How to Fracture a Fairy Tale

by Jane Yolen

The Keening Woman

  She stands, birdlike,

  over the cliff body,

  dark robe her wings;

  tremoring as if ready

  to fly away from death.

  But it is to death

  she is beholden.

  Her life, her living

  bound up in it.

  Her songs lift the spirits,

  sets this spirit free.

  We see it fly

  like a kittiwake

  high above us,

  then below us,

  skimming water

  till it disappears

  beneath a wave.

  Oh, keening woman,

  the wail in your mouth

  devours our sins.

  We fly up to Heaven,

  leaving the dross

  of our lives behind

  till we are only

  wind, waves, water

  and a skein of memory.

  Sule Skerry

  The fisherfolk who live in the Scottish islands of Shetland and Orkney and as far west as the Hebrides tell many strange and beautiful tales of the selchies, seals who can take on human form, usually by shrugging out of their skins. Often you see seals lying on the rocks (skerries) off the Scottish coast. So, first take into account that I own a house in Scotland where I spend four months a year. Next that I have read many selchie stories over the past fifty years. I have also written many selchie stories and poems about selchies, beginning with “Greyling,” which I wrote when I was nursing my first child and she is now over fifty. Stir in my love of selchie songs: everyone in my birth family sang. Well, that is not entirely true. As I grew up, my mother no longer sang. She’d been a gifted contralto, or so she said, but her voice had hoarsened and changed. My father played guitar as if it were a ukulele, and sang cowboy songs. My brother and I were both musicians and singers, I a low alto. I have always loved folk songs, long and sad British/Scottish ballads especially. Among my favorites was “The Great Selchie of Sule Skerry,” and this selchie story is fractured by being a modern version of the story. The poem is in my own voice after my husband died, looking back on my life.

  When I Was a Selchie

  “The cure for anything is salt water: sweat, tears or the sea.”

  —Isak Dinesen from Seven Gothic Tales

  There was a time in my teens

  when I was a selchie, changeable,

  living by the dark waters

  of Long Island Sound.

  I danced on the sand,

  almost always by myself,

  playing alternate fairy tales

  of acceptance, escape.

  The waters of the Sound

  sang their dark songs

  threading my bones,

  penetrating my dreams.

  I thought I knew nothing then,

  think I know everything now,

  carrying those twinned dreams,

  into every book I write.

  into every new man who is not you

  that I meet.

  Once a Good Man

  This is based on/fractured from a worldwide story. I have read both Jewish and Chinese versions. (In the Chinese the folks use long chopsticks to feed themselves, feed others.) I first heard a telling of this story at a Quaker summer camp when I was thirteen or fourteen, and it stuck with me for years. That was long before I had the writing chops for redoing such a story. (No pun intended.) When I began writing and fracturing folk tales, I wrote this story as a possible picture book. But it never sold. So when I needed an extra story for an early adult collection of my tales, I rewrote the story to take it away from its more childish telling, and published it there. As for the poem—you now know what I consider Heaven.

  What Do We Need of Heaven

  What do we need of heaven

  when we have this outside the door:

  millefleur tapestry of meadow,

  throne of an old tree hewn by a storm,

  choristers of birds singing hosannas,

  huddles of hares waiting to perform,

  Chinese paintbrush of clouds,

  soft carpet of moss, leaves underfoot,

  while the lullaby river, singing between banks.

  Eden a step away.

  Allerleirauh

  There are three major variants of the Cinderella story, and in each one she gets the prince by dint of hard work, the goodness of her heart. And/or help from friends. The first is the one we all know best—mother dies, stepmother is a witch with two bossy/nasty stepsisters. She goes to the ball by hook or by crook or in special dancing shoes (the glass slippers are just a mistake in translation from the French, where the word for glass and the word for squirrel fur are very close in sound). The stepmother and stepsisters are embarrassed but otherwise unhurt at the end. There is a tougher version of the above (and probably older) where the stepsisters end up blinded by the helpful birds and maimed with their mother’s help as they slice their feet up to be able to slip their feet into the glass shoes. (Disney ignored this part!) and the stepmother is killed. In the third—which is what Allerleirauh is based on—is an incest variant. The princess’s mother dies in childbirth, and the king makes her a dying promise that he will only marry someone as beautiful as she is. And when Allie is sixteen and comes to a ball dressed in one of her dead mother’s party dresses . . . well, you can guess what happens. She runs away of course and finds a prince. But that’s not the dark turn of my fractured tale. When I was getting my Masters Degree (in education), I did a paper on the variants, called “America’s Cinderella.” The poem accompanying this is much more positive than my fracture. I thought you might need it.

