{Put This One on Your TBR List}
Review of The Halcyon
Fairy Book by T. Kingfisher
by Karen S. Wiesner
** THIS POST CONTAINS MY 300TH REVIEW FOR THE ALIEN ROMANCES BLOG! **
Beware many, many spoilers! T. Kingfisher (the pen name of Ursula Vernon) is a versatile author, illustrator, and artist. The author did The Halcyon Fairy Book's artwork herself. On the copyright page, it says "Ursula Vernon's annotated fairy tales were originally posted to her blog between February 2012 and July 2013 with the exception of 'King of Love' which is original to this anthology. They have been lightly edited from their initial postings." Two of the stories she put on her blog couldn't be included in the book because they aren't yet in the public domain. From there, the author proceeds to tell us in the introduction about a certain writer who goes by two names that frequently can't sleep and so finds herself reading (and critiquing) fairy tales in the wee hours of the morn. I love how Kingfisher slightly twists the word "annotated", which normally means to add notes and comments to explain or criticize the text they're included with, to highlight the insane and strange behavior of characters in each story with her sarcastically witty and hilarious insights. Make no mistake, these fairy tales aren't the star of this particular show. No, Kingfisher's annotations are what make this anthology worth reading.
It might interest you to learn that the first book of fairy tales to appear in English was "The Blue Fairy Book" by Andrew Lang in 1889 (gathered from such diverse sources as the Brothers Grimm, Arabian Nights, Norwegian folklore, and French tales). Fairy tales were (maybe rightly so, as you're about to discover, if you haven't already) considered harmful for young readers until that time. In 1894, "The Yellow Fairy Book" followed up on the first. Lang's retellings secured the value of fairy tales as treasured children's stories and sparked a dramatic shift in public perception. And now we come full circle: True to the last few decades of popular desire to twist everything wholesome into something disturbed, the varnish has been stripped off these old humdingers and we can once again enjoy(?) them as they were intended.
Below are my reviews for all the stories in the first half of The Halcyon Fairy Book. Kingfisher also includes the entire anthology of Toad Words and Other Stories within the second half of this collection. Do a search by author or title on this blog to find my previously completed review of that.
"The Blue Light": This retelling of the soldier and the tinderbox fairy tale has many different renderings, which Kingfisher imparts within her variation. In true Mystery Science Theater 3000 tradition, she injects amusing comments all throughout the text and leaves none of the other versions of this story anywhere to hide. I loved it.
"The Master-maid": A prince is held captive by a giant who asks of him one impossible task each day. The Master-maid (whatever that is) is also a captive of the giant. Each day she tells the prince how to complete his task in her no-fail wisdom. They dream of marrying each other one day when they're free. When they do manage to escape together, the prince pouts and wants to go home to visit his rich, powerful daddy. The Master-maid warns him not to do this because it won't be long before he forgets all about her. And he does (though, in his defense, a troll is scheming to get him to forget). The Master-maid turns into an outright witch at that point, so incensed by losing her man that she decides to take her fury out on every other (rich) man that crosses her path. Her treachery turns against her eventually, but by then the prince has remembered her, and the two can get on with their happily ever after as planned. This story was long, tedious, and eye-rolling. I thought it would never end. I didn't really care after a certain point whether it ended happily. Kingfisher's razor-sharp wit was the saving point and winning element to this otherwise far-fetched, shocking, and unbelievable tale.
"The Crystal Casket": This story is based on an Italian version of Snow White that doesn't have dwarfs but eagles and, in my opinion, is barely worth reading. If the tale was going for "drastically different than what everyone knows and loves", okay, maybe it's a winner. But as a good, strong story, this never really made it out of the gate. Good thing I was reading for the annotations.
