Review of Lafcadio Hearn's Japanese Tales (Oddly Modern Fairy Tales series)

(Review written by Leigh Smith)

“I have pledged me to the worship of the Odd . . . the Strange . . . the Monstrous… ”

~Japanese Tales of Lafcadio Hearn

“Strange.”

If I had a digital file of Lafcadio Hearn's Japanese tales, I'd be curious to run a search for how many times this word appears amid his 28 tales. This before-his-time multiculturist’s dark fairy tale work foreshadowed an entire body of unsettling art. 

He anticipated the so-called automatic writing of practitioners such as André Breton, opened receptive minds to Cubism and Surrealism movements of the 1920s and primed the public imagination for the fantastical tales of  H.P. Lovecraft. Lafcadio Hearn successfully navigated multiple cultures, transforming himself from Other to revered father figure/folklorist/historian. In short, he became the hero of his own fairy tale life.


As a fan of the macabre and fantastical, I was drawn to this book as a soul to the quintessentially Japanese cherry blossom (sakura)*. The collection's obsession with strangeness is also why I think it’s accessible to our own generation of culturally fluid, proudly freak flag-flying readers. 

Patrick Lafcadio Hearn, aka Koizumi Yakumo. 1889
Photo by Frederick Gutekunst / Public domain

Japanese readers in 1900 may have been steeped in the Buddhist and Shinto teachings about life’s vagaries, but in 2020, we have our ‘disappearing’ social media to remind us of our impermanence (Snapchat, TikTok, etc.).

Plus, modern readers will appreciate the bite-sized nature of Hearn’s stories. The tales are just that: short “tail ends” of Japanese legends and folklore, which can be quickly digested and enjoyed. Even the opener, which is the longest story in this anthology-of-sorts—“The Dream of a Summer Day” and its Pandora-like box—is only 17 pages. Most of the stories clock in at only a handful of pages. As a whole, they transcend their time, but for a couple zeitgeist themes or tropes that I'll mention later.

Hearn's “Exotic” Tales

These stories, selected by editor Andrei Codrescu, originally introduced the Western mind to Japanese culture, as seen through Shinto and Buddhist lenses. The cast of colorful characters and tropes readers encounter include:

• A man who saddles and rides his corpse-wife by clinging to her hair.
• An enchanting screen maiden (an artist's depiction of a woman on a screen) who becomes real.
• A shark-person (Samébito) who weeps blood that turns to jewels upon the ground.
• A samurai-beloved young woman named Aoyagi who experiences a metamorphic twist of fate.
•  A priest who is transformed into a Golden Carp.
• An unwitting entertainer for the dead, in the oft-cited ghost story, “The Story of Mimi-Nashi-Hōichi”.**

If one thing prevails in this collection, it is this: all is not what it seems, for everything is changing. Constantly. And because everything is in a state of flux, all does not necessarily end well. So, dear reader, do not expect the happily-ever-afters of heavily modernized and Westernized fairy tales. Hearn had his finger on the pulse of the unsettling. Let's briefly explore why that might be.

Lafcadio Hearn: Other from Another Mother

Hearn and Koizumi Setsu.
Unknown photographer in Japan pre-1904 / Public domain

It is not a surprise that Patrick Lafcadio Hearn (1850 – 1904) wrote from a position of Other, considering how he became entangled with his parents' inner demons as a child. He bounced from his mother’s homeland of Greece to his father’s home in Ireland. Both parents eventually abandoned him. 

At age 7, he became a permanent ward of his aunt. By the time he was 19, he was virtually penniless but on his way to America. After spending some time in Cincinnati, Ohio, and a decade in New Orleans, he finally settled in Japan for the last 14 years of his life. He married a Japanese woman and started a family.

“[Hearn] never returned to the womb of his mother's Lefkada [Greece] but found himself at home in a patriarchal world where he was a Father, unlike his own genitor.” 

-Andrei Codrescu, Editor of Japanese Tales of Lafcadio Hearn

It’s impossible not to view these stories through a modern lens. And that lens uncovers glaring threads of patriarchy and age-ism. And while Hearn’s position as an esteemed member of society was hard won, his privilege is reflected in his many elitist characters.  I don't doubt that Hearn (called Mr. Koizumi while he wrote these stories) was a product of his time. But it’s still problematic when the women who appear in these tales exist along a binary. If they’re human, they’re generally preternaturally beautiful, young, graceful, and self-sacrificing—like any “good” Japanese wife of the Hearn’s time. Conversely, they can also be ugly, vain, unpleasant hags. The non-human women are supernaturally monstrous “Yuki-Onna” (White Witch) and often violent.

Yuki-onna by Sawaki Suushi / Public domain

A perfect example is the farmer's wife in “Of a Mirror and a Bell.” She covets the return of her bronze mirror, which had been given for melting down to make a temple bell, but it, alone among the mirrors, would not melt. In short, it was magically imbued with the woman's anger and covetousness. Hearn even reminds readers of the supposed old saying, “a mirror is the soul of a woman.”

