Mara Rutherford’s latest offering, A Curious Kind of Magic, whisks readers into a world where magic teeters precariously between authenticity and illusion, where desperation breeds both cunning and unexpected friendship. In this cozy fantasy that channels the whimsical spirit of Howl’s Moving Castle while carving its own distinctive path, Rutherford presents us with an achingly relatable protagonist whose moral compass spins as wildly as the magical objects in her inherited shop.
Willow Stokes runs a curiosity shop that’s about as magical as yesterday’s newspaper. Following her father’s death, she’s been hawking fake dragon teeth and counterfeit talismans to keep the business—and herself—afloat in the Scottish-inspired coastal town of Ardmuir. Enter Brianna Hargrave, an outlander with an extraordinary curse that transforms everything she touches into genuine magic. What begins as a mutually beneficial arrangement spirals into a quest involving dragon eggs, forbidden grimoires, and truths that challenge everything Willow believes about herself.
A Protagonist Who Earns Her Redemption
Willow Stokes isn’t your typical fantasy heroine, and that’s precisely what makes her compelling. She’s prickly, opportunistic, and willing to bend moral boundaries when survival demands it. Rutherford doesn’t shy away from presenting Willow’s calculating nature in all its uncomfortable glory. When she discovers Brianna’s abilities, her first instinct isn’t compassion but exploitation—how can this cursed girl save her failing business? This mercenary thinking feels bracingly honest in a genre often dominated by innately noble protagonists.
Yet beneath the sharp edges and defensive sarcasm lies a young woman shaped by abandonment and loss. Willow’s relationship with her late father casts a long shadow over every decision she makes. The shop represents more than mere financial security; it’s the last tangible connection to a man who chose magical obsession over her wellbeing. Rutherford skillfully weaves this emotional complexity throughout the narrative, allowing readers to understand Willow’s choices even when disagreeing with them.
The character growth arc follows a satisfying trajectory without feeling rushed or unearned. Willow’s evolution from self-serving schemer to someone capable of genuine selflessness happens gradually, marked by small revelations rather than sudden epiphanies. By the story’s conclusion, she’s learned to value connection over survival, though not without stumbling along the way.
The Magic of Found Family and Complicated Connections
Brianna Hargrave serves as the perfect foil to Willow’s sharp edges. Where Willow calculates and schemes, Brianna approaches the world with cautious hope tempered by years of isolation. Her curse—turning objects magical through touch—has made her an outcast from her own Foundationalist family, people who view magic as dangerous and corrupting. The cruel irony of a witch born to magic-hating parents adds layers of tragedy to her character.
The romance between Willow and Finlay Barrow, the printer’s assistant with the wonky tooth and unwavering loyalty, develops with the kind of slow-burn tension that keeps pages turning. Finlay represents everything Willow fears to want—stability, genuine affection, the risk of loss. Their dynamic crackles with witty banter that masks deeper feelings, and Rutherford wisely avoids forcing premature declarations of love. Instead, she allows the relationship to unfold organically through small moments of vulnerability and understanding.
The secondary cast enriches the narrative considerably. Marcail, the university instructor who recognizes Willow’s latent magical abilities, serves as both mentor and catalyst. Torion, the ship captain with surprising depths of loyalty, adds welcome levity. Even antagonists like the obsessive collector Wexley possess motivations that extend beyond simple villainy, rooted in grief and the desperate human desire to outrun mortality.
A World Grounded in Specificity
Rutherford constructs her Scottish-inspired setting with careful attention to atmosphere rather than overwhelming world-building. Ardmuir feels lived-in and authentic, from the rain-soaked moors to the bustling print shops and university libraries. The magic system operates on delightfully specific rules—spells require proper grimoires, magical objects have limited lifespans once activated, and witches possess distinct affinities for different magical disciplines.
The Cabinet of Magical Curiosities itself functions as a character, filled with objects both mundane and potentially marvelous. Rutherford clearly delights in cataloging the shop’s contents: wolpertingers with attitude, light sprites in brass lamps, brooms with minds of their own. These details create texture and whimsy without bogging down the narrative pace.
The Sapphire Isles sequence, where Willow must steal a dragon egg from an eccentric collector, showcases Rutherford’s ability to blend heist adventure with character development. The tension remains high as Willow navigates guardian cats, elaborate security measures, and her own moral qualms about the theft. Yet even in these action-heavy sequences, the emotional stakes never recede into the background.
Where the Magic Falters
Despite its considerable charms, A Curious Kind of Magic stumbles occasionally. The pacing sags somewhat in the middle section as Willow repeatedly deceives Brianna about the grimoire she needs to break her curse. While this duplicity serves character development purposes, the repetition of Willow’s internal guilt can feel redundant. Readers likely grasp her moral conflict without requiring quite so many iterations of the same internal debate.
The magical revelation about Willow’s own abilities, though thematically appropriate, arrives with insufficient groundwork. While the signs were present, the narrative doesn’t give readers enough clues to piece together this twist independently. The explanation—that Willow’s father deliberately suppressed her magic to protect her—raises questions about his methods and the psychological impact that could have been explored more deeply.