"The Wonderful Sheep": A mind-bogglingly
strange rendition of, again, Snow White,
only it's the king who wants his daughter's heart and life (but most of all her
tongue). The youngest princess and a bunch of her servants and pets monkey and
dog fight about who's going to get the dubious honor or sacrificing their three
items in question for her. Suddenly, one after the other, the servants and pets
are committing suicide right in front of her. (To prove what a stupid story
this is, Princess Miranda does not
have the reaction most people would have after this occurrence--which would be
equivalent to being sent to a looney bin as soon as it was equinely possible to
get her there.) Instead, she discovers that none of them has the right kind of
tongue for the job of convincing her father that it's hers. In the end, she
writes down the whole tragic testimony on the bark headstone of the grave she
digs, you know, in case her murderous dad comes look for her and wonders what
happened. Senselessly, she heads off into the forest, where she meets the king
of sheep--
Yeah, and on that insane note, it occurs to me that the author's comments are really the only logical responses to be had within these pages. This terrible story with a rotten king who fluctuates between spoiling his youngest daughter shamelessly and then wanting to chop her head off the next (along with a thoroughly unworthy, superficial princess) isn't worth your time. Kingfisher's commentary and finishing the story on a definitely-not-happy end note were the best parts of it.
"The Wonderful Birch": In this Russian version of Cinderella, a witch schemes to turn the wife of a desirable man into a sheep. She succeeds, but the daughter of the previously happy couple is determined to put things right--and this involves some magic that has her turned out so handsomely the prince himself can't resist her. The witch has a daughter of her own, a poor being that practically lives under the prince's table like little more than a dog, during an extended banquet. Repeatedly during this fest, the witch's daughter is injured. She's kicked so hard, bones break and she gets one of her eyes poked out by what one presumes must be a stiletto heel worn by a monstrous guest. (These partygoers seated at the VIP table must have some idea that the dogs have converged under them to eat the scraps, yet you can't help but wonder how heartless they must be. Who would kick a dog so hard, they break a bone, or poke out an eye in the process of punishing what they believe are canines just trying to get some sustenance below them?) Every time I think these insane fairy tales can't get worse or be more nonsensical, they can and they do. This one wasn't easy to read--and not just because so often cannibalism factors into these disturbing old fairy tales--though Kingfisher's annotations provided at least some comic relief from the full-on, escalating horror.
"The Golden Apple Tree and the Nine Peahens": Someone's stealing the
golden apples from the king's singular apple tree (a thing so unique,
apparently it pollinates itself!). He sends his three sons, one at a time, to
discover who the thief is. Only his youngest has any success in uncovering the
truth. Not surprisingly, magic is afoot…and peahens. A bunch of them aren't
what they seem and at least one of them can turn into a human girl so
beautiful, the youngest prince (who is clearly not important enough to name)
falls hopelessly in love with her, and her with him. This beauty claims more
than once that the prince will never see her again if he doesn't do something
that's required, but it's clear she and/or the laws of magic are very flexible
about that because he's given numerous chances to get it right. In the
meantime, a lot of people get murdered by him without so much as a trial.
Brutal times, eh? This is one fairy tale I enjoyed a lot as a child, though,
thanks to the retelling author's hilarious insights, I'm seeing so many freaky
things I hadn't noticed before during my past readings.
Unfortunately, this story didn't end where it should have. Instead, it took a turn for the why?. With a dragon riding a horse, the prince gaining brotherhood with a fish, a fox and a wolf, the tale descends into absolute ludicrousness. No part of the extension added anything useful or interesting to the previous wackiness. Kingfisher included a lot of spot-on commentary concerning the end of this piece.
"The Deer Prince": A widower and a widow,
with a daughter each, get married. The husband's daughter is pretty, the wife's
ugly. The wife gets jealous, the husband is never home to notice his adorable
kid being abused, and, as must always be the case in fairy tales, something
outlandish happens that doesn't fit the situation at all. One night, there's a
knock on the door and the wife orders her hideous daughter to answer it.
