeve. But until then, we never truly knew.
  It was laundry. She smelled like laundry, like dryer sheets mixed with a little stubborn sweat.
  “We can help,” Calvin repeated. “Boys.” Ana’s tone was full of scorn, and it burned our soft hearts. “Go home. We don’t need your help.”
  Ana was suddenly lit up from the side. All four of the girls turned, and in that moment we knew from the loud rattle of the overstressed engine coming our way that Rafe Torres had discovered his daughters’ escape and had tracked them down in his truck. Hector cried out, “Run!” But the girls didn’t run.
  They just waited and watched as their dad honked his horn twice and brought his old green Ford pickup to a stop in the middle of the street. Jessica’s heavy suitcase fell to the ground with a thud. Rafe, dressed in a white V-neck undershirt and jeans, jumped from the truck while the engine was still running and went straight for Ana. He gripped her arm, digging his thumb right into her shoulder joint. “What were you thinking?” he barked. “Huh?”
  Ana said nothing. She didn’t even wince. She just slowly turned her head to the side, and her gaze slid northward, in the direction of the bus station.
  The passenger door of Rafe’s truck opened, and out came Hector’s mom, wearing fuzzy slippers and a red flannel robe over a long nightgown. She was watching Rafe and Ana with a strange expression on her face. It was a mix of things: like she was relieved, like she was furious, like she was guilty, like she felt sorry for the Torres girls, like she knew, deep down, that it may have been better for them to have caught a bus to the Valley or wherever else they’d hoped to go than to stay with their sad dad in Southtown.
  Hector’s mom then turned toward us. She ticked up her chin and pointed down the street.
  This is how we learned that we were the ones who had destroyed the Torres girls’ chance at escape.
  “Walk,” she commanded. We walked. The last thing we saw before we were again swallowed by the noisy, sweaty Fiesta crowd was Jessica arguing with her father, refusing to get in the truck. If anyone else had noticed what was happening between the Torres girls and Rafe, they didn’t let on; everyone knew families were complicated and that dads were always dealing with unruly teenage daughters. Rafe gripped Jessica’s arm, then her waist, and then pushed her into the extended cab. She managed to pin us with one more stare, full of hot fury. We deserved it.
  We learned on the walk back what had happened. Hector’s mom had heard us leave. It took her a minute to figure out what was happening and then to get up and wrestle on her robe. Once she got out into the front yard, she saw Ana’s wide-open second-story window. She went across to the Torres house and rang the doorbell until Rafe answered, still half asleep. Together, in Rafe’s truck, they drove around the neighborhood, searching for their runaways. At the time, Rafe didn’t seem all that mad, Hector’s mom told us. Instead, he seemed scared. His fingers were trembling against the steering wheel. He kept repeating, “My girls. My girls.” He kept asking Hector’s mom, “What will I do if they leave me?”
  This is how we learned that we were the ones who had destroyed the Torres girls’ chance at escape. If it weren’t for us, things would’ve turned out differently. If it weren’t for us, Ana wouldn’t have died two months later and her sisters wouldn’t have been forced to suffer at the hands of her angry ghost.
  You can now pre-order Tigers, Not Daughters by Samantha Mabry, out March 24, 2020.

• The Bookseller - https://www.thebookseller.com/news/kiran-millwood-hargrave-signs-six-figure-deal-hcg-1022611#

  Kiran Millwood Hargrave signs six-figure deal with HCG
  Published June 17, 2019 by Charlotte Eyre
  Share

  Hachette Children’s Group (HCG) has acquired four middle-grade novels from Kiran Millwood Hargrave for a six-figure sum.
  Editor-at-large Helen Thomas bought world rights from Hellie Ogden at Janklow & Nesbit UK.
  “Kiran is one of the most thrilling children’s novelists writing today, leading the way in the market. Her exciting stories absorb the reader at plot level, and on a deeper level she taps into themes and symbols that explore what it means to be human,” said group senior publisher Ruth Alltimes. “On behalf of the whole team here, I could not be more delighted to welcome Kiran to Hachette Children’s Group.”
  HCG, which is publishing the author’s upcoming YA novel The Deathless Girls, did not reveal any information about the new books but said one will be illustrated by Millwood Hargrave’s husband, Tom de Freston.
  Millwood Hargrave is also the author of children’s books The Girl of Ink and Stars, The Island at the End of Everything and The Way Past Winter (Chicken House), and one upcoming adult book, The Mercies, which sold to Picador after a 13-publisher auction.