One positive tale in which the woman's value is not dependent on her beauty, but perhaps her duty, introduces a milk nurse named O-Sodé who asks a divinity to trade her life for that of the now-sick girl she'd nursed 15 years earlier. In her remembrance, the family of the saved girl plants the best cherry tree they can find (“Ubazakura,” or “Cherry tree of the Milk Nurse” which has flowers of white and pink).

Men, in these tales, especially those of the samurai or priestly class, were generally treated more favorably, with wider character variation among both human men and divinities or magical beings.

Lafcadio Hearn in the 21st Century

Beyond the aforementioned shortcomings, however, I see much to enjoy in this cross-cultural experience of reading Hearn. In some ways, I can vicariously commune with Japanese culture through him. I was also pleasantly surprised to see parallels between the myths and legends of other cultures. Here are a few I picked up:

• “The Story of Aoyagi” (Aoyagi means green willow) could find (new/old) fans of Edith Hamilton, Bulfinch et al, in its parallels with several Greco-Roman stories such as those of the united-in-death lovers Baucis and Philemon, or oak and linden.
• “The Story of Kwashin Koji”: In this tale, a religious painting seems to undulate and show real, flowing blood. This recalls stories such as Wilde's “The Picture of Dorian Gray” or the Greek myth of Pygmalion and Galatea.
• In “Hi-Mawari,” a boy and his older friend (Robert, age 8) search for Welsh fairy rings but instead encounter a harper. The harper's music is said to be witchcraft. Fans of Greco-Roman mythology will quickly be reminded of the magical musician, Orpheus, who used a song to win his wife back from Hades.

All is Unreality—Even Us

Woodblock print of cherry blossom
"Thirty-six Views of Mount Fuji"
by Hiroshige / Public domain

It would be too simple to reduce Lafcadio Hearn to a purveyor of the strange, predicting the 20th century’s modernism and political upheavals. I like to think of Hearn's work as living and breathing, even in its preoccupation with the impermanence of life.

The collection will appeal to all lovers of uncanny short stories, from Poe to Neil Gaiman. Furthermore, the curious black and white illustrations of flying severed heads, faceless women, samurai, etc. will appeal to fans of anime and manga, I think. This volume also could draw in readers who appreciate the reverence for nature beyond simply the national symbol of the sakura (cherry blossom). “The Story of Aoyagi” is tailor-made for those who decry the cutting of forests.

Read the tales within Japanese Tale of Lafcadio Hearn. Even its foreword (by Jack Zipes) and introduction (Codrescu) are accessible to non-academics. Just remember—in the words of 14th century Buddhist priest Kenko: “All is unreality. Nothing is worth discussing, worth desiring.”

Japanese Tale of Lafcadio Hearn can be purchased on Amazon or via the Princeton University Press' website. It's part of Princeton's "Oddly Modern Fairy Tales" series.

Read our review of another book in this series: Workers' Tales: Socialist Fairy Tales, Fables, and Allegories from Great Britain. 




FOOTNOTES
*Modern novelist, Hanya Yanagihara, wrote in a recent essay in The New York Times Style Magazine, that “Japan without the cherry blossom is like a person without a head: The image is wrong, inconceivable.”

**From Hearn's Kwaidan: Stories and Studies of Strange Things (1904)


ABOUT THE REVIEWER:
Leigh Smith writes strange tales herself, mostly under the pseudonym Leigh Ward-Smith. In the real world, she writes marketing copy, curates/manages social media for an architectural firm, and does research and editing for a retired professor. She occasionally blogs at Leigh's Wordsmithery (https://leighswordsmithery.wordpress.com/); likewise the occasional tweet @1WomanWordsmith.

The Mattress Tests Of Lords and Tinkers, Shrews and Peas

'The Princess And The Pea' by Louise Montillio

A passage from the ballad-folktale "Lord For A Day" caught our eye this week and, though it's not meant to be an important part of the text, it got us thinking about mattresses and peas; that is, tests of nobility or worthiness. Here is the passage, with a little context:

... the Khalif went in to the women of the palace, who came to him, and he said to them, "Whenas yonder sleeper awaketh tomorrow... say to him "Thou art the Khalif." ...
Then the rest of the women of the palace came all to him and lifted him into a sitting posture, when he found himself upon a couch, stuffed all with floss-silk and raised a cubit's height from the ground*. 

*That is, a mattress eighteen inches thick.

*** 

So in this tale, a man sitting on a pile of mattresses, or a very high mattress, is supposed to be 'proof' of royalty? (Even if, in this case, it's set up falsely.)

Where is the next step of proof with the 'pea'? Why is it girls in tales always have to provide the pudding whereas men just get to eat it?

In The Real Princess, the bedraggled girl is immediately assumed to be falsifying her identity, to be common, and must prove she is royal - at physical cost to herself. In Lord For A Day, the ruse is getting a beggar to believe he is rich, then not, then rich again by turns. He is released from this weird torment because he makes the nobleman laugh. Despite being the butt of the joke, he ends up wealthier than he ever was and becomes a part of the noble's household. In The Real Princess, she is "black and blue" before she is accepted to be the person she says, and actually, is - a princess. She is "tamed" before being able to resume her station and be eligible for a new one (royal bride). The man is "freed" before bring raised to his.