There's a deer standing there. The daughter tries to beat it with a broom so it
runs away. The next night, there's again a knock, and now the cute daughter
answers it. Instead of driving the deer off, she talks to it. This stag wants
her to hop on his back and come away with him, where they can "enjoy"
(wink wink, nudge nudge) the forest
together. Isn't there a cautionary saying about following a stranger who
promises candy inside his love van? Nevertheless, she hops on and the stag
bounds off to his magic-addled castle. He warns her not to go into three of the
doors within the place before he disappears. Of course he knows as well as the
reader does that she'll be snooping before a few days have passed. And she
does. He clearly makes such a big deal about the doors, we realize in
retrospect, because he's hoping
she'll be a Nosy Nancy. It's the only way to break the enchantment that's been
placed on the castle and over himself.
Alas, happily-ever-after might have ensued if any of these old fairy-tale authors knew when to quit. Instead, the stupid once-a-stag prince asks his bride if she wants her stepmother and sister to visit them. (Not sure what happened to her not-so-dear-old-dad.) While it's very true that the story was disappointingly resolved without any conflict at all with Door #3 leading to wedded bliss, what came after the prince's total lack of forethought was even worse--though, thankfully, Kingfisher's enjoyable commentary explained merrily why she's not a fan of traditional fairy-tale endings.
"Two Cinderellas": So named because
Kingfisher decided to give us two, short, Cinderella-esque
tales filled to bursting with reasons for her to take issue with events.
The first
one is uproariously titled "Little Saddleslut"! The original author
didn't bother pulling any punches. He got right into the action with this one:
A mom is spinning flax with her three daughters and the two older tots decide
to play a homicidal game. Whoever's spindle falls gets murdered and eaten by
the others. Again with the cannibalism? Someone please tell me why all these
"bedtime tales" always end up with someone getting eaten? The
youngest daughter prudently begs off on partaking and uses magic to get revenge
for her beloved mother. In the process, she loses a shoe, the king's son finds
it, and wants to marry only the one who fits in it. He does, they have a kid,
and Little Saddleslut stupidly leaves her bloodthirsty sisters alone with the
princess. Little Saddlemoron might
have been a better name for her! But, in the end, everything turns out fine…if
you consider the evil sisters being hacked to pieces fine. Yeah, maybe it's a fitting ending for these bad daughters,
and I guess I should just be grateful they weren't put in a stew and eaten by
the whole kingdom.
Next up is "Conkiajgharuna, the Little Rag Girl" (the first, unpronounceable word actually means "little rag girl"). Wife dies, husband remarries a shrew (who has her own daughter) to tend his orphan daughter. Shrew hates her new husband's kid and proves to be a witch who curses the little girl* to take a loaf of bread, eat of it, share it with everyone she meets, but somehow has to bring it home whole every night. Couldn't Conk just buy or bake a new loaf to bring home? I guess somehow the witch would know the difference. A cow (also, apparently, a witch with magic powers) tries to help Conk by letting her siphon butter and honey from its horns. Cool! Only now the little ragamuffin gets fat, and the stepmother gets wise to Conk's sidestepping. Time to raise the stakes of impossible cruelty. Conk finds herself in the presence of an ogress who values quick thinkers. Again, the little girl goes home with a prize that night, and her stepmother is fit to burst at being thwarted. She figures maybe her own daughter could use some bovine and ogress time, too, but it doesn't go well for this girl and the stepwitch ends up trying to the kill the cow, who, as you might expect, isn't at all what it seems and instead does Conk another good turn at her end. From there, this turns into the Cinderella story with one twist. The stepwitch wants her own daughter to marry the king (not the prince), but her scheming runs afoul when Conk emerges from the place her bad mommy hid her in the throne room and announces the slipper belongs to her. She can prove it, too. I have to spoil this one for sheer stupidity: Yeah, Rag Girl becomes queen, happily-blah-blah-after, but the worst that happens isn't her stepmom being hacked to pieces or boiled into soup for the wedding feast. No, she just leaves with a "dry throat" of chagrin. Wow. I really couldn't make this stuff up if I tried.
*If these old-world fairy tale writers are to be believed, all widowed men should be scared out of their braies about being preyed upon by witches (with daughters) looking to hook up with previously married men (who also have daughters) in order to abuse that man's only child. What the heck, man?
