I had a gift card for the local bookstore that I’d been saving for something special. And I went shopping today and spent it: The Beauty and the Beast, the full novel-length version by Mme de Villeneuve (in the 1858 translation by J. R. Planché), with amazing and fancy illustrations (some of them pop-ups) by MinaLima. It only just came out a couple of weeks ago. Now I finally have my own copy of the Villeneuve version!
Category Archives: fairy tales
I have a heck of a time typing “Rumpelstiltskin” – the “ltsk” combo in the middle is really hard to get, as no other word I can think of has that sound sequence in English. For some reason, the German “Rumpelstilzchen” flows much easier from the fingers.
However, that’s not the main issue with this fairy tale. The real problem, I decided on re-reading it yesterday, is that the beautiful miller’s daughter (that’s the beautiful daughter of the miller, not the daughter of the beautiful miller – there’s English grammatical ambiguity for you) is screwed coming and going.
I used to like “Rumpelstilzchen” when I was a child. It has an ending that I always found quite satisfying: The nasty manipulative gnome is found out, and in his fury at being thwarted he tears himself in half. Happily Ever After, The End. It never occurred to me that…
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That’s what I get for not perusing my blog reader on a daily basis: I missed the post on SurLaLune’s Fairy Tale Blog about the sale on Robin McKinley’s “Beauty and the Beast” novels. Ah well. I do already own a copy of Beauty. But I’d like to have Rose Daughter as well, and yes, I’d like them as ebooks as well as hardcopies, so I can stick them on my Kobo and cart around with me, just in case I get overtaken by an urge to re-read them.
I only just discovered Robin McKinley last summer. I can’t believe I hadn’t found her long before now; by rights I should have read her back in the 80s when I was burning my way through every fairy tale book my high school library had to offer, or in the 90s, newly arrived in Canada, when I was discovering the great writers of English children’s literature. But it wasn’t until last year, when I was going through “Sleeping Beauty” adaptations and finally actually read McKinley’s Spindle’s End (as opposed to having it sit in my library book stack and returning it un-read after renewing it twice), that I got into her writing.
One of the things I find interesting and, as a hopeful adapter of fairy tales, encouraging, is that she wrote two versions of “Beauty and the Beast”. She just wasn’t done with the topic. The adaptations aren’t that different – to be honest, I have a hard time keeping them straight in my mind, as I read them within a few months of each other (they were written nineteen years apart). They’re both set in a traditional quasi-medieval fantasy world (cobblestone fantasy); they’re both based on de Beaumont’s version of the tale, except that instead of being bitchy the two sisters are actually kind people and have a good relationship with Beauty (that’s one of the things I love about McKinley – good family relationships); and Beauty is a good, kind, thoroughly relatable character.
There are differences between the books, of course – not least of which is the ending, but I’m not going to spoilerise. Rose Daughter, which is the newer book, has more complexity, is less of a straight-up retelling. But that’s not to say that Beauty is un-complex (simplistic?). It was McKinley’s first book, and I believe it almost immediately catapulted her to fame. Justifiably so. The lyricism of her language alone warrants her popularity. Her fairy tale retellings are a bit different than the high fantasy stories (The Blue Sword and The Hero and the Crown) that cemented her standing – they’re slower, quieter, more gentle. No heroic sword fights, kick-butt princesses (or peasants-turning-princess, for that matter), or evil sorcerers – just a girl who has a knack for growing roses or a healing touch. But that’s what I love about them. I’m not a big sword-and-sorcery fan – battle scenes bore me – but the fantasy worlds that McKinley creates, which are all about the characters, draw me in, invite me to linger.
I’ll leave it at that. If you haven’t read Robin McKinley, do – you won’t regret it. For myself, I still haven’t read all of her books, so I have more to look forward to. The bliss of having discovered an author you love, and finding they have a long bibliography…
Every self-respecting blogger who ever uses “fairy tales” as a tag has to have a post about the new “Beauty and the Beast” movie, don’t they? Uh, actually, no. There is no law in fairy land about liking or even watching Disney movies. You’re free to despise and/or shun them as much as you like, and I might even agree with you on many of your reasons.
However, with this movie – well, I did something I’ve never done before: I watched it twice in as many days. That’s right – that’s how much I loved it. I’d been looking forward to this movie ever since they first announced it, and the excitement was building with every fresh piece of news about the casting, with every new image and trailer. I don’t think I’ve ever been as keen on seeing a film as I have this one (which, admittedly, isn’t saying much, as I grew up more or less movie-and-TV-less; up until age 20 or so, I could literally count on one hand the number of films I’d seen in a theatre. But I’ve kind of been making up for it since).