• Amazon -

  Kiran Millwood Hargrave (b. Surrey 1990) is a poet, playwright, and author. Her books include the bestselling The Girl of Ink & Stars, and The Island at the End of Everything.

  The Girl of Ink & Stars won Children's Book of the Year at the British Book Awards, the Waterstones Children's Book Prize 2017, and was shortlisted for numerous awards including the Jhalak Prize, the Little Rebels Prize, and the Branford Boase Award. The Island at the End of Everything received starred reviews from Kirkus and Booklist, and is long listed for the Carnegie Medal.

  Her favourite author is Philip Pullman, and she also loves Kelly Barnhill, Katherine Rundell, and of course JK Rowling. She writes adventure stories with a hint of magic in them.

  Kiran lives in Oxford with her husband, the artist Tom de Freston, and her cat, Luna.

• Wikipedia -

  Kiran Millwood Hargrave
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  Kiran Millwood Hargrave is a British poet, playwright and novelist. She was born in London on 29 March 1990, and started writing for publication in 2009. In 2014, her debut novel The Girl Of Ink and Stars aka The Cartographer's Daughter was bought as part of a six-figure, two-book deal by Knopf Random House (US), and Chicken House Scholastic (rest-of-world). It was published in May 2016 in the UK, where it was Waterstones Children's Book of the Month and an instant bestseller, entering its fourth reprinting within three months of release. The US release was in November 2016. It has sold to over a dozen territories around the world.
  Hargrave's poetry has appeared internationally in journals such as Magma, Room, Agenda, Shearsman, The Irish Literary Review and Orbis. In 2013, Neil Astley judged her poem 'Grace' winner of the Yeovil Literary Prize. This poem appears in her third collection, Splitfish (Gatehouse Press, 2013). Her first piece as a playwright, about human trafficking, was entitled "BOAT", and first dramatized in October 2015 by PIGDOG theatre company at Theatre N16 in Balham. It opened to five-star reviews, with CultureFly calling it 'the most compelling and urgent piece of theatre you will see this year.' Her children's novel of a fragile paradise, The Island at the End of Everything (2017) was shortlisted for the 2017 Costa Book Awards. Her third children's novel, The Way Past Winter, was published in late 2018.[1][2][3] Her first adult novel will be published by Picador.[4]
  Hargrave graduated from Cambridge University in 2011, Oxford University in 2014, and currently lives in Oxford with her Husband, the visual artist Tom de Freston.

• Primadonna Festival website - https://www.primadonnafestival.com/kiran-millwood-hargrave

  Kiran Millwood Hargrave started writing poetry in her final year at university, producing three poetry books and a play before she turned to fiction. Her bestselling debut The Girl of Ink & Stars, about a mapmaker’s daughter who must save her island, won the Waterstones Children’s Book Prize 2017 and the British Book Awards Children’s Book of the Year. Her second standalone story, The Island at the End of Everything, was shortlisted for the Blue Peter Book Award and the Costa Children’s Book Award, and long listed for the CILIP Carnegie Medal. Her third book, The Way Past Winter, was the Blackwell’s Children’s Book of the Year 2018.
  Her debut YA title, The Deathless Girls, is forthcoming from Hachette in September. Her first book for adults, The Mercies, was subject to a 13-way auction and will be published by Picador in February 2020.
  Kiran lives in Oxford with her husband, the artist Tom de Freston, and the fulfilment of one of her earliest ambitions: their cat, Luna.
  You can visit her website here.

