Sigh. Disney has much to answer for.

So...there's this Princess in a galaxy far, far away.

Actually she isn't a Princess anymore. She's now High Queen: absolute hereditary monarch of seven Keltic star-systems. All her subjects love her.

(Her family, BtW, became ruling dynasty bloodlessly centuries before by unanimous acclaim when the previous dynasty...um, petered out. Welcome to Planet Kumbaya. Who are you, and what have you done with the real Kelts?)

Um...let's see. She's seven feet tall—all the Space-Kelts are tall—and drop-dead gorgeous (of course), with a tumbling cascade of butt-length red hair.

Among her many memorable accomplishments, she single-handedly piloted a space ship—without benefit of crew—through a zone previously considered un-navigable. She did this in order to avenge her parents, destroying their murderers' planet by psychic power alone.

Then....

(Is your gorge rising yet? Mine certainly was.)

Well, I'm sorry, but I can't tell you what comes next. I just couldn't force myself to read any more.

Thanks to the Red Hag—covid 19—many of us are scraping the bottom of the barrel for fresh reading material. Here's a series, written by a witch—well, a Wiccan, anyway—the premise of which is that ancient Kelts fled to outer space to escape the oppressive ways of the New Religion...sounds like it could be fun.

Oh, but it isn't. Patricia Kenneally-Morrison's Keltiad series—from what little I've been able to stomach—reads more like some perverted kind of cross between wish-fulfillment and Disney-princess masturbatory fantasy.

(Oh, did I mention that the Space-Kelts have chocolate—they call it shukla—in their world? Sigh. Of course they have chocolate.)

Well, PK-M, I wish you well, and you're certainly welcome to whatever kind of masturbatory fantasies you like.

But me, I'm not playing along. Frankly—to quote Quentin Crisp here—I don't see how anyone possibly could.