  Cinderella in the Ashes

  If you remember her weeping,

  ash tears, fingers twining in sorrow,

  you do not know the entire tale.

  She bargains a dress from the tree

  where her dead mother is buried,

  gathering magic to her own breast.

  Gives the rat coachmen a GPS,

  rides off in a pumpkin, heedless of seeds.

  Seduces a prince with small talk.

  Dances in glass shoes

  Imelda would have envied,

  till the heels are only shards.

  She lies her sisters into self-mutilation,

  then rules the country on her own,

  with an iron fist.

  The Gwynhfar

  “The Gwynhfar” is of course an Arthurian fracture, using the Welsh name for Guinevere. Plus the use of a horrific premise, that being the wholesale buying and selling of royal princesses to dukes and kings as brides, whatever their age, their condition, the princesses’ own desires and needs. Or the king’s. They were (as in this case) quite literally sacrifices to the royal bloodlines of the world. Not your usual Guinevere marriage tale. The poem, however, wants to speak of strong-minded, bloody-minded Princesses instead. To raise the flag for poor Gwynhfar.

  Not That Princess

  Not the one hid in the closet,

  till almost midnight,

  or the one who married a frog.

  (Bad taste always did run in that family)

  Nor the over-sleeper who woke

  as the mother of twins.

  No virgin she.

  Not the ones who keep changing

  into foxes, bears, snakes, wolves.

  Hard to keep them anywhere but a kennel.

  We have the goods right here, Majesty,

  pure white, gleaming,

  destined to keep her mouth shut,

  legs open, do as she’s told.

  The best kind of princess.

  Guaranteed for the life of your kingdom,

  or your money back.

  Just sign here, kick her tires,

  and drive away.

  She’ll always be in the back seat,

  keeping it warm for the kingdom.

  Cinder Elephant

  “Cinder Elephant” began as a companion piece to “Sleeping Ugly,” and the edi
tor finally turned it down because someone worried that it might hurt the feelings of overweight children. Honestly, I wrote it as a former overweight teen (and adult) myself who met and married a wonderful, handsome, and brilliant man who was—among many other things—an ardent bird-watcher who loved me for myself. If anything, I am a bit hard on very thin people in this story. (I apologize.) Actually I am really hard on mean people. It took years for the story to be published—not as a children’s picture book but as a short story in a middle grade anthology. But when I wanted to put it in this book, I went back and made it a bit snarkier and older and added two extra morals. Because I could. (And just so you know, my mother was tiny and wore a size five-and-a-half shoe, triple-A heel. I wear size nine-and-a-halfs wide. So I got the whole family bit parts in this one. Years later than all of this, I was asked for a story for an anthology on “fat issues.” I said I didn’t have any ideas for a story, but I could write a poem. The editor said, “No poems.” But I sent “Fat Is Not a Fairy Tale,” and they made it the first piece in the anthology because they liked it so much. It got picked up by Poet Laureate Billy Collins for a teen anthology and has been reprinted many times since.

  Fat Is Not a Fairy Tale

  I am thinking of a fairy tale,

  Cinder Elephant,

  Sleeping Tubby,

  Snow Weight,

  where the princess is not

  anorexic, wasp-waisted,

  flinging herself down the stairs.

  I am thinking of a fairy tale,

  Hansel and Great

  Repoundsel,

  Bounty and the Beast,

  Where the beauty

  has a pillowed breast,

  and fingers plump as sausage.

  I am thinking of a fairy tale

  that is not yet written,

  for a teller not yet born,

  for a listener not yet conceived,

  for a world not yet won,

  where everything round is good:

  the sun, wheels, cookies, and the princess.

  Mama Gone

  “Mama Gone” is a straightforward vampire story except for two fractures—the vampire is the girl’s mother, and the setting is (once again) Appalachia, an area I got to know well because my husband was from a small mountain town called Webster Springs. This is one of the stories in Fractured that I love the most because of its tenderness, not something one usually associates with vampires. Maybe that’s a third fracture. The story has been reprinted quite a bit. The poem was written especially for this book and this story.

  The Vampire Regrets

  There is blood on her fingers,

  her mouth. Her eyes weep red tears.

  She is at war with her own nature.

  What nurture she once cherished

  has been ripped from her.

  No eternity is worth the price,

  she thinks, sinking her teeth

  into her child’s throat,

  his body still covered

  with the blood of his birth.

  There is no pact with evil.

  None.

  In this victory there will never be peace.

