Attention all would-be princesses: There’s a new memoir that’ll soon have you humming Disney tunes and polishing your tiaras to a high shine. Someday My Prince Will Come: True Adventures of a Wannabe Princess by Jerramy Fine is the real-life story of a Colorado commoner who single-mindedly pursues what she believes is her true destiny to meet and marry a prince.
Fine, the daughter of hippie, tipi-dwelling parents, has been inexplicably longing for England since she was six and discovered the Windsor dynasty especially the existence of Peter Phillips, the Queen’s eldest grandson in a library book. She’s always felt out of place with tie-dye and tofu and, as a toddler, was paranormally bedeviled by echoes of a regally tinged past life, which, says Fine, explains why I often confused my mother with my chambermaid. A bleak situation indeed: What’s a girl to do in the absence of a personal dresser and a fairy godmother? Nothing less than devour copies of Royalty magazine, write fervent love letters to Buckingham Palace and get the heck out of Dodge for an East Coast college, a semester abroad interning in the House of Commons and, eventually, graduate work at the London School of Economics.
Fine soon lives the London life, complete with cashmere, pearls and aristocratic friends, but Peter Phillips remains remarkably elusive (although she does meet Princess Anne, Fergie and Earl Spencer), dating English guys proves wonky and her flat-mates run the gamut from female stalkers to tyrannical misogynists. Though Fine’s methods for finding her true love, destiny and realized reincarnation are not exactly spot on, her obvious intelligence and wry, self-deprecating storytelling style make this tale of a gutsy girl with New Age roots worth a read especially to understand the power of persistence (and trance channeling). What could have been a sob story with tired chick-lit overtones is elevated by Fine’s humor and charm and an epiphany that leads to a worthy ending. There’s fodder for a sequel here or, if the author chooses to stretch her imagination and writing skills, a wacky work of paranormal fictive amour. Closet Anglophile Alison Hood owns both cashmere and pearls, but, alas, no tiara (yet).
