Obscure Fairy Tale: The Giant Who Had No Heart in His Body

4 days until ICE!!!

So, so, so excited.

I thought I'd pass the time by telling you all about another obscure fairy tale that I love. It's a Norse tale collected by Asbjornsen and Moe, the folklorists who recorded "East of the Sun, West of the Moon" (the tale that inspired ICE).

The Giant Who Had No Heart in His Body (from Asbjornsen and Moe)

Catchy title. I would have gone with "The Heartless Giant." Reminds me of the original title for "War and Peace": "War and the Time That Was Less Full of Death and Destruction."

Once upon a time... six princes leave home to find brides, but they forget to bring home a bride for the seventh brother.

"My brothers went a-wooing and all I got was this lousy T-shirt."

On their way home, the brothers and their brides encounter a giant who turns them all to stone.

Bummer. So much for that road trip.

The seventh brother (named Boots) borrows a horse from his father and goes to search for them.

His brothers are Hat, Scarf, Socks, Cravat, Mittens, and Fred.

He meets a hungry raven and gives the bird all his bread.

This is a very common fairy-tale trope: the animal helper. You help an animal in need, and then later you encounter a problem that only that specific animal is able to solve. Animal helpers typically occur in threes. So this is number one.

He meets a stranded salmon and tosses the fish into the water.

Number two.

Lastly, he meets a starving wolf and feeds him his horse.

Number... feeds him his HORSE?!

He puts his saddle on the wolf and rides him to the giant's castle.

Okay, that's kinda awesome.

At the castle, the wolf tells him to obey the princess.

He talks. Sweet. I want a friendly, talking wolf large enough to ride. *adds to wish list under "pet gryphon" and "magic wand"*

Inside, the princess tells Boots that the giant can't be killed because he has removed his heart and hidden it.

Call Harry! He made a Horcrux!

She instructs Boots to hide under the bed. The giant comes home and says, "Eww, it stinks of human in here."

"Fee-fie-foe-fum" has such a better ring to it. Just sayin'.

The princess says, "A bird dropped a human bone down the chimney. You know how hard it is to get the smell of human out."

I am suddenly picturing a Glade air freshener commercial...

At night, the princess and giant cuddle, and she asks him where he hid his heart. "Under the door-sill, my pudding pie," he replies.

Not to get hung up on logistics, but how giant is our giant? Are we talking Shaq or King Kong? Is she hugging his thumb? Having trouble picturing this.

Next day, Boots and the princess dig under the door but find nothing.

How exactly are they going to hide a dug up door threshold?

So the princess decorates the door with flowers. When the giant comes home, he asks about the flowers. She says she wanted to honor his heart because she loves him so much.

Brilliant! I love smart princesses.

He thinks that's sweet but his heart isn't there. It's in the cupboard.

Peanut butter, pasta, cereal, oversized living organ most likely still beating in an alarming Poe-like fashion... Explain to me how you miss noticing a beating heart in the cabinet when you fetch your morning cereal.

Next day, they search the cupboard. No heart. Again, the princess decorates the search site with flowers. Again, the giant says, "You're my sweet sugarbear, but my heart isn't there. It's actually in an egg in a duck in a well in a church on an island in a lake."

Directions like that make me happy. I love the concept of hiding something inside an egg.

Next day, Boots rides the wolf to the lake and swims to the island, but the church is locked, and the key is on the steeple, too high to reach.

At first I wanted to make some snide comment about this, but really, it's logical. He's a giant. A steeple is a perfectly cromulent key-hook.

Boots calls the raven to fetch the key. Inside, Boots lifts the duck out of the well, but the duck is so frightened that she lays the egg, and it sinks to the bottom of the well.

I once had a guinea pig who would pee every time you picked him up. Sort of the same thing. Really made you not want to cuddle the guinea pig.

He calls the salmon to fetch it and then returns to the castle.

See, told you the animal helpers would be useful.

Facing the giant, Boots squeezes the egg. The giant screams in agony. Boots says, "Release my brothers and their brides, and I will spare you."

How do you squeeze an egg without breaking it? Did Mythbusters ever do an episode on improbable fairy-tale events? Read somewhere that if a goose really laid a golden egg, it would shoot out of the goose at high velocity...

The giant transforms the princes and brides back to human. The wolf says, "Squeeze it anyway." Boots does, the egg breaks, and the giant explodes.

Whoa. Exploding giant. Morally problematic, but still kinda awesome.

Boots marries the princess, and everyone returns home to live happily ever after.

For more obscure fairy tales (with commentary), check out the Obscure Fairy Tales page of my website, where I've gathered links to all my prior fairy tale posts.

Obscure Fairy Tale: The Three Princesses of Whiteland

You guys ROCK.

Seriously, I love all the comments on my last post. Keep 'em coming! It's so much fun chatting with you all. Thanks for entering the giveaway contest, and thanks for all the reading suggestions! My TBR pile has grown by leaps and bounds.

The winner of the ARC of ICE is... *drum roll*... Kristen!!! (Please email me your mailing address, and I'll trot off to the post office with your book.)

As a thank you to everyone for entering, I thought I'd tell you about one of my favorite obscure fairy tales, The Three Princesses of Whiteland. It's from the same collection of folktales as East of the Sun, West of the Moon (the tale that inspired ICE). My thoughts on the story are in italics...

The Three Princesses of Whiteland (from Asbjornsen and Moe)

Once upon a time... A fisherman fails to catch any fish. A head pops up between the waves and says, "You'll catch lots of fish if you give me what your wife carries under her girdle." And he says...

"Ahhh! A head! Holy crap, it's a disembodied head in the middle of the ocean and it's talking to me! This is NOT GOOD! Call the police! Call a psychiatrist! Call the tabloids!" No, that's not what he says because he knows this is a fairy tale and one of the rules of the Fairy Tale is that you must accept every freaky talking thing with more grace and aplomb than Julie Andrews at a tea party. So what he actually says is...

"Sure." He doesn't know that his wife is carrying a baby under her girdle.

Out of curiosity, what did he actually think he was bargaining away? Her belly button? Her pancreas?

His wife is upset. When the child is born, the king offers to protect him. So the king raises the boy.

And the parents join the support group started by Rapunzel's parents, PARFTB (Parents Against Ridiculous Fairy Tale Bargains).

One day, the king and the boy go out fishing...

Really? Because that seems a little reckless, given the whole freaky head thing. Can't he take up a safer hobby? Like juggling knives?

After their day at sea, the boy forgets his handkerchief on the boat and returns to fetch it. The boat, moving on its own, carries him across the sea to a beach.

Told you it was reckless. But where's the head?

He meets an old man who says, "Welcome to Whiteland. If you walk down the beach, you'll find three princesses buried up to their necks in sand. Ignore the first two and follow the orders of the third."

Heroes should ask more questions. Such as, are you (A) a wise Gandolf-figure here to point me to my glorious destiny, (B) the evil mastermind who kidnapped me and buried three girls in some weird homage to a teen angst beach movie, or (C) just a random crazy guy?

The first two princesses cry for help, but he ignores them. The third princess tells him that he must enter the nearby castle without greeting the lions that stand guard.

Why is the ability-to-ignore-minor-characters a virtue? Incidentally, the lions don't do anything in this tale. And not to give away spoilers, but you know that disembodied head? Never appears again.

He must allow a troll to beat him with whips, use a special salve to heal himself, and then slay the troll with a sword. If he does this three times with three trolls, the princesses will be freed.

Or he could just fetch a shovel and dig them out right now.

The boy agrees. Inside the castle, a three-headed troll whips him. The boy heals himself and kills the troll. When he returns to the princesses, they are now only buried to their waists in sand.

Dude, seriously, sand isn't that hard to dig. Get a shovel.

The boy returns to the castle a second time, and a six-headed trolls whips him. The boy heals himself again and kills the second troll. Now the princesses are buried only to their knees.

Oooh, scary, knee-deep sand. Can't they just, you know, step out of the sand and walk away?

Lastly, a nine-headed troll whips him until he faints. When he regains consciousness, the boy kills the troll. The princesses are free. He marries the third princess and lives happily for a while.

Because getting beat up by a monster makes for such a good first date.

After a while, the boy misses his parents. His wife warns him to listen to his father, not his mother, and she gives him a ring that grants two wishes. He uses one to return home.

Why not use a boat? It's a magic ring. Go for something cool. If you need transportation, then how about wish for the means of transport? Like a magic carpet or a pegasus or a VW bug with a cute fake daisy on the dash...?

At home, his mother tells him to visit the king to show him what a fine young man he's become, and his father tells him to stay home. The boy visits the king.

The king raised him. He should visit. Perhaps a better warning would have been the standard "Don't be an idiot."

The king is jealous of him and says, "I bet your wife isn't as pretty as mine." And the boy says, "I wish she were here right now so I could show you." Instantly, his wife appears. She tells him he's had his two wishes now, gives him a ring made of her hair, and leaves him.

