Dear reader,
Of all the characters from world folklore, Baba Yaga is a favourite. There was no one like her in the French and German stories of my childhood. These were populated by a parade of repetitive female villains: beautiful, evil stepmothers and witches with no further desires beyond imprisoning princesses and eating children.
Baba Yaga is different. A recurring character of Slavic folklore, she morphs fluidly between helper and hinderer in various stories, but always with the same unifying characteristics: she is ugly, enigmatic, and brimming with power and wisdom that stem from cronehood and wild nature. There’s something deliciously transgressive about a character like Baba Yaga for a young girl with heavy introversion and a desire to travel. When I first discovered her as a tween in the classic tale of Marya Morevna, she’s introduced lounging on top of her enormous oven, picking her teeth with a bone (Chicken or human? Who knows). I loved how Baba Yaga seemed to be thumbing her nose at the rest of the world. Baba Yaga doesn’t care about being beautiful. She just wants to roam the woods and do as she pleases. Maybe she’ll give you the time of day if she wishes, but she could just as easily eat you instead. Now that’s the kind of energy I was looking for!
Looking back on The House of Frost and Feathers, it seems obvious that Baba Yaga is the primary inspiration for my own Baba Zima. However, she was not the beginning of the story. Before Baba Zima inserted herself, I was struggling with a few scenes that had crystallized around a Germanic tale: The Shoes that were Danced to Pieces. Twelve princesses sneak out every night to an underground realm where they dance until their shoes fall to tatters. But the scenes I wrote felt stale and constricting, and didn’t coalesce into anything more. Not until I picked up a familiar tome of Russian fairytales. Then, I found that the portal fantasy I was trying to write was actually anchored in a world which belonged wholly to Baba Yaga and other figures from Slavic folklore.
Baba Yaga is a mighty character, but equally fascinating is her house which stands on chicken feet. She is often depicted as flying through the air with her mortar and pestle, but I prefer to imagine her in a house that could walk on its own, where one could travel but always be at home. The draw of exploring that house, even more than Baba Yaga herself, is what freed me from my rut and is what cinched the story for me. After that, the story flowed—not always in a straight line, but in a meandering track that I was delighted to follow.
Writing a book comes with many stumbling blocks along the way, but the linchpin of this one was always easy: a magical house that skis through the snow, with doors hiding infinite possibilities, and a central character who had a deep well of secrets and shadowy intentions. All the characters in the The House of Frost and Feathers (save Baba Zima, who is of course already exactly where she needs to be) are looking for their place in the world and others to belong to. Baba Zima and the house became a scaffolding for which I could build the rest of my story, where pragmatic newcomer Marisha could learn magic and find answers, and acerbic apprentice Olena could scheme and grow into her own power.
I can’t wait for you to adventure with Marisha and Olena in this gorgeous Goldsboro edition. I hope you enjoy their journey with Baba Zima in her chicken-legged house as much as I enjoyed writing it.
Happy reading,
Lauren