And, I’m happy to say, the movie didn’t disappoint. One of the things about writing a review for this is that I don’t have to tread carefully to avoid giving spoilers – Disney filmed a giant spoiler for this twenty-six years ago; if you’ve seen the cartoon, you’ll know the movie. It is a live-action remake of the 1991 cartoon, and it is just that – a remake. The dialogue, the songs, even much of the setting, are identical to the older film. (This is in contrast to the 2015 live-action Cinderella, which, while referring to the 1950 cartoon in many ways, was a whole new movie in its own right.)
But it’s not entirely identical. With the dialogue, for example, while much of the cartoon’s spoken lines are present in the new movie, there are whole new sections or additions, and more than once, iconic lines have been given to different characters or are moved to different scenes.
Others are left out altogether, and the effect is emblematic of some of the differences between the films. For example, one piece of dialogue, or rather scene, that is missing is one of my favourites from the cartoon: the Beast is leaning on the balcony railing, watching Belle with her horse. “I’ve never felt like this about anyone,” he says. “I want to do something for her. But what?” “Well,” replies Cogsworth the Clock, “there’s the usual: flowers, chocolates, promises you don’t intend to keep…” (We love quoting that around our house when it comes to making suggestions for presents on a special occasion.)
As funny as that line is, it wouldn’t fit the new version of the Beast – or of Belle, for that matter. Interestingly enough, in the new movie it’s Belle who watches the Beast from the window of the castle, as he walks in the snowy courtyard with Philippe, her horse (and, if you watch carefully, the Beast is gesticulating, obviously having a quite intense discussion with the horse). The Beast is not as much of an ineptly bumbling boy who just has a bad temper and needs to be parented and coached on relationships by his faithful household retainers. Yes, there is a little of that still, but for the most part this is a much more grown-up version of the Beast – a man who has a dark side to his character that he needs to overcome.
But, at the same time, Belle isn’t just a sweet bookworm who is all goodness and light. The cartoon Belle is pure heroine – she has hardly any character arc, does not change from the beginning of the film to the end; the Beast is the one who does all the changing. In this film, Belle changes significantly. She starts the story as a farm girl (her own words), looking after her father, feeling a vague sense of dissatisfaction at her life in this “poor provincial town”; then she sacrifices herself for her father (literally pushing him out of the prison cell against his will), but makes several attempts to get away from the castle; she does not passively submit to her imprisonment. But then she learns that there might be more to the Beast and to the situation of the castle than she initially thought. As in the original story, her agency is what brings about the change in the Beast – but in herself, as well.
The relationship between her and the Beast grows slowly, as both of them discover they have more in common than they suspected. As in the cartoon, a major turning point is the Beast “giving her” his massive library – but here, he is not an illiterate boor who has never cracked the cover of one of his many volumes, but a nobleman with “an expensive education” who knows to quote Shakespeare, and leads her into his library to score a point (namely that there are so many better books to read than Belle’s favourite, Romeo and Juliet).
Belle grows up in this film. Here, she truly finds a partner who fulfils her wish “to have someone understand”. One particularly poignant scene is when the two talk about being the odd one out whose appearance in a room makes the laughter of the common people fall silent, and they begin to realise that in each other perhaps for the first time in their lives they have found a friend. The dance scene in the ballroom is as gorgeous as expected – but one additional piece of dialogue I particularly appreciated comes right afterwards: “Do you think you could be happy here?” asks the Beast (note: “could be“, not “are“), and her response: “Can anyone be happy if they aren’t free?” Beast, of course, being now a changed Beast, gets the message – it was the last tiny nudge he needed. (Take that, “Stockholm Syndrome” naysayers!) Belle goes from Hermione-in-a-dirndl to a woman who is a true equal to a changed prince, with all that implies.
But the greater depth and rounding of characters does not mean there is not plenty of laughter in the film. Here, much of the humour comes from the characters and visual humour. As in the cartoon, one exhilarating and utterly hilarious scene is the battle between the household objects and the villagers (look out for Chip the Teacup’s frisbee shooting of his stack of saucers, counting off his hits as he fires). The laugh-out-loud moments come thick and fast during much of the movie, all the way to the end.
There is much more to be said on this, but for now, just one more thing: the visuals are out-of-this-world mind-boggling. Utterly astonishing. The CG graphics are as real as they can possibly be; Lumiere, for one, is a genuine, live, walking and talking metal candelabra – how can he not be real? And the mise en scène is fantastic. The setting places the story firmly in 18th-century France: the prince (Beast) at the beginning is a ludicrously powdered and patched macaroni, and the interior of Belle’s castle bedroom, with its pale blue and silver gilt walls, looks just like the Amalienburg in Munich:
Incidentally, there is one tiny little verbal Easter egg that you have to be a hardcore fairy tale nerd to appreciate: Belle’s village is called Villeneuve (Newtown), which just happens to be the name of the author of the first version of the “Beauty and the Beast” story. Cute, eh?