Chief lessons I've learned from fairy tales: be careful of the word "wish," don't eat unwashed fruit, and if your daughter is cursed to prick her finger on the spindle of a spinning wheel and die, then show her what a spinning wheel looks like.

He begins to search for Whiteland. He meets the lord of the beasts, the lord of the birds, and the lord of the fish. No one knows where Whiteland is until they ask an old pike who says he's been a cook there for ten years.

I love that the fish is a chef. How awesomely random.

The pike says that the queen (who was the third princess) is going to marry a new man since her king is missing.

Can he really be missing if she knows exactly where he is?

The lord of the fish tells the boy that on the moor, he'll find three men who have been arguing for one hundred years about who should possess a hat, cloak, and boots. If anyone has all three, he can turn invisible and wish himself anywhere.

Well, that's convenient.

The boy tells the three men that he'll choose who should possess the items if he can borrow them. They agree, and he whisks himself to Whiteland.

What do you want to bet that he doesn't return the items?

The North Wind offers to blow the new fiance away if the boy can get the man outside. So the boy tosses the man outside, and the wind blows him away.

When did a talking weather system join the story?

The boy shows the queen her hair ring. She welcomes him home happily, and the rightful wedding is held.

Um, weren't they married before? And hey look, he didn't return the magic items. There's a shocker. It's not like this story has any other unresolved plot points... I'm sure he'll use that invisibility power any second now...

And they all lived happily ever after.

Including the disembodied head, silent lions, extraneous princesses, random ancient men, and the cooking (not cooked) fish...

For more obscure fairy tales (with commentary), check out the Obscure Fairy Tales page of my website, where I've gathered links to all my prior fairy tale posts.

Obscure Fairy Tale: The Lassie and Her Godmother

As part of the countdown to the release of my next book ICE, I am sharing old Norse tales collected by Asbjornsen and Moe. The most famous of these tales ("East of the Sun and West of the Moon") was the inspiration for ICE. This is NOT that story...

The Lassie and Her Godmother (from Asbjornsen and Moe)

Once upon a time... a poor couple has a baby girl but can't afford to christen her. The man begs for someone to pay the fees, but the only person who offers is a well-dressed lady who wants to keep the child for her own.

Talk about an offer that comes with strings. Sheesh! At least Rumplestiltskin led up to his ultimatum.

The mother refuses, and the man continues to beg. But he has no luck, so he agrees to the lady's terms: the baby is christened and then taken away to live with her new foster-mother.

Sucks to be fairy-tale parents. They either die or never see their kids again. I think the survivors need a support group -- PARFTB (Parents Against Ridiculous Fairy Tale Bargains).

One day, years later, the foster-mother has to go on a journey. She shows the girl three doors and tells her she must not open them.

How has the girl never noticed the three doors before? I mean, she lives there, right? Unobservant much?

While the lady is away, the girl is overwhelmed with curiosity. She opens the first of the three forbidden doors. The Star flies out.

Here's an idea: if you have a forbidden room, lock the door.

When the lady returns, she's so upset that she wants to send the girl away. But the girl cries and begs, and so the lady allows her to stay.

Umm... any explanation about the star? Why was a star in the room? How did a star get into the room? Just how big is this house?

Eventually, the lady needs to go on a second journey. She warns the girl not to open the two remaining forbidden doors. This time, the girl opens the second door. The Moon flies out.

Seriously, I don't meant to be all un-poetic, but why is this woman kidnapping celestial objects? And isn't this causing a few minor gravitational issues? What about the tides?

When the lady returns this time, she is even more upset, but again, the girl cries, and the lady allows her to stay.

Lady, lock the door.

Before her third journey, the lady warns the girl not to open the final door. Of course, the girl opens the final door. The Sun flies out.

Got to admit: that's kind of a cool image.

This time, the lady tells her she must leave. She gives the girl a choice: "You can be the loveliest woman in the world but unable to speak, or you can be the ugliest woman in the world but keep your voice."

This lady has odd superpowers. Granted, Wonder Woman's invisible jet and lasso-of-truth are odd too, but still...

The girl chooses to be lovely and mute.

Ooh, ooh, we must be leading up to a moral! Pretty is as pretty does.

Leaving her foster-mother, the girl walks and walks through a great forest. At night, she climbs a tree. In the morning, she's found by a prince who thinks she's so beautiful that he decides to marry her.

Another deep meaningful relationship based on mutual interests and compatible worldviews.

At the birth of the girl's first child, the girl's foster-mother appears, cuts the baby's little finger, smears the blood on the girl's mouth, and says, "Now you will be as sad as I was when you let out the Star." She leaves with the baby.

Ouch, that's harsh.

Everyone assumes the girl ate her baby. The prince's mother wants to burn the girl at the stake, but the prince argues to save her life.

Perhaps the girl could learn sign language. Or charades.

At the birth of her second child, the prince doubles the guard around the girl, but the foster-mother still appears, smears blood on the girl's mouth, takes the child, and says, "Now you will be as sad as I was when you let out the Moon."

At least the prince is sensible enough to set guards. Two points for princey.

Again, everyone assumes the girl ate her baby, and the prince has to argue even harder to keep her alive.

Another idea: the girl could learn to write. A nice letter explaining that she's not a cannibal might help the prince out. Even a cryptic note: "Kidnapped. No eat."

At the birth of her third child, the foster-mother appears again, takes the baby, and says, "Now you will be as sad as I was when you let out the Sun."

Did the girl not see this coming?

This time, the prince is forced to agree to burn his wife. As the girl is led out to the stake, her foster-mother appears with three children. The foster-mother says, "You have been punished enough." She returns the children and restores the girl's voice.

Wait, wait, where's my moral? She chose pretty! Shouldn't she be learning some relevant lesson? You can't be leaving me with just "don't disobey"! What about the imprisonment of celestial objects? Are the kids really okay? Does the prince still like his wife? What about the girl's biological parents? Did they join PARFTB?

And everyone lives happily ever after. The end.

Noooooo!!!

For more obscure fairy tales (with commentary), check out the Obscure Fairy Tales page of my website, where I've gathered links to all my prior fairy tale posts.

Obscure Fairy Tale: Prince Lindworm

I love Prince Lindworm.

Not in an I-want-to-meet-him kind of way. He likes to eat people; I don't like being eaten. We wouldn't be a match. But his story is one of my favorite obscure fairy tales. It's from a collection of Norse tales originally collected by Asbjornsen and Moe and translated by Sir George Webbe Dasent.

Prince Lindworm (from Asbjornsen and Moe)

Once upon a time... a king and queen want a child. A nice witch tells the queen to place a cup upside down in her garden. By morning, a red rose and a white rose will grow.

I love how simple this fertility rite is. No magic potions. No special words. Just an upside down cup. It's so simple that you almost feel like the queen should say, "Oh, of course! An upside down cup! Why didn't I think of that? Silly me, I'll toss out my lingerie and ovulation charts and go find me a cup."

If she eats the red rose, she'll have a boy, the witch tells her. If she eats the white rose, she'll have a girl. "But whatever you do," the witch says, "don't eat both roses!"

Simple instructions. Simple warning. What could possibly go wrong?

The queen obeys. In the morning, she eats the red rose. It's so tasty that she eats the white rose too.

Really? Because it's "tasty"? Did you not take Fairy Tale 101? Don't eat the poisoned delectables, don't diss the talking animals, and never ever disobey the crazy old woman doling out unsolicited and nonsensical advice.

Nine months later, she gives birth to a boy. She also gives birth to a super-scary serpent thing, but it scuttles away quickly and she convinces herself she imagined it.

I wonder what the midwife said. I'm guessing, "AHHHHHHH!!!!"

Years pass, the prince grows up and decides to marry. He rides away from his castle to find a princess, but at the first crossroads, a giant lindworm (a.k.a. a super-scary serpent thing) blocks his path. The lindworm says, "A bride for me before a bride for you!"

I can't help but wonder: What's the lindworm's life been like up until now? Who raised him? Where does he live? Has anyone been making sure he brushes his teeth and eats his veggies? Last thing anyone wants is a serpent with bad breath and scurvy.

He tries another path. The lindworm appears again. Every road he tries, he encounters the lindworm. He finally returns to the castle.

Interesting that he doesn't try to slay the dragon/serpent/whatever. Isn't that in the fairy-tale prince manual?

The queen tells him that yes, that super-scary serpent thing really is his big brother and should be married before him.

That conversation must have been AWKWARD.

So the king sends letters to distant kingdoms asking for a bride for his son. A faraway kingdom sends a princess. She is not allowed to see her groom (the lindworm, of course) until after the wedding.

I can't help picturing a wedding reception with a giant serpent. He'd be fine at the Electric Slide or the limbo, but they'd have to skip YMCA and the macarena.

The next morning, the princess is gone, and it's obvious that the lindworm has eaten her.

Obvious how? Wait, don't answer that. I don't want to know.

The second son tries again to leave in search of a bride, but the lindworm again stops him. The king summons a second princess. The new princess marries the lindworm. By morning, she's been eaten.