Taming of the Shrew by Willy Pogany

Interesting that the Lord For A Day tale/ballad is considered one of the folkloric sources for The Taming of the Shrew. All of the other folktales that this play of Shakespeare's is based on are difficult to read because they are so very cruel; actively, sometimes viciously, stripping a woman of all individuality, autonomy and agency (not dissimilar to what happened to the Real Princess, by some interpretations). Why Lord For A Day, came back around to be used as commentary on suppressing the rights of a potential wife, is worth considering all by itself. The contrast between a man and a woman being raised/accepted in their station, gives great pause for thought, especially as Shakespeare uses a good part of Lord for A Day at the opening of Shrew; a direct set-up for the plot to come.

It's also interesting that most readings of Katherine have her as "feisty" (a word which in essence means the weaker, underdog naturally fights against convention and against the odds), even bawdy, and Hans Andersen's tale of the rain-soaked princess can also be read as feisty and (very) bawdy too.

An interesting note on Shakespeare's Taming of the Shrew:

Stephen Roy Miller argues that “Shakespeare was not adapting the folktale straightforwardly, but ironically” (1998, 14). He points to the changes that make Petruchio less of a violent ogre than the folktale husband, and concludes that “Shakespeare overwrites the ‘old testament’ of Type 901 with the ‘new testament’ of domestic relations,” a humanist emphasis on eschewing domestic physical abuse (Miller 1998, 14). Shakespeare alters the traditional shrew-taming tale, like and through Katherine (and Petruchio, who is constantly performing as tamer), by following it closely and overenthusiastically, caricaturing it. (Extract from paper by Charlotte Artese 2009, quoting Miller, The Taming of a Shrew: The 1594 Quarto, 1998)

Petruccios Hochzeit (Petruccio's Wedding) by Carl Gehrts

Given the connections between Shrew, Real Princess and the folktale sources for Shrew, and the fact that Shakespeare is generally thought to be running social commentary on old and new relations between men and women by use of parody and exaggeration, it makes us wonder if Andersen was making (subconscious?) reference to this story group Shakespeare's play used in Taming of the Shrew, to do his own form of 'story taming'? Or, was he, in complete contrast, making his own caricature of these still entrenched conventions in society, having his own commentary safely hidden within a 'proper' tale of correctness and the required fragility of noblewomen?

We never made a connection between The Taming of the Shrew and the Princess and the Pea before. Now we cannot disconnect them.

Note: We are currently reading Shakespeare and the Folktale: An Anthology of Stories by Charlotte Artese. We hope to put up a review of the whole anthology soon, but at this moment we can tell you that this is a very interesting read so far and great food for thought. Obviously, Andersen's The Real Princess a.k.a. The Princess and the Pea, was written many years after Shakespeare's time and has no bearing on the Bard's writing. The speculation above came out of reading the book below (and a little further afield) and wondering if Shakespeare, in turn, had an influence on Andersen for the famous mattress tale. The two short extracts below sum up extremely well what we are enjoying about this book and why it's worth a read for people who love fairy tales and folklore - even if you're a little rusty on your Shakespeare.

From Charlotte Artese's Shakespeare and the Folktale: An Anthology Of Stories:

Folktales often served as common ground in Shakespeare’s theater. The playwright and some members of his audience would have read literary versions of a play’s folktale source, and those who could not read might have heard those tales told. In our own culture, when a movie or television show (or short story or novel) adapts a fairy tale, the creator knows the expectations the audience will bring, and the audience knows that the creator knows. The audience waits to see how this version of a well-known story will conform to tradition and how it will vary. Will Red Riding Hood fall in love with the wolf? Will the evil fairy repent and rescue Sleeping Beauty? When we learn the folktale traditions that Shakespeare adapts, we can join this interplay between playwright and audience. 

Belsey+ concludes that the resemblances between Shakespeare’s plays and folk narratives help to explain Shakespeare’s place at the center of the Western literary canon. By absorbing the narrative traditions on which Shakespeare drew, we may peer into the heart of what makes him great: a profound connection to his audiences through the centuries and around the world.

+Catherine Belsey (author of Why Shakespeare? 2007), quoted in Artese's introduction to the volume.

Review: 'The Hazel Wood' - What We Liked, What We Didn't & Why It's Still Fairy Tale Catnip

We must begin with the book's premise because the atmosphere of The Hazel Wood and its promises are as much a part of the experience as the actual story. Based on this alone is easy to see why it quickly became a best-seller. Here's an excerpt from a wonderful summary by Caitlyn Paxson (of Goblin Fruit, NPR book reviews, Fakelore Podcast):

Official/promotional tarot card featuring quotes by characters

Alice has spent her whole life on the run with her mother, almost as if something terrible is chasing them. They can't ever seem to escape their family legacy: Alice's grandmother is a famous author, who wrote a book of dark fairy tales set in a mythical world called the Hinterland. It's a book so rare and compelling that it has die-hard fans who've never even read it — including Alice. Alice doesn't know her grandmother, who shut herself away in an estate called the Hazel Wood before Alice was even born, but she is secretly obsessed with her and the elusive world that she created. 

