ELPHIE

It’s not easy being green, as this prequel to Maguire’s Wicked series amply shows.

Everyone has parents, but few are as flawed as those who brought Elphaba—Elphie, here—into the world. Pop is an emotionally unavailable missionary from Munchkinland, working among the poor Quadling laborers of Wend Hardings, “sheep-shit country.” Mom often keeps a breast exposed, hopeful of catching the attention of someone, anyone, who’ll pay attention to her: “A need to be seen. By men.” It being a standard trope of children’s literature that daughters must live without their mothers, mom has to check out fairly early in the proceedings, leaving Elphie to take care of her armless—so we are frequently reminded—sister and a brother who’s a bundle of misdirected energy. There’s not much love in evidence, and of course the absence of love is an essential ingredient in the recipe for producing evil people. In Maguire’s telling, Elphie, who “makes wishes on falling stars still,” begs for our sympathy, but then does something just awful enough—for example, picking viciously on poor armless Nessa—to lose it. Elphie’s need for connection is met, at least in some small part, by her relationship to animals: She’s gifted in communicating with “polter-Monkey[s]” and dwarf bears, whom Maguire, nodding to current headlines, calls “migrants on the run.” Indeed, a subtle political undercurrent runs throughout, with Elphie searching for connection with a wise Indigenous man who “went off to the imperialists to tell their military to stop sending troops to build that highway of yellow steps.” Not much happens in Maguire’s talky pages, certainly as compared to the previous Wicked books, but he’s constructing a psychological backstory that prepares the way for Elphie/Elphaba’s turn to the dark side. “Hurt can distend rationality,” he writes, and that’s just so.

A bit of a slog and a bit of a downer, but essential for Elphaba fans.