Hargrave, Kiran Millwood THE ISLAND AT THE END OF EVERYTHING Random House (Children's Fiction) $16.99 4, 10 ISBN: 978-0-553-53532-7
Life on an island for those with Hansen's disease is all Amihan has ever known. Now she must face the outside world, ostracized for living among the lepers.
In 1906, Amihan's mother was taken from her home to live on Culion, an island leper colony in the Philippines. Isolated from the rest of the world, Amihan loves life on Culion, and caring for her mother and watching for butterflies is all she wants to do. Then an unexpected visitor from the department of health arrives and declares that healthy children will be taken to live in an orphanage on a nearby island, away from the disease but also separated from their families. There Amihan meets Mariposa, a girl named for the butterflies, and they become fast friends. When alarming news reaches her, Amihan is in dire need to see her mother, and together the girls journey to find their way back to Culion. Narrated in the present tense from Amihan's point of view, the writing, laced with Tagalog, is simple, but the themes and topics are heavy, such as being seen as less than human. For her second novel, Hargrave (The Cartographer's Daughter, 2016) researched the history of the real island of Culion, and in it she captures the raw feelings of stigma, exile, and loss that came with Hansen's disease at that time.
A heartbreaking and heartwarming must-read about love, loss, friendship, and determination in times of desperation. (glossary, author's note) (Historical fiction. 9-12)
Copyright: COPYRIGHT 2018 Kirkus Media LLC
http://www.kirkusreviews.com/
Source Citation
Source Citation (MLA 8th Edition)
"Hargrave, Kiran Millwood: THE ISLAND AT THE END OF EVERYTHING." Kirkus Reviews, 1 Feb. 2018. Gale General OneFile, https://link.gale.com/apps/doc/A525461438/ITOF?u=schlager&sid=ITOF&xid=f0488e61. Accessed 10 Oct. 2019.
Gale Document Number: GALE|A525461438

* The Island at the End of Everything. By Kiran Millwood Hargrave. Apr. 2018. 256p. Knopf, $16.99 (9780553535327); lib. ed., $19.99 (9780553535334); e-book, $16.99 (9780553535341). Gr. 4-8.
Hargrave transports readers to the Philippines' Culion Island, 1906, in her poetic and affecting historical novel. This picturesque spit of land once housed a leper colony, and it is there that 12-year-old Amihan's story unfolds. Though raised on Culion by her naynay (mother), who is "touched" with leprosy, Ami is perfectly healthy, due to their extreme mindfulness and sanitation practices. She attends a school run by nuns with the island's other children, but all that changes when Mr. Zamora arrives to enact a government order to eradicate the disease through segregation: "'We will make history of lepers,' he says, and a museum of this island.'" Cruel and prejudiced, he divides the island into Sano and Leproso zones, and takes all healthy children to the Coron Orphanage on a neighboring island. Ami's heart is broken when she is ripped away from her mother, but she makes her first friend, Mari, at the orphanage, and together they plot a way to return to Culion. Hargrave tells an incredible story of compassion, love, and daring in this book's pages, and her lyrical writing glides with the grace of a butterfly. An author's note gives the real history of Culion's leper colony and speaks to the complexity of human nature, further enriching Ami's unforgettable story.--Julia Smith

Copyright: COPYRIGHT 2018 American Library Association
http://www.ala.org/aboutala/offices/publishing/booklist/
Source Citation
Source Citation (MLA 8th Edition)
Smith, Julia. "The Island at the End of Everything." Booklist, 1 Feb. 2018, p. 50. Gale General OneFile, https://link.gale.com/apps/doc/A527771922/ITOF?u=schlager&sid=ITOF&xid=369dac48. Accessed 10 Oct. 2019.
Gale Document Number: GALE|A527771922

5Q * 3P * M * J
Hargrave, Kiran Millwood. The Island at the End of Everything. Knopf/Penguin Random House, April 2018. 256p. $16.99. 978-0-55353532-7.
Amihan has lived her entire life on a small tropical island in the Philippines. She thinks it is paradise, with its warm breezes, jewel-blue water, and lush green forests. She lives with her mother and enjoys the company of close family friends. She is happy, healthy, and well cared for, but Amihan's mother--like most of the residents of Culion Island--has leprosy; Amihan's paradise is a leper colony. Although Amihan and many other residents of Culion Island, including a number of young children, are sano--clean, healthy--the government is still in control of their lives. In an effort to sequester the sick until the disease dies out, Amihan and the rest of the sano children are sent to an orphanage on another island. Soon, Amihan is cut off from her mother altogether, her letters intercepted by a controlling government agent. With the help of a new friend, Amihan and a young boy from Culion find their way back across the ocean to their families.
Although Amihan's story is fiction, Culion Island actually was the world's largest leper colony from 1906 to 1998. Hargrave gives dignity to the colony's legacy, showcasing the beauty of the island and the strength and love of the residents. Recommend this novel to fans of beautifully imagined historical fiction like Ellen Klages's The Green Glass Sea (Penguin, 2006/VOYA February 2007). --Jennifer Miskec.
Copyright: COPYRIGHT 2018 E L Kurdyla Publishing LLC
http://www.voya.com
Source Citation
Source Citation (MLA 8th Edition)
Miskec, Jennifer. "Hargrave, Kiran Millwood. The Island at the End of Everything." Voice of Youth Advocates, Apr. 2018, p. 60. Gale General OneFile, https://link.gale.com/apps/doc/A536746154/ITOF?u=schlager&sid=ITOF&xid=4de61943. Accessed 10 Oct. 2019.
Gale Document Number: GALE|A536746154

