GET UP, ELIZABETH!

Nearly buried beneath fantastically abundant billows of red hair, a small, yawning princess is pulled from bed.

She submits with relative meekness (“No, I’m sorry Elizabeth, / No mouse in your skirt!”) to having her stockings tied on, her teeth rubbed with soot, sleeves and ruff attached to a gown over her wide petticoat, and finally her hair wrestled into shape—all just in time to be presented with a regal bow to an all-white crowd of likewise bowing retainers. Mouse aside, the whole procedure has a stilted formality that is only intensified by the elegantly restrained details of Tudor-style dress and interiors visible in the illustrations. Though its rhyming and scansion could use work, Bridges’ verse captures a chivvying tone that seems appropriate considering how the princess is being respectfully but briskly hustled along by her seldom-seen lady’s maid. But the scene-stealing hair seems to have all the character here, as the stiff, silent child’s face is either hidden or largely expressionless. In lieu of source notes the author offers a few scattered observations about Elizabethan fashion and behavior at the end, and Marley’s interiors are evidently likewise generic rather than based on those of Hatfield House, where Elizabeth I grew up. Readers might take up the implied invitation to compare their own morning toilettes or perhaps imagine enjoying the royal routine themselves. (This book was reviewed digitally with 9.5-by-19-inch double-page spreads viewed at 79% of actual size.)

Hair today, gone tomorrow.