Review: "The Head That Wears the Crown" by Mariah Stewart

The Head That Wears the Crown by Mariah Stewart
Published October 2023 via Montlake
★★

It's as classic a trope as ever there was: an American everywoman, in this case a single mother of two teenagers, discovers that she's not quite everywoman after all—she's the heir to the throne of a tiny European nation...and they want her to take on the crown more or less right now.

I have read more than my fair share of these books—enough to seriously consider renaming my Goodreads "kings and queens" shelf "princess fantasies". (So far, I have resisted. Valiantly.) I know what to expect, and I know that the point of these books generally is the fantasy, and just about everything else comes second. But oh gosh, although I kept my expectations modest here, they just...weren't met.

It's two things, I think. First: worldbuilding. (This to me is the great tragedy of it all—and the common weak spot in princess-fantasy books—but I suspect most readers will struggle more with the next point. We'll come back to that.) I should note, here, that I have historically been Very Bad at suspending disbelief (there's a reason I don't read more speculative fiction), and that if I'd put any work at all into changing that, this might have been less of a concern for me. It might be less of a concern for other readers. With that in mind...

I was really pleased to read, early on in the book, that St. Gilbert is meant to be a former Soviet Union (satellite?) country. Why? Because that's relatively uncommon in these princess-fantasy books; normally the books are all about that French-English-Italian aesthetic, and I really wanted to see how it would treat a country with a more Eastern European background. I hoped too soon: St. Gilbert is located between Switzerland and Italy, roughly (if I had to guess) between Mont Blanc and the Matterhorn. Why does this matter? Because...neither of these countries touches a single Soviet country. It doesn't make any sense for St. Gilbert to be located there. It doesn't make sense that St. Gilbert—a former Soviet country with almost no international ties, located between countries that speak French and Italian and German—would use English as its national language. It doesn't make sense that they would be convinced that there's absolutely nothing in this spectacular mountainous region that would draw tourists, leaving the country deeply impoverished. It doesn't make sense that the country doesn't seem to have a single Soviet-style building. (My mother pointed out that maybe Annaliese just doesn't notice, but I think it's more that Annaliese doesn't realise that there's a particular style of build specific to the era/regime, and that she doesn't realise it because the author doesn't take it into consideration. Even if St. Gilbert didn't sustain damage during WWII—look up Soviet architecture in Hungary and you'll see what sorts of construction they should have had.)

And that's just...how so much of the book goes. This "poor" country has a Swiss bank account that nobody but the heir (that's Annaliese!) can touch, and the council running the country has never tried to get the money out (or reach out to Annaliese, or her mother or grandmother, to get their help to do so)—even though this one bank account can basically make the country wealthy overnight. There is so little tourism in the country that there is not a single hotel or BnB, and I literally cannot think of a country where that would make sense. Tuvalu—least visited country in the world, according to the Internet—has hotels. Afghanistan has hotels. North Korea has hotels. St. Gilbert does not. Annaliese discovers a staple product that is basically magical and decides to use it to revitalise the economy, carefully controlling its distribution so that outsiders can't buy it outright—and even if I can believe that nobody in the world has noticed this magical project before, I don't understand how she's going to 1) revitalise tourism, 2) use the promise of this product to do so, but then 3) keep it out of the shops while 4) still allowing locals access to this very, very staple product. St. Gilbert can't sell their cheeses abroad because they're made from unpasteurized milk, but a quick Google is enough to tell me that all they'd need to do is age their cheeses for 60 days to sell them in the US...and there's nothing stopping them from selling cheese in the EU. Annaliese is variously called "Your Highness", "Your Grace", "my lady", "madam", and "Your Majesty". I'm not sure which is correct per their protocol, but what I am sure of is that they have a protocol, and they aren't following it.

And second, plot. This is all but a conflict-free book. The first half of the book involves Annaliese arriving in St. Gilbert and being pampered. A castle, a staff, the most delicious food she's ever tasted, room after room of heirlooms that have been tucked away just waiting for her return—she makes some hmmm sounds about updates, sure (one of her first suggestions is that the country will need more parking lots), but very little happens. Around two-thirds of the way in, we get the first conflict: Annaliese goes up against the council that has ruled the country for decades and has no particular reason to want to dilute their power. But she comes prepared: she whips out her proverbial flyswatter, tells them to "Yo. Slow your roll" (loc. 3666*), and has the entire council eating out of her hand in the span of a single meeting.

Around three quarters of the way in, we get to the real conflict: There is somebody in St. Gilbert who does not think an untried American should be on the throne. This is, again, a pretty classic conflict point—and the thing is, he's not wrong. Annaliese claims dedication to St. Gilbert, but whether or not she even has citizenship is questionable (truly—she and her sisters wonder at some point), and she says that she wouldn't become monarch if she had to give up her US citizenship, and...guys? I also would not want a monarch whose perspective is "okay, I guess I'm responsible for this country now, but my other country is always going to come first". It's a miracle that there is only one person in an entire country of some 600,000 people who is unhappy with the new status quo.

In short: This might make a good read for someone who wants, basically, stress-free wish fulfillment and not much by way of heft. I can see this, and perhaps its possible successors, marketed in that way—books where plot and character development and so on are beside the point, and the reader is just in it to imagine that they're a princess, or that they've inherited a tropical island, or that...uh...they're hired at the best library in the world and told that the job is theirs to shape. This is written as a standalone, but there are hints that there may be more books to come—Annaliese's sisters are both making moon eyes at specific men within a few minutes of meeting them (oh—technically this is a romance novel; Annaliese has her tall-dark-handsome guard who isn't really characterized beyond "dedicated" and "gallant", which I guess allows the reader to insert whatever characteristics they prefer—but it's a very, very small part of the book), and at the end Annaliese is wondering how to solve the next problem. I'm not sure whether hypothetical further books would follow her sisters or continue to follow Annaliese as her childhood dreams are fulfilled, but if any future books follow her sisters, I wouldn't be surprised to see extended descriptions of high-end cooking equipment and baked goods (Roe) or room after luxuriously refinished room (Ceil). But...get yourself some industrial-strength locks for whatever case you pack your disbelief away into.

And a side note... Absolute best misspelling I've seen in ages, and at least 50% of the book was worth reading for this alone: milk toasty (loc. 3923) instead of milquetoast. I really hope the proofreader has a strong grasp of tenses but misses milk toasty.

Thanks to the author and publisher for providing a review copy through NetGalley.

*I read an ARC, and quotes are direct but may not be final.