Hargrave, Kiran Millwood THE MERCIES Little, Brown (Adult Fiction) $27.00 2, 11 ISBN: 978-0-316-52925-9
On an icy, dark island, men hunt witches and women fight back.
British poet and playwright Hargrave plucks a piece of 400-year-old legal history--a European king's prosecution of 91 people for witchcraft--and gives it a feminist spin. The story opens in 1617 in the Arctic Circle, with a historic, strangely sudden storm off the island of Vardø. Maren, 20, has run to the harbor as her father, brother, and fiance founder in boats at sea. "All about her, other mothers, sisters, daughters are throwing themselves at the weather: dark, rain-slick shapes, clumsy as seals." Forty men drown in the Christmas Eve storm, leaving their Norwegian womenfolk in a treeless village, sunk in winter darkness. The women winch the men's corpses off the rocks, up the cliffs, and store them in a boathouse; the ground is far too frozen to breach. They butcher reindeer and, after much dissention, split over the radical step of going to sea to fish for themselves. News reaches the authorities, who send first a preacher, then someone more sinister, Scotsman Absalom Cornet, who has already executed a woman for witchery. He brings a bewildered new wife, Ursa, a young city woman, ignorant of her husband's history. She forms a fast, unlikely bond with Maren. To Absalom, the lethal storm seems suspiciously supernatural and the customs of the local Laplanders--Sámi people--an abomination. The tension ratchets across the novel's three sections: "Storm," "Arrival," and "Hunt." The women--divided, watchful, unlettered, and bereaved--are prey, but they are not helpless. In clean, gripping sentences the author is wonderfully tuned to the ways and gestures of a seemingly taciturn people. "Even writing at a distance of four hundred years, I found much to recognize," she states in her historical note. "This story is about people, and how they lived; before why and how they died became what defined them."
This chilling tale of religious persecution is served up with a feminist bite.
Copyright: COPYRIGHT 2019 Kirkus Media LLC
http://www.kirkusreviews.com/
Source Citation
Source Citation (MLA 8th Edition)
"Hargrave, Kiran Millwood: THE MERCIES." Kirkus Reviews, 15 Sept. 2019, p. NA. Gale General OneFile, https://link.gale.com/apps/doc/A599964521/ITOF?u=schlager&sid=ITOF&xid=b40d838f. Accessed 10 Oct. 2019.
Gale Document Number: GALE|A599964521

Source Citation (MLA 8th Edition) "Hargrave, Kiran Millwood: THE ISLAND AT THE END OF EVERYTHING." Kirkus Reviews, 1 Feb. 2018. Gale General OneFile, https://link.gale.com/apps/doc/A525461438/ITOF?u=schlager&sid=ITOF&xid=f0488e61. Accessed 10 Oct. 2019. Source Citation (MLA 8th Edition) Smith, Julia. "The Island at the End of Everything." Booklist, 1 Feb. 2018, p. 50. Gale General OneFile, https://link.gale.com/apps/doc/A527771922/ITOF?u=schlager&sid=ITOF&xid=369dac48. Accessed 10 Oct. 2019. Source Citation (MLA 8th Edition) Miskec, Jennifer. "Hargrave, Kiran Millwood. The Island at the End of Everything." Voice of Youth Advocates, Apr. 2018, p. 60. Gale General OneFile, https://link.gale.com/apps/doc/A536746154/ITOF?u=schlager&sid=ITOF&xid=4de61943. Accessed 10 Oct. 2019. Source Citation (MLA 8th Edition) "Hargrave, Kiran Millwood: THE MERCIES." Kirkus Reviews, 15 Sept. 2019, p. NA. Gale General OneFile, https://link.gale.com/apps/doc/A599964521/ITOF?u=schlager&sid=ITOF&xid=b40d838f. Accessed 10 Oct. 2019.

