What Queer Themes Run Through Kissing The Witch: Old Tales In New Skins?

Emma Donoghue's 'Kissing the Witch: Old Tales in New Skins' is such a fascinating reimagining of classic fairy tales because it twists them into something deeply personal and subversive. The book doesn’t just retell stories—it peels back the layers of familiar narratives to reveal hidden desires, queer perspectives, and feminist critiques. Take Cinderella, for example. Instead of a passive girl waiting for a prince, she’s given agency, questioning the very structure of her 'happily ever after.' What I love is how Donoghue weaves these tales together, creating a tapestry where one story bleeds into the next. It feels like a conversation between characters across time, challenging the idea that these myths are fixed or one-dimensional. The title itself, 'Kissing the Witch,' hints at reclaiming the monstrous, the taboo—the women traditionally vilified in folklore. It’s not just revision for the sake of novelty; it’s about asking, 'Whose voices were erased?' and 'What happens if we center them instead?' The result is a collection that’s lush, provocative, and deeply satisfying for anyone tired of the same old tropes.

I think people sometimes miss the metafictional layer. The book is about the act of storytelling as transformation. Each character literally passes the narrative to the next, shedding their old story like a skin and stepping into a new one. The 'new skins' are the tales themselves, constantly being retold and reinterpreted. The kiss is the moment of connection between teller and listener, author and reader, that allows that transformation to happen. It argues that no story is ever finished or fixed; its meaning changes with every telling. So the old tale of 'Cinderella' is reshaped simply by being told from a new angle within this specific chain. The book’s structure is its most brilliant argument—the form itself demonstrates the continuous reshaping of narrative.

I picked up 'Kissing the Witch: Old Tales in New Skins' on a whim, drawn by its promise of reimagined fairy tales. What surprised me was how deeply it subverts expectations—these aren’t just retellings but radical reinventions that peel back the layers of classic stories to expose their hidden complexities. Emma Donoghue’s prose is lyrical yet sharp, weaving connections between tales like 'Cinderella' and 'The Little Mermaid' in ways that feel both fresh and inevitable. The book’s feminist lens is subtle but powerful, especially in how it redefines agency for female characters. What stayed with me longest was the structure—each story flows into the next, creating a tapestry that feels like a conversation across time. It’s not a light read; some twists are unsettling, but in a way that makes you rethink the original tales. If you enjoy Angela Carter’s 'The Bloody Chamber' or Margaret Atwood’s fairy tale revisions, this’ll likely resonate. I found myself rereading passages just to savor the language.

If you loved the feminist twists in 'Kissing the Witch', you'll probably adore 'The Bloody Chamber' by Angela Carter. Carter's collection is a masterclass in reimagining fairy tales with dark, sensual, and subversive flair. Both books peel back the sugary coating of classic stories to reveal something raw and real underneath. Another gem is 'Deerskin' by Robin McKinley, which tackles trauma and recovery within a fairy-tale framework. McKinley’s prose is hauntingly beautiful, much like Donoghue’s, and she isn’t afraid to explore the darker corners of these 'happily ever afters.' For something more contemporary, 'All the Ever Afters' by Danielle Teller offers a grounded, gritty take on Cinderella’s stepmother. It’s less magical but just as thought-provoking.

The narrative structure itself is a reinterpretation. The frame story of the witch and the maiden sets up a dialogue that challenges the very nature of storytelling. Who gets to tell the story? Who gets to define the happy ending? By weaving the tales together, Donoghue suggests a sisterhood of experience that transcends individual plots. It's a masterclass in how form can reinforce theme. You can't just read one story in isolation; the power is in the cumulative effect.

Emma Donoghue's 'Kissing the Witch: Old Tales in New Skins' wraps up in a way that feels both haunting and liberating. The final story, 'The Tale of the Kiss,' subverts the traditional witch archetype by weaving intimacy and agency into its conclusion. The protagonist doesn’t just escape or defeat the witch—she becomes her, embracing power and desire in a way that flips fairy-tale tropes on their head. It’s raw, poetic, and deeply feminist, leaving you with this lingering sense of transformation rather than a tidy 'happily ever after.' What I love about the ending is how it ties back to the book’s larger theme: reclaiming narratives. Each story in the collection reimagines classic tales (Cinderella, Snow White, etc.) through queer, subversive lenses, but the last one feels like the ultimate rebellion. The witch isn’t a villain; she’s a mirror, a teacher, a lover. It’s the kind of ending that makes you close the book slowly, just to sit with the weight of it.

It creates a fascinating dissonance. You know the original tales, so you have an expectation of how they should end. Donoghue's ending disrupts that, leaving you in a state of creative unease. That unease is precisely the energy that propels you into the next story, which promises another disruption. The connection is the shared rhythm of disruption. Once you get into that rhythm, you start reading the endings not for closure, but for the next delicious, subversive jolt.

Man, the comments here are deep. I just came to see if it was worth reading for a book club, and now I'm convinced I need to analyze every sentence. Sounds like the kind of book you discuss for hours, finding new layers each time. Maybe not a light bedtime read, but something to really chew on.

Emma Donoghue's 'Kissing the Witch: Old Tales in New Skins' is this wild, poetic reimagining of classic fairy tales where the characters twist and turn in ways you wouldn't expect. The main figures are all women—Cinderella, Snow White, Rapunzel, and others—but they're stripped of their usual damsel-in-distress roles. Instead, they're complex, flawed, and often queer, which is so refreshing. The book's structured like a nesting doll of stories; one character's tale leads into another's, and suddenly you're seeing connections between them that make you rethink the original tales entirely. What I love is how Donoghue gives them agency. Cinderella isn't waiting for a prince; she's questioning the witch who helped her. The Beauty and the Beast dynamic gets flipped into something tender and mutual. Even the 'witch' figures aren't villains—they're mentors, lovers, or just women who refuse to fit into society's boxes. It's a book that lingers in your mind because it doesn't just retell stories—it cracks them open and lets something new spill out.

I saw it as a series of lessons. Each protagonist is, in a way, a student. The witch (or witch-figure) is the teacher. The power dynamic is pedagogical. The teacher holds knowledge (power), and the student desires it. But it’s not a simple transfer. The student must be ready, must ask the right questions, must sometimes challenge the teacher. The ‘happy ending’ is graduation—moving into a state of self-possessed knowledge where you no longer need the teacher in the same way.