Bjørn Larssen’s Review of Miss Percy’s Definitive Guide to the Restoration of Dragons by Quenby Olson

I like to finish my reviews by pointing out the ideal audience for a book. Well, the ideal audience for the third book in a series are people who loved the first two. Which is everyone with great taste. (So, mine.)

There are some individuals who will not appreciate Miss Percy’s Definitive Guide to the Restoration of Dragons – or, really, any book in the series:

1) those allergic to purple prose (Olson has never met a thesaurus she didn’t like);

2) those who hate brackets (I was rather surprised to see the first book in the series, Miss Percy’s Pocket Guide to the Care and Feeding of British Dragons not win SPFBO with some judges complaining about brackets);

3) who don’t have British sense of humour and/or don’t get it;

4) who like their books predictable and formulaic, protagonists muscled and/or gorgeous and/or at LEAST young. “[Haven’t we] always been taught that ordinary people were not capable of achieving extraordinary things?”;

5) when the book breaks the fourth wall with (my) delight – including author’s direct plea to the readers and explanations such as “Mr. Hawthorne (primary villain from Book One, reluctantly ancilliary villain from Book Two)”.

The literary polymath (see my interview with Quenby Olson here) hasn’t just developed her voice as an author; she developed a special voice for the Miss Percy books. I loved all of the horrors listed above. Fast-paced, action-packed, rough and brutal bloodshed Miss Percy (as in the books, but Ms. Percy herself also) is not.

Ms. Mildred Percy is coming of quite some age, being a greying spinster. She is not very muscled (that would be odd) – as for gorgeousness, since we only see Mildred through either her own eyes or the eyes of those who find pleasure in telling her how ordinary she is, you’d have to ask Mr. Wiggan. I compared the first book to Lucy Maud Montgomery’s The Blue Castle, because of Montgomery’s protagonist (a spinster raised by her not very nice family who never miss a chance to remind her about their generosity). By book three, both Olson and Mildred have grown way past some ol’ boring Montgomerys. There is some Oscar Wilde, a good dollop of Terry Pratchett, but really, there is mostly Olson and her immensely elegant British…ness.

Miss Percy’s Definitive Guide is not perfect. The first 20% or so is… well, a part of this book’s charm is that the pacing is slow, but the first 20% is a very long sort of slow. The Intoxication Incident takes way more space on page and produces more questions than it does excitement and answers. The only male character that exhibits some personality is the Prince Regent; Owen is so unnecessary (apart from being the Carrier of the Hat) that I just assumed he’s someone who’s supposed to be around. Only after I finished the book did I stretch my memory to try and figure out what he did in the previous books and I am not entirely sure, still (but Miss Percy is a series I will be re-reading). Even the Love Interest, Mr. Wiggan is… sort of… there. Mr. Hawthorne disappears at some point, with a vague hint of foreshadowing that then leads to… not much. Which doesn’t count as a spoiler, because it’s unimportant. The stars of Olson’s book are women and dragons alike.

Fitz and Morgen are just so… full of life and magic. Belinda makes a brilliant villain, the opposite of everything her old spinster aunt, the sort of person who should be the protagonist and knows that; her husband(s) is (are) sort of… there. Mostly to carry something. Mrs. Babbinton, who is at most a tertiary character, is glorious. Mrs. Merrick is like a gentle version of Granny Weatherwax and hopefully [spoiler spoiler] of her own. The baby dragons become fully-fleshed characters the moment they hatch. Diana manages to be a complete character, rather than a stick figure, even though technically she isn’t in the book. Honestly, though? Men have been protagonists of so many books, while women have been… sort of… there (mostly to be saved/rescued/avenged/raped) that they (we) will have to survive somehow.

Olson is not an ordinary author, and those books aren’t, either. I don’t feel calling Miss Percy (I think about it as a complete series, even though technically I am only supposed to review Miss Percy’s Definitive Guide to the Restoration of Dragons fantasy is even correct, unless The Portrait of Dorian Grey is fantasy, then, absolutely. She doesn’t uproot tropes, she uproots the genre, or creates her own. “Don’t you realise?” Belinda asks, being Belinda. “This isn’t supposed to be your story. […] Stepmothers and wicked queens and old witches sequestered off in the deepest part of the woods. And really, you’re not even that, when you consider it. You don’t even exist in those stories, the quiet kind of nothing that you are. There’s not even a place for you on the page.” Those glorious pages are Mildred’s and the dragons’.

The build-up towards the ending is massive – everything that can go wrong does, and then more things that I didn’t know could even happen also go wrong. This is hardly grimdark, so of course I expected a happy ending, but – why is 2024 such a good year for books best described with this word I hate? – Miss Percy’s Definitive Guide to the Restoration of Dragons is unputdownable. I physically suffered (truly, my anxiety was about to metaphorically go through the roof (and I live in a three story house, while my kitchen is located downstairs, so you can assess the vertically unchallenged size of my anxiety)) from having to take a break to make dinner. If it were just me, I’d have a sandwich, but with a husband to feed, I was tortuously tortured by having to put the book down. Which was unjust, but just, because neither the dinner nor the book deserved to be given only half of my attention.

Anyway, because I digress. Once I got to the ending, it was very, very rewarding, while remaining exactly what it should be: gentle. Like the longest burning British romance between Mr Wiggan and Miss Percy (dear reader, do not be shocked, but there are instances of their appendages touching through multiple layers of clothing AND not being immediately withdrawn), all about the Miss Percy series is gentle. It’s not the sort of anxiety that keeps you up at night, it’s excited anxiety that makes you dream of dragons and identify as a spinster in a grey, ill-fitting gown.

According to my Kobo, there are 778 pages. Frankly, they could be edited down to 288, if you didn’t mind losing all the charm and fun, Olson’s ability to shape the English language (and punctuation) until I giggle at least once per three pages – which would make it approximately 255 giggles, if you exclude the front and back matter. It’s not roaring laughter humour; it’s the never-fails-to-make-me-smile sort. Miss Percy’s Definitive Guide to the Restoration of Dragons didn’t make me ecstatic or delirious – it made me happy. This inevitable trilogy of movies will not need a pomp and circumstance sort of a John Williams soundtrack. There will be no need for senseless violins, same as gratuitous sax. Miss Percy is a unique work of art that wouldn’t be hung in the Louvre and constantly besieged by Instagram models craving a selfie, which is precisely why it should be, and why – judging by the sales – it is. Because in its quiet way, it’s truly a story that doesn’t exist anywhere else. In its grey hand-me-downs, devout of fineries and jewels (unless Belinda or Diana or Prince Regent enter the stage) and instead adorned with often adorkable (unless they’re setting half of London on fire) dragons, it is almost a masterpiece.

Unfortunately, due to the flat male characters and uneven pacing, I had to lower my rating. Which is why instead of the well-deserved 11/10 I am forced to only give Miss Percy’s Definitive Guide to the Restoration of Dragons the low, low score of 10 out of 10.