Book Description
A great deal is happening in London and the country this season.

For starters, there's the witch who tried to poison Kate at the Royal College of Wizards. There's also the man who seems to be spying on Cecelia. (Though he's not doing a very good job of it--so just what are his intentions?) And then there's Oliver. Ever since he was turned into a tree, he hasn't bothered to tell anyone where he is.

Clearly, magic is a deadly and dangerous business. And the girls might be in fear for their lives . . . if only they weren't having so much fun!



Card catalog description
In 1817 in England, two young cousins, Cecilia living in the country and Kate in London, write letters to keep each other informed of their exploits, which take a sinister turn when they find themselves confronted by evil wizards.


About the Author
PATRICIA C. WREDE (Cecelia) and CAROLINE STEVERMER (Kate) created Sorcery and Cecelia and The Grand Tour by playing the Letter Game. Ms. Wrede also has written many novels of her own, most notably the four books in her Enchanted Forest Chronicles. And Ms. Stevermer is the author of several books for adults and a fantasy novel for young readers, River Rats. They both live in Minnesota.



Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.
8 April 1817
Rushton Manor, Essex

Dearest Kate,

It is dreadfully flat here since you have been gone, and it only makes it worse to imagine all the things I shall be missing. I wish Aunt Elizabeth were not so set against my having a Season this year. She is still annoyed about the incident with the goat, and says that to let the pair of us loose on London would ruin us both for good, and spoil Georgy's chances into the bargain. I think this is quite unjust, but there is no persuading her. (I believe the fact that she would have been obliged to share a house with Aunt Charlotte, should she and I have come to London this year, may have contributed to her decision.) So I rely on you, dearest cousin, to write and tell me everything! If I am not to be allowed to enjoy a Season of my own, I can at least take a vicarious delight in your and Georgina's triumph! I am quite convinced you will take London by storm.

Not that we are without amusement in Essex; quite the contrary! Aunt Elizabeth and I called at the vicarage yesterday and spent a stimulating afternoon listening to the Reverend Fitzwilliam discoursing on the Vanities of Society and the Emptiness of Worldly Pleasures. Aunt Elizabeth hung on every word, and we are to return and take tea on Thursday. I am determined to have the headache Thursday, if I have to hit myself with a rock to do it.

There is, however, a ray of hope. Lady Tarleton is to have a party for her niece next week. The invitation arrived this morning, and Papa says we are to go! And Aunt Elizabeth approves! She thinks it is to be an informal hop, as Lady Tarleton's niece is not yet out, but Patience Everslee told me in the greatest confidence that there is to be waltzing! I only hope Oliver will stay long enough to accompany us. He has been moping around the house like a sick sheep ever since you and Georgy left, and yesterday he asked Papa, very casually, whether Papa did not think it would be a good idea for him to go to Town this year for a week or two. He thinks he is being very sly, but if he puts off making his arrangements for another day or so Papa will have accepted Lady Tarleton's invitation and Oliver will be obliged to stay here until after the party. I have not, of course, pointed this out to him. Oliver has stated many times his dislike of hearing advice from his younger sister, so it is his own fault if he has not got sense enough to see which way the wind is blowing.

Aunt Elizabeth intends for the two of us to pay a call on Lady Tarleton and her niece on Monday, by way of improving our acquaintance before the ball (which is to say, she wants to have a look at the niece). I shall be on my best behavior, even if the niece turns out to be quite odious. There is no point in looking for difficulties the day before a party.

And there may be more excitement to come. Sir Hilary Bedrick has just been named to the Royal College of Wizards; the whole village is buzzing with the news. I suspect he was chosen because of that enormous library of musty old spellbooks at Bedrick Hall. He left yesterday for London, where he will be installed, but all of us expect great things when he returns. Except, of course, for Aunt Elizabeth, who looks at me sideways and says darkly that magic is for heathens and cannibals, not for decent folk. Perhaps that is why she holds Sir Hilary in such dislike. I would wager my best kid gloves that if it were not for Papa's interest in the historical portions of Sir Hilary's library, Aunt Elizabeth would have cut the connection ages ago.

Do, please, try to find me those silks I asked you about before you left, and if you should happen to see a pair of long gloves that would match my green crape, please, please send them at once! I should so like to look well at Lady Tarleton's party.

Give my love to Georgy and Aunt Charlotte, and do try not to let Aunt Charlotte bully you too much. And do, do write and tell me everything you are doing!

Your loving cousin,
Cecy



10 April 1817
11 Berkeley Square, London

Dear Cecy,

If you've been forced to listen to Reverend Fitzwilliam on the subject of the emptiness of worldly pleasures for hours together, I feel I ought to write something bracing to cheer you up. But after three days of a London Season I find it hard to come to the defense of frivolity with any spirit. Perhaps it will make Rushton seem more amusing to you if I complain vigorously. (Don't worry, I haven't said a word to anyone else, not even Georgina.)

