Tor.com content by

Mari Ness

Fiction and Excerpts [3]
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Fiction and Excerpts [3]

Not Quite Up to the Original: The Incredibles 2

For both Pixar and Disney, the question was not if The Incredibles (2004) would have a sequel, but when The Incredibles would have a sequel. Pixar, after all, had already released one sequel, Toy Story 2 (1999) to great acclaim, and The Incredibles seemed the natural choice for the next sequel: a film/franchise with engaging characters and nearly limitless story opportunities. The film had even ended with the Incredibles gearing up to fight their next villain.

Best of all, writer/director Brad Bird was willing to do the sequel. He even had some ideas for it.

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Saving the Day with Sewing and Flowers: The Grimms’ “The Six Swans”

It can be tough—more than tough—to be the youngest sibling in a fairy tale family. All too often your older siblings are mean to you. That is, when they aren’t directly plotting against you. And that’s what happens when your oldest siblings hate you or are jealous of you. It gets even worse when they like you, as in “The Six Swans” and its various variants.

“The Six Swans” was collected by the Brothers Grimm for their Children’s and Household Tales (1812). It was later recollected by Andrew Lang in The Yellow Fairy Book (1894) who softened many of the details (including pretty much everything to do with the blood), but who also helped popularize the tale for an English-speaking audience. The Grimms in turn got the story from Dortchen Wild, their neighbor who later married Wilhelm Grimm, a marriage presumably at least partly based on a shared love of fairy tales.

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Why You Should Read The Chronicles of Narnia in Publication Order

As someone who has been known to start series smack in the middle—with both books and television shows—I tend to be a bit agnostic on the question of “what order should I read/watch these in?” With three exceptions:

Legends of Tomorrow, which everyone, without exception, should start in the second season, only tackling the first season much, much later after getting a chance to realize that these characters can actually be fun.

Blackadder, which everyone, without exception, should also start in the second season, only in this case, never return to the first season at all.

And The Chronicles of Narnia, which everyone, without exception, should read in publication order.

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When the Girl Rescues the Prince: Norwegian Fairy Tale “East of the Sun, West of the Moon”

In the second century AD, the Roman writer Lucius Apuleius Madaurensis interrupted the winding plot of his novel, Metamorphoses, or The Golden Ass (a title used to distinguish the work from its predecessor, Ovid’s Metamorphoses) to tell the long story of Cupid and Psyche—long enough to fill a good 1/5 of the final, novel length work. The story tells of a beautiful maiden forced to marry a monster—only to lose him when she tries to discover his real identity.

If this sounds familiar, it should: the story later served as one inspiration for the well-known “Beauty and the Beast,” where a beautiful girl must fall in love with and agree to marry a beast in order to break him from an enchantment. It also helped inspire the rather less well-known “East of the Sun and West of the Moon,” where the beautiful girl marries a beast—and must go on a quest to save him.

I like this story much more.

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Passivity and Turbulence: Hans Christian Andersen’s The Steadfast Tin Soldier

Even the most magical early stories of Hans Christian Andersen had, like most fairy tales, focused on, well, people and other living creatures. That is, what fairy tales were supposed to be about, at least, until then—creatures both imaginary and real who could talk and move. But in 1838, Andersen tried something a little different: a fairy tale about inanimate objects. Specifically, a tale about a tin soldier who could not talk or move.

In English, that was mostly translated to “steadfast.”

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A Shimmering, Dancing Fairyland: Tchaikovsky’s The Nutcracker

When Tsar Alexander III saw the opening performance of Pyotr Ilyich Tchaikovsky’s The Nutcracker in 1892, in a double performance with Iolanta, Tchaikovsky’s last opera, he was reportedly delighted by it.

In this, he was nearly alone. Too childish, many critics complained. Too many actual children, others added. Terrible dancing, many agreed. Incomprehensible dancing, noted others, especially in that bit between—what was it? Toy soldiers and some mice? Just dreadful. A very boring second act where absolutely nothing happened, several grumbled. Completely unfaithful to either of the original versions of the story, said fans of E.T.A. Hoffmann and Alexander Dumas, pere. A few even made very unkind comments about the appearances of the various dancers, calling some of them fat.

