Poor Cinderella. Her story always begins so poignantly that even Reinhart's extravagant colorful pop-up scenarios can't quite cheer things up—until the fairy godmother arrives, of course. The first spread gives rise to a quaint three-dimensional homestead, windows revealing Cinderella's cruel stepmother and her two nasty stepsisters. Where is Cinderella? Readers must open one of the many small pop-up-books-within-a-pop-up-book to see her descending head-first from the chimney (that she's cleaning, of course). Cinderella's fairy godmother soon pops up, literally, sporting pink acetate wings. She sees to it that the beautiful servant girl makes it to the prince's ball, first turning a pumpkin into a stagecoach made from positively prismatic metallic paper. A fat black rat transforms into a jolly coachman with the turn of a page and Cinderella in her fancy gown (with real ribbon) sprouts up like a giant mushroom. Wonderful, glittery, shiny pop-up surprises abound as corset strings are pulled, dancers twirl and castles loom. Reinhart's retelling is solid from start to happily-ever-after finish. (Pop-up book. 4-8)