First, there was our arrival in Berkeley Square, a very welcome event after a day spent in the coach with Aunt Charlotte complaining of her migraine and Georgina exclaiming, "Only look, a sedan chair!" at every opportunity. It was very late and we were very tired and soiled with our travels, too weary to feel the proper emotions on entering such a grand house for the first time. (Horace Walpole is by no means Aunt Charlotte's favorite author, but the opportunity to hire the genuine Mayfair town house he genuinely died in for the Season has given her a new appreciation of him and his works.)

Make no mistake, it is very grand. On the outside it is a high, narrow, polite-looking house built of brick. On the inside there is a high-ceilinged entrance hall with a marble staircase winding up two flights. On either side of the hall are reception rooms. The one on the right is called the blue saloon. It is very comfortable with a bow window overlooking the Square. On the left side of the hall is the drawing room, much grander than the blue saloon, furnished with lyre-back chairs, delicate sofas, and a spinet. There are velvet curtains in the windows and a highly polished marble floor, upon which I slipped and sat down hard as we were being shown about the house. This was my first piece of clumsiness in London, but I suspect it will not be my last. The general effect of the marble floor and ivory curtains is almost arctic. Only touches of primrose and black relieve the whiteness. At the top of the two flights of stairs are the bedrooms. Georgina's looks out over the Square and mine faces back into the lane behind the house. If I crane my neck I can see down into the kitchen garden-but there is nothing much to look at. Nothing to compare with the gardens at Rushton.

It seemed like a dream to me, following Georgina up and up the stairs-she like a kind of angel climbing to her proper place, her golden hair bright in the light from the lamps-me like a ramshackle shadow lurking after her, shedding hairpins and stumbling over the hem of my skirts.

The bedrooms are lovely, but that night they seemed grand and cold and I was a little dismayed to find myself in my own room all alone-can you credit it, after I schemed for years to get a room to myself? So I slipped in to Georgina to say good night and get my top buttons undone. Georgina was sitting at her window, trying to guess from the darkened glass what direction she was facing so she could say her prayers toward home. I turned her around and didn't tease her, even when I saw the lock of hair she had clenched in her moist little palm-Oliver's, tied up in a bit of pink ribbon. Can you believe it?

Well, as I say, I got her pointed in the right direction and she got me unbuttoned and told me that I had a smut rubbed clear across my forehead and a spot coming on my chin. (As if I hadn't been driven half-mad feeling it coming out all day long in the coach...) So we parted, she to her prayers and I to my bed, the highest, hardest, narrowest, dampest bed on four lion's paws (London would be grander still if they knew how to air their sheets).

Our first day in London was spent shopping, which means I kicked my heels while Aunt Charlotte and the modiste went into raptures over Georgina. The second day, we were taken to see the Elgin Marbles, which was interesting, and to listen to other people see the Elgin Marbles, which would make the eyes roll right back in your head with boredom. The third day, we went back to shopping and I was able to get gloves. Please find enclosed a pair that I think will suit your pomona green crape to perfection. I bought a pair for myself and have spilt coffee on them already. So you see London hasn't changed me yet.

I feel quite envious about Lady Tarleton's dance. Aunt Charlotte has spoken of Almack's but never yet without looking at me and giving a little shudder of apprehension. She intends to call on Lady Jersey tomorrow. If their acquaintance has been exaggerated (and you know that sometimes people do not care quite as much for Aunt Charlotte as she thinks they do), I don't know how we will obtain vouchers. It is plain, however, that without vouchers for Almack's Assembly, Georgy will never truly shine in Society, no matter how lovely she is. For my own sake, I hope I get to go, too. It would be a shame to have trodden Robert Penwood's feet black and blue learning to dance and then never to get a chance to put it to the test.

Do you think a wizard's installation would be a ladylike thing to attend? We passed the Royal College on the way to the Museum and I'm sure I could find my way.

Do tell me all about the dance and mention Oliver a little so Georgina doesn't sigh herself away entirely.

Love, Kate

Copyright © 2003 by Patricia C. Wrede and Caroline Stevermer

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced
or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopy, recording, or any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

Requests for permission to make copies of any part of the work
should be mailed to the following address: Permissions Department, Harcourt, Inc., 6277 Sea Harbor Drive, Orlando, Florida 32887-6777.

ANNOTATION

In 1817 in England, two young cousins, Cecilia living in the country and Kate in London, write letters to keep each other informed of their exploits, which take a sinister turn when they find themselves confronted by evil wizards.