I know we know nothing about the lindworm's upbringing, but perhaps someone should let him know this is not acceptable behavior. Big brother lindworm needs to go to his naughty spot.

By now, no king anywhere will send his daughter. So the king forces a poor shepherd to give up his daughter to be the lindworm's bride.

What exactly is the king's strategy here? Keep offering up girls until the lindworm no longer feels peckish? Methinks that the king's plan has a few tiny flaws.

The poor girl is distraught. She wanders around crying until she meets the nice witch. The nice witch tells her to request ten white dresses, a tub of lye, a tub of milk, and a lot of whips.

Whips?!?

When the lindworm orders her to disrobe, the witch tells her, she must order him to slough a skin. She is to repeat this until all the skins are gone, then whip him with whips dipped in lye and wash him with milk. Lastly, she must hold him in her arms.

Let's hope that's not a euphemism.

"Ugh," the girl says, "do I really have to hold him?"

She's hoping it's not a euphemism too.

"Yes," the witch says, "you really do."

Still hoping for no euphemism.

After the wedding, the poor girl follows the witch's orders. When the lindworm tells her to disrobe, she orders him to shed a skin. He's surprised but obeys. She follows the witch's instructions perfectly, ending with dragging him to bed.

Oh, crap, I think it's a euphemism.

In the morning, when the king peeps into the bedchamber, the girl is alive and well. Moreover, there's a handsome prince lying beside her.

Sure, he ate two princesses earlier this week, but he's so pretty now, who could hold a grudge?

Everyone is so happy that they hold a second wedding reception, and the king and queen treat their new daughter-in-law with love and kindness for the rest of their long and happy lives.

Now we get a proper macarena! And loving in-laws. That's what I call a happy happily-ever-after!

For more obscure fairy tales (with commentary), check out the Obscure Fairy Tales page of my website, where I've gathered links to all my prior fairy tale posts.

Obscure Fairy Tale: The Blue Belt

As I write this, I am wearing knee-high polar bear socks. I think this is awesome. I've never worn knee-high socks before, and it feels like I have a secret because no one knows there are polar bears all the way up to my knees.

I am easily amused.


The socks were a present from my husband (because he is awesome and because a talking polar bear features prominently in my next book).

Another present from my awesome husband this holiday season was this book: East of the Sun and West of the Moon: Old Tales from the North, illustrated by Kay Nielsen. It's a gorgeous book of Norse tales, originally collected by Asbjornsen and Moe and translated by Sir George Webbe Dasent in 1859. The edition I have is a recently-released replica of the 1914 edition that has been out-of-print forever, and I totally squealed like an overexcited piglet when I opened this present.

My next book, ICE, is inspired by the titular tale in this collection, "East of the Sun and West of the Moon." So I thought I'd share with you some of the other Old Tales from the North over the months leading up to ICE's release. Enjoy!

The Blue Belt (from Asbjornsen and Moe)

Once upon a time... a lad finds a blue belt. His mother, an old beggar-woman, says, "Leave it alone. It's probably evil." Secretly, the boy puts the belt on anyway.

Beware the evil belt! It shall make your trousers fall down at inopportune moments.

A little while later, the lad sees a light from a house. His mother says, "Don't go there. It's probably a troll house." But the boy insists, and they knock on the door anyway.

Paranoid much? Sheesh. "Don't touch that; it's evil. Don't go there; they'll eat you."

A troll answers, and the old beggar-woman faints in fear. The boy has a pleasant chat with the troll, while his terrified mother cowers in the corner. The troll feeds them a lovely dinner of an entire ox and a cask of wine and invites them to spend the night. The lad agrees.

My apologies to the old beggar-woman. Like the saying goes, "It's not paranoia if a troll really is about to eat you."

In the night, the troll says to the beggar-woman, "If only your son were gone, you and I could live here happily-ever-after." And the woman says, "Sounds great, but how do we kill him?"

Excuse me?

"I have a plan," the troll says. "Tomorrow, I'll ask him to help me in the quarry, then I'll roll a rock on him and squish him." The boy overhears all of this.

Hang on. Rewind a bit. Okay, yes, one of the hallmarks of fairy tales is that a fairy tale doesn't dwell on character motivation. But throw me a bone here. A hint that the boy is evil or the that the woman is crazy... I suppose we have the fear-of-belts thing which isn't entirely normal, but being afraid of random fashion accessories is not enough motivation for accessory to murder.

The next day, the troll invites the boy to the quarry and asks him to go down to the bottom and check for cracks in the rocks. The boy says, "No, thanks. You're planning to roll a rock on me and squish me. You go down to the bottom." So the troll goes down to the bottom, and the boy rolls a rock down on him and breaks his leg.

Troll = not so bright.

The boy carries the troll home. That night, the troll and the woman again conspire to kill the boy. The troll says he has twelve lions in the backyard who would tear him to bits if the boy were to get close. The old woman says she'll pretend she's sick and needs lion's milk.

So he just happens to have twelve man-eating lions in the backyard? Cool.

Next morning, the woman feigns illness and pleads for lion's milk. The son enters the backyard, grabs the largest lion, and bashes him to bits. The other lions are so frightened by this that they are instantly tamed.

He's not exactly the Lion-Whisperer.

He returns with the milk, but the troll doesn't believe it's really lion's milk. So the boy tosses the troll into the backyard. The lions bite the troll until the boy makes them stop.

It occurs to me that perhaps our boy is not exactly Prince Charming.

That night, the troll and woman plan again: this time, the troll will send the boy to fetch an apple from the troll's brothers. The catch is that if the lad eats the apple, he'll sleep for three days and nights, and during this time, the troll's brothers will tear him apart.

And then they'll toss him into a pool with sharks that have laser beams attached to their heads...

So the next morning, the woman pretends she's ill and only the special troll apples will help. Off the boy goes. He picks the apples, eats a bunch of them, and falls asleep. The lions guard him and tear the troll's brothers to bits.

If you knew that someone wanted you to eat an apple so they could murder you, wouldn't you simply not eat the apple? Bring a snack. Or a picnic. Picnics are nice.

When he wakes, he discovers a princess trapped in the troll's brothers' castle. They live together happily for a while until she, homesick, decides to return to her parents.

Note that they don't marry. Kind of unusual for the hero and princess of a fairy tale to shack up. Not that there's anything wrong with that.

After she leaves, the lad, now lonely, returns to his mother and the troll. His mother asks him how he became so strong, and he tells her it's all due to the blue belt. She asks to see it and then tears it off him. She then announces she's going to kill him.

Ah, motherly love.

The troll suggests they burn out his eyes and set him adrift in a boat instead.

Really? You think that's the best plan? Really.

So they do. The lions swim after him and, when he lands on a deserted island, take care of him. He eats a lot of raw meat, but he survives.

I love the lions. Hands down, best part of the tale. Not the raw-meat bit, but the life-saving bit. My cat wouldn't walk across a puddle to save me.

One day, a lion chases a blind rabbit. The rabbit jumps into a stream and emerges with his eyesight restored. So the lion fetches the lad and dumps him in the stream. He regains his eyesight.

Clever lion. Convenient stream.

The lad then convinces the lions to swim side by side while he stands on their backs as if they were a raft.

Remind me not to hire the lad to design any boats.

He rides them all the way home, where he promptly kills his mother and then burns out the troll's eyes and sets him adrift in a little boat. No lions follow the troll.

Seems a wee bit extreme for a fairy-tale hero. I could be wrong, but I don't recall Prince Charming ever indulging in such atrocities.

Lonely again, the lad misses his princess. He sets sail, but due to bad weather, is forced to land on a deserted island. He and his fellow sailors find a large egg, break it open, and out comes a chicken the size of an elephant.

It's Horton the Elephant's baby elephant-bird! That's awesome!

They leave the island. When they reach the mainland, the lad tells the sailors to bury themselves in sand up to their necks. They do. A little while later, a giant bird flies by with an island in its talons. It drops the island and sinks all the ships in the harbor.

And then? And then... And then nothing having to do with any part of this last scene is ever mentioned again at all. No giant bird. No island. No mention of why they buried themselves in the sand. Nothing. Seriously. It's like the storyteller had to take a bathroom break and designated someone who hadn't been paying attention to stall for time until he/she returned to resume the tale.

After that, the lad proceeds to the princess's castle. He learns that her father (the king) has hidden her and promised her hand in marriage to anyone who can find her.

Fairy-tale kings always seem to like these games. Did any actual king in the history of the world ever offer their daughter up to the winner of a Medieval Amazing Race?

He buys a white bear-skin, dresses himself in it, and begins to dance comically around town. Eventually, the king hears of the entertaining bear and summons him to amuse the court. A sailor (acting as the bear's keeper) warns the king that the bear isn't dangerous unless someone laughs.

Odd plan. Clearly, the lad took notes from the troll.

The bear comes to court, and a serving-maid laughs. The bear tears her to bits.

What?!?

Everyone is distraught, but the king says, "Quit whining, everyone. It's just a maid." And he brings the bear to entertain his daughter, the princess, in her hidden home under the sea.

