If she attaches any more character’s names as personas to her next charity book, I’ll have to start calling this woman J.K. Soradonaldgoofy Rowling.
Beedle the Bard’s tales were short, and ripped clumsily from various folk stories that are much more enjoyable to read, even in very old and poor translations on itchy pulp paper from the 70s. The footnotes are silly, there is hardly any actual content, and one of them is a retelling of a retelling of a story from the last book.
The margins and spacing take up most of the space in this book, followed at a close second by the homogenous roses that floridly draw attention away from the sketches. Some are so awful that’s it’s almost a blessing, but it does undermine the few that are well done.
The ACT library system has at least forty of these things, and none of them except the copy that I hold in my hand are, to my knowledge, being taken home by anyone. I suppose that says more than I possibly could about the attitude young readers have taken towards this book.