Everyone, however, agreed on one thing: the music was outstanding.

And everyone, including the Tsar, failed to predict what would happen over the next 126 years.

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Nussknacker und Mausekönig, the Original Nutcracker Tale

Centuries before a Hollywood studio thought it would be a great idea to spend millions on a film about a girl travelling to fairy lands created through CGI, and before shopping malls and ad agencies thought it would be an equally great idea to pound the same classical melodies into the ears of shoppers year and after year, a poet and musician bent over his desk in Berlin working on a fairy tale. A story for children, perhaps—his daughter was about 11 at the time. A story about toys coming to life and fighting mice. But as he wrote, images of war and obsession kept creeping into his tale.

Much later, someone thought it would be a great idea to turn his fantasy about inescapable war into a ballet. Which later became inescapable music during the holiday season.

You might be sensing a theme here.

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Chicken Feet and Fiery Skulls: Tales of the Russian Witch Baba Yaga

Despite her appearances in numerous folktales, Baba-Yaga is one of the few creatures of fairy tale that I first encountered strictly through paintings and images, rather than through text or animated cartoon. In part, this is because she was left out of my various collections of western fairy tales, especially since it was years before I encountered the Andrew Lang collections. The ones I had largely focused on English, French, German, Norwegian and Italian fairy tales, with the occasional Spanish or Arabic (or probably faked Arabic, in the case of Aladdin and Ali Baba and the Forty Thieves) story thrown in. She is, after all, from Russia, and although the occasional Russian or Slavic element crept into my collections, these appearances were rare.

But I did see the pictures: horrific images of a person more skeleton than person, really, reaching out with clawed hands towards terrified children; tiny bizarre houses resting on—could those be bird feet? Chicken feet?—hidden deep in the woods; fiercely ugly old women with long noses using skulls as lanterns.

They were powerful. They were mesmerizing.

Clearly, they had a story.

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Delicate Magics: Sylvia Townsend Warner’s Kingdoms of Elfin

At the entrance to the town they put on visibility. It made them no warmer, and impaired their self-esteem.

In the last decade of her life, author Sylvia Townsend Warner (1893-1978) told an interviewer that “I want to write about something different.”

That different turned out to be fairy tales. Warner had played with themes of magic and enchantment in her work before, and always had an interest in folklore, but for this project, she tried something a bit different: interconnected stories of other and fairy. Most were published in The New Yorker from 1972-1975, and collected in the last book printed in Warner’s lifetime: Kingdoms of Elfin (1976). Regrettably out of print for decades, the collection is now being reissued by Handheld Press, with a foreward by Greer Gilman, an introduction by Ingrid Hotz-Davies, and extensive footnotes by Kate Macdonald.

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Defining Princesses: Hans Christian Andersen’s “The Princess and the Pea” and “The Swineherd”

“The Princess and the Pea” is perhaps Andersen’s most famous tale about a princess, or more precisely, explaining what a princess actually is. That is, a princess is someone who will show up soaking wet on your doorstop and demand that a bed be prepared especially for her particular needs, and then will spend the next day complaining about it, but, on the bright side, the entire incident will later give you a small interesting exhibit for your museum.

Maybe not that much of a bright side.

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A Stolen Fairy Tale: The Swan Princess

The animation studios at Disney in the 1980s could be a rather stressful place, to put it mildly. Even for an animator who had started with the 1973 Robin Hood, continued through the 1977 The Rescuers, and eventually found himself directing the 1981 The Fox and the Hound, which if not exactly one of Disney’s all-time great success stories, had earned a solid profit on its initial release, and would later continue to bring the company steady earnings from video and streaming sales.

