Imagination Soars

Gillian Fernandez Morton, Princess Miranda Butterfly (Silverwood Books, 2022), pp. 42

Gill Morton’s Princess Miranda Butterfly (2022) is a beautifully woven children’s story that I leapt at the chance to review. I’m currently working as a learning support assistant in Year Three. Listening to children read is the top privilege of my job. Not only do stories aimed at a young readership need to cultivate a love of reading, but they also need to inspire the next generation of creative writers and communicators. I believe Morton’s story contains all the ingredients necessary to achieve these outcomes. Comprehension is another skill we practise when reading with children, and so it delights me that at the end of her book, Morton includes discussion questions. 

Familiarity Flies Away

Chapter one opens with the classic hook, ‘Once upon a time, a small girl was playing all alone in her rather large garden’ (p. 7), to generate anticipation for the adventure ahead. This microcosm of Miranda playing alone compared to the macrocosm of her enormous garden performs a shrinking effect. We are placed in a gigantic world awaiting exploration. 

Intertextual references made by Miranda about timeless children’s tales provide a comforting sense of familiarity, including links to Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland: ‘And not anywhere near a rabbit hole that a girl could fall down’ (p. 7). The commonplace is emphasised further through the repetition of adjectives. For example, the ‘dapply, rustly tree’ (p. 8) is present on pages 7 and 8. These descriptors act as anchors and markers for younger readers to ensure they can keep their place in the setting. Children in the arduous process of learning to read tend to lose what line they are on, so this technique is beneficial. The narrator’s inclusion of humour also assists in maintaining engagement, as we see in this line: ‘A creature of such beauty and loveliness […] It seemed to have about six legs, but that wasn’t the lovely part’ (p. 8). 

Normality dissolves as the expected transforms into the magical. An ordinary butterfly has wings that are ‘all the colours of the rainbow’ (p. 8). This de-anchoring from the familiar continues as Miranda herself flies (p. 9). A mystical chapter ends with the essential theme of growing-up as Miranda believes her parents should know that ‘she was far too big for another soft toy’ (p. 10). Instead, she is gifted a pair of toy butterfly wings (pp. 10-12), and we are left with the feeling that her desire to fly is only just beginning.  

Wingless but Not Wonderless

Chapter two sees further intertextuality as Miranda links Peter Pan to her experience of flying (p. 13). This demonstrates how stories play an integral part in how children learn to navigate and understand their world. Furthermore, this developmental focus continues through Miranda’s joy of learning to read, in which ‘she especially loved long and interesting words that she could roll around her tongue; words like “oleander” and “Gorgonzola” and “gargoyle”’ (p. 14). Moving from the physical enjoyment of phonics, we witness Miranda deploy words for wind that she has learnt: ‘“My word,” Miranda said to herself. “Is this a gale, or a tornado, or even a hurricane — or hmm, maybe just a strong breeze?”’ (p. 14). In this scene, Morton perfectly captures how children use stories to expand their vocabulary while engaging with the world. 

Miranda utilises her newly learnt vocabulary for problem-solving her grounded position and to display resilience, ‘“If I run as fast as I can in this gale — or tornado, or stiff breeze — […] then maybe I can fly as I did before!”’ (p. 15). Unfortunately, Miranda’s valiant attempts end with her jumping from a tree and face-planting the floor (pp. 15-16). An animal mentor—a talking butterfly—comes to Miranda’s aid and signals our return to the unfamiliar. This mentor offers humour as a stark contrast to Miranda’s struggle to articulate her frustrations at being unable to fly (p. 17). The chapter ends comedically with Miranda unable to relay the butterfly’s lesson about gravity to her parents and instead talking about teabags (p. 20). Overall, this chapter celebrates the hilarity that can occur when children start to communicate complex concepts.

Independent Mind

Chapter 3 progresses the growing-up theme through Miranda’s acceptance of compromises. As in previous chapters, she continually struggles to gain her parents’ attention. However, she no longer requires their approval, as implied by her solitary enjoyment of building a sandcastle (p. 23). At the beginning of this chapter, Miranda has given up trying to fly but still cherishes her toy wings (p. 21). The battered condition of the wings represents her new-found resilience to the continual changes we must endure throughout life: ‘Amazingly, apart from a few unfortunate bends and tears, they seemed to have survived all the wiggling and waggling.’ (p. 21). 

