Since her first print appearance in 1697, in Charles Perrault’s Mother Goose’s Tales, Cinderella has maintained a dizzily high profile. Featured more frequently than any other fairy-tale character, the char maiden turned princess has represented everything from decorous submission to feminist assertiveness. In Laura Whipple’s version, Cinderella falls somewhere between those two poles of characterization. The material facts of the tale champion patience and gentility, while Cinderella herself, in a coda narrated as an old woman, counsels seize-the-day activism, although this theme feels like a lightweight overlay. The main interest of this book lies in its unorthodox cast. In the 33 poems that constitute this story, we hear from all players in the tale, from Cinderella herself through to the rat turned coachman and even the glass slipper.

This is Whipple’s first published book of poems, but the New Jersey-based anthologist’s stylistic control suggests a longstanding commitment to her craft. One of the best elements is the symbiosis between rhythm and character, as for instance in the sly and laconic style of the fairy godmother’s cat: “In garden/Cat smells ratness,/finds swift birds,/slinks tall grass.”

Toronto illustrator Laura Beingessner has rendered the scenes in gouache, using costume and setting details from the 18th century. The most dramatic and visually pleasing scene, featured on the cover, shows Cinderella fleeing the royal ball under the midnight sky. Although there are now thousands of Cinderella retellings, this one, with its unusual narrative perspectives and high production values, deserves some shelf space.