Welcome to Shea Ernshaw’s ‘Long Live the Pumpkin Queen’!

I was walking through a department store a couple weeks back, pushing my cart with the new blinds I’d just had cut for the bedroom. I was leaving the electronics section, where I’d just checked to see if there were any cool Nintendo games that I’d somehow missed.

Anyway, the book section is just outside of the electronics section. I don’t generally look at department-store bookshelves, since they’re always stocked with the same handful of cookie-cutter authors who should probably have stopped writing years ago.

But, that day, a single book caught my eye: Long Live the Pumpkin Queen, by Shea Ernshaw. https://www.amazon.com/Long-Live-Pumpkin-Queen-Nightmare/dp/1368069606/ref=sr_1_1?hvqmt=p&mcid=6bce978c039838dfbd3974fa2fc74375

Being a die-hard fan of ANYTHING connected to the classic film The Nightmare Before Christmas, I stopped and flipped through it. Honestly? I assumed that it was a gimmick, probably something that would only appeal to a kid. Besides, I haven’t the foggiest idea who Shea Ernshaw is; the cover says that she’s a ‘#1 New York Times bestselling author.’ But, then, so’s Tom Clancy and he’s terrible.

I was immediately stricken by the lush, dream-like quality of the writing:

Jack leans forward, eyes damp at the edges, and presses his grave-cold mouth to mine—and my seams feel like they’re going to fray and burst, like they can’t contain this swollen, chest-widening feeling rupturing through me. A feeling so strange and unknown and peculiar that it makes me dizzy. Makes my head swim, my legs teeter.

Jack and I are married.

He wipes away the tear streaming down my cotton cheekbone to my chin and looks at me like his own chest is about to fracture. And for a moment, I’m certain I’m certain they should bury us both here, at the center of the graveyard. Married, and died on the same day. Unable to contain the unspeakable, awful, wondrous emotion breaking against our eyelids.

The dreadful residents of Halloween Town applaud, tossing tiny dwarf spiders at our as we leave the cemetery, and the warmth in my chest feels like bats clamoring for a way out of my rib cage. Trying to break me apart.

I am now Sally Skellington.

The Pumpkin Queen.

And I’m certain I will never again be as happy as I am right now.

I closed my eyes for a second, hearing in my mind’s ear the soft moaning of wind through the dead trees as the fallen leaves rustled along the ground. I could hear the werewolf’s mournful howl in the distance, answered by the playful barking of Zero the ghost dog …

Well, that settled it! Into my cart went Long Live the Pumpkin Queen, right next to the blinds.

The book is just as well plotted as it is lushly written. The tension is almost unbearable as the Sandman—escaped from Dream Town—makes his inexorable way through the holiday lands, putting everyone into a deep, dreamless sleep. It falls to Jack Skellington’s new bride to keep the holidays from going forever extinct …

I’ll definitely be reading more by Shea Ernshaw, if for no other reason than her hypnotic use of prose. She’s amazingly talented, and I thoroughly enjoyed her tale—doubly so since it was set in a such a familiar, nostalgic setting. I particularly enjoyed the portrayal of Dr. Finkelstein, fleshing him out as a true icon of evil.

I found only one flaw in the book, which wouldn’t have bothered me except for one thing: By virtue of its subject matter, this book will inevitably appeal to young readers. For a time, a vampire brother fell in love with Mr. Hyde, and a witch sister with the mayor.

There is another, similar reference, which is two too many. Look, y’all, I’ve enjoyed—and even promoted—books that have sexual deviancy as a plot element. But I’m an adult! There is NEVER an excuse to put such references in a book for young readers!

Was that Ms. Ernshaw’s doing? Was she trying to be subtly ‘woke’? Or was it done at Disney’s bidding? After all, John Nolte—one of my favorite journalists—always refers to the company as ‘The Disney child grooming syndicate.’ Whosoever idea it was, inserting such elements into a book peddled to young people is inexcusable.

That having been said, it certainly didn’t ruin the book for me although I wouldn’t give it to a seven-year-old.

All in all, Long Live the Pumpkin Queen was a dream-like, gripping tale reminiscent of the likes of Ray Bradbury or Daphne du Maurier. Five stars!!!