When the news comes that her grandmother has died, it seems like maybe Alice and her mother can finally catch their breath. They settle into a life in New York, but Alice keeps waiting for the darkness to find them. 

Sure enough, one day Alice goes home to find that her mother has been kidnapped by terrifying creatures who may be the denizens of the Hinterland come to life. The only clue is a torn page from her grandmother's book, and a dire message from her mother: "Stay away from the Hazel Wood."

Just reading this description has us wishing to re-read it, it's so compelling. How can you not be intrigued when the official blurb includes the phrase: "the reclusive author of a cult-classic book of pitch-dark fairy tales"? It's clearly enchanting but we've been hesitant to review this book. The Hazel Wood made such a splash on social media, impressively got optioned for a movie even before being released, and so many fairy tale aficionados seem to really love it, we knew it would be a tough review, especially if we didn't completely love it too.

We wanted to love it. We expected to love it. We just... didn't - at least not "completely".

We do love the approach of debut author Melissa Albert and all she has to say about the story and why she wrote it, not to mention her "whys" of being drawn to fairy tales. Speaking to Bustle she said:

"Fairy tales seem, when I reread them now, almost shockingly spare. They’re more of a skeleton you can hang different skins on," Albert says. "The Hazel Wood isn’t a retelling, but it plays with elements of lots of the tales I loved as a kid." Among her inspirations: “The Twelve Dancing Princesses,” “The Juniper Tree,” and "The Little Mermaid."

It's obvious Albert is a talented writer with great ideas and her debut novel is clearly catnip for fairy tale folk; there's so much great fodder there to feed a fairy tale soul.

Czech cover

As Caitlyn says so eloquently:

This book is crafted with all the care that goes into spinning nettle shirts for your enchanted swan-brothers and all the agony and beauty of spitting up roses and diamonds. It looks head-on at trauma, and gives its compelling heroine the space to find her truth and begin the hard work of healing her wounds. It ponders fandom and the true nature of the places we idolized as children. It even has an Alan Lomax shout-out for all the folklore nerds in the audience.

And we do agree with the entire paragraph above.

Bulgarian cover

Unfortunately, our lasting impression is largely dissatisfaction. It feels strange to read a constant flow of gushing, glowing reviews when your takeaway is so different, so we are finally sharing our impressions via a "likes vs dislikes" summary. Perhaps there are readers that will relate here and there, or perhaps it just illuminates why, perhaps, we're just not the best audience for this novel.

That said we will be watching for more from Albert with great interest and will happily pre-order that promised book of tales, should it ever be completed! (More on this below.) So now to our lists:

What We Liked:

• The gorgeous cover, very alluring to fairy tale folk
• The "book within a book" that the story revolves around, Tales From The Hinterland, and the concept of a cult-followed fairy tale collection (*shivers of delight!*)
• The unique take on a changeling' (a.k.a. an "ex-story")
• Use of fairy tale motifs beyond the well-known ones
• The idea and character of the grandmother, Althea Proserpine, and her interviews - we wanted more
• Opening with, and interweaving Vanity Fair interviews, clippings etc - gave it a great flavor - this kept us reading, hoping for more
• The potential for the online community/cult, to have a life beyond the book - for real-life readers to take up the torch
• The idea of stories being alive (just like real fairy tales are)
• Some of the initial imagery and use of language was unique and genuinely spell-binding
• There are lots of folklore "easter-eggs" and allusions and parallels to myth and some fairly big (often inverted) fairy tales - the names of characters are chosen for good reason
• Where the Hinterland encroached on the real world, it worked well and felt like a real force of "Otherness"
• We saw lots of potential for inspiration a community of readers to create related ephemera: magazine clippings, story fragments, page fragments, endpaper designs, gate designs (& motifs used in the real world as an 'echo'), used library cards, old photos, scratchings of fantasy illustrations on modern coffee napkins, mentions on web pages like clues, discussion board transcripts by the 'cult following' etc
• The telling of Althea's tales* (relayed by other characters) was truly magical and brought those tales to life. This is where the author shone; the tales and the telling of them, along with the  Vanity Fair reports of Althea's own story, were the absolute gems of the book. We kept reading in hopes of another tale and another... Sadly there were only two included. As another reviewer put it: If Albert wrote out the Hinterland fairy tales and published it, I would buy that in a heartbeat.

French and Serbian covers

That's a lot of like! You may even wish to stop here. If you're curious though (and what person interested in fairy tales doesn't have that trait), what follows is our "other" list.

