Book: Boy, Snow, Bird

(Image from C/W Mars catalog)

Boy, Snow, Bird by Helen Oyeyemi is not at all a fairy tale adaptation, despite that being its given subject heading.  It is certainly strongly inspired by the fairytale of Snow White and the Seven Dwarves and its central point about the dangers of obsessing over appearances, but it contains zero details or plot points from the fairytale, since having a wicked stepmother is hardly exclusive to the tale of Snow White.  The central message of the book is not even really about beauty and the violent consequences of the single-minded pursuit of it.  Instead, the story uses the symbolism of mirrors and absent or changed reflections to examine the deceptive nature of appearances and their importance to how we perceive ourselves and each other, especially in relation to race.

     **SPOILER ALERT: reading farther may spoil the book**

The reason I say that this book is not an adaptation of Snow White is because a large number of the important fairy tale characters and plots are missing.  As far as I can tell, there are no seven dwarves, certainly no princes, and no attempts on Snow’s life.  The praise for Oyeyemi’s other works that appear on the back cover of this book imply that this should be a gothic, haunting tale.  However, given the number of times that the wicked stepmother tries to outright murder Snow White in the original tale, including sending her out into the woods with a huntsman who has orders to cut out Snow’s heart, there is surprisingly little threat of violence from Boy, the stepmother.  The only truly gruesome part of the story comes from the Rat Catcher and the awful descriptions of how he treats both the rats and Boy.  Of course there are a few other disconcerting elements, visions in the mirrors, conversations with spiders and such, but nothing near the terrifying details of the original Snow White.

The only element of magic realism in the story, which is what helps it feel a little bit more like it is related to the fairy tale, is the mirrors.  The suspiciously absent or altered reflections that the characters see of themselves or others cannot really be explained, since they could either be a result of a trick of the light, or the consequence of magic.  I really like that aspect because it gives the story a bit more depth.  Toward the end of the book, though, there is suddenly introduced the likelihood that an actual spell is at fault for Boy’s mother’s transformation into her father.  Unfortunately, that particular plot point is actually not addressed or discussed in any sort of detail, despite it being a potentially vital key to our understanding of exactly how the mirrors really factor in to the perceived images of the three main women.  It heavily implies that there is some sort of curse that afflicts the women of Boy’s family in regard to their reflections, since it occurs in three generations, but really is not given any depth or credence.

If this book had not been advertised as an adaptation of Snow White, I am not sure that I really would have been able to recognize it as such.  I think that it was much more just inspired by the fairy tale, so that Oyeyemi uses the trope of the stepmother that banishes her stepdaughter and mirrors that sometimes tell the truth about appearances, to explore race relations in mid-twentieth century Massachusetts.  I probably would have liked the book more without having been told that it is a fairy tale adaption, because then I would not have had specific expectations, namely that there would be more readily recognizable characters and plot elements.  Even if the plot were twisted on its head and the characters did not react the same way to similar situations from the fairy tale, it still would have been more enjoyable as an adaptation, because that is what I love so much about them; the cleverness and ingenuity authors use to bring new life to an old tale.  That is not to say that I don’t appreciate what Oyeyemi did with her story, I really like the elements that she did incorporate, but my expectations for a fairy tale adaptation were not met, which probably got in the way of me fully appreciating what happened in this book.

Managing expectations is something that is key to enjoying stories, especially when it comes to fairy tales and myths.  Marketing books is very important of course, but it is equally important not to mislead readers, in my opinion.  It is part of the reason why genres are so often discussed and “magic realism” was invented in the first place.  In this case, I think that labeling Boy, Snow, Bird as a fairy tale adaptation does a disservice to the work.  I am still intrigued enough by Oyeyemi’s ability to reimagine fairy tale elements in our “real” world, and thus will most likely read some of her other books as well, but now I will have much different expectations of her stories.  

Oyeyemi, H. (2014). Boy, Snow, Bird. New York; Riverhead Books.

Book: The Crane Wife

(Image from the C/W Mars Catalog)

 

The Crane Wife by Patrick Ness is an unusual take on a Japanese folktale.  The most unusual part of it is how little resemblance it bears to the “original” story, but still manages to be a clear reinterpretation of it.  To a certain degree, that is of course to be expected, since it is not like folktales usually give enough information to fill a whole novel.  In this case, as with most variations of the story, the most important aspect is the fact that the man, in Ness’s version, George, cannot see the crane, Kumiko, as she creates her art, because then she will be forced to leave.  But everything else about the story has no connection whatsoever to the folktale, e.g. it is set in modern day London, rather than Japan, and the art that Kumiko creates from her feathers is not fabric of any kind, but figures on tiles that are not complete without contributions from George.