There are so many things wrong with those two sentences that I don't know where to begin.

The king warns the princess not to laugh, but as the bear begins to entertain the princess, one of the princess's maids laugh. The bear tears the maid to bits.

Our Prince Charming is not very good at wooing women. Slaughtering your lover's companion... not as romantic as one might think. Note to the lad: next time, just bring flowers.

The princess is upset, but the king tells her, "It's just a maid. Nothing to cry about." And he leaves the bear there to spend the night because it's now night-time and he doesn't want to guide the bear back to his castle in the dark.

The king clearly missed a few lessons in child-rearing: always use seatbelts, don't let your kid run with scissors, and don't leave man-eating bears in your child's bedroom.

Once the king leaves, the bear reveals himself as the lad she once knew, and the princess rejoices.

What a charming reunion. "Oh, I've missed you, you great homicidal maniac, you!"

The next day, the lad presents himself to the king and says he wishes to find the princess in her hidden home. The king tells him if he fails in twelve hours, he'll be killed.

Wait -- you mean the whole thing with the man-killing dancing bear was an elaborate plan for the lad to find out where the princess was hidden? And it worked??

The lad dances for eleven hours, and then he leads the king directly to the princess's hidden home under the sea. With one minute to spare, he kicks open the door, and the lovers are reunited.

And there you have it, the moral of the story: arrogant, disobedient, matricidal, homicidal, and faintly ursine wins the girl.

They marry and live happily ever after.

Hey, what happened to the lions?

For more obscure fairy tales (with commentary), check out the Obscure Fairy Tales page of my website, where I've gathered links to all my prior fairy tale posts.

Obscure Fairy Tale: Thumbelina

Today's fairy tale is Thumbelina. Subtitles for this fairy tale include "Why Feminism Is Important" and "Hans Christian Andersen Has Issues That Shine Through, Even In Stories That Don't Involve the Protagonist's Death."

Thumbelina (from Hans Christian Andersen)

A woman asks a witch how she can have a child. The witch tells her to plant some barley. The barley sprouts into a flower. The woman kisses the flower petals. The petals open to reveal a very small, very pretty little girl in the middle of the flower.

Sounds a lot more pleasant than labor or a c-section.

By day, Thumbelina entertains herself by rowing across a plate of water on a tulip leaf. At night, she sleeps in a walnut shell with a rose petal for a blanket. She's happy.

Okay, yes, this story has many disturbing elements, which we'll get to in just a sec, but how can you not love the walnut shell bed and the rose petal blanket? I want a rose petal blanket. Admittedly, not so comfy when it wilts, but still...

One night, an ugly toad kidnaps her to be a bride for her ugly toad son. When Thumbelina meets the toad son, he is so stunned by her beauty that he can only croak.

Scintillating conversationalist.

The toad mother imprisons Thumbelina on a lilypad in the middle of a stream to wait while she prepares a bridal suite under the mud.

Disturbing plot element #1: bridal suite with a toad. Ewww.

Fish take pity on Thumbelina and chew through the roots of the lilypad. She floats free.

I am suddenly picturing Blanche DuBois: "I have always depended on the kindness of fish..."

A butterfly, entranced by Thumbelina's beauty, alights on the lilypad, and Thumbelina ties the butterfly to the lilypad so he will pull her across the water.

Ah-hah! Ingenuity from our heroine! Much applause!

She travels happily for some time until a large beetle thinks she's pretty and kidnaps her. She mourns the poor butterfly.

Disturbing plot element #2: the butterfly is left to die, tied to the lilypad. Off-hand, I can't think of another fairy tale where the heroine enslaves and then is ultimately responsible for the death of her helper. Not so common. Cinderella didn't lose a single singing mouse. Even Snow White, who was so dumb that I doubt she could even count to seven, made it to the end with all her dwarves... though, to be fair, a deer did die in her stead. And the evil queen ate its heart.

The other bugs convince the kidnapper-bug that Thumbelina is ugly because she lacks antennae and only has two legs. The kidnapper-bug decides they must be right and tells her she's free to leave. She leaves, but she's upset that the bugs think she's ugly.

Disturbing plot element #3: instead of rejoicing at her freedom, she lets her kidnappers determine her self-image. Sounds a bit like Stockholm syndrome. Poor girl needs a therapist, preferably one that won't accidentally squash her.

She lives by herself in the forest for the summer and fall, sleeping on a bed of grass underneath a clover leaf, but in winter, she begins to starve. She knocks on the door of a field mouse and begs for some food.

Field mice have doors? (Okay, fine, I suppose they don't talk much either. Not sure why the mouse door bothers me more than the talking mouse herself, or the thumb-sized girl born from a flower... Maybe I just feel sorry for the poor mouse trying to work a doorknob. No opposable thumbs.)

The field mouse invites her to live with her, if she will clean the mouse's den and tell her stories. Thumbelina agrees and lives happily for a time.

Break here for singing, dancing, and house-cleaning routine involving cheerful woodland creatures.

One day, the mouse's neighbor, a blind mole, comes to visit, enjoys Thumbelina's singing, and decides to marry the tiny girl. She doesn't want to -- he despises sunlight and summer and all the things she loves and plans to lock her in his dark tunnel with him for the rest her life.

At least the mole is attracted to her because she can sing and tell great stories, not because of her beauty. Yay for a heroine who can do more than look pretty!

But the field mouse insists because the mole is rich.

If anyone is keeping score, this is the THIRD male that is about to be forced on Thumbelina. And she never gets to see her mother again. This is not a nice story.

While the wedding is being planned, Thumbelina find a sparrow near death and nurses him back to life. Right before the wedding, the now-healthy sparrow offers to fly Thumbelina away from there. She agrees.

If she has to marry anyone, I kind of think she should marry the bird. For one thing, he's the first character who offers her a choice. He's also the first one who offers her something she actually wants. And he can fly. In the list of desirable traits, I'd rate "ability to fly" right up there with "great sense of humor" and "can tolerate a Jane Austen movie."

They fly south and find a field of flowers. The flowers open to reveal fairies, as small and beautiful as Thumbelina. She marries the handsome fairy prince, is given wings as a wedding present, and lives happily ever after.

Best part of this ending: she gets wings! Now why didn't I add that to my wedding registry?

For more obscure fairy tales (with commentary), check out the Obscure Fairy Tales page of my website, where I've gathered links to all my prior fairy tale posts.

Happy Halloween!

The first jack-o'-lantern was a turnip.


Kind of freaky. I'm told that the origin is based in an Irish folktale about a guy named Jack. It goes something like this...

Jack-o'-Lantern (from Ireland)

A rather nasty man named Jack tricks the Devil into climbing an apple tree.

How do you trick someone into climbing an apple tree? Seriously. I can understand tricking someone into a closet or a cave. But up a tree? Just sayin'.

Jack then carves crosses on the tree so the Devil can't climb down.

Um, dude, jump.

He bargains: I'll set you free if you won't take my soul when I die. The Devil agrees.

Imagine how much mocking the Devil gets back home for this. Picture Beelzebub and Mephistopheles hanging out by the water cooler after a tough day of data entry (in Hell, there's lots of data entry to do), saying, "Did you hear about the Devil getting stuck in that tree? Why didn't that dude jump?"

When Jack dies, he tries to enter Heaven, but he'd been so wicked that St. Peter says no.

I'm thinking Jack's plan had a few flaws...

He then tries to enter Hell, but the Devil keeps his promise and bars his way. Instead, the Devil tosses him a burning ember from the flames of Hell to light his way as he wanders for all eternity.

Aww, that's almost nice. Wait -- how does he catch the ember? Ouch.

Jack places the ember inside a hollowed-out turnip to preserve it, and then he wanders the earth in search of a place to stay. He's wandering still.

Cue the spooky music.

Today people carve jack-o-lanterns to ward away spirits like Jack.

And because no one really knows what else to do with pumpkins. Don't tell me pies. I've seen people bake pumpkin pies. Pumpkin pies are made from canned goop.

Wishing you all a happy Halloween!

(For more fairy tales and folklore with commentary, click here.)

Obscure Fairy Tale: Tam Lin

I adore Tam Lin. Kick-butt heroine. Awesome big confrontation scene. Lots of plaid. I suppose it doesn't qualify as a fairy tale since it's a ballad and you don't normally sing fairy tales. (Imagine "Twelve Dancing Princesses" to the tune of "Girls Just Wanna Have Fun." Doesn't work. But "Tam Lin" can be sung to the tune of "The Devil Went Down to Georgia." Click here for lyrics.)

You can find a collection of the various versions of this Scottish ballad here. I also love the version by Jane Yolen and the retelling by Pamela Dean. But here's the basic tale:

Tam Lin (from Francis James Child's ballads)

Everyone is warned, "Don't go to Carterhaugh. Yeah, it was once a pretty house, but it's owned by Faeries now. You don't mess with Faeries-with-an-E."