What We Didn't Like:

• That only two of the all-important twelve tales were 'told'/ included within the novel (and none of the others are available anywhere).
• Too many fairy tale motifs used, particularly once Alice was in the Hinterlands.
• the mentions were so constant and distracting (like "stream of consciousness") the text felt "overstuffed" - we felt like flagging all the mentions just to tally the number per page and chapter (Note: we realize a reader who isn't as obsessed with fairy tales wouldn't be so bothered. It might actually be useful and great for re-reads for most folks.)
• the references felt a bit like name dropping rather than significant
• Gratuitous bad language - it often felt out of place, unnatural, trying too hard to be edgy
• The protagonist, Alice, was more than just "unlikable".  She was so relentlessly angry, often speaking venomously to those in her company. As with the "kick the puppy" syndrome in movies**, we didn't like spending time with her and so didn't care very much when things were tough for her.
• Alice's obsession with her Grandmother's book of tales was such a driving force in all her actions it implied things would change for her (or change her), or perhaps things would be clearer - or more twists revealed - if she ever got to read the whole collection. As it never happened it felt the story was incomplete and the author reneged on a promise.
• The author's use of language - at first unique and interesting - never quite settled into a natural rhythm and had a tendency to feel self-conscious.
• There was not nearly enough about the grandmother - it's almost as if we were tricked into being obsessed with her too then had no avenues open to us when no more information was forthcoming.
• Once entering Hinterland (aka Fairyland, aka Fairy Tale Land) it was often written like an extended, oversaturated dream sequence, and quickly became boring.
• The lack of the complete fairy tale book  (Tales From The Hinterlands) either within the pages or somewhere in the real world or on the web to be found, meant possibilities beyond the book fizzled pretty quickly - like an unfinished idea - it felt like a huge missed opportunity.
• Naming so many specific book and film (and music) titles pulled us out of the story; current novels especially (eg. Boy Snow Bird) are too recent a "reader experience" to see referenced without getting somewhat derailed.
• While we didn't mind Hinterland being very dark, there really didn't seem much space left in Fairy Tale Land for wonder and enchantment; we missed that balance. Even the dark fae tend to simultaneously attract and repel their victims.
• We didn't care a lot about the conclusion, especially once it was clear we'd never get to read the rest of Althea's book (set up as one of the main mysteries). The restless ending only served to amplify our ambivalence throughout.

We felt the book never completely settled into a confident rhythm and were left tired and sad at the end.

UK cover and Spanish cover

Readers can probably see that our second list isn't the usual set of reader criticisms. We were very conflicted reading this book. As we said at the outset, perhaps it's just that we're not the ideal audience for the novel.

It should be noted, that hasn't stopped us from remaining intrigued by the premise, and the promise of a new book of fairy stories. Despite our objections, we remain drawn to the catnip which is The Hazel Wood.

What We're Wishing For Now:

• We feel like this book begs for a companion, namely, Tales From The Hinterland. Somewhere there needs to be a complete copy of the tales, even if it's via a difficult internet hunt to unearth them. A unique "re" published volume would be a great marketing tie-in and awesome collection of new and unique tales. Without the opportunity to read the tales it feels as though we're missing a large chunk of the story. 
• Note: Since first writing this review, it has been announced that a companion volume, Tales From the Hinterland, that is, the entire collection of Althea Proserpine's tales will be published sometime in 2020. We will happily pre-order this as soon as it's possible. Though it will likely work fine as a standalone, perhaps it will also serve to give us more of a sense of completeness for The Hazel Wood. Before this much-anticipated volume, however, a sequel to The Hazel Wood will be published first sometime during 2019. The title just revealed as of January 11, 2019, is The Night Country.

• A movie may very well make better sense of the great collection of ideas in the book and focus it better, especially if they're judicious with the design, in using/combining fairy tale motifs and in focusing on which characters to develop properly

We will probably give this novel a re-read down the line and believe we are likely to appreciate it more a second time around. For now, though, we will stick to re-reading Althea's tales. More than any experience of Alice's in "Fairy Tale Land", the tales, as dark as they are, were the sections that showed us that even in the darkest of woods there is hope. 

Bonus fairy tale article of the day:

Interested in how fairy tale tropes are challenged, tales are inverted and use of various myths mine the depths of this novel? You may be interested in:

"The Hazel Wood": Interrogating the European Fairy Tale

by CS Peterson.

Enjoy!

* The two tales are 'Alice-Three-Times' and 'The Door That Wasn't There'.
** It is said that once a character in a movie kicks a dog, the audience loses all sympathy for him (or her) and nothing they do to redeem themselves from then on  - even, say, saving a planet of orphaned baby pandas  - will make an audience be on their side again. The act crosses a "moral event horizon" and is essentially unforgivable.