Unfortunately, after these mild successes, Disney executives thought it would be a good idea to assign that animator, Richard Rich, to help direct the already troubled production of 1985 The Black Cauldron. Like many seemingly good ideas in Disney history, this one turned out poorly. Rich ended up having “creative differences” with multiple people assigned to the project, including then-animator Tim Burton, screenwriter Rosemary Anne Sisson, animators John Musker and Ron Clements (who slid over to The Great Mouse Detective and thus, managed to transform later Disney history) and, most importantly, newly arrived Disney chairman Jeffrey Katzenberg, who, in a moment retold in awed voices years later, was allegedly so horrified—or infuriated—by his first viewing of The Black Cauldron that he grabbed the film from the animators and started making his own edits.

Rich decided it was time to leave. Possibly time to start his own studio. Definitely time to think of creating his own film about a fairy tale princess. Perhaps with a connection to ballet.

The eventual—very eventual—result: The Swan Princess.

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Bringing Fairy Tale to Ballet: Tchaikovsky’s Swan Lake

Pyotr Ilych Tchaikovsky started incorporating fairy tales and fairy land in some of his earliest musical works. Two early operas, Undina and Vakula the Smith, were directly based on the popular literary fairy tales Undine, by Frederick de la Motte Fouqué, and “Christmas Eve,” by Nikolai Gogol, and Tchaikovsky referenced other fairy tales and magical motifs in the rest of his work.

It is perhaps not surprising, therefore, that when he finally turned to writing a ballet, he chose one with a fairy tale theme.

It is perhaps surprising, given that ballet’s later near central place in ballet repertoire, that initially that ballet was a complete failure.

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Hans Christian Andersen’s Tales of Flight: “The Storks” and “The Marsh King’s Daughter”

Sure, The Ugly Duckling is better known. Sure, The Little Mermaid became a multi-million—probably edging towards a billion now—franchise property. Sure, Thumbelina and The Six Swans show up in more fairy tale collections. And sure, The Emperor’s New Clothes is referenced far more frequently.

But when I was a child, the Hans Christian Andersen stories that most haunted me were the ones that featured storks.

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Unnatural Love and Healing: Charles Perrault’s “Donkey-Skin” and Other Fairy Tales

Incestuous and quasi-incestuous relationships were hardly unknown at the court of Louis XIV. The king himself had married his first cousin, Maria-Theresa of Spain, largely for political reasons. His brother Philippe, Duke of Orleans, had married another first cousin, Henrietta of England, before marrying a more distant cousin, Elizabeth Charlotte of the Palatine, whose grandmother was related to the royal French family, and who could trace other connections through both parents. Various aristocrats at the court followed these royal examples for financial or other reasons, and in other countries, the occasional marriage between a niece and uncle, or an aunt and nephew—for political reasons—were not unknown. And those were just the relationships validated by the Church.

That perhaps helps explain why so many of the French salon fairy tales focus on similar relationships between cousins or even closer relations, and why Charles Perrault, working both in and against these traditions, decided to take up the theme in what is often regarded as the least pleasant of his fairy tales, Donkey-Skin, classified by folklorists as Aarne-Thompson type 510B, unnatural love.

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Fairy Tale Animation: La Jeune Fille Sans Mains (The Girl Without Hands)

“You wanted to be rich. How could you be in peace?”

The fairy tale “The Girl Without Hands,” first published by Jacob and Wilhelm Grimm in the 1812 Children’s and Household Tales, and revised in subsequent editions, has never been a particular favorite of filmmakers for a long list of reasons, including, but not limited to, its disturbing subject matter, its split storyline (the second half of the story almost seems to be discussing different characters), its religious themes, and the perceived difficulties of portraying a character losing both hands. It would, I think, make for a great live action horror flick—but that’s not the way Hollywood has seen the story, at least so far.

None of this, however, stopped French animator Sébastian Laudenbach from using it as the subject of his first film, which debuted at the 2016 Cannes Film Festival and later at the Annecy International Animated Film Festival, where it lost two awards to My Life as a Zucchini, but picked up the Jury Award—just enough to earn it an extremely limited release in the United States in 2017.

The win was entirely deserved: however questionable the subject matter, the animation is, well, astonishing.

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