You see, all faeries started out with an "e." But when prissy goody-two-shoes faeries like Flora, Fauna, and Meriwether took jobs in Disney World, they changed their name to "fairies" with an extra "i" so that they could dot the "i"s with hearts.

But Janet, rightful heir to Carterhaugh, goes anyway.

She's not going to simply be ornery; she wants to reclaim her rightful property. I think that's awesome. I also think she should have come prepared. Perhaps a weapon or two. Or a magic spell to banish faeries. Or, you know, any kind of plan at all. Just sayin'.

She plucks a rose, and a handsome man appears.

Wonder which came first: this rose or the rose in Beauty and the Beast. Also wonder where one could buy man-summoning rose seeds...

They talk. He tells her his name is Tam Lin, and he was captured by the faeries decades ago when he fell off his horse. She tells him that she's Janet and she's taking the house back. He thinks that's kind of cool.

I know I've said this before, but I love tales where the hero and heroine get to know each other before we're supposed to buy the "true love" thing. Sleeping Beauty, she's asleep. Snow White, comatose. Even Cinderella... while they do have one date, their conversation is so shallow that it doesn't even include, "Hey, what's your name?" But both Beauty and Janet have a nice chat with their boy wonders before saving their lives.

She returns home, and her dad notices that she's pregnant. He says, "I told you not to go to Carterhaugh. You're grounded."

Okay, perhaps they did more than chat.

Back in Carterhaugh, Janet confronts Tam Lin, who trumps her news by telling her that he's going to die on Halloween.

Yeah, that's a conversation-stopper.

Every seven years, the faeries kill a human captive as a tithe to Hell. Prior years, the queen loved Tam Lin best and spared him. But this year, she loves another and has chosen him as the sacrifice.

Talk about a bad break-up. Sheesh.

Janet declares she'll save him, and he tells her how to do it.

I think this is quite decent of her. After all, he's just revealed that he's recently come out of a long-term relationship. And that his taste in women leans toward the evil side.

On Hallow's Eve, she returns to Caterhaugh with faerie-queen butt-kicking equipment: holy water and earth.

Yay, a plan!

She hides and waits. Soon, horses gallop by. Following Tam Lin's instructions, she lets the black horse pass then the brown horse. When she sees the white horse, she leaps from her hiding place and pulls Tam Lin off the horse.

I'm totally not coordinated enough to do that.

The faery queen and her retinue encircle her, and the faery queen says, "That's not Tam Lin you hold." And she transforms Tam Lin into a snake. Janet holds tight.

I think this is the most romantic scene in all folklore. I'm not saying I want my next night-out with my husband to involve snakes and super-scary amoral women with supernatural powers. I just like the scene.

The queen changes him into a lion. Janet holds tight. The queen changes him into red-hot iron. Janet dumps him into a well.

Sensible and brave. Go, Janet! Such an improvement over your standard idiot-heroine like Snow White. (In one of the earlier tales, an old peddler woman nearly kills her twice yet she STILL eats the poisoned apple.) Or Little Red Riding Hood (though I'm open to the argument that she's not dumb; she just needs glasses).

She then pours holy water on him and spreads earth in a protective circle around them. Tam Lin transforms back into a (naked) man.

Most versions of Tam Lin specify that he's nude. Kind of cracks me up that this is a detail that gets preserved. Also, I like imagining the conversation at home when Janet brings back her naked boyfriend... Awkward.

The faery queen says lots of impolite things, but her power is broken. She rides away with the dawn, and Janet and Tam Lin live happily ever after in Carterhaugh.

Sigh. A real happy ending. I have nothing to say here except I love this tale. And really, someone should sell man-summoning roses...

For more obscure fairy tales (with commentary), check out the Obscure Fairy Tales page of my website, where I've gathered links to all my prior fairy tale posts.

Obscure Fairy Tale: The Seven Ravens

Since a number of you seemed to like last week's brother-to-bird tale, The Six Swans, and since AnnaDee made a special request, I thought I'd follow up with another, The Seven Ravens, which is actually my favorite of the sibling-to-fowl genre. Without further ado...

The Seven Ravens (from the Brothers Grimm)

Once upon a time... a man has seven sons and wishes for a daughter. When she's finally born, he sends his sons to the well for water for her baptism.

Really tempted to make a "how many fairy-tale characters does it take to screw in a lightbulb" joke here. Must resist.

The sons accidentally drop the jug into the well.

Every time I read a fairy tale like this, I am grateful for indoor plumbing. Seriously, how many times in fairy tales are people dropping things down wells, climbing down wells, falling down wells...? Those things are hazardous.

The sons are afraid to return home without the water. Meanwhile, the father grows impatient and shouts, "I wish they were all turned into ravens!"

I never think to say anything like this. Sure, I grumble when I'm annoyed, but it never occurs to me to curse someone with a totally random transformation. "You, sir, failed to stop at that red light! May you turn into a manatee!"

A few seconds later, seven ravens fly overhead.

Talk about an "uh-oh" moment.

The girl grows up without knowing about her brothers until she overhears someone say that she is to blame for their fate. She asks her parents to explain, and they tell her the truth.

Now that must have been an awkward conversation.

She sets out to rescue her brothers, taking only some food, water, and a little ring.

Douglas Adams would also recommend taking a towel. I'd recommend a change of underwear. And a toothbrush.

She walks to the end of the world where she visits the sun, but he's cruel and likes to eat people so she flees from him.

Sensible girl.

She visits the moon, who is also wicked, and flees from him.

The thing I love about this story is that there's a whole cool kick-butt adventure implied in that simple action. I mean, evil moon! Awesome! I'm picturing snowmobiles and leaping from airplanes with the yawning maw of the moon closing in behind her...

Then she visits the stars, who are kind to her. The morning star gives her a drumstick and tells her to use it as the key to the glass mountain where her brothers live.

What are they doing in a glass mountain? How did they get there? Why would a bone open the door? Why does a star have such a bone? How does a star hand her anything without opposable thumbs? Just askin'.

She journeys to the glass mountain, but when she arrives, she discovers that she's lost the drumstick.

This is the other thing that I really love about this tale: she's lost the magic item. I think that's totally plausible. It makes me think of those fantasy novels where there's a sixteen stanza prophecy stated once about three thousand miles before the finale and yet somehow the hero remembers every single line. I'd totally blank.

So she cuts off her little finger and uses it as a key.

Gross, yet strangely awesome. You go, girl. Way to commit to a rescue. On the other hand, if all that's needed is a bone, I think I'd head back to town and fetch me a chicken leg.

Inside the glass mountain, she finds a table with seven plates and seven glasses. She drops her ring into the last glass, and she hides.

I love a sensible heroine. In other fairy tales, there are ogres and giants and robbers and so forth in such locales. She doesn't know what she's going to find. Her precaution is admirable. Also, remember she's never met her brothers. It's possible that they're, y'know, evil. The ring makes a good test.

Soon after, she hears a flurry of wings. Seven ravens sit down at the table to eat. The seventh raven discovers the ring and says, "Someone is here! If only it were our sister, then we would be free!"

Um, why? Why would this set you free? Who is holding you? Did the father issue a caveat with the curse? I mean, I shouldn't complain. It's very nice for poetic reasons, but who made the rules? And why would anyone utter such stilted dialogue?

She emerges from her hiding place, the ravens are restored to human form, and everyone lives happily ever after.

For once, I actually believe this really is a happily ever after. I hope they get to keep the Glass Mountain. That would make a sweet summer-home...

For more obscure fairy tales (with commentary), check out the Obscure Fairy Tales page of my website, where I've gathered links to all my prior fairy tale posts.

Obscure Fairy Tale: The Six Swans

Today's fairy tale is "The Six Swans." It belongs to the subcategory of fairy tales about brothers who turn into birds. (Yes, there really are enough of them to have a subcategory. It's called type AT-450. There's a whole list on the fabulous SurLaLune site, if you're interested.)

My favorite brother-to-bird story is actually "The Seven Ravens." In it, the heroine embarks on a quest to save her brothers, escapes from an anthropomorphized (and cannibalistic) sun and moon, and then cuts off her own finger to use as a key to the glass mountain... It's kind of awesome in a gross way.

But I use The Six Swans in my books, so I'd like to talk about that tale today...

The Six Swans (from the Brothers Grimm)

Once upon a time... Okay, so this king gets lost in the woods. He meets a witch who says she'll show him the way out if he marries her daughter. He agrees, even though he suspects she's evil.

Now that's a marriage that's sure to work out.

Concerned for the safety of the children of his first marriage, he hides his six sons and one daughter in a secret castle.

Yeah. Not a love-match. Kind of feel sorry for the king.

He can only reach the castle by following a magic ball of twine.

Really? A magic ball of twine? It's a CASTLE. You know, really big building? I mean, I appreciate a good Theseus/Labyrinth reference as much as the next girl, but couldn't he just, I don't know, stand on a hill and look for the giant stone structure?

He spends a lot of time visiting his children.

Look! A nice daddy in a fairy tale! He's not dead, absent, or even cannibalistic. How refreshing.