Of course, the novelization of any folktale or fairytale usually gives it more depth, because it gives the story more space to explore its message, but Ness’s interpretation really gives the traditional tale a whole new dimension and message, by adding that one little twist to the story: the crane’s work is not complete without contributions from the husband.  In all of the folktale versions of “The Crane Wife” that I have read, the woman weaves an almost magical fabric from her feathers, which she presents to her husband upon completion, to be sold in order to make money for the household.  In those stories, the fabric is a gift from the crane that is created explicitly for the benefit of the man.  In Ness’s version, Kumiko’s artwork is something that she originally started creating just for herself, to be able to tell her personal story.  She had initially intended to sell some of her tiles to help support herself, but her primary body of work, the thirty-two tiles of her story, were not really meant to be seen by anyone, let alone sold for profit.  However, as soon as she saw George’s paper cuttings and began adding them to her tiles, Kumiko’s artwork took on a whole new life and purpose that could not have been achieved without George’s contributions.  In this manner, their artwork becomes an analogy for relationships in general, in that each person is special on their own, but it is only in the juxtaposition and combination of two lives working together as one that something truly magnificent and meaningful can be created.   Whereas the traditional folktale can be seen as being about the trust that needs to exist between husband and wife, with the husband keeping his word about not looking on his wife as she works, Ness’s novel takes the story beyond that basic level of trust necessary in any such romantic relationship.  He expands it to finding an appreciation for the beauty that can only be achieved when two people live and work together in loving, trusting, harmony. 

     **SPOILER ALERT: reading farther may spoil the book**

The other really interesting and unusual thing about Ness’s approach to the novelization of this folktale, is the way that he chose to write it in terms of setting and tone.  He did not give it an ancient, magical setting, nor did he quite fully give it a gritty, realistic, modern setting.  In the beginning I thought he was going for a timeless, indistinct setting, but once it became clear that it was modern London, I thought he was going to take the “magic realism” approach, where it would never become clear if Kumiko was actually the crane and Rachel was the spirit of the volcano.  For much of the book, I liked his unclear approach to the events, with the imagery being so vivid but no real explanations given as to whether what George experienced with the crane in his backyard and what he saw in Kumiko’s apartment were real or not.  But I was surprised when at the climax of the story, it all became painfully clear that yes, these were magical beings that George had encountered, who had been playing out their cosmic story on the grandest scale of time.  It was a little disappointing to me, because I am rereading The Snow Child by Eowyn Ivey with one of my book clubs, and I have been thinking a lot about how much I love the use of magic realism as a way of reinterpreting folktales and fairytales.  I think that magic realism as a genre is the best way to breathe new life into traditional stories that have somewhat lost their meaning over time, so I was a little upset when Ness chose not to stay on that path, when so much of the story seemed to be heading in that direction. 

Overall, The Crane Wife by Patrick Ness is a complex reimagining of a traditional Japanese folktale.  I have not actually even begun to touch upon some of the truly imaginative ways that Ness was able to expand upon whatever version of “The Crane Wife” that he grew up with.  But if you take his expanded story and reduce it again to its simplest folktale form, I am truly impressed by the new meaning that Ness was able to bring to the story by changing one small detail about the work of art that he put at the center of the story.  And even if I do not agree with all of the choices that Ness made as a writer in presenting his story, it is certainly a book that anyone who enjoys folktales or fairytales should read.

 

Ness, P. (2013). The Crane Wife. New York; Penguin Press.

Book: The Night Circus

(Image from C/W Mars catalog)

 

The Night Circus by Erin Morgenstern is, at its heart, about a battle between chaos and control (pg.378).  That is the driving force behind the challenge that two magicians, Hector and Alexander, establish and in which they force Celia and Marco, their protégés, to participate.  It is an interesting basis for a story because it takes what would otherwise be a straightforward story about a magical circus to an almost cosmic level.  It is disappointing then that Morgenstern does not give that aspect of the story the attention and importance it deserves. 

Hector and Alexander remind me of fairy tale fathers, like in Rumpelstiltskin or Beauty and the Beast, who gamble with their daughters’ lives rather than their own.  Each man has a different approach to the use and teaching of magic but rather than battling each other to the death to see which method is stronger, they force their students to unknowingly do it for them.  There have been multiple battles over the years in different venues around the world, and the one that they start between Celia and Marco is just one more for them to add to their growing tally.  The egotism displayed by Hector and Alexander is astounding because there is no reason given as to why they feel the need to prove one method better than the other or when they will no longer feel the need to senselessly sacrifice others for their own vanity.  They are god-like in their abilities, near immortality, and lack of concern for the lives of others.  It is reminiscent of Artemis and Aphrodite in the Greek tragedy Hippolytus where a whole family gets torn apart because they get caught between the goddesses in their fight for recognition. 

That is where I think there is a particular lack of world-building in The Night Circus.  I picked up this book on the recommendation of a colleague who suggested that it might fit into the genre of magic realism, which came up when we were discussing The Snow Child by Eowyn Ivey.  However, I would argue that there is too much explicit magic in the story to really let it pass as magic realism.  As a piece of fantasy fiction I think the story could have benefitted from a bit more context of exactly what magic means in  the world, and why we should care about these battles that take place.  The majority of people in the world of the story have no idea that magic is real and Morgenstern never even toys with the idea of what might happen if large numbers of people figured it out.  There is no talk of needing to keep it secret, no discussion of what makes someone able to perform magic, and no mention of magic’s role in the universe beyond its potential entertainment value.  There also is not much hinted at about why this story, this battle, is so different, other than outcome.  But the outcome does not seem to have much of an effect on anything beyond keeping the circus alive. 