• Jaffareadstoo....
  http://jaffareadstoo.blogspot.com/2019/09/review-deathless-girls-by-kiran_14.html
  Word count: 622

  Review ~ The Deathless Girls by Kiran Millwood Hargrave

  The second book in the new Bellatrix collection

  A creatively curated list of empowering diverse YA novels by leading female voices

  Hachette Children Books
  19 September 2019

  My thanks to the publishers for my copy of this book

  On the eve of her divining, the day she'll discover her fate, seventeen-year-old Lil and her twin sister Kizzy are captured and enslaved by the cruel Boyar Valcar, taken far away from their beloved traveller community.

  Forced to work in the harsh and unwelcoming castle kitchens, Lil is comforted when she meets Mira, a fellow slave who she feels drawn to in a way she doesn't understand. But she also learns about the Dragon, a mysterious and terrifying figure of myth and legend who takes girls as gifts.

  They may not have had their divining day, but the girls will still discover their fate..

  What did I think about it..

  Stories about the brides of Dracula are not my usual genre but when approached to read and review this re-imagining of an old story by talented writer Kiran Millwood Hargrave, I was delighted to have the opportunity to read a version of a classic vampire story which is aimed at young adult readers.

  Seventeen year old twins, Lil and Kizzy, are about to come of age and discover their fate in a divining ceremony but then something catastrophic happens to their settlement and the twins are abducted and taken by force as the captives of Boyar Valcar who rules his community with cruelty and oppression. Lil and Kizzy, in mourning for all they have lost, are sent to work in the castle kitchens, however, their beauty and feisty nature brings them both to the attention of Boyar Valcar with disastrous consequences.

  The author writes well, with an understanding of her target audience, and with imaginative flair for detail, she brings the story to life in lively detail. I enjoyed following Lil and Kizzy's adventures, and particularly Lil's close relationship with Mira, who is a fellow captive, and which adds a very different dimension to the story.

  The Deathless Girls brings a nice awareness of the legend to a younger audience and allows a more modern day feminist approach with feisty young women who know their own mind. This is now the second book in the Bellatrix series of YA novels which continues the theme of re-telling a classic in a more modern way.

  About the Author

  Kiran Millwood Hargrave is an award winning poet, playwright, and bestselling novelist. Her debut novel for children, The Girl of Ink & Stars won the Waterstones Book Prize and the children's Book of the Year at the British Book Awards. Her work has been long and short listed for several other major prizes, including costaAward and th CILIP Carnegie Award. The Deathless Girls is her first novel for Young Adults.

  Kiran Millwood Hargrave is a graduate of Oxford and Cambridge Universities and lives by the river in Oxford with her husband and cat.

  Twitter @Kiran_MH #TheDeathlessGirls

  @hachettekids

  About Bellatrix

  The Bellatrix collection aims to publish gripping, powerful YA novels by leading female voices. In literature as in life women past and present have countless stories untold, mis-told or simply unheard. The Bellatrix series will range from gothic, to thriller, humour to romance. Each story will be unique re-telling of a classic, given a feminist slant, and connected by one main goal - the passion and determination to tell the whole story.

• Culturefly
  https://culturefly.co.uk/book-review-the-deathless-girls-by-kiran-millwood-hargrave/
  Word count: 683

  Book Review: The Deathless Girls by Kiran Millwood Hargrave
  Natalie XenosSeptember 24, 2019
  Book ReviewsBooksFeatured