His wife grows suspicious, steals the twine, and follows it to the castle. When she arrives, the six sons run out, thinking their father has come to visit. The girl, suspicious of the approaching figure, stays hidden.

Um, boys... your father is male. Your evil stepmother, not so much. Do we really need to talk about the differences?

The queen throws six enchanted shirts on the boys, and they turn into swans. She leaves without knowing that she missed the king's daughter.

I like that she just happens to bring along a stack of swan shirts with her. What else is in her pockets? I carry my keys, a cell phone, and Chapstick. Do evil queens carry compacts with miniature talking mirrors? Spare poisoned apples in case they feel peckish?

When the king arrives to visit his children, the girl tells him her brothers were turned into swans. The king is sad, but he doesn't suspect his new wife.

Why not? What part of "my brothers were turned into swans by a woman in a gown and crown with a majestic bearing and an evil disposition" did not arouse suspicion? Okay, fine, so maybe the girl hid on instinct and didn't see anything... why not suspect the woman who has access to the twine and witch heritage?

The king decides to bring his daughter home to keep her safe...

Bad plan! BAD plan!

So the girl decides to rescue her brothers, and she runs away.

YAY!

In the woods, she finds a little hut with seven beds...

Oops, wrong story.

... with six beds. She's afraid to lie in them so she crawls underneath one to sleep.

Smart girl. Me like. Clearly, she knows that if you fall asleep on a stranger's bed in a fairy tale, you wake up to find a few pissed-off bears or dwarves-who-need-a-housekeeper staring down at you.

In the night, six swans fly in and transform into humans.

Well, isn't that a lucky coincidence.

She emerges from her hiding place. After they all hug, the brothers tell her that the only way to save them is to sew six shirts of asters over six years without speaking or laughing.

Not so lucky after all. Seriously, this task makes the impossible tasks from other fairy tales look easy. Pick lentils from the ashes? No problem. Just call in some birds. Level a mountain of sand with a spoon? Call in some friendly ants. But this... where does she find enough flowers? What does she do when they're not in season? How does she keep them from wilting over six years? And how do the brothers know how to cure their curse anyway? I can't imagine the queen told them while she was tossing the enchanted shirts on them. That would be, like, the stupidest James Bond villain move ever.

She climbs into a tree in the forest and begins to knit.

A tree?? She couldn't just sit in a chair? And what does she do for food? Those swan-brothers of hers had better be catching her lots of fish... or whatever swans eat...

One day, the king of this kingdom (not her father) is hunting in the forest. His hunters find the girl in the tree and ask her who she is. Hoping they'll leave her alone, she throws down her gold chain, her garters, and lastly her dress.

Is this really the best plan? Perhaps getting naked is not the best way to inspire them to leave.

The hunters fetch her from the tree and carry her to the king, who falls in love with her beauty, brings her home, and marries her.

This has always bothered me. The girl just wants to sit in a tree and sew flower shirts. How much choice did she have in this marriage? I really, really hope he gave her a chance to at least nod yes.

His mother disapproves of his marriage.

Kind of can't blame her. "So, son, where did you meet her?" "In a tree." "What's her family like?" "Feathery."

In time, the girl, now a young queen, has a child. The king's mother takes the child and tells everyone that the young queen killed him.

Whoa. Talk about not getting along with your mother-in-law.

The king defends his bride, saying she would defend her innocence if she could speak, while she continues silently sewing flower shirts.

How about sign language? Or just pointing and miming? Perhaps writing a note or a pictogram? Shake your head no and point to the king's mother. Something!

When the third child was taken away...

Third child? This happens THREE times? And she just keeps sewing. Is it just me, or is this profoundly disturbing?

... the king can no longer defend his wife, and the law demands she be burned at the stake. She carries the flower shirts with her to the stake. The six years are nearly up. She has finished all but one sleeve of one shirt.

C'mon, at least try to communicate now! How about charades? I'm sure you can find a way to mime "sounds like: your mother is psychotic and kidnapped our children in hopes you'd divorce me."

Suddenly, the swans appear.

Hey, about time! Couldn't you have helped your sister sooner? Like, three kids ago? Where have you been? Migrating?

She throws the shirts on them, and they transform into humans. The youngest is left with one swan wing, due to the unfinished shirt.

Poor kid. What do you do with a single swan wing? And it must make for some awkward first dates...

Now that she can speak, the young queen explains the king's mother's deceit. The old woman is punished, the children are found, and everyone lives happily ever after.

Hey, wait... What about the boy with the swan wing? And what happened to their father, married to the evil witch? And how much trauma must those children have suffered? And what sort of marital problems must the king and young queen have after he nearly had her burned at the stake? Happily-ever-after land must employ a LOT of therapists...

For more obscure fairy tales (with commentary), check out the Obscure Fairy Tales page of my website, where I've gathered links to all my prior fairy tale posts.

Obscure Fairy Tale: Mother Holle

Today's obscure fairy tale is Mother Holle.

I think it's kind of funny (funny-peculiar, not funny ha-ha) that this is an obscure tale. It has so many of the quintessential-fairy-tale elements. It's nearly identical to the Russian tale Grandfather Frost, and it shares a lot in common with tales like The Two Daughters, The Fairies, and The Twelve Months.

Mother Holle (from the Brothers Grimm)

Once upon a time... there are two sisters, one lazy and ugly and the other one industrious and beautiful.

I love fairy tales, but I think that the idea of "beautiful = good" is one of the most insidiously damaging messages in fairy tales, even worse than "if you dress your rodents in cute little outfits and believe they sing in lisping English for your amusement, you'll marry a prince instead of being hauled off to the loony bin."

Their mother coddles the lazy one (her daughter) and overworks the industrious one (her stepdaughter). As part of her daily chores, the stepdaughter is forced to spin until her fingers bleed.

Ewww.

One day, she bleeds so much that when she tries to rinse the reel in a well, it slips out of her fingers and falls to the bottom.

As I said: ewww. Also, what's a reel? I'm thinking it's spinning equipment. I'm also thinking that if I were in a fairy tale and had to sew my own clothes, I'd end up in a burlap sack. I can barely sew on a button.

Her stepmother tells her that she must fetch it back. She jumps into the well, hits the bottom, and loses consciousness.

Um, hello? Ladder? Rope?

When she wakes, she discovers she's next to an oven. Inside the oven, baking bread cries to her, "Take me out, or I'll burn!" She removes the bread.

Why isn't she disturbed by the talking bread? I'd be disturbed. I mean, what would happen if you ate talking bread? Would it scream as you bit into it? Not to disgress or anything, but when I was little, my brother used to moo whenever I bit into a hamburger...

Next, she finds an apple tree overloaded with apples. "Shake me," the tree cries. "My apples are ripe!" So she shakes the tree and gathers the apples.

...and any time we ate lobsters, my brother would turn them all toward me so that they were all staring at me while I ate.

Then the stepdaughter finds a cottage with a woman (Mother Holle) whose teeth are so enormous that the girl is frightened.

How huge would someone's teeth have to be to be frightening? I'm just sayin'.

Mother Holle tells her not to be scared. If she stays and does housework, all will be well. But she must take special care to always fluff the bed. So the girl stays and does the housework, taking special care to fluff the bed, though it's made of snow and is so cold that her hands whiten and freeze.

Might I suggest some gloves?

She heals the girl's hands and treats her more kindly than she's treated in her own home. Eventually, the stepdaughter feels homesick and asks to return home.

Um, why? Does she miss the whole fingers-bleeding thing? Or is that balanced out by the fingers-freezing thing? What's up with this story's obsession with unhappy hands?

Mother Holle thanks the stepdaughter for her hard work and escorts her through the door. As she passes through the door, a shower of gold pours over her and sticks to her.

That's a reward? Molten gold poured over you? Ouch. And even if it wasn't hot (which it would have to be to be pourable), it would get all stuck in your hair, drip in your ears... You'd be sneezing out gold snot for days.

When the stepdaughter reaches home, the rooster crows, "Cock-a-doodle-doo, my golden maiden, what's new with you?"

They have a talking rooster? And no one thought to mention this earlier? Is this, like, a reject rooster from some other fairy tale who lost the important part because he made lousy rhymes? (FYI, I'm quoting the rooster verbatim from my copy of Grimm's.)

The girl is welcomed home enthusiastically.

How do they get the gold off? I presume it's stuck to her since she transported it home attached to her. It'll hurt like the worst Band-Aid ever when they rip that gold off her...

The mother wants her own daughter to have such wealth so she instructs her to bloody herself with the reel, throw it down, and jump after it, which the girl does.

I bet she's wondering why her sister didn't use a ladder too.

At the bottom, she finds an oven. The bread cries, "Take me out, or I'll burn!" The girl replies, "Take yourself out! I don't want to get dirty."

Maybe the talking bread is the next step in the evolution of bread mold... I suddenly have the urge to clean out my kitchen...

Next, she finds an apple tree. "Shake me," the tree cries. "No way," the girl says, "I'm not shaking those heavy branches."

