A twisty-turny, not-quite fairy tale that is sure to please, now in paperback! Storm, Aurora, and Anything Eden live in a decaying mansion on the edge of the wilds with their erstwhile father and indolent mother. When an accident leaves them orphaned and at the mercy of the sinister Dr. DeWilde, these three courageous and eccentric sisters are forced to flee into the woods, where they encounter kidnappers, sweets-filled orphanages, mountains of ice, diamond mines, and some ravenously hungry wolves. Taking inspiration from numerous fairy tales and weaving them into a wholly original story, Into the Woods is a whirlwind of a novel, full of imaginative happenings and dastardly deeds. Lyn Gardner is a theater critic for The Guardian and goes to the theater five or six nights a week, which should leave no time for writing books at all. Prior to joining The Guardian, she was a tea lady, a waitress, sold (or failed to sell) advertising space for a magazine called Sludge, wrote for The Independent, and helped found the London listings magazine, City Limits, the largest publishing co-op in Europe. Mini Grey 's last picture book, Traction Man Is Here! , won the 2005 Boston Globe-Horn Book Award and received five starred reviews. Storm Eden was forbidden to put a foot outside the high walls that surrounded the park at Eden End. Her older sister, Aurora, had made that quite clear after Storm's last escapade, which had ended badly, with two lost shoes, one black eye and a bump the size of a robin's egg on her head. On no account was Storm to leave the park and go into the woods, except in an emergency. 'What sort of emergency?' Storm had asked. 'Only a direst emergency. Nothing less than imminent death,' Aurora had replied darkly, a dangerous glint in her eye.  So, once upon a time, here and there, now and then, Storm Eden stood disconsolately under an oak tree in the park, looking up at a cloudless sky. It was not yet noon, and the day rolled out endlessly in front of her like a piece of carpet with nothing on it. And if an empty day didn't count as an emergency, Storm wasn't sure what did. Aurora had mentioned death, and Storm felt quite certain that she would die of boredom if she didn't find something fun to do. Surely even her sister would understand that? Or perhaps not. But then, Aurora need never know.  Storm was sure that her sister would either be busy demonstrating her unnatural talent for housework, by rearranging the linen cupboard for the second time that week, or perfecting her recipe for chocolate madeleines in the kitchen. And she was certain nobody else would miss her. Her mother, who hardly seemed to notice Storm's existence at the best of times, would be having a pre-lunch nap, and her father would be in his study planning an expedition in search of the legendary four-tongued, three-footed, two-headed honey dragon which was reputed to be at least one hundred metres long and have the sunniest disposition of any member of the lizard family.  Storm felt restless and hungry for something, although she didn't think it was for food. She had a round of cucumber and watercress sandwiches, a hard-boiled brown speckled egg, laid by an unreliable hen called Desdemona, and a flask filled with raspberry juice in her pockets. And she had the whole day before her.  Storm ran across the park to a place where one of the gnarled oak trees nestled close to the high walls, clambered up the trunk with the ease of a monkey, shimmied along the nearest branch that overhung the wall, took a quick glance back towards the ramshackle old house with its winking windows, lopsided chimneys and single turret to check she was unseen, and dropped to the ground on the other side. Rooks rose from the treetops, their icy cries cutting the stillness. Storm realized she had forgotten her shoes. She shrugged and scrambled to her feet, oblivious to muddied knees and a tear in her skirt. The woods waited: mysterious, watchful and alluring. The whisper and rustle of branches in the wind sounded to Storm as if the trees were calling out to her. She took a few steps into their shadows and the thorns of a briar latched onto her arm, like sharp grasping fingers, urging her onwards into the enticing darkness of the forest.  It was then that she remembered a story Aurora was fond of telling -- a story which she claimed was completely true and had happened in these very same woods. It was about a woodcutter's daughter, who many centuries ago had disobeyed her mother's orders, strayed off the path in the woods and been eaten by a wolf. Aurora always concluded the story by wagging her finger at Storm and saying, 'So heed my words, stay close to home where you are safe, and don't wander into the woods.' Storm would listen and then retort, 'Well, if I met a wolf, I'd gobble him up in a single gulp. Wolves don't scare me,' and Aurora would shake her head mournfully at her sister's boldness and reply, 'You'll come to a bad e