"The Story of Log": A man and a woman want a child of their own so badly, they fashion one out of a log and dress it and rock it and…is anyone else thinking, "My very own log! Just what I always wanted. I will hug him and pet him and squeeze him and name him George"? Well, they called him Log. A few years later, the thing comes to life and goes on a killing spree with just his log arms-- No, no, no. Don't worry! Log is a kind and gentle log person who goes on to save the country from a vile sun, moon, and dawn thief. He's apparently not a log for brains, but he is a shapeshifter--he's able to change himself from a human into firewood on a whim. You wouldn't think that would be terribly useful in your day to day, but it actually is here. According to Kingfisher, you'll be forgiven for singing a rousing rendition of "The Log Song" by Ren & Stimpy while you're reading this whackadoodle of a story.
"Tatterhood": Let me sum up the moral of this story: A queen who thinks being a good mother is either spoiling someone rotten or bossing him or her around isn't fit to be anything but the imperious queen she is. Let's leave it at that. If only the sadist storytelling had taken that good advice. But no, he had to go and write the whole, sorry tale that culminates in "an ugly hussy" named Tatterhood toting "a severed head under one arm, riding her war goat, beating the crap out of people with a wooden spoon" (as only Kingfisher could describe it).
"The Seven Doves": Based on an Italian fairy tale of "bros turned into birds" and their poor sister who intends to save them from their (maybe well-deserved) fate, this one starts with seven boys born in seven years to one mother. This hockey team decides they can't bear another male child entering their household. They threaten their poor, fertile mother and leave home until such a time as she can produce a female sibling for them. (Yeah, you read that right.) Somehow these lugheads think she has a choice. I think it's clear this story isn't going anywhere good. Would you believe me if I told you cannibalism may be involved? Of course you would. It only makes sense at this point.
"The King of Love": A man with three daughters (it's always three; why is it always three?) takes the youngest with him to pick wild herbs. She pulls up what seems to be a fine radish but is actually a door that reveals a green bird bathing in a pan of milk. Said bird dries himself and becomes a gorgeous specimen of human hunk. Wait a minute, what? The punishment for the crime of picking a radish-door is apparently that this daughter has to become the wife of this hunk. The dad is paid off but encouraged to drop in anytime. The other two sisters decide to figure out what in all that's holy is going on here with the radish-door, milky-bird-shapeshifting hunk their dad told them about. The sisters persuade their youngest sibling to do what the hunk has asked her to promise not to do--find out who he is. Ready to guess his name? (Hint: It's in the title!) Insert groan, or some other strange noise here. As Kingfisher says, "Some people call him Maurice." The hunk promptly disappears but not for long as the youngest keeps conjuring him back and eventually saves him from an ogress's curse. Somehow, this one has a happy ending--unless by some misfortune you've read the wrong version of it and the poor girl is forced to wear a pair of iron shoes until they wear out. Only then can she find her husband. Hey, don't say you weren't warned of what can happen when you try to read these fairy-tale doozies.
~*~
I'm not sure what prompted the title of The Halcyon Fairy Book. What was the author going for? The word "halcyon" as an adjective means "denoting a time period that was idyllically happy and peaceful". None of these stories are happy let alone peaceful. I can only conclude Kingfisher was being sarcastically true to form, if the title has anything to do with that. Alternately, the noun version of the word refers to a tropical Asian or African kingfisher or a mythical bird said to breed (and charm the wind and waves into a state of calm) in a floating nest at sea during the winter solstice. Here's an image of a halcyon:
Given the cover art and her pen name, maybe the bird itself--real or myth--was what the author was going for. Only a few of the stories actually included enchanted (or otherwise) birds. On that uncertain note, I'll say, ahh whatever.
To conclude this review that I had a rollicking good time producing, if you like your fairy-tales roasted comedic style, you'll love every last one of T. Kingfisher's retellings of particularly bone-headed fairy tales that were so badly told that they had almost no right to be published in the first place.
Karen Wiesner is an award-winning, multi-genre author of 156 titles and 16 series.
Visit Karen here: https://www.writers-exchange.com/Karen-Wiesner/
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