One of the books that I was delighted to receive for Christmas this year was Wicked by Gregory Maguire. I’d grown up watching the film of The Wizard or Oz, recently watched the film, and had tickets to the Broadway musical in January. I started reading Wicked on Boxing Day.
The timeline of our exposure to Elphaba and her companions is a complicated one. First came L. Frank Baum’s 1900 novel, The Wonderful Wizard of Oz, a classic of children’s literature that introduced us to the magical land of Oz and its plucky heroine, Dorothy. Then came the 1939 film adaptation, starring Judy Garland, which cemented itself as an iconic piece of cinematic history. Fast forward nearly a century from Baum’s novel, and Gregory Maguire’s 1995 book, Wicked: The Life and Times of the Wicked Witch of the West, reimagines the world of Oz through a darker, more complex lens.
Maguire’s Wicked is the first in a series of four novels and aims to provide an untold history of one of literature’s most infamous villains: the Wicked Witch of the West. The novel delves into her formative years, including her time as the alienated university roommate of a vain, ambitious beauty named Glinda. While the book wasn’t an immediate bestseller, it gained traction through word of mouth, eventually becoming a cultural touchstone.
The novel’s popularity skyrocketed when Stephen Schwartz adapted it into the Broadway musical Wicked, which premiered in 2003. The musical, a prequel to the 1939 film, explores similar themes but with a more whimsical tone and a focus on the friendship between Elphaba (the Witch) and Glinda. Its enduring success paved the way for the upcoming 2024 film adaptation, starring Ariana Grande and Cynthia Erivo, ensuring that Maguire’s reimagining continues to resonate with new audiences.
But let’s return to the novel itself. Wicked serves as a prequel—or perhaps more accurately, a companion piece—to Baum’s original work. Maguire uses the familiar framework of Oz to explore profound questions about the nature of evil. Is it innate, or is it a product of one’s environment and circumstances? Are acts of evil always committed by inherently wicked individuals, or can they stem from noble intentions gone awry? These philosophical inquiries underpin the narrative, elevating it beyond mere fantasy.
The world Maguire builds is richly detailed and politically charged, far removed from the Technicolor whimsy of the 1939 film. The novel’s Oz is a land rife with social and political tensions, where questions of morality are anything but black and white. This complexity, while intellectually stimulating, can make the book a challenging read. Major plot points are sometimes buried within dense paragraphs, requiring careful attention to avoid confusion. On more than one occasion, I found myself backtracking to make sense of the unfolding events.
Genre-wise, I’d classify Wicked as literary fantasy. It’s certainly not a children’s book, despite its connection to Baum’s work. The novel includes mature themes, including political intrigue, ethical dilemmas, and even some sexual content, though the latter is handled sparingly and without sensationalism. It’s worth noting that the book’s tone and content differ significantly from both the musical and the recent film adaptation. Fans of the Broadway show might not find the same charm in the novel’s darker, more intricate narrative.
Ultimately, Wicked is an ambitious and thought-provoking reimagining of a beloved story. While it may not be to everyone’s taste, especially those expecting the lightheartedness of the musical, it stands as a compelling work of literary fantasy in its own right. If you’re willing to engage with its dense prose and complex themes, you’ll find a richly layered tale that challenges the simplistic notions of good and evil we’ve come to associate with the land of Oz.
I’d love to know how others have found the novel in comparison to the film and stage musical. Do let me know in the comments!