Review: "Book of One Hundred Riddles of the Fairy Bellaria" by Charles Leland

"The Book of One Hundred Riddles of the Fairy Bellaria features the Scheherazade-like fairy goddess Bellaria: powerful and mysterious, courageous and clever, goddess of spring, flowers, love, fate, and death. In this story, Bellaria engages in a duel of wits with an evil king, a deathmatch of one hundred riddles. Each riddle is spoken as a rhyme and illustrated by an original engraving in the arts and crafts style. This book is a beautiful reintroduction to Leland and his pioneering design. " 

[From the book blurb]

Charles Godfrey Leland, 1853

Review by: Laura Lavelle

You probably don’t recognize the name of Charles Godfrey Leland. He was a moderately popular American writer in the 19th century who is finally getting some recognition for his devotion to preserving the Other. His life’s passion was studying the tales, rituals, and religions of underrepresented peoples. He started his career writing books on gypsies and Native Americans but spent his final days in Italy learning about Etruscan myths and lore. The Book of One Hundred Riddles came from his time spent with the Italian witch/fortune teller Maddalena.

Though it is not a strict retelling of any one particular story, the entire book pulls together familiar elements of fairy tales and mythology. Bellaria herself is modeled after an obscure Etruscan goddess known as Alpan, who is an unusual sort of Venus/Persephone hybrid. She is both a protector of graves and also associated with fertility and springtime. The images we can find of Alpan often depict her with wings, no clothing, and carrying a bouquet. By the nineteenth century, this goddess had become known in Tuscany as the fairy La Bellaria — or, “Beautiful One of the Air.”

Depiction of Alpan

Although Leland’s Bellaria is clearly presented as a wise fairy queen, she is largely a mysterious figure whose nature and past aren’t directly spelled out. The main plot centers on the evil King Ruggero challenging her to a duel to the death. But the King’s duel is a battle of wits, not weapons.  As a supporter of women’s rights, it’s no surprise that Leland would write his fairy queen as an empowering woman who earns the King’s rage as she continues answering each of his tricky riddles with ease. She is like an Italian Scheherazade, from One Thousand and One Nights (an undoubtedly intentional parallel considering the similarity of the books’ titles). As events progress, Leland takes every opportunity to weave pieces of Bellaria’s backstory throughout the narrative. In classic fairy tale fashion, there are several prophecies that do not come to fruition until the end.

Overall, The Book of One Hundred Riddles of the Fairy Bellaria is a masterpiece of poetry and prose, accompanied by drawings by the author himself.  Though elements have been pulled from several texts, it reads as an authentic fairy tale from start to finish.  This book was a breath of fresh air for any reader — a light story about a brilliant woman and her battle of wits against a tyrant.  And though we may never know why the author chose to end the book the way he did (sorry, but we won’t spoil it!), it certainly brought the text around in full circle and closed it off with a nice flourish.

More info about The Book of One Hundred Riddles of the Fairy Bellaria can be found at the University of Minnesota Press site HERE. (https://www.upress.umn.edu/book-division/books/the-book-of-one-hundred-riddles-of-the-fairy)

*** *** ***

Laura Lavelle is a writer from Queens, New York, working in the genres of fantasy, horror, and science fiction with young and new adult themes.  She studied English at Queens College where she won a Silverstein-Peiser award in Fiction before graduating with her bachelor’s degree. However, when she’s not writing she can be found curled up with a book and a cat, hoping that something magical will happen. https://lauralsbookblog.blogspot.com/

Review: Jack Zipes' New Book: Fearless Ivan & Double-Hump

Reviewed by Patricia Ash

 

It is always an absolute delight to find a fairy tale I’ve never heard of before. While the story of Fearless Ivan is well-known in Russia, it is almost unknown here in the United States. That needs to change, because this story deserves a place among the greats.

Pyotr Pavlovich Yershov was something of a Russian Hans Christian Andersen, writing his own original fairy tales instead of collecting and compiling preexisting folk tales. He wrote The Little Humpbacked Horse in 1834 as a poem and when it was published as Fearless Ivan And His Faithful Horse Double-Hump, it became an instant classic. At the time, the inclusion of a villainous tsar was considered subversive, but despite (or perhaps because) the authorities tried to ban the book, it was wildly successful. 

Portrait of Pyotr Pavlovich Yershov

Readers familiar with Russian culture will quickly pick up on two iconic elements of the nation’s folklore that appear in this book: A hero named Ivan and a firebird. Ivan is the Russian Everyman. Westerners might call him Jack. Firebirds appear repeatedly in Russian folklore as objects of quests or benevolent demigods. They sometimes symbolize Russia itself. 


Our hero’s chief attributes are his foolishness and his love of sleeping (I can relate). Ivan is the youngest of three sons, and his father is a farmer. One day, something starts destroying the crops. The older brothers guard the field on successive nights, but chicken out and lie about it. Ivan doesn’t give into his fear and manages to catch the crop-destroyer. It’s a magical mystery mare who can fly. He grabs her by the tail and goes on an adventure. Before disappearing forever, she rewards him with a pair of gorgeous stallions and a goofy-looking talking horse with two humps and giant ears.
 