I’ll leave it there for now. As I said, this movie was worth the months of anticipation – if you haven’t seen it yet, do. I’ll come along; after all, I’ve only seen it twice in the four days it’s been out…
Life, the Universe, and Beauty and the Beast. A Tale As Old As Time…
I was sitting on the Lufthansa plane, tapping through the movie offerings on the little screen in the seat back in front of me, choosing the films to while away the nine hours to Frankfurt. Among the German movies, a title caught my attention: “Das kalte Herz“, “The Cold Heart”.
Wait a minute, I said to myself, is that the “Cold Heart”? The fairy tale? I started watching the movie. Sure enough, it was the story from Wilhelm Hauff‘s collection. But it had been years – actually, more like decades – since I read it; I only had a vague memory of it. What was the real story like? Wait another minute, I said, don’t I have Hauff’s Fairy Tales downloaded on my Kobo? I did indeed. So I paused the movie, pulled out “Das kalte Herz“, and let Hauff’s words take me away to a little charcoal burner’s hut in the Black Forest, two hundred years ago or, rather, Once Upon a Time…
And so I was brought back home to the fold of my favourite fairy tale book, Hauffs Märchen. Hauff was a contemporary of the Brothers Grimm, but unlike them, he is not so much a fairy tale collector as an author; most of the tales in his book (all of them, in the edition I had as a kid) are his original composition. A few of them are traditional fairy tales; many others have the character of legends or adventure stories. Each of the three parts of the book is comprised of a framework story, much like The Canterbury Tales, in which a group of chance companions tell each other stories to pass the time; the frame stories are as interesting as the individual tales themselves. “The Cold Heart”, or as it is sometimes titled in English, “The Heart of Stone” or “The Little Glass Man“, belongs in the collection “The Inn in the Spessart”, in which a small group of travellers find themselves caught at night in an inn in the Spessart Mountains, threatened by a gang of robbers. They tell stories in order to be able to keep awake and vigilant in the face of danger. Felix, a young goldsmith, agrees to switch places with the noble lady the villains want to kidnap, and when the robbers burst into the inn…
But I wasn’t going to tell you about Hauff’s tales. I might do that some other time; or better yet, you go read them for yourself. I was going to tell you how I went to visit Wilhelm Hauff himself.
You see, Hauff is not only my favourite fairy tale author, he is a Swabian, born and buried in the very city I was travelling to, Stuttgart. And when I looked him up on Google, it turned out that the cemetery where he lies is just around the corner from a place I was going to anyway, just one stop further on the bus line.
And so I went on a pilgrimage to the Hoppenlau Cemetery. It’s the oldest still existing cemetery in Stuttgart, first established in 1626, the last burial having taken place in 1882. It’s a curious place, this old cemetery. Because it has been so long since the last person was buried there, all that is left of the graves, for the most part, are the ancient tombstones, their sandstone crumbling, overrun with moss and lichen. The fallen leaves from last autumn surround them in a deep, rustling brown carpet; clumps of snowdrops, crocuses and buttercups push their way through, turning their cheery little faces to the sun, which shone brightly on this late February day.
The cemetery isn’t being left to just crumble into oblivion. The city of Stuttgart is in the middle of a costly restoration project – whole sections of the cemetery are fenced off while the tombstones are being cleaned and repaired and the worst of the leafy and mossy intruders removed. Oh dear, I thought as I walked along the solid white fence, heading for the back left corner of the cemetery, they didn’t lock me away from Hauff’s grave, did they? I steeled myself for disappointment – but no, the fence ended, and there was a stone plaque in the ground with an arrow: “This way to the grave of the poet Wilhelm Hauff”.
And there it was: Hauff’s last resting place. A large, jagged boulder set into an ivy-covered bed, an iron plaque mounted on its front: “Wilhelm Hauff, born 29 Nov. 1802, died 18 Nov. 1827”. And below, the names of his daughter Wilhelmine and his wife (and cousin) Luise. “They only rest for a while,” it says at the bottom.
I sat down on the bench that faces the stone, next to a tall lime tree that was planted in his honour on the 150th anniversary of his death, and let the early spring sun shine on my face. I closed my eyes, and slowly the 21st century disappeared. The modern city sounds of cars and buses faded away, to be replaced by the clip-clop of hooves and the rattling of carts over cobblestones; the square-towering highrises surrounding the cemetery shrank down to just a few stories high, their parapets taking on the graceful curves of 18th-century architecture. A young woman in deepest black, her bonnet veiled, her wide skirts brushing the ground, came down the path between the tombstones, a small girl by the hand. “Don’t forget your Papa, Minle,” she said softly, as the little girl laid a bouquet of violets on the grave…
He won’t ever be forgotten, this man who died so very young. He left behind a beautiful legacy of tales that even after 200 years have as much power as they did when they were first written.
