Sleeping Beauty's Spindle

I’ll admit, I rolled my eyes at first—*another* Sleeping Beauty retelling? But *Sleeping Beauty’s Spindle* hooked me by page three, because Slayton isn’t interested in rehashing the fairy tale. She’s using it as a framework to explore how far a woman will go to escape generational poverty. Briar Rose is a fantastic antiheroine: she’s not ‘strong’ in the kickass, anachronistic way. She’s strong because she’s *tired*—of being hungry, of watching her siblings waste away, of men who promise the world and deliver nothing. Her romance with the love interest (a mill foreman with his own secrets) crackles with tension, but it’s the kind built on mutual distrust, not insta-lust. Their chemistry feels earned, which is rare in romance-fantasy hybrids. Gaffney’s performance is stellar, though I’ll dock half a point for her male voices—some of the working-class men blur together, lacking distinct timbre. But her Briar is *perfect*: the way her voice tightens when she’s lying, the ragged edge when she’s exhausted, the bitter laugh she uses like armor. The pacing drags slightly in the middle during the mill scenes (intentional, to mirror the grind of factory work, but still a slog), and the fairy-tale magic feels underdeveloped—more of a metaphor than a plot driver. Yet the ending lands with a gut punch, mostly because Slayton refuses to give Briar a clean happily-ever-after. Instead, she gets something messier, and far more real: a hard-won choice, with consequences. If you’re tired of sanitized fairy tales, this is the audiobook for you—but bring your cynicism. You’ll need it.