The next morning, Ivan’s brothers find the stallions and steal them, but the weird little horse (the titular Double-Hump), tells Ivan what happened. Ivan catches up to his brothers on the road to the city. When he spots a firebird, he picks up one of its feathers, even though Double-Hump warns that it will lead to trouble. Ivan sells the stallions to the tsar for far less than they’re worth, and winds up with a job in the tsar’s stables because the stallions won’t let anyone else touch them.

Soviet stamp (1988) based on the 1975 animated film

Being an unreasonable sort of person, once the tsar learns about Ivan’s firebird feather, he gives Ivan a few days to find him a firebird...or else. After saying, “I told you so,” Double-Hump explains exactly how to do it. One firebird later, the tsar now sends Ivan to kidnap the Heavenly Princess (the daughter of the moon) or else be skinned alive. Double-Hump also explains how to do this too, and luckily, the one thing Ivan is good at is following directions (well, except for that one time with the feather).


One kidnapped demigod later, the tsar wants to marry the princess. The princess wants to put him through a test involving a cauldron of boiling water, a cauldron of boiling milk, and a cauldron of freezing water. The tsar is scared to do this himself, and makes Ivan do it first. Fortunately, Double-Hump helps out and Ivan springs out of the boiling cauldron looking gorgeous and with perfect hair. Seeing this, the tsar leaps into the cauldrons and promptly gets boiled to death. Ivan marries the princess and they inherit the tsar’s kingdom for some reason. I’m pretty sure Double-Hump makes all the decisions for that kingdom now.


This book is a slim little thing and no two illustrations share the same style. Each piece of art is by a different Russian artist, all originally printed on postcards. You might think the lack of continuity between the styles would be jarring, but I found it fascinating. It really reflects the evolution of a fairy tale’s shape that happen over the years. Think about Little Red Riding Hood. Sometimes everybody dies, but other times everybody lives except the wolf. It’s really neat to see so many different interpretations of the characters in this story. No matter what the illustration, though, Double-Hump is the most adorable creature you’ve ever seen.

This is definitely a book that bridges the gap between children and adults. With all the pictures and a relatively short length, it could easily be read aloud to the youngest set. Adult fans of folklore will appreciate the touch of the venerable fairy tale scholar Jack Zipes.

I personally adored the character of Double-Hump. Ivan is a sweet fool, but he would be dead by the end of part one without Double-Hump. Every idiot hero in a fairy tale needs a wise advisor to guide them. It’s even better when the advice-giver is an adorable talking animal. I would give this horse so many sugar lumps (or whatever his favorite treat is) and then ask him for relationship advice.
 


For more information, visit the book's page on the University of Minnesota Press' website HERE. 






NOTE: A complimentary copy of this book was provided to the reviewer in exchange for a fair and honest review.

Review of "The Hawkman", a Retelling of Grimm's "Bearskin"

“In France and Germany, the protagonist is a veteran, starving for lack of work after the war; in Italy, he is a woodsman, wounded by an accident inherent in his profession.  In Spain, he is a pirate, shipwrecked after a poorly deliberated decision. In all places, he is a man who has lost his faith in God, and makes no secret of his apostasy.”

– Miss Eva Williams, “The Hawkman.”

After finishing Jane Rosenberg LaForge’s The Hawkman, I find myself still enamored by her lyrical prose, sifting through words to determine if what I read had really been written. Surely an ending so powerful could not exist?  Of course, it does.

As a retelling of the lesser known Grimm story Bearskin, here’s a quick summary of the fairy tale for those not already familiar: A desperate man makes a pact with the devil. If he can avoid bathing or praying for seven years and sleeps in a bearskin, then the devil will give him limitless wealth. Instead of the disaster you’d expect from such a bargain, the man’s kindness and generosity ultimately win him a bride and, once the seven years are up, they live happily ever after...except for the bride’s two sisters. Since they originally shunned our hero, they are later so full of regret that they kill themselves, netting the devil two souls and making him feel like the winner of the arrangement. Basically, it’s a monstrous bridegroom story, but steps away from tradition by using the man’s perspective instead of the woman’s.  

LaForge’s novel sets this fairy tale during World War I. Michael is an Irish prisoner of war who has been held in German work camps for years. He is finally coming out the other side, but is a broken shell of a man. He falls into himself, withdrawing from a society that shuns him, until he builds the persona of the Hawkman around himself.  When he first meets Miss Eva Williams, he is more beast than human. She brings him back to her cottage in Bridgetonne, England in hopes of helping him heal. Eva is a professor, an American, a writer, and a believer in the fantastical. Much like the bride from the fairy tale, when she sees the Hawkman, she is able to see the man beneath the creature.

What draws you in - aside from the lyricism of the writing itself - is the idea that this story starts with a death. Though, when you think about it, aren’t the greatest love stories those that are actually tragedies in disguise? Whether it be the lovers themselves, or the villain, or even a friend, we find that love and death are often inextricably entwined. This story’s death forces the reader to backpedal and unpack while gripping our seat the entire time. We hope that maybe things will change or that all is not what it seems.  But, of course, it is.