Of course, I am fully aware that I am highly biased toward cosmologies and creation myths and have a tendency to find stories that do not have cosmic consequences a little pointless and dull.  This story was not dull, I could hardly put the book down, but what was driving it for me was mostly the need to find out how Celia and Marco got around the fatal rules of the game they did not know they were playing for much of time.  I had formulated a theory before even beginning the book, based on the summary on the inside cover flap, and I needed to see how my idea compared to what the author came up with.  Still, I found that it was difficult to care about the characters because I did not understand what makes their story so special.  There was so much potential for this story to be a deeply imaginative take on the world, but instead it just presented the story without much explanation of the important pieces. 

The final chapter tries to give the story more gravitas, talking about how stories and tales are their own kind of magic (pg. 381), which I agree with of course, but it feels very out of place in this particular book because that is not really how the story has been presented this whole time.  Usually in the books that I have read that talk about storytelling, it also talks about how storytelling is used to make something or someone significant (The Last Storyteller by Frank Delaney or The Secret Life of Bees by Sue Monk Kidd comes to mind).  But if that is what Morgenstern was trying to do with this story, I do not think it worked particularly well.  Celia and Marco’s love story was too disjointed and rushed to be of any significance and the circus itself lacks a substantial purpose beyond basic entertainment.  On the whole, while The Night Circus was an enjoyable story with the potential to be a modern fairy tale, the disjointed manner in which it was told and the hints at deeper meaning that were never more fully explored did it a disservice.

 

Morgenstern, E. (2011). The Night Circus. New York: Doubleday.

Book: The Snow Child

(Image from C/W Mars Catalog)

The Snow Child by Eowyn Ivey is a wonderful adaptation of a Russion fairy tale by the same name.  Taking place on the Alaskan frontier in the 1920's, the book recounts the tale of a childless couple, Jack and Mable, struggling to revitalize their relationship.  After the night of the season's first snowfall, when Jack and Mable make a snow girl with all of their longing for a child of their own, they begin to see a young girl running wild through the woods with just a small red fox as her companion.  This almost supernatural girl, Faina, who is more at home in the winter wilderness than inside a cabin, changes the lives of Jack and Mable, as well as their neighbors' the Bensons, with her unique vitality and refusal to join what little society can be found on the Alaskan frontier.

One aspect of this book that makes it particularly successful is the fact that it is set firmly in the genre of "magic realism."  According to Dictionary.com, magic realism is defined as "a style of painting and literature in which fantastic or imaginary and often unsettling images or events are depicted in a sharply detailed, realistic manner."  Unlike most fairy tale adaptations that, largely by necessity, place the story firmly in a world of magic and fantasy, The Snow Child maintains a realistic tone that keeps the reader constantly guessing what is real.  Since I read this book as part of a book club, it was very interesting to hear the realists be disappointed in how unrealistic certain aspects were, while those who enjoy fantasy literature were disappointed in how realistic the whole story ended up being.  The genre itself adds an unsettling aspect to what would otherwise be a rather straightforward story about the harsh realities of life on the Alaskan frontier.

The story is also successful in its expansion of the fairy tale in order to more fully address real-life problems.  While the basic fairy tale in largely about love and loss, with the snow child being a blessing to an older, childless couple before she inevitably dies in a somewhat tragic manner, the book is able to enrich the story with more details and thus discuss other problems that cannot be examined in a short tale.  For me, The Snow Child is also about what it means to be a woman.  So much of the story revolves around Mable and her efforts to find her place as a wife, a woman on the Alaskan frontier, and as a mother to the mysterious Faina, who is unlike any other young girl.  Mable first has to find her identity as a childless woman both in society and within her marriage, which changes drastically when she and Jack move to the Alaskan frontier to escape the social pressures of their families.  In Alaska, Mable struggles to define herself as one half of an equal partnership with her husband on their farm, especially in comparison to their neighbors, the Bensons, and the vivacious Esther Benson, who becomes Mable's best friend.  Once Faina appears, Mable must take on the challenging role of mother to a child who largely refuses to be coddled and taken care of, as most children would want to be.  Faina herself defies most definitions of femininity by living by herself in harsh climates, hunting and trapping better than some of the male characters.

Overall, The Snow Child is a successful adaptation of a fairy tale into a novel; it makes excellent use of the fairy tale premise to explore deeper issues of life such as marriage and what it means to be a woman.  The fact that is based on a fairy tale slightly outside of the more common Western traditions (such as the Brothers Grimm and Hans Christian Andersen), makes it even more interesting.

Magic realism. Dictionary.com. Dictionary.com Unabridged. Random House, Inc. http://dictionary.reference.com/browse/Magic_realism (accessed: May 3, 2013)

Ivey, Eowyn. (2012). The Snow Child. New York: Little, Brown, and Company.