“The fairy tale journey may look like an outward trek across plains and mountains, thorough castles and forests, but the actual movement is inward, into the lands of the soul. The dark path of the fairy tale forest lies in the shadows of our imagination, the depths of our unconscious. To travel to the wood, to face its dangers, is to emerge transformed by the experience.” Terri Windling, intro to Snow White, Blood Red.  

Once upon a time –before Victorian writers and Walt Disney film producers introduced helpless princesses and happily-ever-afters — fairy tales were dark visions not meant for children. They were filled with evil hearts, dark betrayals and the dangers of journeying alone through the deep woods. They told of the price of magical transformations, of duplicitous bargains with fey folk and of greedy fools hoist on their own petards. They didn’t all end happily, but princesses in the early versions were more likely to survive by their wits than to wait idly for a knight in shining armor to rescue them.

I’ve long been a fan of these hand-me-down tales. As a child, the stories that caught my attention were the ones with the too-literal bargains, like the one about the woman who asked to live forever, but forget to mention that she wanted to be young forever. I also remember the impossible tasks, like the girl who had to remain silent for a length of time if she hoped to redeem her bewitched brothers (much as I love my brothers, I was far too chatty as a kid to even contemplate that one!). And all those stories about doors that mustn’t be opened! I am far too curious for my own good and I completely emphasized with all those unfortunates that couldn’t leave well enough alone.

Even now –decades after I first heard them — I’m intrigued by the power that these old tales hold in our psyches. Filled with representations of universal archetypes, they have a longer shelf life than many of today’s bestsellers ever will. For the last few years, I’ve been combing used books stores for the classic tales by Grimm, Andersen and Lang, as well as similar stories from other lands and cultures. I suppose it’s inevitable that – surrounded by volumes of such stories – I’ve finally decided to try my hand at writing my own book of modern fairy tales.

When I wrote Eternal Café, I delved into my Catholic childhood to re-create my peculiar version of Purgatory. As I work on my book of urban fairy tales, Sisters Odd, I have to return to my childhood and re-visit the lessons I learned from my favorite stories: Be careful what you ask for because you might get it. A true friend stands by you even after you’ve been cursed. Be careful how you treat strangers because they might not be what they seem. Always carry bread crumbs in your pocket and wear clean underwear when you venture far from home (hmm…that wisdom may not all be gleaned from fairy tales).  And never, ever, open a door when the lord of the manor tells you not to!

I still have trouble with that last one…

Posted on July 25th, 2007 by EJ McFall
Filed under: General