Some plot threads resolve almost too neatly. The confrontation with Wexley, built up as a significant threat throughout the narrative, concludes relatively quickly. Similarly, certain secondary character arcs, particularly regarding Finlay’s mother’s illness and Brianna’s estrangement from her parents, wrap up with satisfying but somewhat predictable resolutions.
The romance, while genuinely sweet, occasionally overshadows the more interesting dynamics between Willow and Brianna. Their friendship, forged through deception and genuine connection, represents the story’s emotional core. When Rutherford focuses on this bond—the ways these two young women learn to trust despite every reason not to—the narrative sings with particular clarity.
The Prose and Pacing
Rutherford’s writing style suits the cozy fantasy genre perfectly. Her prose remains accessible without sacrificing sophistication, peppered with Scottish-inflected dialogue and Willow’s sharp-tongued observations. The first-person narration allows readers direct access to Willow’s complicated thought processes, though this occasionally means dwelling in her self-doubt longer than strictly necessary.
The author excels at creating memorable set pieces: the initial transformation of the shop’s inventory into genuine magical items, the daring escape from Blackbay prison using a dragon egg’s power, the final confrontation where truths emerge and curses break. These moments balance action, emotion, and magical wonder in equal measure.
Dialogue sparkles throughout, particularly the verbal sparring between Willow and Finlay, which crackles with subtext and unspoken longing. Rutherford has a gift for capturing the rhythms of genuine conversation, complete with interruptions, misunderstandings, and the things left unsaid that carry as much weight as spoken words.
Thematic Resonance
Beneath the magical shenanigans and romantic tension, A Curious Kind of Magic explores questions about authenticity, self-worth, and the stories we tell ourselves. Willow’s journey from fraud to genuine magic user mirrors her emotional evolution from self-protection to openness. A Curious Kind of Magic by Mara Rutherford asks what it means to be “real”—whether magical objects, authentic emotions, or one’s own identity.
The exploration of grief and inheritance adds unexpected depth. Willow must reconcile her complicated feelings about her father: his abandonment through death, his questionable business practices, the love he demonstrated imperfectly. Learning that he recognized her magical potential but chose to suppress it complicates their relationship further, forcing Willow to reexamine her entire childhood.
The curse motif extends beyond Brianna’s literal affliction. Each character bears their own curse—Willow’s fear of abandonment, Finlay’s burden of caretaking, the collector’s obsession with immortality. Breaking these curses requires confronting uncomfortable truths and accepting vulnerability, themes that resonate beyond the fantasy framework.
For Readers of Similar Works
Fans of Margaret Rogerson’s Sorcery of Thorns will appreciate the magical library sequences and the careful attention to grimoires as living, temperamental objects. Readers who enjoyed Jessica Day George’s Tuesdays at the Castle series will find familiar territory in the sentient magical shop and its quirky inventory. The found family dynamics recall the warmth of Tamora Pierce’s Circle of Magic series, while the Scottish setting and cozy atmosphere echo T. Kingfisher’s work.
Mara Rutherford’s previous novels—including Crown of Coral and Pearl, The Poison Season, and A Multitude of Dreams—demonstrate her range within young adult fantasy. This latest offering feels both more intimate and more playful than her earlier, darker works. Readers familiar with her previous books will recognize her talent for creating flawed, compelling protagonists who must navigate impossible choices.
The Verdict
A Curious Kind of Magic succeeds as both a cozy fantasy and a character-driven coming-of-age story. While it doesn’t revolutionize the genre, it offers exactly what readers seek from this type of narrative: magical wonder, emotional growth, found family, and the promise that even the most counterfeit among us might discover genuine magic within ourselves.
Willow Stokes earns her happy ending through hard-won self-awareness and the courage to risk connection. The shop she inherits transforms from a burden into a genuine refuge, not because the magic becomes real, but because she learns to see value beyond monetary worth. In a genre sometimes criticized for stakes that feel cosmically important yet emotionally hollow, Rutherford keeps the focus intimate and human.
A Curious Kind of Magic works best when readers accept its cozy framework rather than expecting high fantasy epicness. This is a story about learning to trust, to forgive oneself, to believe that transformation is possible. The magic serves these emotional truths rather than overshadowing them. For readers seeking an enchanting escape with surprising depth, A Curious Kind of Magic delivers exactly what its title promises—a story that charms through specificity, wit, and genuine heart.
If You Enjoyed This, Try These
- An Enchantment of Ravens by Margaret Rogerson—for magical artistry and fairy bargains
- The Enchanted Emporium by L.R. Lam—featuring another magical shop with secrets
- Sorcery of Thorns by Margaret Rogerson—for sentient grimoires and unlikely partnerships
- Howl’s Moving Castle by Diana Wynne Jones—the obvious inspiration with its magical shop and transformations
- A Declaration of the Rights of Magicians by H.G. Parry—for magic intertwined with politics and social change
- The Invisible Library by Genevieve Cogman—for book-related magic and heist elements
- Little Thieves by Margaret Owen—another comparison point with its morally gray protagonist