As the story progresses, its layers are slowly peeled back. The town of Bridgetonne takes on a life of its own, as described by the Hawkman’s first encounter with it:

“Bridgetonne was not without other misfits: old maids who, in an earlier time, might have been mistaken for witches, and bachelors who, likewise, would have been called out as warlocks.  But by no means was the village haunted.”

It soon becomes clear that there is more than one transformation in this novel. The town itself shifts from loathing the Hawkman and fearing his presence--even writing him off as a degenerate due to his heritage and situation--to respecting him and taking him in so that he will always have a home. Of course, as the original fairy tale suggests, the devil does indeed take two souls for himself.  For, even though each person the Hawkman touches is changed, there is always one who will be against him. And as he changes into something more man than not, it is as if his transformation causes a change within Miss Williams. She slowly shifts from caretaker, to friend, to lover, and finally to something more in the end.

This novel is a story of love and of overcoming social norms. It is a story of magical realism, of hope and loss, and a story of overcoming trauma. All this is wrapped tightly into a ball and leveled out into a complete journey filled with pain and joy. But, most importantly, it is a story about two people from different backgrounds finding themselves being pieced together until they fit like perfectly aligned puzzle pieces. And when you zoom out to see how these two pieces connect with the other interlocking elements inside the novel, you’ll see how they form a work of art. Much like a painting, this novel rewards those who take the time to contemplate its brush strokes and hold onto its memory even when you walk away.

For fans of beautifully written fairy tales where the language bleeds magic onto the pages like Naomi Novik’s Uprooted and those who enjoy a heartbreaking story about war and the consequences it has on the human soul, The Hawkman will be sure to capture and enrapture, and, when it is done, leave you craving more.

Laura Lavelle is a writer from Queens, New York, working in the genres of fantasy, horror, and science fiction with young and new adult themes.  She studied English at Queens College where she won a Silverstein-Peiser award in Fiction before graduating with her bachelor’s degree. However, when she’s not writing she can be found curled up with a book and a cat, hoping that something magical will happen.

https://lauralsbookblog.blogspot.com/

"House of Mystery" - Review by Carina Bissett

"House of Mystery"

(A collection of fairy tale poems)

by Courtney Bates-Hardy

Review by Carina Bissett

Jacket description: 

House of Mystery is a beautifully dark and vivid collection of poems that tears down our familiar ideas about fairy tales. These are not poems about privileged princesses who live happily ever after; these are poems about monsters, mothers, witches and mermaids. They explore the pain of change and womanhood, and transform the way we think about fairy tales.

Fairy tales are full of ivory towers, woodland huts, and stately castles. Behind the doors, you’ll find mothers and witches and monsters. Some doors lead to sorrow, others to safety. Poet Courtney Bates-Hardy explores the world through the eyes of mermaids and princesses, witches and wolves in her debut poetry collection House of Mystery.

The collection opens with a trip under the sea... Undines haunt the shallows and sirens beckon, but at the same time, these water women subvert their stories. They slip their bonds, revise expectations. When these mermaids smile, they expose sharp teeth. Modern issues of silenced women are hinted at throughout, but never directly addressed.

In the second section "Hating Cinderella", the poet continues the fairy tale theme yet continues to give her characters even more agency Whereas the sirens and mermaids stay confined to the role of victims, the fairy tale heroines in the second section reshape traditional roles. Defiance and power are no longer hinted at but take physical form. These women literally slip their captors’ knots, wear glass ceilings on their feet, and birth their monsters with savage glee. Bates-Hardy reminds her readers that the only Happily Ever Afters out there are the ones we choose for ourselves.

In the titular final chapter of House of Mystery, Bates-Hardy finally hits her stride by crossing into the modern world. Titles such as “Office Girl” and “Dishes” reveal the mundane amidst the magical. However, when the fairy tale tropes are revisited, they are done so without the familiar sugar coating found in the sanitized tales. In “Donkeyskin” the narrator is trapped in a feminine role despite her tomboy nature. Her dresses smother and her shoes pinch. Only at night is she able to strip down to the raw core of who she really is. In the original fairy tale, the disguised princess has to hide her royalty beneath the donkey skin, only allowing herself to embrace her beauty in isolation. In Bates-Hardy’s version, the narrator struggles against the concepts of conventional femininity, only feeling that she can embrace her wild nature at night.

In the end, "Sirens" sets a tone that isn’t carried throughout the rest of the chapbook.  After moving through the entire collection, it becomes apparent that this selection of nine poems was previously published separately, a stand-alone chapbook titled Sea Foam. While the moody, melancholy tone of this section stands on its own, it doesn’t mesh with the other poems.

Overall, Bates-Hardy is at her best when revealing fairy tale themes in a modern-day setting. The accessible language and contemporary characters make this poetry relatable to everyone struggling for individuality in a cookie cutter world.  

This review was written voluntarily, without any compensation or affiliation with any of the authors or editors for business purposes. A review copy was provided without obligation.

Carina Bissett is the Social Media Manager of Timeless Tales Magazine, an official partner of Once Upon A Blog. Her website is  http://carinabissett.com.