Inkspell picks up a year after Inkheart left off. The Folcharts—Mo, Resa, and Meggie—are reunited in Elinor’s house. They have been joined by Darius—another “Silver-tongue” who can read things out of books but isn’t nearly as good as Mo—and a number of fantastical creatures who escaped from Inkheart, the book that Mo read aloud from thirteen years earlier that has dogged his footsteps since.
All should be well, but meanwhile in another part of Italy, Dustfinger has found a sinister Silver-tongue, using the prideful stage name of Orpheus, who reads him back into his story. The fire-breather leaves behind Farid and Gwin the marten, believing that Gwin is predestined to bring about his death in the Inkworld. Farid, devastated at being abandoned by the closest thing he’s ever known to a father, turns his steps towards Elinor’s house…
…meanwhile, Meggie is catching up on all the angst and anger she never directed at her secret-keeping father all these years. She’s also rapidly sprouting from a scrawny little girl into a pretty young woman, and when Farid shows up he NOTICES.
Farid wants to follow Dustfinger. Meggie wants to test her Silver-tongue powers. Unlike her father, the girl has a gift for storytelling, too. First she writes herself and the boy into the story, then she reads them in.
Mo is horrified when he figures out what his daughter has done—and has only himself to blame, as usual, since this all could have been cleared up with a conversation. Soon the Magpie, mother of the late Capricorn, shows up at the bookish house, accompanied by Orpheus, who proceeds to read her and Mo into the book—Resa refuses to let go of her husband’s hand and is dragged back to the world where she spent years as a foreigner.
In the Inkworld—a Renaissance faire fever dream of Boccaccio’s Italy and Chaucer’s England—Dustfinger reunites awkwardly with his wife, Roxane, who has believed him dead for years and reluctantly remarried in his absence (luckily for him, her second husband has also died). She is immediately suspicious of Farid, believing him to be Dustfinger’s son by a woman of our world. Farid fears being separated permanently from his pseudo-father and returns her suspicion with outright hostility.
Also, Fenoglio is somehow pottering about in his own book, both delighted to the point of megalomania and hubris at seeing his creation spring to life, and dismayed that he can’t stop bad things from happening to his favorite characters.
Casualties include Cosimo, the handsome and chivalrous son of the reigning Prince of Lombrica. Cosimo had an arranged marriage with Violante, the ugly but shrewd daughter of the evil Adderhead, who reigns across the mountains in Argenta. Then Cosimo died. According to Fenoglio’s story, none of this was supposed to befall the youth. He writes a resurrection for Cosimo, and forces Meggie to read the passage aloud.
And a doppelganger of Cosimo appears—but he has no memories of anything the real Cosimo did. He shows no interest in his little son with Violante, forbids the poor woman from entering his chambers, and calls upon Brianna, the beautiful and headstrong teenage daughter of Dustfinger and Roxane, to share his bed in his wife’s place. The reader never witnesses an interlude between the young royal and his even younger mistress, but their consummated dalliance is the talk of the kingdom.
Meanwhile, the Magpie fatally wounds Moe with her gun (why did she need to read him there if she was only going to shoot him with a weapon from our world?) but he and Resa are found by the Motley Folk—the class of roving actors, acrobats, jugglers, minstrels, fortune-tellers, and assorted other curiosities that Dustfinger and Roxane belong to. Some of them remember Resa from her time as a slave in Capricorn’s household. They take Mo in, but believe him to be a charismatic highwayman known as the Bluejay, robbing caravans from Argenta in a one-man war against the Adderhead’s tyranny.
Little do they know that Fenoglio, who has apparently learned nothing, has made up this Bluejay, circulated the songs about him, and based him on Mo. What could possibly go wrong?
Some of you may think that I waited too long between finishing this meandering doorstopper and reviewing it. I assure you that the span of time makes no difference. This book made no more sense to me when I first closed it than it does now.
While the first book in this series had no plot but zigzagged between locations, this one has no plot, but follows about two hundred sets of characters each in their own location. At no point do the plotlines intersect—okay, the adults all met up when Roxane arranged for the Barn Owl to tend Mo, and Dustfinger spoke to Resa through the bars of her dungeon cell in total darkness, and Funke implies something weird here, something to the effect of “she had fond memories of him visiting her in the dark” which confirms my suspicion from book one that there was something between these two. Is it really adultery when both believe their spouses to be dead? This is a question for the Aeneid, not a middle-grade novel with Shel Silverstein and Roald Dahl quotes in the chapter headings.
Quick summary of everything that actually happened in this book:
1. Orpheus is bad. Really bad.
2. Also, Orpheus tends to sweat and has bad skin, so it’s funny when Farid, who is fifteen years old, by the way, repeatedly refers to him as “Cheese-face.” Farid, Junie B. Jones just called and she says you sound immature. Grow up, man.
3. Dustfinger is such a horn-dog that Roxane sees a strange kid with him and automatically assumes said kid is his.
4. Mo never tells anyone anything. Mo is an idiot.
5. Also, Mo hates cats. Told you he’s an idiot.
6. Adultery. Lots of adultery. You know, for kids!
7. Fenoglio is a menace to society and must be stopped at all costs.
8. The two kingdoms don’t like each other because reasons.
9. No one cares that Cosimo is cheating on Violante because Brianna is hot and Violante has a pockmark on her face. Seriously.
10. Sometimes we check back in with Elinor and Darius for no discernible reason.
11. On page 420, a wild Mr. Tumnus appears…and is never mentioned again. Orpheus just reads him out of his book and he potters around Elinor’s house looking forlorn. I didn’t care about Tinkerbell in Inkheart—I never cared about Tinkerbell in Peter Pan, either. But Tumnus is my smol son. Protect him.
12. Have I mentioned Fenoglio is a menace? Someone, please, stop that man.
13. Mo is slowly turning into the Bluejay whether he likes it or not.
14. Farid and Meggie like each other because teenagers and hormones.
15. Dustfinger is dead! Dead for real!...Sure, Cornelia, I totally believe that you killed off one of two characters in this whole miserable story who had a pulse. And by the time it happens, it’s too late to care. We’ve been dragged through 635 pages of nothing.
In all this there are two positives. One is the world-building. The setting was richly realized and felt infinite like a good faerieland should - even though this sort of faux-Italian renaissance faire kingdom was cliché back when Jo March was sending serials to the Weekly Volcano.
The other bright spot is Roxane, who alone among the dramatis personae is stoic, competent, and able to put the needs of others ahead of her own. It’s kind of hilarious that she goes to someone called the Barn Owl for help, considering Jennifer Connelly played her in the movie version—if you get why this is amusing, you remind me of the babe. Connelly so strongly resembles Roxane as described in the book that I wonder if Funke wrote the character with her in mind, the way Mo is patterned on Brendan Frasier.
Roxane’s perspective for more of the book would have helped, since she was the only person around who occasionally showed symptoms of common sense.
The ending was meant to be a cliffhanger, but upon closing the book my only thought was “a) my head hurts and b) Who’s going to get poor Mr. Tumnus back to Narnia?”