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Posts Tagged ‘fairy tales’

Precocious Princesses: The Paper Bag Princess

Posted in Birth and up, Elementary age, Sci Fi & Fantasy, tagged , , , on October 12, 2011 | 4 Comments »

The Paper Bag Princess

by Robert Munsch; ill. by Michael Martchenko

Annick Press, 1992

32 pages

In honor of my first blogiversary, I’ve decided to do something every blogger has to do at some point or another: write a series.  I hope you’ll enjoy reading it as much as I’ve enjoyed writing it!

Princesses–they’re everywhere.

If you have regular contact with young girls, princesses are probably on your radar.  Even if said girls are royally indifferent, princesses are inescapable.

Every type of commodity that might possibly pass through the hands of young girls has a princess permutation.  Princesses are on girls’ clothing, dishes, school supplies, toys, bed linens . . .

And, of course, they’re in girls’ books. 

The fairy tale princess is probably the best recognized, and certainly one of the most pervasive, female archetypes in girls’ literature (especially literature for very young girls).

Which is unfortunate, since the average fairy tale princess is anything but inspiring.  Pretty, passive, delicate, and endangered, yes.  Inspiring, no.

So, what’s a savvy grownup to do?  Well, read this blog, for one thing (how’s that for a shameless plug?).  But, seriously, how do you break the archetype, especially if you’re dealing with a girl who really likes princesses?

Since I have a young daughter, I’ve asked myself the same question.  And this series is my answer.

I’m happy to say that, although inspiring princess books are somewhat scarce, they do exist, and for all ages.  I’m going to highlight some of my favorites, starting with Robert Munsch’s The Paper Bag Princess.

One of many stories Munsch invented to entertain day-care tots, The Paper Bag Princess is brilliant in its brevity.

This is the story of Elizabeth, who initially seems to be a typical fairy-tale princess.  She’s beautiful, rich, and besotted with her fiance, Ronald.

But when a dragon destroys all her possessions and carries off her prince, Elizabeth rises to the occasion.  With only a paper bag left to her name (hence the title), our heroine sets off on a quest to rescue Ronald.

She braves the wilderness, tricks the dragon, and saves the prince.  And, when Ronald proves to be more snooty than grateful, Elizabeth blithely calls him a bum and dances off into the sunset.

Characters aside, the story itself is very satisfying.  I love the way Munsch mixes up a variety of traditional story elements (faerie, the trickster, a quest) and then seasons everything with a dash of parody and sly humor.

There are twists around every corner, but they’re entertaining and energizing instead of unbelievable.  And Michael Martchenko does a fabulous job of communicating mood and personality through the characters’ facial expressions and body language.

But Elizabeth, of course, is the story’s piece de resistance.  She’s brave, persistent, crafty, and independent.

And best of all, she’s self-confident enough to recognize superficiality for what it is.  Her message for Ronald: treat me right, or don’t treat with me at all.

Not a bad lesson for little girls to learn.

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Child of Faerie, Child of Earth

Posted in Elementary age, Poetry, tagged , , on September 14, 2011 | 1 Comment »

Child of Faerie, Child of Earth

by Jane Yolen; ill. by Jane Dyer

Little, Brown & Company, 1997

32 pages

For my generation of women, “balance” is a buzzword concept.

In fact, I would go so far as to say it’s an industry.  It would take me days to list all the books, blogs, articles, and other screeds that advise today’s women on the fine art of maintaining balance. Balance between work and play, home and family, needs of self and needs of others.

It’s a worthwhile idea.  Balance keeps us whole, keeps us operating as complete people.  When our lives fall out of balance, we lose parts of ourselves–our edge at work, our connections with family and friends, our health, even our sanity.

So it follows that we want our daughters (granddaughters, students, nieces) to find balance, too.  But how?

Child of Faerie, Child of Earth answers that question in a beautiful, understated way.

One of Jane Yolen and Jane Dyer’s lovely collaborations, this picture book is the story of a young girl who meets a faerie boy one Halloween.  The two have an immediate affinity for one another, and they spend the next 24 hours touring each other’s worlds.

Each tries earnestly, but in vain, to convince the other to switch worlds.  Ultimately, they find a compromise: they make a pact to remain friends and visit each other regularly.  And they follow through, so effectively and faithfully that they “left all skeptics flabbergast/At how they did so well.”

It’s a beautiful story, not least because of Yolen’s elegant, old-fashioned poetry and Dyer’s dreamy watercolors.

But the real beauty is in the way the girl achieves balance, both in her life and in her soul.

When we first meet her, she’s gathering firewood with the local widows.  The women are wearing their dark “widow’s weave,” but the girl is a beacon of color in the forest clearing: she’s dressed in a bright red top and floral scarf and has crowned herself with autumn flowers.

At such a young age, she’s already made a decision to balance beauty and light against the drudgery and depression of her life as a widow’s daughter.