  Kiran Millwood Hargrave’s YA debut is the second installment in the Bellatrix feminist YA collection, which sees leading female voices shining a light on “the unknown, misunderstood and misrepresented”. Telling the untold origin story of the brides of Dracula, The Deathless Girls feels like a modern gothic classic, complete with vampires, myths, folklore and a beautifully written F/F romance.
  Love, sisterhood and the rift between Travellers and Settlers are at the centre of Millwood Hargrave’s reimaging, which follows seventeen-year-old twin sisters Lil and Kizzy as they’re thrown into a brutal world of desire, death and destiny. On the eve of their divining day, the sisters are captured and enslaved by the cruel Boyar Valcar, who destroys their travelling community, leaving only a few children and teenagers alive. Sold to the castle kitchen and forced to work as slaves, Lil and Kizzy are beaten and degraded, stripped of everything they’ve ever known. As the softer, more docile of the two, Lil does what she’s told in order to stay alive. Whereas Kizzy practically vibrates with vengeance and fury, fuelled by a defiant hate for her captors, which doesn’t go unnoticed.
  Amidst the sufferings of servant life, Lil befriends fellow slave Mira and finds comfort in someone other than her twin. It’s an awful reality but Mira gives Lil something to live and hope for. When the sisters hear of a mythical Dragon, a creature more monster than man who accepts young girls as sacrificial gifts, their already harsh existence takes another turn for the worse. In order to save themselves and each other, the sisters must adapt. For Kizzy that means accepting her fate, however damning it might be. For Lil it means learning to be as fierce and brave as her sister.
  “They say the thirst of blood is like a madness – they must sate it. Even with their own kin.”
  Merging myth with fantasy, The Deathless Girls is unique in that it doesn’t focus on the notorious blood-lusting vampire in Bram Stoker’s original tale. Dracul does feature towards the latter half of the book, and he’s a terrifying component in the creation of the dark sisters, but this isn’t his story. It’s a re-visioning of the women themselves – the Vixens, the Brides, the Sisters. This is the tale of how they came to be and what they loved, feared and lived for, even when they weren’t, strictly speaking, alive. They are beautiful, sexual, charming and fearsome women, and Millwood Hargrave devotes her story entirely to those powerful qualities.
  This is also a story imbued with Traveller culture and it draws on the darkness of their persecution, exploring the divides and prejudices that have existed throughout history. Lil and Kizzy love their culture and they mourn it like they would a family member when it’s stolen from them. It allows readers to understand their journey for revenge and retribution, their desire to inflict pain on those who’ve wronged them. Despite being told from Lil’s perspective, The Deathless Girls pulses with twofold energy from beginning to end. Lil is the heart of the story, unassuming and gentle, but it’s her unbreakable bond with her sister that feeds her bravery as the story progresses. They’re both incredibly engaging characters, as is Mira, who sparkles with her own fight and anger.
  The Deathless Girls is an immersive and richly imagined YA novel, beautifully brought to life by Kiran Millwood Hargrave’s exquisitely poetic writing. If there’s anything negative to say about the book it’s that it ends too soon, with a fleeting aftermath that offers up a potted version of the brides’ undead existence. It doesn’t feel like enough but as the saying goes: always leave them wanting more. The Deathless Girls does exactly that.
  ★★★★
  The Deathless Girls was published by Orion Children’s Books on 19 September 2019

• Book Reviews | Jack's Bedtime Reading
  https://jacksbedtimereading.wordpress.com/2018/12/21/book-review-the-way-past-winter-by-kiran-millwood-hargrave/
  Word count: 453

  Book Review: The Way Past Winter by Kiran Millwood Hargrave
  On 21st Dec 2018 By shelts89In Book reviews, Books, Uncategorized

  This book is all about atmosphere. Kiran Millwood Hargrave has wonderfully brought winter to life in her latest book, The Way Past Winter, making it perfect for snuggling up under a blanket with a hot drink. It’s fast-paced and gets to the action quickly, keeping you enthralled from the get go with each chapter ending on a cliff-hanger that leaves you wanting more, while being rooted in a world of myth and folk-lore that feels strangely familiar.
  The story is told through the eyes of Mila, the middle one of three sisters who live alone with their elder brother Oskar in a house hidden in the depths of a giant forest. Their mother died giving birth to the youngest sister, Pipa, and soon after their father seemingly abandoned them, leaving Oskar and the eldest sister, Sanna, trying to look after the others. One night, a mysterious stranger and a group of boys arrives, seeking shelter for the night. In the morning, Oskar has disappeared. Sanna assumes he has been lured away by the stranger’s talk of treasure, but Mila and Pipa are not so sure. They set out to find out what has really happened and, with the aid of the local madman/magician, Rune, rescue their brother in what becomes a thrilling adventure.
  As I mentioned earlier, Hargrave’s writing really brings winter to life in this book. Her prose is magical and really works with the fairy tale-esque world we find ourselves in, striking the perfect balance between description and pace. This really brings out the beauty and magic of the eternal winter that our characters live in, but also the harshness and danger that such a setting would provide as well.
  Aside from the eternal winter wonderland we find ourselves immersed in, the characters and the real, believable relationships they have for each other are one of the highlights of this book. Their love for each other, as a family unit, really shines through with every interaction, even when they are bickering. In fact, this bickering and arguing is part of makes it so well written – who has ever met siblings who don’t argue almost constantly!
  Overall, I would definitely recommend this book. I powered through it in about two or three days (which is pretty good for me!). It might be aimed primarily at children, but I think most adults will enjoy it for the adventure it is. Oh, and it is quite short, so you know, you can smash some reading goals with it as well!