I finished reading “The Cold Heart” on the rest of the flight to Germany; then I went right back and started reading the tales of “The Inn in the Spessart” from the beginning. Then those of “The Caravan”. And then “The Sheik of Alessandria and His Slaves”, and now that I’m back in Canada I’m still finding treasures in it that I had long forgotten, if I had ever understood them.
Stuttgart people walk through the Hoppenlau Cemetery on their way to work, or sit on its benches in their lunch hour, enjoying the fresh air and sunshine. Perhaps Hauff did, too, when he lived in Stuttgart, nearly 200 years ago. And maybe he even thought up some of his stories there. “Dwarf Nose”, perhaps, or even “The Cold Heart”?
I’m glad I rediscovered Hauff. He rests in the Hoppenlau Cemetery – but as long as we have his tales, he is not gone.
I’m rebooting my research blog, quillandqwerty.wordpress.com. Some of it (quite a bit of it, I think) will be reblogs from over here – no point in writing two posts on two sites, right? Anyway, quillandqwerty ho!
Has it really been two-and-a-half years since I finished my degree? Looks like it has. If you want to see what I’ve been up to in that time, you can check it out over at www.amovitam.ca.
However, in honour of the new “Beauty and the Beast” movie that’s about to hit the theatres, I think it’s time to start up again here at quill and qwerty. So, with an updated tagline and renewed vigour, we once again burst onto the stage of the blogosphere… Or rather, we quietly putter onto it, mumbling to ourselves as we turn the pages of an old volume of fairy tales.
Huh, what? Yes, quite. Just put the tea over there, will you? Thanks.
For this year’s New Year’s Eve movie marathon, we watched Star Wars, the original three movies (on VHS, no less. Yup, we still have a VCR). I’m not a huge Star Wars aficionado, so I haven’t got these films memorised, verbally or visually; when I watch them, they’re always quite new-ish to me. And what struck me this time through is how utterly pristine Princess Leia’s appearance is.
I mean, the first time Luke Skywalker sees this woman, she’s just been through torture (so we’re told – not shown, thankfully), and now she’s imprisoned in a bare cell without even sheets on the bed – no place to hide a comb, let alone a shower or laundry facilities. Yet here she is, with not a hair in her elaborate coiffure out of place, wearing a spotless, unwrinkled white gown.
I used to have long hair when I was a kid, and I can tell you that with fairly straight hair like Carrie Fisher’s was then, pinned-up styles do not stay tidy long. They slip out of their hairpins very quickly, get straggly and messy (which is why I gave up fairly early on trying to put up my hair – I just can’t be bothered). Yet Princess Leia never, ever has even a single strand hanging loose – not even after she goes tobogganing down the garbage chute. And her gown – good grief, wearing white? With all she goes through, by rights she should look like she’s wearing Dobby the House Elf’s ragged kitchen towel.
But she doesn’t. She never looks like anything but – a princess.
Leia is a wonderful character. Carrie Fisher’s passing has brought out in countless tributes what a great inspiration and role model Princess Leia was and still is for now several generations of viewers – a woman of strength, of determination, of agency; a larger-than-life hero.
And part of that larger-than-life effect comes from having a hairdo that never sheds a single bobby pin.
Disney’s cartoon princesses don’t have anything on Leia. You see, in cartoons we know not to expect realism – we know it’s just a drawing, “just” a story. But in a live action film, we think that what we’re seeing is real. So when we see Cinderella’s flowing golden locks and the gown that just appears on her body with a wave of the fairy godmother’s wand, that’s one thing – but we never think that Leia’s glossy dark snail shells and her snowy robe come under the same heading, because, obviously, they’re real. We can see them with our own two eyes, can’t we? What we’re not seeing is the army at Leia’s (or rather Carrie’s) command, an army not of rebel soldiers, but of hairdressers, make-up artists and wardrobe staff, as befits a princess. (“Ah, Recruit Skywalker – you’re in wardrobe today. The princess spilt oatmeal on her dress this morning; go do your duty to the cause.” “What?!? What about flying a fighter plane?” “Never mind that, anyone can handle that. Go make your mark where it counts!”)
We need that army to make us believe in Leia the Princess. We need her to have the superpower of never-a-hair-out-of-place and never-a-spot-on-her-dress because she is a princess. And princesses are mythical creatures on the order of dragons, unicorns and superheroes. In cartoons, that’s easy to handle, but in “realistic” fiction, it takes a bit more doing. Yet when it’s done well, as it is in Star Wars, the impact is tremendous. Because we believe with all our hearts, informed by our disbelief-suspended senses, that what we are seeing is real, that it actually happened, we also believe in the power of The Princess to do what she has set out to do, which is to save the world.
And in that, there is hope.
Life, the Universe, and the Power of the Unreality of Realism. And here we thought she just had funny hair.