I'm not as bothered by talking trees. Perhaps I've seen enough talking trees in other stories. You just don't run across talking food all that often, except in commercials -- and really, those never made much sense to me. Why would talking food want to encourage eating? Shouldn't the talking cereal have some self-preservation instinct?

Then she finds Mother Holle. On the first day, she tries to work hard, but by the second day, she begins to laze about. She refuses to touch the snow bed, and Mother Holle has to cook and clean for her instead.

Really don't blame her for avoiding the snow-bed thing.

Soon, Mother Holle dismisses the lazy girl and sends her home through the door. But instead of gold, a shower of pitch pours on her.

Yikes, pitch! Isn't that a little harsh? So the girl didn't make a bed or two... is that really a tar-and-feather kind of offense? Really?

When the lazy girl reaches home, the rooster crows, "Cock-a-doodle-doo, my dirty girl, what's new with you?"

Talk about insult to injury. Mocked by a rooster. If he's not careful, Mr. Chatty Fowl is going to be renamed "dinner"... unless of course these folks have my issues with talking food...

The pitch sticks to the lazy girl for the rest of her life.

And the moral is: Don't seek employment from women who live at the bottom of wells.

For more obscure fairy tales (with commentary), check out the Obscure Fairy Tales page of my website, where I've gathered links to all my prior fairy tale posts.

2 days until the Wild returns...

Not-So-Obscure Fairy Tale: Little Red Riding Hood

Today's fairy tale is Little Red Riding Hood. Tough to get much less obscure than that! While I usually babble about the obscure fairy tales that I came across while doing research for Into the Wild and Out of the Wild, I figured I'd mix things up today and do a famous tale instead...

Little Red Riding Hood (retold in lots of places)

Once upon a time... Mom says to Little Red Riding Hood, "Your grandma is sick. Bring her cookies. Don't leave the path. Don't talk to strangers."

I can't help but think that Mommy-Red could have explained the reason behind her rules. Perhaps something like: "Don't talk to strangers or they'll EAT you."

Little Red says, "Yes, mother," and skips merrily into the forest.

Is this good parenting? Sending one's daughter to skip merrily through a wolf-infested forest? Seems to me a bit like the medieval equivalent of "go play in traffic."

In the forest, a wolf sees Little Red and says, "Yummy." He isn't referring to the cookies. "Little girl," he says. "Where are you going?"

Yes, yes, lots of innuendo here. Move along.

Little Red says, "Grandma's house. Here, I'll show you a map."

Okay, maybe she doesn't have a map, but in some variants, the kid describes all the landmarks en route to Granny's house. Clearly, McGruff the Crime Dog didn't visit her preschool. (Anyone but me remember McGruff? Am I dating myself?)

Wolf thinks, Grannies make nice appetizers. I'll eat her first and then Little Red. Out loud, he says, "Don't you want to pick flowers?"

Why not eat Little Red now and Grandma after and skip all the PJ-wearing? Why does the wolf care so much about the order of his meals? Is he one of those fussy eaters who won't eat his peas if the mashed potatoes are touching them?

"Sure," Little Red says. She leaves the path to pick flowers.

Little Red is weak in the Force.

Wolf runs to Grandma's house, eats Grandma, and then dresses in her clothes.

This is such an odd plan. I mean, he's a wolf, right? Couldn't he just, you know, hide behind the door and pounce? I think he secretly envies Cinderella's mice who get to wear cute little outfits all the time.

Eventually, Little Red arrives at Grandma's house. She sees the wolf in Grandma's clothes and says, "Ah-ha, imposter! Have at thee!" And she draws her sword and...

Fine, fine, that totally doesn't happen in, like, any version of this story. But wouldn't it be awesome if it did?

Little Red says, "My Grandma, your arms are huge."

Isn't this kind of a personal remark? Perhaps in addition to "don't talk to strangers", Mommy-Red should have said, "Don't insult your grandmother's physique."

"All the better to hug you with, my dear."

Really, this is a very polite response to a bratty remark.

"Grandma, your ears are huge."

And hairy.

"All the better to hear you with, my dear."

Sesame Street has the best explanation for Little Red that I've ever seen. Their Little Red Riding Hood simply thinks everyone is Grandma. She greets Elmo with a hug and a cry of "Grandma!"

"Grandma, your eyes are huge."

I suppose you could say that Little Red isn't unobservant -- she just doesn't like to leap to conclusions.

"All the better to see you with, my dear."

Maybe she is trying to be polite and is simply dancing around saying, "Granny, I think you're a wolf."

"Grandma, your teeth are huge."

Or maybe she's just an idiot.

"All the better to eat you with, my dear!"

Does it say bad things about me that I always want to cheer at this line?

And the wolf eats her.

Yummy.

A huntsman conveniently wanders by, hears the wolf smacking his lips, bursts in, and slices open the wolf's belly.

In earlier versions, there's of course no huntsman. We're all supposed to learn to obey our mothers and/or run away very fast when a wolf tries to eat us.

Out pops Grandma and Little Red.

He didn't chew?

Grandma and Little Red sew rocks into the wolf's belly and then drop him into the river where he sinks out of sight.

In most versions, the huntsman just does him in. But I kind of like versions where Grandma and Little Red get even (or at least DO something besides hang out inside the wolf's smelly intestines).

And everyone lives happily ever after.

Except the wolf, of course.

For more fairy tales (with commentary), check out the Obscure Fairy Tales page of my website, where I've gathered links to all my prior fairy tale posts.

Obscure Fairy Tale: Sleeping Beauty and Her Children

I love Disney movies. I love Cinderella's talking mice, Sleeping Beauty's song in the forest, and Robin Williams as the Genie. I think Disney's Little Mermaid is far better than the Hans Christian Andersen's original tale. And I think the Lion King is the most brilliant retelling of Hamlet ever done. (My pet theory: the primary difference between the two versions is that the Ophelia in the Lion King is a strong character and therefore tragedy is averted.)

But I do NOT love how passive so many of the Disney heroines are (particularly in the older movies). For example, Sleeping Beauty is lied to by her loved ones, entrapped by Malificent's spell to touch the spindle, and then konks out for most of the movie. She doesn't really DO much of anything.

I used to grumble that Disney chose the most passive versions of the fairy tales to retell. But while I was researching fairy tales for INTO THE WILD, I discovered that this isn't true. While Disney's Sleeping Beauty is no Buffy-esque heroine, Disney actually didn't choose the worst version of Sleeping Beauty.

THIS is the worst version of Sleeping Beauty.

Sleeping Beauty and Her Children (from Italo Calvino's Italian Folktales)

Once upon a time... a queen wants a baby. She prays, "Please, let me have a daughter. Even if she has to die at fifteen from pricking her finger on the spindle, I want a daughter."

I am all in favor of the importance of having a good imagination. Hyperbole is a lovely literary tool. But for heaven's sake, leave it out of your fairy-tale wishes! Or at least promise something less, y'know, death-related.

Nine months later, the queen has a baby girl. They name her Carol.

Carol?

When Carol is nearly fifteen, the queen remembers her prayer. The king orders all the spindles to be destroyed and offers to financially recompense anyone who made their living by spinning.

It just slipped her mind for fifteen years? Denial much? As for the king, I really like that he thinks of all the careers he's ruining. Dork that I am, I always worried about the impact on the economy that destroying all those spindles would have. Now I'll just worry about what everyone will wear. Pleather? Latex? Spandex? Gold lame?

As further protection, the king locks his daughter in a tower.

Overkill much?

Alone and bored, Carol watches an old woman secretly spinning thread in her house across the street. Curious, she asks the old woman what's she's doing. The woman says, "I'm spinning," and Carol asks to try it.

Why does no one ever tell Sleeping Beauty not to touch the spindle? Seriously, how hard would it be? You don't need to have an actual spindle. Just show her an illustration. Use words. Wave your hands about to demonstrate. Mime.

She lowers a bucket down to the street, and the old woman loads in a spindle and wool.

I'm thinking that there's no spinning wheel in this version...

Carol tries it, pricks herself, and falls to the door dead. Later, her parents find her. Unable to believe she's really dead, they refuse to bury her. Instead, they dress her in a bridal dress with seven skirts with silver bells, and they build a castle with a single window and no door. They place her in the castle and leave.

Well, that's... weird. At least all those spinners got work again with those seven skirts. But why bells?

Many years later, a young king discovers the castle. Using a rope ladder, he climbs up to the window. He finds a woman so beautiful that he cannot resist kissing her and kissing her. He returns day after day and stays for so long that his mother begins to worry about him.

I'm with the mom. This isn't healthy.

Eventually, the sleeping maiden gives birth to twins, a boy and a girl.

AHHHHHHHHHH!!!

After their birth, the twins are hungry, but their mother lies there like a dead woman. So they suck on their mother's thumb instead, and they suck out the spindle tip.

AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!

The princess wakes and is surprised to see two babies with her. She's even more surprised when the young king climbs in through the window.

AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!

They talk, discover each other's royal origins, and rejoice. They name their children Sun and Moon.

