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Posts Tagged ‘fairy tales’

The Girl Who Circumnavigated Fairyland in a Ship of Her Own Making

by Catherynne M. Valente; ill. Ana Juan

Feiwel and Friends, 2011

247 pages

Women and girls are survivors.

Throughout history, across the world, we’ve been systematically oppressed, brutalized, and marginalized–yet here we are. We still make up the majority of the world’s population. In many nations, we also make up the majority of university students, the majority of lawyers- and doctors-to-be, the majority of entrepreneurs.

We  still labor under a number of disadvantages–some official, some not–even in nations where freedom and equality are founding principles. But more often than not, we find ways to make our own success. If opportunity so much as stands outside the door, we yank on the handle and pull it inside.

There are, of course, numerous inspirational stories of real women getting the better of adversity and oppression. Ghettoized American moms who won’t accept failing schools for their children. Afghan teenagers who stand up to the Taliban. Ethiopian women who form coffee-growing collectives to feed their families.

But sometimes a story of survival is just as powerful when told through fiction, and Catherynne M. Valente’s The Girl Who Circumnavigated Fairyland in a Ship of Her Own Making is that kind of story.

It has the boldness and realization of His Dark Materials, the whirling action of Lord of the Rings, and the ethereal language and imagery of The Tale of Despereaux. It’s an odd, sometimes jarring, amalgam, but it’s also compelling and very, very effective.

The novel’s heroine is 12-year-old September, a WWII-era Nebraska girl who has been left to fend mostly for herself as her father and mother both devote themselves to the war effort. Dad is an intelligence officer in combat overseas; Mom is a Rosie the Riveter. September, meanwhile, washes teacups and yearns for an adventure of her own.

When the Green Wind comes to whisk her away on the Leopard of Little Breezes, she leaves literally without a backward glance. What she doesn’t realize is that her adventure in Fairyland is not going to be the stuff of fairy tales.

Or at least, not fairy tales of the Peter Pan or Cinderella variety. Think Hans Christian Andersen instead.

As she travels through Fairyland, September encounters a variety of creatures and people. Two, a wyvern/library named A-Through-L and a marid named Saturday, become her traveling companions and allies.

They start off attempting to reclaim a witch’s spoon from The Marquess, Fairyland’s tyrannical little-girl ruler, and end up on a mission both for and against The Marquess herself.

Over the course of the book, September both witnesses and suffers brutality, deception, mutilation, and violent oppression. She also encounters deep love, loyalty, selflessness, and kindness. She pushes herself beyond limits she didn’t realize she possessed, learns lessons she didn’t know could be read, and makes sacrifices she wasn’t aware were possible.

She doesn’t escape unscathed or even whole–at least, not whole as she would have defined it pre-Fairyland. Rather, she finds herself, in her own words, “well and whole” in new fashion: she’s lost something of herself but gained in new directions.

The narrator says, quite simply, that she has begun to grow a heart.

And that, really, is what makes survival inspiring. Those who have experienced trying or traumatic circumstances and escape “well and whole” often do so because the experience has grown their hearts. Through their own suffering, they’ve learned to have compassion on others. Or they’ve gained a passion to fight back against what hurt them–not just for their own sake, but for others’ too.

This is the kind of spirit that leads victims of acid attacks to show their faces to the international press, drives cancer survivors to launch massive fundraisers, or guides the loved ones of murder and rape victims to press for more action and more laws.

These people can’t undo their own trauma, but they are determined that it won’t destroy their lives and that fewer people will suffer.

I want my daughter to read that message: that, even if she encounters the most heinous suffering, she can survive. And not just to heal, but to help.

The Girl Who Circumnavigated Fairyland in a Ship of Her Own Making is the first in a series whose length is yet to be determined. Valente released the second book, The Girl Who Fell Beneath Fairyland and Led the Revels There, in October 2012.

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The Gingerbread Girl

by Lisa Campbell Ernst

Dutton Children’s books, 2006

32 pages

Retellings of classic nursery stories are as plentiful (and sometimes as grating) as the sand on the seashore, but every now and then an author manages to turn out a clever, engaging version of a familiar tale.

My favorites tend to be the reboots, spinoffs, or parodies of the classics: Sczieska and Smith’s Fairly Stupid Tales, the Hales’ Rapunzel’s Revenge and Calamity Jack, Marshall and Sendak’s Swine Lake—and now Lisa Campbell Ernst’s The Gingerbread Girl.

This picture book isn’t just a rewrite with a girl subbed in for the rather dim-witted gingerbread boy. Instead, Ernst has crafted a very funny little sequel, where she imagines what might happen if the old couple of the original tale were to bake again.

This time, they decide to make a gingerbread girl—because, as the little old man presumes, “a sweet little girl wouldn’t run away!” What they end up with, however, is a sassy little cookie with an appetite for revenge. The moment the oven door creaks open, she’s off down the road to teach that gluttonous swimming fox a lesson.

