Axolotl-Ella: A Sort-of Cinderella Story. By Kate Messner. Illustrated by Lian Cho. Ten Speed Young Readers. $18.99.
It is hard to imagine a sillier concept than turning Cinderella into an axolotl. Axolotls are Mexican salamanders that are neotenic – that is, they normally retain their juvenile form throughout their lives instead of metamorphosing into adults. Axolotls have a very limited range in the wild and are critically endangered, but do rather well in the pet trade, where their strange appearance (tiny eyes, prominent feathery external gills, and what looks like a small perpetual smile) makes them exotically attractive.
Well, there have been Cinderella stories of all sorts, dating back to the exceedingly grim Grimm one, so why not one starring an axolotl? That seems to have been Kate Messner’s thought, and she has followed it through with verve and charm and the sort of approach that is mandatory in modern Cinderella versions, in which the protagonist is after something other than the chance to marry a prince and live happily ever after. Just what Axolotl-Ella is after, and why, is not particularly clear early in the book – a weakness in the tale-telling that matters very little, since the whole point of Axolotl-Ella is to have fun with the underlying notion of this transformation of the story.
So there is no fairy godmother or other magic-wielding character here – but for Axolotl-Ella there is the “water where she was born,” which her mother says “held special powers,” so Axolotl-Ella goes there to request “sparkles and light” to make herself stand out from all the other dun-colored, dull-looking axolotls at the King’s Festival, to which she wants to go because she has big but undisclosed and unclear plans for her life.
The magic works a bit too well, making her all sparkly and iridescent but providing her with silver shoes that she refuses to wear – the whole “shoes” thing being crucial to the original Cinderella story and inevitably present in some form in the many variants. But it is present here only to show that Axolotl-Ella refuses to be bound by tradition or convention when it comes to appearance.
Axolotl-Ella does get to dance with the prince (also an axolotl, of course: Lian Cho’s illustrations of the various axolotl courtiers, guests and hangers-on are among her best in the book). But she does not get to ask him the question she wants answered, because he spends the evening talking about himself, so she eventually goes home (no unfortunate midnight transfiguration here) and plans to return the next night. Which she does – this time refusing to wear golden shoes – but again she is not able to get a word in edgewise with the self-involved prince. The third night, the lake water brings her glass slippers – the traditional Cinderella footwear, here yet again going unworn – and she tries yet again to ask some sort of question of which readers know nothing. And yet again she fails.
When she decides to give up and head home, though, the prince is still holding her hand tightly – and her arm comes off. This is the funniest (not most gruesome) moment in the book, one that is extended as the prince weeps over the arm and pledges to find its owner (another high point of Cho’s illustrative talent). And this scene gives Messner the chance to explain that axolotls “can regrow missing body parts,” so there is really no harm done – and indeed, this is true, and is the reason axolotls are of considerable interest to scientists investigating regeneration.
At this point the book becomes unreservedly silly, with would-be princesses yanking off their arms to try to attract the prince, who “knew better” than to be taken in by the ruse. And lo and behold, when he finally locates Axolotl-Ella, bringing her arm back, he discovers that she does not need it, having grown a new one. And now she finally has his attention and can ask her question, which turns out to be: “Who is the wonderful axolotl who leads the royal orchestra?” It seems that Axolotl-Ella wants to open a dance hall and is looking for a suitable music director. This previously unhinted-at denouement is something of a letdown, and adults reading the book with kids should be prepared to be asked, “Why didn’t she just go up to the orchestra guy and talk to him while she was at the festival for three days?” This is a good question that has no apt answer within the confines of the book.
Well, the supposed climax may be disappointing, but the rest of Axolotl-Ella has enough amusement to make up for it. For example, when the prince realizes that Axolotl-Ella is not romantically interested in him after all, he says that his heart is broken, and she makes the blasé comment, “You could grow a new one.” Now that’s a line you won’t find in any other version of the Cinderella story.
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