Rejoice?!? REJOICE?!? He... She was... "Well, at least he's not a peasant?!?" That's her reaction?!? AHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!

The young king returns to his castle and falls so ill that he cannot eat. He only repeats, "O Sun, O Moon, O Carol, if only I had you at my table!" His mother, hearing this, suspects he's been bewitched. She searches the woods and finds the castle. She orders soldiers to seize the baby Sun.

Why am I suddenly thinking of that grammar joke "Eats, shoots and leaves"?

The queen-mother gives the baby to the cook and tells him to roast the child for the king.

Oh, yes, that's why I was thinking of that joke. Word of advice: If you ever fall into a delirious illness, please make sure you don't accidentally beg to eat your family.

The cook can't bring himself to kill a baby so gives the child to his wife and instead serves roast lamb. The king's mother brings the meat to her son and says, "Eat. You're feasting on your own!"

Yuck. Read The Juniper Tree if you like this story element.

The next day, the queen sends soliders for the baby Moon. Again, she instructs the cook to roast him, and again the cook gives the child to his wife and secretly roasts another lamb.

Okay, Carol. We have to talk. Even though you are in a fairy tale, you still have options. You could hide your second child. You could run away. You could attempt to rescue your firstborn. You could seek out the cook's wife. You could seek out your parents and persuade them to declare war on this kingdom. You could DO SOMETHING. ANYTHING!

The third day, the queen's soliders fetch Carol. At the palace, the queen beats her, and Carol asks why. The queen says, "You're a witch who has bewitched my son!" And she threatens to boil her in burning pitch.

I kind of sympathize a little tiny bit with the queen. Okay, the baby-eating thing is over-the-top, I'll grant you that. But she's worried about her son and rightfully so. He's a sick, sick boy.

The queen orders Carol to remove her skirts. She removes the first skirt, and the silver bells ring. But the young king is listening to a band of musicians and doesn't hear it. She removes skirt after skirt, and by the seventh skirt, the young king hears it.

I like that the skirts with bells serve a purpose. One might argue that the purpose could be served by Carol shouting loudly, "Help! It's me, Carol! I'm about to be thrown in a kettle of boiling pitch! Turn off the music and save me, you self-centered evil man!" But of course, that would mean Carol was actually DOING SOMETHING. Not her style.

The young king springs out of bed and stops the queen from putting Carol into a kettle of burning pitch. He then learns that his children were saved by the cook. He rewards the cook, throws his mother into the kettle of burning pitch, and lives happily ever after.

And that, my friends, is the version of Sleeping Beauty with a heroine too passive even for Disney.

For more obscure fairy tales (with commentary), check out the Obscure Fairy Tales page of my website, where I've gathered links to all my prior obscure fairy tale posts.

Obscure Fairy Tale: Snow White and Rose Red

Today's fairy tale is "Snow-White and Rose-Red." Not to be confused with "Snow White and the Seven Dwarves." Totally different. Except for the name thing. And the use of dwarves. But that's it.

I love this story. I think it's even better than its more-famous counterpart. Except that if you look at it a little too closely, it kind of doesn't make any sense whatsoever. Okay, fine, even if you look at it from a mile away, the narrative is a total mess. But who cares? It has a talking bear! Talking bears are always good!

Snow-White and Rose-Red (from the Brothers Grimm)

A poor woman has two rose bushes (one white and one red) and two beautiful daughters (one called Snow-White and one called Rose-Red).

Red-herring #1: the Roses. You'd think they'd play an important part in the story. Yeah, not so much.

The daughters are fast friends. Snow-White says, "We will not leave each other." Rose-Red says, "Never so long as we live." And their mother finishes, "What one has she must share with the other."

Red-herring #2: the Promise. Ooh, foreshadowing! They're going to be forced apart! Or the mother will have to make some hideous choice between them! Or the fate of one will uplift and/or destroy the other! Very dramatic! Except not. They just like each other. And that's one of the things that I love about this story: the two sisters and the mom all love each other. No one's trying to enslave or poison or eat or dismember their relative. Refreshing.

The sisters like to gather berries in the forest together, and the birds and beasts like to frolick around them. No harm ever comes to them. Sometimes, they stay out in the woods too late, spend the night on a bed of moss, and wake to see a ghost-like boy leaving. Mom tells them he is an angel who watches over good children.

Red-herring #3: Angel-Boy. That's it for him. No dialogue. No action. No mention ever again. My guess: when the original audience heard about the woman whose daughters frolicked unharmed in the deep, dark, scary woods, they started crying, "She's a witch! A witch!" So the storyteller tossed in a spare angel.

One day in winter, while the sisters, a lamb, and a dove are listening to the girl's mother read a story, there's a knock at the door. Rose-Red answers it and finds a great black bear. She shrieks and hides.

I love a sensible heroine. That's totally what I would have done (though I'd like to think that I would have slammed the door shut first). No idea what's up with the lamb and the dove. Maybe they serve the same purpose as the spare angel: proof of non-witchiness. Kind of like the opposite of Terry Pratchett's Tiffany Aching books -- in those books, the witches prove their witchiness by purchasing skulls and warty noses and other witch paraphenalia from a mail-order catalog; in this tale, the family has purchased their set dressing from the "we're innocent" collection. The Grimm Brothers are far too subtle to mention it, but the family is also listening to harp music and eating Angel Food Cake.

The bear says, "I mean you no harm." Mom invites him in.

I love the mother. She's so very polite. Not wanting to embarrass their ursine guest, she never even asks why he's a talking bear. She simply invites him in to share their angel food cake.

The girls sweep the snow from the bear and then play with him -- tugging his fur, rolling him with their feet, beating him with a hazel-switch...

Beating him with a hazel-switch??? Where's the ASPCA? And since when is whacking a bear with a stick a good idea? Even a talking bear has teeth. Are they really so bored that this is considered "fun"? Well, maybe. They are cooped up for the winter, and TV hasn't been invented yet. If not for "American Idol," perhaps we would all be spending our winters whacking bears with sticks. Um, right.

When they're too rough, he cries, "Snow-White, Rose-Red, will you beat your wooer dead?"

Ahhh, sweet romance!

Spring comes, and the bear says, "Now I must leave and guard my treasure from the wicked dwarves. It was safe in winter while the ground was frozen and the dwarves could not dig." And he leaves. Snow-White is sad.

I smell cross-over! This is what the famous Snow White's dwarves were mining! Also, note that only Snow-White is sad. I smell romance!

One day in the woods, the girls find a dwarf with his beard stuck in a crevice of a tree. He cries to them for help. To free him, they cut off a bit of his beard. He shouts at them, "You uncouth hooligans! How dare you cut my beautiful beard!"

The famous Snow White has Sleepy, Dopey, and Sneezy. This Snow-White has Fussy. I'm rather fond of Fussy Dwarf.

Another day, by a stream, they find the same dwarf with his beard caught in a fishing line. He's about to be dragged into the water by a big fish. To save him, they cut a bit of his beard again. Again, he curses them.

Personally, I'm fascinated by this dwarf-eating fish. What kind of stream has dwarf-eating fish? How big is this fish?

Yet another day, the girls are walking into town, and they find the dwarf about to be carried off by a bird. They pull him free, though his coat is ruined in the process. "My coat!" he cries. "My beautiful coat! Ruined! You clumsy, stupid oafs!"

Fussy Dwarf has keen fashion sense.

On their way home from town, they find the dwarf admiring a bunch of jewels. He yells at them, and a black bear emerges from the forest. Frightened, the dwarf tells the bear to eat the girls and spare him.

Fussy Dwarf has a not-so-keen sense of gratitude.

The bear kills him.

Oh, no, Fussy!!!

The bear then transforms into a handsome prince. He explains that he was bewitched by the dwarf who had stolen his treasure. Now, with the dwarf's death, he is free.

Not to be all hung up on chronology or anything, but didn't he say earlier that he had to leave to protect his treasure from the dwarves? And now he's saying his treasure was stolen before he became a bear? Also, why kill the dwarf now? Why not earlier? And why the three rescues? Was that supposed to be comic relief before the big finale, or was that key to the plot? Did I skip a page? I must have skipped a page...

Snow-White marries the prince, and Rose-Red marries his brother.

Yay for romance! See, told you she liked the bear. Wait, where did the brother come from? Does Rose-Red like him? What was he doing while his brother was a bear?

They split the treasure.

Yay for practicality! Of course, it was his treasure in the first place. Or so he claims.

The mother moves in with them, and she brings her two rose bushes. Every year they bear beautiful roses, white and red.

Yay for poetic yet pointless roses! And yay for the mother and her two daughters who successfully navigate a Grimm's fairy tale without suffering anything particularly grim!

If you'd like to read a retelling of this tale that actually makes sense, check out the beautiful and wonderful book, Snow White and Rose Red by Patricia C. Wrede.

For more obscure fairy tales (with commentary), check out the Obscure Fairy Tales page of my website, where I've gathered links to all my prior obscure fairy tale posts.