• London Guardian
  https://www.theguardian.com/books/2018/oct/20/the-way-past-winter-by-kiran-millwood-hargrave-review
  Word count: 491

  teenagers
  The Way Past Winter by Kiran Millwood Hargrave review – a quest to the frozen north

  Sibling love drives this richly imagined adventure from the author of The Girl of Ink and Stars
  Linda Buckley-Archer
  Sat 20 Oct 2018 10.00 BST

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  Cold comfort in The Way Past Winter. Photograph: Alicia Canter/The Guardian
  “I
  t was a winter they would tell tales about. A winter that arrived so sudden and sharp it stuck birds to branches, and caught the rivers in such a frost their spray froze. A winter that came and never left.” So begins Kiran Millwood Hargrave’s ode to the frozen north, to sibling love and to the lure of adventure. This is Hargrave’s third novel for eight- to 12-year-olds and like her award-winning debut, The Girl of Ink & Stars, it features a girl on a quest who will not easily give in. Told in vivid, often lyrical language, The Way Past Winter portrays a richly imagined world that is rooted in myth, magic and folk tales, while appealing to modern sensibilities and concerns.
  Mila is the middle of three sisters who live in the great forest of Eldbjørn in a house with windows made from ice. They have a brother named Oskar; their mother died in childbirth and their father abandoned them shortly afterwards. One day a mysterious stranger, accompanied by a group of boys, turns up asking for food and talking about treasure. The stranger, we soon learn, is a great bear, a mythical creature responsible for imposing perpetual winter on the forest. On learning that Oskar has three sisters, he says: “Three? What a curse.” He will, of course, come to regret underestimating these resourceful girls. That night, Oskar vanishes. In the morning, the sisters argue about the reason for his disappearance. Sanna, the eldest, believes her brother has been seduced by tales of money, but Mila insists that Oskar has been taken against his will and decides to set off in pursuit through the frozen landscape.

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  And it is this idea of keeping faith with those you love that drives the story forward. Hargrave has a great eye for poetic imagery, but, for me, it is her convincing depiction of the emotional push-and-pull of sibling relationships that makes her story memorable. As Mila steers her husky-drawn sled through the twists and turns of this wintry tale, young readers will stay with her every step of the way.
  • Linda Buckley-Archer’s The Many Lives of John Stone is published by Simon & Schuster. The Way Past Winter by Kiran Millwood Hargrave (Chicken House, £10.99). To order a copy for £9.45, go to guardianbookshop.com or call 0330 333 6846. Free UK p&p over £10, online orders only. Phone orders min. p&p of £1.99.

• Books for Keeps
  http://booksforkeeps.co.uk/issue/232/childrens-books/reviews/the-way-past-winter
  Word count: 224

  From the opening page of this ambitious novel it is clear that Kiran Hargrave is a born writer. Her prose is packed with energy and her imagination commands instant belief. Set in an indeterminate time in an unspecified part of the frozen North, her story describes how teenage Mila and her six-year old sister Pipa set out along with a young mage named Rune to rescue Oskar. He is her older brother, kidnapped by a fearsome bear in the shape of a pitiless man.

  So far so captivating. But as their journey grows more dangerous, descriptions of atmosphere start giving way to an over-abundance of plot-driven explanation. One near disaster follows on another as Mila and her sister get colder, hungrier and increasingly desperate. Keeping the tension going during all this occasionally repetitive fare is quite a challenge, with the final over-delayed outcome not quite the climax it should be. But there are still many good moments along the way, with the author delving into folklore and myth to enrich her already glowing prose. Fans of Tolkien, C.S. Lewis and Philip Pullman could well enjoy this story. Others might wish that so talented an author had taken on less familiar territory where wolves and eagles continue to threaten and winter never lets up until the very end.--Nicholas Tucker

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