So here’s the first lesson in balance: it has to be intentional.  When you find that your life is tipping too far in one direction, you have to choose to nudge it back toward center, even when that means heading a different direction from everyone else around you.

The second lesson in balance comes when the boy invites the girl to live in his faerie hall.  Though she’s completely unafraid of him and intoxicated by the non-stop feasting and dancing, she ultimately chooses to return home.

“I cannot on your food be fed/And still my needs fulfill,” she tells him.

So, lesson number two: to maintain balance, you have to know yourself and your core needs.  It’s a myth (a clinically debunked one, in fact) that balance means having everything in equal measure.  Finding balance is really about finding your center, which in turn means figuring out what matters most to you.

The young girls in your life will probably need a little help figuring this one out.  That’s where you come in–draw them out, ask them what they most like to do, what interests them most.

Whatever their answer, I’m sure they’ll be inspired by Yolen’s girl.  Though she’s not much older than they are, she’s already cognizant of her deep connection to the land, to nature, and to her daily work.

At the same time, though, she’s not afraid to try something new, to temper the gravity and hard work of her life with some lightness and play.

Which brings us to the third lesson in balance: when you’re secure in your center, branching out won’t be so threatening.  In fact, it will be just the opposite: a source of joy and enrichment for your life.

When the faerie boy suggests that he and the girl swap magical gifts to seal their friendship, she doesn’t hesitate.  She makes the exchange and the commitment.  And, in return, she finds such happiness that it completely befuddles those who know her.

Be intentional, know yourself, and don’t be afraid to branch out.  That sounds like inspiration to me.

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Courage: It’s not just for boys anymore

Posted in Birth and up, Poetry, tagged , , on July 12, 2011 | 2 Comments »

The Adventures of Isabel

by Ogden Nash, ill. by Bridget Starr Taylor

Sourcebooks Jabberwocky, 2008

32 pages

Some of the best, most enduring stories in kid lit started out as improv.

The Hobbit, for instance, started out as a bedtime story for J. R. R. Tolkien’s children.  Peter Rabbit first appeared in a letter Beatrix Potter wrote to a young fan.  Alice in Wonderland, Peter Pan, and Winnie-the-Pooh all have similar origins.

I think these stories endure precisely because of their off-the-cuff origins.  Extemporaneous storytelling tends to be wildly creative stuff, especially in the hands of a gifted tale-maker.  It’s usually mold-breaking, colorful, and deeply engaging–all qualities that make for excellent kid lit.

So I was pretty excited to find Ogden Nash’s The Adventures of Isabel in a bargain-book bin at my grocery store (yes, I dig through book bins even at the grocery store).

Nash is best known for his humorous poetry for adults, but he also penned quite a few verses to amuse his daughters, Isabel and Linell.  The Adventures of Isabel, a 40-line fantasy featuring Nash’s daughter as the heroine, is one of those poems.

The first three stanzas are a rompy sendup of classic fairy tales, with Isabel facing off against a bear, a witch, and a giant.  In each case, she “calmly” vanquishes her adversary and moves blithely on to the next foe.

Her fourth and final challenger, a fussbudget doctor, is the only one to survive his encounter with Isabel; she simply “cures” him (of the sickness of being too grown-up, I like to think).

On its own, this is not a narrative poem–Isabel’s “adventures” are four disconnected, stand-alone incidents.  But illustrator Bridget Starr Taylor had the vision to weave them into a continuous narrative through her drawings, with the first three villains serving as roadblocks to Isabel’s final destination.

This is one of the best examples of text-art interplay I’ve seen.  Taylor’s drawings have a smirky but frenetic quality that perfectly matches the tone of Ogden’s text, and her story-behind-the-poem cleverly morphs light verse into dramatic quest.

The best part of the book, though, is the idea behind the poem: that a little girl can be fearless, ferocious, a force to be reckoned with.  And that she can be all those things without being crazy, mean, or hysterical.

Isabel is a level-headed problem-solver and happy adventuress rolled into one.  Her courage runs very, very deep–it’s simply a part of who she is.  Whether her problems are the stuff of fantasy (the fairy-tale bear, witch, and giant) or reality (the doctor), she can tackle them.

And that’s a great message for very little girls, whose imaginations can sometimes run away with them.  The magical realism of the toddler and preschool years is a double-edged sword.  It’s what generates both the glittering make-believe worlds of playtime and the terrorizing nightmares of bedtime.

As a parent, I sometimes forget that the monsters in my daughter’s dreams are as scary-real to her as a trip to the ER.  She needs equal measures of courage to confront them both.

With inspirations like Isabel, maybe someday she’ll be the recipient of a tribute like the one Linell Nash Smith wrote for this book: “For the real little girl named Isabel, who grew up to be just as adventuresome and courageous as her namesake in the story.”

How do you help the little girls you know deal with their fears, both real and imaginary?  Do you have a favorite courageous picture-book heroine?

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