FROM THE PUBLISHER

In 1817 in England, two young cousins, Cecilia living in the country and Kate in London, write letters to keep each other informed of their exploits, which take a sinister turn when they find themselves confronted by evil wizards.

SYNOPSIS

The prim and proper world of Regency England . . . crossed with the wizardly doings of high fantasy--now that's something to write home about!

FROM THE CRITICS

Publishers Weekly

Older fans of a certain young wizard may be interested in the fantastical goings-on in Sorcery & Cecelia, or The Enchanted Chocolate Pot by Patricia C. Wrede and Caroline Stevermer. This epistolary novel follows the adventures of two British girls in 1817 in an alternate reality where magic really works. Originally published in 1988, this edition contains some new material. Copyright 2003 Reed Business Information.

Children's Literature - Leah Hanson

Kate and Cecelia are cousins and best friends. Constantly writing letters back and forth, they exchange all the news and gossip nineteenth-century London has to offer. But when strange things begin to happen, the girls abandon the flightiness of the social scene and determine to delve into the mysterious circumstances. First, Kate walks into a trap meant for the dashing Marquis of Schofield and is nearly poisoned by hot chocolate. Then Cecelia stumbles upon magic meant to harm her. Both girls fearlessly search for clues, piecing together the evidence as they write back and forth. Their mystery centers upon a magical chocolate pot that somehow is linked to the Marquis. Spinning spells and side-stepping evil witches, the two girls manage to solve the mystery and find true love amidst the busy London social season. The innovative technique of having the characters write letters to one another allows the reader a part in a story as important as Kate and Cecelia's. As each girl turns up new evidence, the puzzle pieces of the mystery fall into place. Written by two authors who literally crafted the story by writing letters in character, this mystery is a perfect combination of Harry Potter's magic and Jane Austen's love stories. 2003, Harcourt,

VOYA - Marlyn Roberts

Brought back into print and reminiscent in style of Jane Austen, this book consists of a correspondence between Kate and Cecelia. In reality, the two authors played the Letter Game, in which each takes on the persona of one of the characters. The first writer chooses the setting, time, and characters. Beginning the correspondence, Wrede becomes Cecelia, and Stevermer Kate. Kate is in London for her first "season," but her neighbor and best friend Cecelia has not been allowed to go. Missing each other dreadfully, they write to one another almost daily. Although the setting appears to be England during the Napoleonic Wars, there is a difference: Magic is prevalent-and legal. When Kate attends an investiture ceremony for Sir Hilary, one of their country neighbors, at the Royal College of Wizards, she stumbles into a small garden area and is bespelled by a frightening elderly woman. It turns out that this woman, Miranda, is an evil wizard who is trying to steal power from Thomas, marquis of Schofield. Kate and Cecelia become embroiled in the situation, attempting to prevent Miranda's success. The plot is fairly complex as the two girls manage to get themselves into precarious situations (￯﾿ﾽ la Lucy and Ethel, although the consequences here are much more dangerous). This is a fun story that quickly draws in the reader. The story will be more appreciated by teen girls than boys, and they will soon be requesting the sequel that is promised at the end of this book. VOYA Codes: 5Q 5P S A/YA (Hard to imagine it being any better written; Every YA (who reads) was dying to read it yesterday; Senior High, defined as grades 10 to 12; Adult and Young Adult). 2003 (orig. 1988), Harcourt, 336p,

KLIATT - Michele Winship

To quote from the review of the hardcover in KLIATT, May 2003: Jane Austen meets Harry Potter in this romp through England immediately following the Napoleonic Wars. Kate and Cecelia are teenage cousins, best friends, and ladies of polite society. Kate is sent to London with her beautiful sister Georgina who is making her debut during the London social "season" while Cecelia remains at home in Essex. Through the letters they send back and forth, readers meet the mysterious and unnerving James Tarleton who spies on Cecelia and has motives that are less than noble. We see Kate rescue the magical Marquis of Schofield from an almost certain poisoning through a bewitched chocolate pot and in turn accept his engagement offer in an effort to fend off an evil plot against Dorothea, a lovely Tarleton cousin with a wicked stepmother. And we see the secrets of Sir Hilary Bedrick's family tree unravel and trap both Cecelia and her brother Oliver in a web of magic. The two authors took turns writing letters in character, and the result is this charming book told in voices that play off each other in a literary tennis match that pits English society life against the power of sorcery. (An ALA Best Book for YAs.) KLIATT Codes: JS*—Exceptional book, recommended for junior and senior high school students. 2003, Harcourt, Magic Carpet, 326p., Ages 12 to 18.

Kirkus Reviews