I was a total King Arthur fangirl in high school. I mean, I was a King Arthur nut. In my high school yearbook on the graffiti page there is a small heart inside which is written “Arthur + Jenny”; those were the nicknames my high school boyfriend and I used with each other (no wonder we broke up, huh, with that karma?). I have a shelf full of King Arthur texts and retellings, but somewhere along the way I burned out on it to such an extent that when Arthur-based galleys would surface at the shop I might have rolled my eyes.

“More Arthur,” I would think, “that no one will care about.”

Philip Reeve’s HERE LIES ARTHUR was on the top of my pile because of who Reeve was, not because of who he was writing about. I was dreading reading it because of who he was writing about, assuming that as usual with these Arthur retellings it would just be more of the same old, same old.

Oh, Mr. Reeve, how I doubted you, and I am here to apologize, because this book is fantastic.

It’s told from the point of view of a poor orphan named Gwyna who is found in the woods by Merlin (called Myrddin here) one day after Arthur burns down the settlement in which she was living. In this retelling, Myrddin isn’t magical at all, but he’s clever and compelling and knows how to trick people with light and words and chance. No lady of the lake gives the sword to Arthur – it is Gwynna, who swims like a fish and holds it aloft from beneath the water. Soon enough Gwynna is disguised as a boy, renamed Gwyn and is taken in by Myrddin permanently as a servant/companion/squire.

Gwyn is present as all of the events of Arthur’s life unfold, but nothing is what it seems or what we (the audience) have grown up reading about Arthur. Arthur is not a noble hero here – he’s actually a boorish, unintelligent jerk with very few morals. Myrddin is the one who makes him into a hero through storytelling. Gwyn says: Myrddin said he was not an enchanter, but he worked magic all right. He turned me into a boy, and he turned Arthur into a hero.

It’s a pretty clever commentary on today’s political situation, actually, whether intentional or not. Myrddin says: Arthur can do nothing so bad that I can’t spin it into gold and use it to make him more famous and more feared. If the tales are good enough, even the poor man who goes hungry from paying Arthur taxes will love him. Sound like anyone you know? Anyone who, you know, might be in charge of our country or something?

My favorite passage from the whole book comes toward the end, as Gwenhwyfar and Bedwyr (in place of Lancelot, as is traditional) have betrayed Arthur and a war is taking place as a result and Myrddin is still spinning his stories, trying to keep Arthur present in people’s minds as “the hope of Britain.” Gwyn says: Arthur? You’ve wasted your life building him high and wrapping him up in stories, but Arthur hasn’t cleaned the Saxons away. They’re still sitting on their stolen lands, growing stronger and stronger, and laughing at us while we fight among ourselves. Arthur doesn’t care about anything but making his own self fat and rich, and he hasn’t even managed to do that very well. And all you can do is make up stories, make up lies, try and turn him into something that he isn’t.

Home run, Mr. Reeve.