Tiny Pretty Things by Sona Charaipotra and Dhonielle Clayton

“As I gradually restore Words Like Silver to its archive of reviews written between 2011 and 2024, I'll aim to first and foremost make my reading history explorable by publishing the blurbs and short reflections as books cross my mind, with the goal of eventually transferring and fleshing out the original WLS content. For now, please enjoy this brief spotlight.”

Now a Netflix TV show Black Swan meets Pretty Little Liars in this soapy, drama-packed novel featuring diverse characters who will do anything to be the prima at their elite ballet school.

From the New York Times-bestselling author of The Belles, Dhonielle Clayton, and the author of the acclaimed Symptoms of a Heartbreak, Sona Charaipotra.

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Gigi, Bette, and June, three top students at an exclusive Manhattan ballet school, have seen their fair share of drama. Free-spirited new girl Gigi just wants to dance--but the very act might kill her. Privileged New Yorker Bette's desire to escape the shadow of her ballet-star sister brings out a dangerous edge in her. And perfectionist June needs to land a lead role this year or her controlling mother will put an end to her dancing dreams forever.

When every dancer is both friend and foe, the girls will sacrifice, manipulate, and backstab to be the best of the best.

Don't miss the gossip, lies, and scandal that continues in Tiny Pretty Things' gripping sequel, Shiny Broken Pieces.

I was surprised by Tiny Pretty Things, pleasantly so. For awhile, I avoided the title simply because the combination sounds exactly the same as all the branding for every other soapy drama: Pretty Little Liars, Big Little Lies, Little Fires Everywhere. While I know what the advertising is attempting to do, it had the opposite effect in that I end up glossing over any title that follows the same pattern.

But when the show came out, I realized this was a dancing book, and that changed everything.

I love the ballet world.

When I was younger, I was captivated by ballet. I relished dancing when I was younger. I loved my studio time: the formal training, the lines, the satisfaction of putting on tights and pointe shoes. Blisters and beauty. I loved watching ballets and getting consumed in the narrative.

As I’ve gotten older, it’s been easier for me to keep up with my passion for dancing in the form of hip hop, which is quite different. But the core aspect of it is the same: feeling music as a physical thing, and relishing the sense of movement. I loved dancing so profoundly and haven’t been able to get into a studio consistently in a while.

Ballet as a world is so fascinating too because it’s so insular: it’s the pursuit of perfection, but in a way that very few people value. You devote your entire life, your entire being, to the pursuit of an impossible feat. It takes time and money and skill and time, and it’s equivalent in some sense to training for the Olympics if you want to make it to the top. But you won’t get the same prestige, not from anyone who’s not already attuned to the beauty of ballet (or Russian.) I’m obsessed.

I also have a tendency to absolutely adore any book that features prodigies — the type of people who devote themselves singularly to one pursuit. It’s why I loved If I Stay by Gayle Forman. It’s why I have a special affinity for Sherlock Holmes. Brilliant, misunderstood people who don’t care so long as they get that one thing. (For your Sherlock fix, go for A Study in Charlotte by Brittany Cavallaro.)

So Tiny Pretty Things was up my alley. But it takes the petty approach to ballet a la Pretty Little Liars, which was actually a striking combination. Girls who start backstabbing to get what they want, because they’re so afraid of what happens if they fail. The characters are much more complicated, though, and much more sympathetic.

It’s similar to Famous in Love and Lifestyles of Gods & Monsters in that at first, it came across as a little shallow and then I got engrossed in the layers, recognizing the characters as being much more nuanced than I originally gave them credit for.

The Characters

Once you get settle into the tropes and the elements that seem familiar, I actually loved how much light it shed on complex motivation. The characters were morally gray, which I always appreciate — except for Gigi, who was definitely painted as a “Mary Sue” character. Criticism describes this book as not giving the characters much depth, but I actually thought they did a pretty good job (although perhaps that’s me reading between the lines too much.) There’s supposed to be a romance and it’s completely flat, so much so that it’s not worth more than a brief mention, so in aspects like that, I can see why it could be difficult to believe the characters fully.

Bette is awful, but you understand why — and I’m always empathetic enough to hope for a redemption story. I feel for her. She did a lot better for herself in the second book, and genuinely regretted many of her actions. It’s difficult for me to hate a mean character when I feel bad for them, and so in that sense, she was sympathetic if not likable. She’s the frosty ballet legacy with the bitchy mother, desperate to live up to her star older sister, so much that she’d sabotage others stealing her spotlight.