Despite these major changes, the playful font indicates Miranda’s resumption of control over wonder and her imagination. For example, when she self-praises her building efforts, declaring that ‘“That is truly an EXTREMELY good castle you have made there”’ (p. 24). This playful capitalisation is present when Miranda meets a rainbow-feathered seagull mentor (p. 25). The seagull also utilises this font and seems to represent nostalgia or consistency as it explains, ‘“Well, I’m here to try and answer curious questions. You are still a curious girl, I suppose?”’ (p. 25). Potentially, this implies that the animal mentors have arisen from Miranda’s imagination. The seagull’s message could be interpreted as Miranda’s desire for her past adventures and her curious mind yearning for discoveries. 

Subsequently, the seagull and Miranda enter an educational dialogue. She is thrilled to learn that the rock with ‘a curly, whirly shape’ is an ‘Ammonite!’ (p. 26). Reminiscent of chapter 2, Miranda relishes the sensation of rolling ‘this lovely new word around mouth’, and she also hopes to learn how to spell it (p. 26). Our seagull mentor ends their tutelage by encouraging Miranda to foster independence and develop autonomy of her learning by reading books (p. 28).  

Imagination Prison 

The final chapter witnesses a series of censorship placed upon Miranda and her free imagination in the form of school. Her parents’ negative experiences with home tutors emphasise this looming censorship: ‘Governesses and tutors had been either rather miserable, mean people who didn’t believe in play and imagination; or warm and disorganised’ (p. 32). Censorship is denoted further by Miranda’s dull uniform compared to her usual colourful attire (pp. 32-33). Ironically, Miranda’s learning has been successful without the intervention of an educational institution. This is shown by the fact that she is so engrossed in a book about the moon and tides that she misses the knock of the attendance officers (p. 30). 

Unfortunately for Miranda, her world is about to undergo a depressing transformation. In contrast to the opening chapter’s large garden, she finds herself in a large concrete playground. The playground features nature on the fringes, making it inaccessible, but all the more desired for that: ‘On the other side of the fence was a lovely forest, which looked to Miranda like a far better place to spend time’ (p. 33). Miranda’s daydream is interrupted by the harsh voice of a teacher and the enforcement of strict regulations: ‘“Miranda, it is time to line up. Hurry up now, please”’ (p. 33). 

The absence of nature and familiarity weighs heavily on Miranda (p. 34). However, a fleeting hope comes in the guise of a rainbow-coloured squirrel mentor. Regrettably, the squirrel seems to hail the death of insular imagination. In response to Miranda’s proclamation that her best friends are imagination and curiosity, the squirrel retorts, ‘“Well, they don’t seem to be doing you much good, do they?”’ (p. 36). As Miranda explains her difficulty making friends due to joining school late, the judgemental squirrel disappears (p. 36). This appears to indicate that Miranda is ready to engage with the world. 

She spies another girl who seems to be struggling to adjust to school life. Utilising her curiosity, Miranda brainstorms and asks the girl a series of questions: ‘What was her name? Was she new? Was she sad? Was she interested in stories and science?’ (p. 36). The girl warmly responds, and they begin a friendship: ‘“I’m Daphne. I have just moved here and I don’t know anybody. I love science and stories, and I can count up to 1,001”’ (p. 36). Overall, this joyful ending symbolises how curiosity and imagination are even more valuable when they allow us to connect with others.

Noteworthy Illustrations 

Greta Sadur’s artwork superbly reflects Miranda’s emotional journey. From the bright colours of her free-roaming youthful imagination to the muted tones of the restrictive school. These images end in a balanced wash of colour with Miranda holding her new friend’s hand.            

Final Thoughts 

Princess Miranda Butterfly is a wondrous tale which encourages us to ask questions of the world, embrace our imaginations and to share it with those around us. I highly recommend it.

Olivia Todd completed a BA (Hons) in English and Creative Writing at the University of Portsmouth. To date, she has various poems published on the Young Poets Network, as well as ‘The Mermaid of Feejee’ in the London Magazine (Feb/March issue 2021), while another of her poems has been selected as third prize winner in the Poetry Society’s August Challenge #3 about Inanimate Objects. Olivia has also recently self-published a sci-fi novella, A Human’s Touch (paperback and Ebook formats are available).