Like her older brother, she evades a host of hungry pursuers and then hops on the fox’s back to cross the river. Unlike her brother, however, she’s only playing dumb. Once they’re too far into the river for the fox to escape, she captures him, tames him, and spends the rest of her happy days riding him around the countryside.

Aside from Ernst’s hyper-energetic illustrations, I love this book for the confidence and craftiness the Gingerbread Girl possesses. Right from the start, she settles on her purpose and doesn’t let anyone deter her. She knows she’s smart, knows she’s fabulous, and knows she can accomplish her goal if she just stays focused and brave.

Even better, she doesn’t let her predecessor’s mistakes define or deter her. And I think that’s where the inspiration is. She realizes that she’s her own person, with her own choices to make and her own narrative to write.

I want my daughter to grow up with that understanding: the knowledge that other people’s failings don’t have to limit her. Whatever choices her friends or even family members are making—have made in the past—she can stand strong, stick to her purpose, and accomplish her goals.

For the Gingerbread Girl, that means teaching the fox to treat others with kindness and respect. For a real-life little girl, it can mean mastering a skill like music or art, making the top soccer team, or leading a neighborhood service project. Or even growing up to change the world.

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This is the fifth (and final) post in my “Precocious Princesses” series, reviews of inspiring alternatives to traditional princess tales.

Spindle’s End

by Robin McKinley

Ace Books, 2001

354 pages

If “Rapunzel” is progressive as princess tales go, “Sleeping Beauty” is at the opposite end of the spectrum.

However embellished, the story usually goes something like this: Princess is cursed.  Princess is raised icognito for her protection.  Princess is lured to her doom.  Princess falls into enchanted sleep.  Princess is woken and rescued by brave, handsome prince.

Notice how almost all the sentences you just read are in passive voice?  Because that’s pretty much what “Sleeping Beauty” is, a tale of passivity.

Unless Robin McKinley is telling the story.  Then it’s a tale of “girls who do things,” as she likes to say.

It’s also a tale of magic, of the friendship and familial bonds between women, and of the bravery of girls who rise to the occasion in spectacular ways.

Spindle’s End centers around Rosie, princess and heir to the throne in a country where magic is “so thick and tenacious that it settle[s] over the land like chalk-dust.”

Cursed on her name-day by the evil fairy Pernicia, Rosie spends her childhood in the foster care of Aunt and Katriona, two professional fairies who live in a remote rural province.

The two women try to make Rosie “as safe as ordinariness can make her,” but Rosie is far from ordinary.

Even as an infant, she’s alert, active, and strong-willed.  She grows to exhibit the gift of beast-speech, prefers short hair and trousers to long ringlets and dresses, and apprentices to the local blacksmith as a horse-leech.

Then, just months before her twenty-first birthday, an otherworldly stranger appears (on her doorstep, literally) and reveals her true identity.  And she and the people who love her must decide how best to face her curse and defeat Pernicia for good.

It’s a brilliant elaboration of the old tale, with McKinley expanding on and reinterpreting all the key elements in stunningly creative ways.

Take Pernicia and her curse, for example.  Most tellings of “Sleeping Beauty” reduce the princess’s christening to something out of a teen revenge flick, with the social outcast exploding on the scene to throw her tantrum and make everyone sorry they didn’t invite her to the ball.

McKinley’s Pernicia, however, is a sorceress whose magic is at once insidious and overwhelming in its craft and potency.  The curse is her attempt at resurrecting a centuries-old war against the women of the royal family–and the breaking of it requires far more than a simple kiss from a prince (though that figures, too, in delightfully altered form).

And then there are Aunt and Katriona, whose devotion to one another and to Rosie is a matchless (not to mention gritty, poignant, and hilarious) depiction of the love between mothers and their children, biological and otherwise.

While the fairy foster-mothers function primarily as plot devices in most versions of the tale, Aunt and Katriona are fully realized women.  The central characters for half the book, they wield a blend of grace, intelligence, wisdom, and magic that’s so strong they can barely contain it.

I could go on for pages, but I’d end up spoiling the book’s most delicious treats and surprises.  Suffice to say that there’s not a single weak woman in the book–every one has her strengths, even if some are more hidden than others.

Nor do they come across as clumsily feminized versions of male archetypes, as sometimes happens when less-gifted authors try to inject some “girl power” into old, misogynist tales.  These are women, undeniably and gloriously so.

Even more inspiring, they help each other understand what womanhood means, both in general terms and in the context of their culture and their individual lives.

When one of them struggles to comprehend some aspect of her life or identity, the others deliberately form a wide circle around her.  They walk the delicate line between offering support and wisdom and leaving space for her to make her own discoveries.

The result: an environment and relationships that foster each person’s (not just each woman’s) growth to full potential.  Because, as you may have heard it said, when women succeed, everyone succeeds.

Strong women, strong purposes, strong bonds, strong society.  You can’t get much more inspiring than that.

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