June was extremely complicated, which I liked. Several of my close, close friends have battled confusing and nonlinear eating disorders, so her storyline felt raw and real in a way that made me grateful for that kind of representation. Additionally, the hypocrisy of the ballet world demanding a certain standard and body image, while simultaneously condemning the extreme lengths that girls go to out of terror that they won’t live up, is so well conveyed. It’s a tough standard of perfection, and the girls feel like there’s no right answer. The nature of ballet is meant to be obsessive, which reinforces unhealthy behaviors when coupled with the immense despair of knowing you might have devoted your entire life to not be good enough.

Gigi was the naïve one with raw talent. She was sweet, and hard-working, and her flaws resulted from coming off as holier-than-thou or difficult to talk to in some ways. She got on my nerves at times, and I felt like if I were a girl at the academy, I might get annoyed easily too. (To the extent of putting glass in her pointe shoes, absolutely not, because I’m not a bitch.) It’s clear from other readers’ reactions that she’s supposed to be the favorite, but she actually wasn’t for me. I liked her, but I liked all of them for different reasons, although she was morally the best.

Also, both she and June battled constant racism at the academy. For context, the Russian ballet style prioritizes snow-white swans who all appear homogeneous on stage, and it’s often extremely difficult and unbalanced for ballerinas of color to fit into that strict form.

I loved that it was a ballet book, but I was pleasantly surprised by how much I liked the characters (even while disagreeing with them), and the tension was solid.

The Writing

It was extremely readable, and on a craft level, was written in a suspenseful way that kept me going.

For example, one of my favorite writing trademarks is good “edges.” Ending and beginning a chapter on striking lines, or moments that feel like microcosms. To me, it’s both satisfying enough to dog ear the page and head to bed, while curious enough to want to say screw it to my sleep schedule. All my favorite books have great edges.

On a craft level, the first person present tense alternating between three perspectives felt completely absorbing. I can see why it would be difficult for some people to feel connected to each character, or keeping track of who did what, but I had no problem with it. In fact, the guessing game of trying to keep track of small pranks, twists, and motivations actually added to the dizzying nature of deciding who to root for and what was going to happen. Instead of feeling confused, I felt compelled. It was addictive for me.

The reasons for acting out, although they’re billed as being soapy and equivalent to other YA teen dramas, felt more real. I did think that’s what Tiny Pretty Things excelled at: giving them deep-rooted motivations that made you feel like the girls never had another choice. It was psychological rather than manipulative, between a rock and a hard place. (You know how sometimes you’re reading a mean-girls book and just frustrated that the characters are so immature? Not on the same level. They didn’t feel immature in this book, just flawed. scared, and in a slightly toxic environment.)

The Sequel

I ended up reading the sequel as well, so this review covers a bit of both. The first book ended a bit abruptly, while the second book created a lot more sympathy for the shitty actions that they take against each other by adding additional layers. Another big point against the first book is that the ending achieves very little, and the sequel did a much better job of wrapping things up in a way that felt satisfying.

The actions within the book are intense. If you struggle with eating disorders, or have been bullied, or self-harmed, it may be a tough read for you. It also tackles lots of issues of racism, classism, and other issues inflamed by the ballet atmosphere in a way that felt really fleshed out. It’s dark at times and doesn’t shy away. (Also, great diverse cast.)

As for weaknesses, the book doesn’t have a definitive ending, so there wasn’t a ton of resolution. I knew I’d continue directly into the sequel, so it didn’t bother me as much, but it drove my sister crazy. Subplots went unanswered at time and there was a lot of jostling around.

But it was emotional, and deeply passionate about ballet, and fun when it was meant to be. You get a lot of glitz that feels indulgent.

Overall

Overall, I enjoyed Tiny Pretty Things a ton, both for the nostalgia of my ballet days and the intensity of the plot. The nuance of the characters actually lent a lot of consideration to their actions — like, I could easily run a book club session on this one — and I adored the writing. On a craft level, I thought the writing was vivid and excellent. Visceral in a way that went along with the physicality of dancing. Brutal and beautiful!

Related: For the supernatural version of the harms of ballet's perfectionism, try I Feed Her to the Beast and the Beast Is Me by Jamison Shea, linked below.