A ramble through Wondertales and Women

Once upon a time, a long, long time ago, when trees could talk and fairies danced in the sunset, so long ago that I was a lad and my dad was too, east of the sun and west of the moon, there was and there was not a storyteller. And this storyteller was often asked a question – “Where am I in these stories? They are all about beautiful princesses locked in towers, who are rescued by a handsome princes and lives happily ever after. I am not beautiful. I am not a princess. I don’t want anyone to rescue me and I don’t want to marry a prince.”

Wondertales (more often referred to fairytales) are strange beasts. They are stories that roam through the subconscious, long after the teller has finished telling. They are stories that invite us into the realm of the soul and when we are there, ask us questions in a language that we cannot quite understand, but definitely remember from somewhen long, long ago.

And then, to our deep irritation and our deep revulsion, these magical, ancient tales offer us pictures of beautiful, slightly pathetic, princesses locked in towers by evil, ugly witches. The modern woman feels slighted, forgotten and maybe even insulted by this picture of woman-ness. Between the beautiful& good and the ugly&evil, we are at risk of finding ourselves absent from these magical stories. And so we ask the question – Can we change them? Do we, in fact, have a duty to change them? Switch the genders! Make the princess ugly and the witch beautiful! Do we want our daughters and granddaughters to wait for a prince to save them?

And part of me - the same part that refuses to be the first to say “I love you”, the same part of me that is determined to keep my own name if I marry and has a tingle of jealousy when a beautiful woman walks into the room - clamours to join the cacophony of objections.

“I am not a princess! I don’t need saving! Why should the princess have to be beautiful anyway? Why can’t the princess save the prince!”

But, then my stomach turns and churns and heaves as if sailing out on a stormy sea with the thought of taking one of these ancient stories, one of these magical, dreamy fairytales and imposing my conscious, head-driven want upon it.

When I read a wondertale, I remember that these are not the finished article, but a frozen moment in the history of that particular story. And then, as I read on, the stormy sea calms as my head begins to know what my stomach tried to tell me.

My head criticises the princess in the Goose Girl for crying when her maid refuses to get her a glass of water, but then I see that it is at this moment she realises she is alone. I remember that moment when I realised that I have to make my own decisions now and that it was time to look after myself. It is a frightening and moment, that is well worth the tears of a princess.

 

My head is angry at Briar Rose for having to wait for a Prince, for the kiss ‘of true love’ to wake her, but then I see that it was never part of the deal that she be woken by a kiss. It is rather that a worthy man just happens to show up at the right time.

 

My head is furious with the princess who kisses frogs because they are to turn into handsome princes, but then I read that this never happened. The Princess threw the frog against the wall, because she did not want him in her bed. The violent act was the key to unlocking the transformation.

My head was so busy and overflowing with images from TV, film and Disney Ltd. that I had forgotten to the real stories.

And then beauty.

Why do we get so angry with the constant stream of beautiful princesses? The words ‘beautiful’ and ‘fair’ have become so culturally loaded that we seem terrified of them. We don’t want to offend; we want to offer our children a ‘reasonable’ mirror in which to find themselves, not this idyllic princess figure with her beauty and her fair-face. Listening to stories of beautiful princesses will surely reinforce to our young people that beauty is equal to worth. Won’t they?

Two thought sbegin to clamour for attention as I write:

The first says that we are storytellers and we conjure and create these stories as we speak. They only really live as we speak them, so why are we conjuring a beauty that is based in the physical? Surely that is the kind of beauty we object to – the physical obsession that makes us feel inadequate, unwanted and unloved. We cannot surely be objecting to one who is truly beautiful, in the proper way – the way that shines out of whatever shape we are in. So maybe we must practise conjuring princesses with our breath that are not physically attractive, but are truly beautiful. What we perceive as beauty is beauty – we can create what it means to be beautiful each time we tell.

Beauty is a characteristic of a person, animal, place, object, or idea that provides a perceptual experience of pleasure or satisfaction. Wikipedia

And then the second thought begins to rise. Why don’t we see ourselves mirrored in the beautiful princess? Is it her beauty? Is it because she can’t do everything herself? Is it because she needs rescuing?

This thought sits gently in my mind, asking myself why I don’t think I’m a beautiful princess, who sometimes needs rescuing. I don’t have the answer yet. I do realise one thing, however – I am stronger when I am with others and I am stronger when I am comfortable within myself and so, I am happy to find myself in the girl who needs support from others to find her full potential. We are nothing when we are alone; everything is connected.

I am a drop in an everlasting sea.

A story is a current flowing through and flowing from the millions of drops that surround me.