Sarah's Reviews > Splintered

A.G. Howard’s Splintered is tied with Tim Burton’s Alice in Wonderland as the best modernized take on Lewis Carroll’s classic that I’ve read, better than Frank Beddor’s The Looking Glass Wars . That is a very low bar.

Our heroine, who narrates her tale in first-person present-tense, is Alyssa Gardner, the great-great-great-great…granddaughter of Alice Liddell, the inspiration for Carroll’s book. Her heritage is a well-known fact in her hometown, as is the fact that each woman in the family line since the original Alice has lost her mind. (In real life, nothing of the kind happened to Alice. This would hurt me if I were a descendant of hers; it bothers me enough as no relation). The kids in town have always taunted Alyssa about her ancestry, especially since her mom needed to be institutionalized.

Alyssa’s father is a sweetheart, but utterly clueless. She also has a friend named Jeb, who veers between disinterest in, and creepy flirtation with, Alyssa. Alyssa claims that she’s always had a crush on Jeb (which is obvious) but that he sees her as his little sister (which is never conveyed). Jeb has a sister, who works at the same emo thrift store as Alyssa.

Luckily for Alyssa, she likes her job, she likes to skateboard, and she likes to stab insects and flowers and glue them onto her paintings, so she has some solace in life. She does not kill the bugs or plants for their own sake, but because she hears them talking to her – the first sign of her hereditary illness.

A trip to see her mom at the insane asylum – which appears to be frozen in the 1950s – goes so badly that harsh medical treatment (of the kind not seen today) is suggested. Terrified, Alyssa wracks her brain for a way to save her mom, and resurrects some long-forgotten memories, particularly her early childhood adventures with a shape-shifter, sometimes a moth, sometimes a blue-haired boy.

Sensing this being can help her somehow, Alyssa calls on him, and he appears in her closet mirror.



This opens a (stupidly complicated) portal to the same rabbit hole the original Alice fell down all those years ago. Unfortunately, she’s been pining over Jeb all evening and her thoughts summon him to her. Together, they venture into Wonderland.

After facing a number of dangerous creatures – dark versions of the talking flowers from Through the Looking Glass and the Walrus from Tweedledum and Tweedledee’s poem in the same book – and making out despite Jeb having a girlfriend at home – they find their way to the blue-haired, moth-winged young man, Morpheus the Netherling, a sorcerer and a kingmaker. Morpheus is pleased to see Alyssa, but incensed at Jeb tagging along.

In his creepy palace, Morpheus explains to Alyssa that she is the rightful Queen of Wonderland (somehow) and he wants to crown her and save the kingdom. He might have done a better job explaining if he had stuck to explaining and not spent quite so much time hitting on her.

He holds a disturbing feast—where the duck entrée is still alive despite being cooked and wants to be eaten—which turns chaotic due to…something (it’s been a few months since I’ve read the book, and the book did not bat a thousand for coherency). Alyssa somehow discovers that Morpheus is in love with the White Queen, who ostensibly died years ago but has survived in a magical box – a Jabberlock. Apparently all his scheming on her behalf was really for the sake of his old darling instead. Feeling betrayed on a number of levels, the girl turns her back on Morpheus and flees with Jeb.

Alyssa and Jeb traverse Wonderland, meeting strange creatures, kissing, and having stupid arguments because he’s a jealous creep and convinced that something untoward happened between her and Morpheus (never mind him and Taylor back home).

Eventually (thank God!) they get separated, and Alyssa has to traverse the Wonderland of the Dead on her own, searching for the cure for her mom. Successful, she comes back to Morpheus and reaches a compromise with him. He wants to help her now – he claims he always has – and together they kill a monster. She finds out that Jeb is dead, but wishes to undo the whole adventure and saves him.

At home, she restores her mother’s sanity, makes peace with Morpheus, confronts Jeb’s cartoon of a girlfriend, and makes out with Jeb himself. The end, for now.

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As you can see, this book had very little plot. Two characters had a pulse (guess who they were) and the others, one in particular, were dead weight. The heroine’s relationships with her two suitors seemed based entirely on hormones; it seemed that every conversation with either Jeb or Morpheus deteriorated into a make-out session.

Yet the world-building was actually quite good. Many of Howard’s inventions – such as the Jabberlock – are perfectly Carrollian. She also has a good eye for visuals, and her taste in books and movies is similar to mine. There are plenty of references to The Phantom Of The Opera, Labyrinth, and the myth of Hades and Persephone. Morpheus and Alyssa are clearly meant to be such a pair, following the footsteps of Erik and Christine, and Jareth and Sarah. Sometimes they even almost measure up.

Jeb is supposed to be the Raoul to Morpheus’ Erik, and he is abysmal at it. His only useful quality is his brawn, which comes in handy when facing monsters, but Alyssa is almost always able to save the day herself through magic or charm. Meanwhile, Jeb is possessive, patronizing, and hypocritical – but portrayed as the “nice guy”, the safe Betty to Morpheus’ Veronica. Howard keeps telling us that Jeb and Alyssa have chemistry, but I don’t see it and never did.

In short, there is no reason for Jeb Holt to exist. Removing him would cut out half the silly make-out scenes, make Alyssa far more developed by forcing her to travel the strange world alone, and free up time for more world-building, an actual plot, and some character development for Morpheus so he doesn’t come across as nothing more than the pale little brother of Erik or Jareth. Labyrinth was just fine without a love triangle.

The book also comes across as oddly dated, given the Hot Topic imagery found throughout. I am convinced that Morpheus, with his jagged hair, guyliner, and penchant for top hats and cravats, is based on an emo band frontman – Andy Biersack (Black Veil Brides), Bill Kaulitz (Tokio Hotel), Brendon Urie (Panic! at the Disco) and Gerard Way (My Chemical Romance) are all possibilities – and Alyssa, with her long fair hair, heavy makeup, skateboarding, and sass, could not be more clearly patterned on Avril Lavigne. Alas for Howard, she published the book in 2013, and this particular party was pretty much over by 2010, but honestly it does not appear to have hurt her sales.





Content Advisory:

Violence: There’s the whole horrid scene with the cooked, live meats, where nothing is shown but much is implied. There’s also a fair amount of blood, although little actual death, and still-living severed heads are preserved in a magical box.

Language: I don’t remember any terrible words, but it’s been awhile.

Sex: Lots of kissing, described in great detail. There are points where things could escalate between Alyssa and either boy, but they never do.

Substance Abuse: People ingest alcohol at Morpheus’ feast, and given the subject of the book there’s a few inevitable drug jokes. Pretty mild.

In conclusion, Splintered is a beautifully printed book, and its prose isn’t bad. It has a lot of potential as a story, too. But Jeb is a simply terrible character, who holds the story back by contributing nothing and forcing a love triangle where it’s not needed. The sequels are worth reading, but they could have been so much better if he just. Didn't. Exist.