The Winter Prince Review/Analysis

So I have a complicated relationship with YA fiction. In general there’s the old, "is it ok to like media for younger demographics," debate. The common consensus pendulum will swing from "why are you so against media that teenage girls like" to "you’re just numbing yourself with simple, easy material and aren’t branching out and growing up." The obvious middle ground is there are high quality works for all demographics, so just have a well-rounded media diet, but even then sometimes I have trouble ignoring the noise.

My specific baggage comes from having come of age once the YA market was well established with the likes of Harry Potter, Twilight, and the Hunger Games. So while I was the perfect target audience for this boom, I was never really encouraged to explore outside of it. There are some great YA series I still enjoy and am glad to have read, but there is still a general sort of flavor found in most popular commercial entries. These days, even adult-marketed books will sometimes carry that same flavor, just due to how much money can be made by also being able to pull in a YA audience.

All this is to say, when I picked up, The Winter Prince, a middle grade historical fiction title published by Elizabeth Wein in 1993, a part of me still had this fear it would be a simple, easily consumable, safe affair. And instead it was a wild roller-coaster that went harder than many works I've read praised for their grittiness.

For more context, here’s the summary: Medraut is the eldest son of Artos, high king of Britain; and, but for an accident of birth, would-be heir to the throne. Instead, his younger half-brother, Lleu, is chosen to be prince of Britain. Lleu is fragile, often ill, unskilled in weaponry and statesmanship, and childishly afraid of the dark. Even Lleu's twin sister, Goewin, seems more suited to rule the kingdom.

Medraut cannot bear to be commanded and contradicted by this weakling brother who he feels has usurped his birthright and his father's favor. Torn and bitter, haunted by jealousy, self-doubt, and thwarted ambition, he joins Morgause, the high king's treacherous sister, in a plot to force Artos to forfeit his power and kingdom in exchange for Lleu's life. But this plot soon proves to be much more - a battlefield on which Medraut is forced to decide, for good or evil, where his own allegiance truly lies...

If some of these details ring familiar to you, it is because Wein, is pretty open about this being her retelling of Arthurian legend. While the setting is purely grounded in 6th century Great Britain, considering the focus Medraut and Morgause’s relationship gets, to the point where the entire novel is in the style of him recounting the entire narrative to her, it isn’t hard to guess the dark secret bubbling below the surface. This series has often been compared to the Queen’s Thief series, another middle grade series that still had a pretty substantial adult audience. Never venturing anywhere too inappropriate for twelve year-olds, but also not talking down to the audience. So I expected the backstory elements to remain a tastefully implied backdrop to the sibling rivalry brewing in the forefront.

Anyway three or so chapters in Medraut very directly explains that he is the product of incest to the twins. And from there we have a very intense story of inter-generational abuse and trauma that does not pull back its punches.

It’s hardly the first narrative I’ve consumed to go there. In fact it makes a surprisingly amazing companion piece to the anime Penguindrum, I just finished. (Hopefully I can get around to reviewing that as well.) But what drew me in from the start was how it knew how to let a scene play out without an internal monologue providing commentary on why Medraut is making his choices and how he feels. the first half of the novel or so is mostly vignettes that all strung together paint a very clear picture of his relationship with the twins. Perhaps it sounds like I’m just describing good writing, but again, even literary works I’ve picked up will feel the need to explain everything in clear, distinct terms. The subtlety of the Winter Prince comes less from a need for censorship, but more from trusting the audience to be able to put the pieces together.

And along with that confidence we’re able to witness the nuance of Medraut’s feelings. We see him genuinely look out for the twins, bond and care for them, even while his resentment grows. In one scene he will affirm Lleu of his ability to one day grow into a great king while the next he will bond with Goewin of their jealousy of his position. I’ve seen other reviewers describe his behavior as confusing and nonsensical, but to me it felt like a very real sort of love-hate relationship that comes from these tense situations.

All helped by the fact that Lleu is more than just a spoiled brat. Over the novel he comes into his own as a brilliant swordsman and sociable charmer. (And in interesting fashion, this growing competency only fuels Medraut and Goewin’s jealousy.) He has his own trauma and baggage beyond simple "pressures to be golden child/heir," and it is genuinely painful to see him try and cope with Medraut’s growing erratic behavior. It is beyond easy to sympathize with both brothers, which makes the inevitable writing on the wall all the more painful to read.

I have to admit that the latter half of the book is weaker than the first. We trade out those vignettes for more plotty action, which can make the swing of love-hate feel more melodramatic. But I was hooked enough into the characters and their struggles to still enjoy it, even if it was less tightly constructed. Plus what it loses in tasteful balance it more than makes up in sheer excitement and tension. For the last fourth of the book, I would read a paragraph, scream, and have to turn away because I couldn’t believe this middle grade novel was going there. Hell, by the end the shock value transcended the age demographic issue, it was like the entire curtain of innuendo had been dropped to reveal the raw wound that Medraut saw most his existence as. Seriously the fact we have a canon bi protagonist is a footnote in comparison to the torrent of pain and self-loathing.

If you’re not the type to enjoy that high stakes emotional whirlwind, then I understand this book not being for you. I don’t know if it would be classified as "good rep" or a "respectful portrayal of serious issues," but good Lord did it remind me why I love reading after a boring stream of smug "nuancedTM" bestsellers. Where it prides itself in being messy and complex, but never to the point where you lose sympathy for a "good guy" as there is always a bigger evil you can hate without question. Perhaps I’m just tired of living through moral panics, but in a world where school-boards argue they have to protect 8th graders from being exposed to curse words, the fact this little firecracker was not only put out by a mainstream publisher in the 90s but was marketed towards children, it feels like a miracle it exists. Like I can’t imagine what twelve year old they expected to pick this up.

But then again, I do remember being in 8th grade or so, picking up what i assumed would be another middle-of-the-road paranormal romance YA novel, and then having my world rocked when it ended on a tragic cliffhanger. I reread the ending over and over again, stunned that a novel was "allowed" to do something like that and make me feel such intense things.

That said, the series apparently was never a commercial success, to the point where the final novel remains unpublished bc of publishers not wanting to touch a series finale with such low sales. Call this a call to action or whatever, but if you check out/like this book, then consider going the extra effort to purchase a new copy. Or it doesn’t even have to be this specific book. Just at the end of the day, remember to support small, weird, yet daring art.