  The Woman Who Loved a Bear

  “The Woman Who Loved a Bear” is based on a Native American story. Trying to decide how a non-Native teller might fracture this story was to include a modern grandfather telling it to a grandchild. I hope I did honor to the original tale. It was published in an anthology called Tales from the Great Turtle in 1994. The poem comes as a response to the original story, and was published first in Mythic Delirium magazine in July 2017.

  Marrying the Bear

  When they found me,

  with my broken basket,

  I saw their true nature,

  wanting it for my own.

  That is how I married

  the prince of bears

  bore him two sons,

  each with his dark hair

  and long nose.

  They are a powerful people

  dreaming long and true

  in the stretch of winter.

  With my new basket

  I bring them many berries,

  teach them to make fire,

  roast turkeys, make jam.

  I would have lived happily

  with my husband forever,

  but my brothers found us,

  burned his bones.

  The ash will make more life.

  But not in me.

  Never again in me.

  I miss his arms

  strong, hairy, comforting.

  Miss his small grunts

  when we lay in the dark together.

  There is a dirge here,

  but I shall sing it in a major key

  so all women who would marry bears

  can dance.

  Wrestling with Angels

  “Wrestling with Angels” was written for a story-and-poem collection of mine called Here There Be Angels, one of five collections, the others being Dragons, Unicorns, Witches, and Ghosts. This story harkens back to the Old Testament (Hebrew Bible) where Jacob wrestles with the angel and is lamed (Genesis 32:22–23). Only I set this in modern times, and the point of view is very human. The poem was written to accompany this story.

  Jacob’s Regret

  My hand on his thigh,

  his hand on mine.

  I hope he has something more in mind

  than merely wrestling.

  But I hear the sound of the break

  before I feel the pain.

  It is always thus,

  when wrestling with angels.

  About the Author

  BELOVED FANTASIST JANE YOLEN has been rightfully called the Hans Christian Andersen of America and the Aesop of the twentieth century. In 2018, she surpassed 365 publications, including adult, young adult, and children’s fiction, graphic novels, nonfiction, fantasy, science fiction, poetry, short-story collections, anthologies, novels, novellas, and books about writing. Yolen is also a teacher of writing and a book reviewer. Her best-known books are Owl Moon, the How Do Dinosaurs series, The Devil’s Arithmetic, Briar Rose, Sister Emily’s Lightship and Other Stories, and Sister Light, Sister Dark.

  Among Yolen’s many awards and honors are the Caldecott and Christopher medals; the Nebula, Mythopoeic, World Fantasy, Golden Kite, and Jewish Book awards; the World Fantasy Association’s Lifetime Achievement Award, the Science Fiction/Fantasy Writers of America Grand Master Award, and the Science Fiction Poetry Grand Master Award. Six colleges and universities have given her honorary doctorates.

  Yolen lives in Western Massachusetts most of the time, but spends long summers in St. Andrews, Scotland.

  Extended Copyright

  Stories

  “Allerleirauh” © 1995 by Jane Yolen. First appeared in The Armless Maiden and Other Tales for Childhood’s Survivors (New York: Tor Books).

  “The Bridge’s Complaint” © 1996 by Jane Yolen. First appeared in Twelve Impossible Things Before Breakfast (Orlando, Florida: Harcourt).

  “Brother Hart” © 1978 by Jane Yolen. First appeared in The Magazine of Fantasy and Science Fiction, November 1978.

  “Cinder Elephant” © 2000 by Jane Yolen. First appeared in A Wolf at the Door and Other Retold Fairy Tales (New York: Simon & Schuster Books for Young People).

  “The Faery Flag” © 1989 by Jane Yolen. First appeared in The Faery Flag (New York: Scholastic Books).

  “The Foxwife” © 1986 by Jane Yolen. First appeared in World Fantasy Convention 1984 – an International Genre (Triskell Press), then in Moonsinger’s Friends (New York: Bluejay Books).

  “Godmother Death” © 1997 by Jane Yolen. First appeared in Black Swan, White Raven ( Avon Books).

  “The Golden Balls” © 1983 by Jane Yolen. First appeared in Tales of Wonder (New York: Schocken Books).

  “Granny Rumple” © 1994 by Jane Yolen. First appeared in Black Thorn, White Rose (New York: Avon Books).

  “Great-Grandfather Dragon’s Tale” © 1986 by Jane Yolen
. First appeared in Dragons and Dreams: A Collection of New Fantasy and Science Fiction Stories (New York: Harper & Row).

  “Green Plague” © 2000 by Jane Yolen. First appeared in Ribbing Tales (New York: Philomel Books).

  “The Gwynhfar” © 1983 by Jane Yolen. First appeared in Tales of Wonder (New York: Schocken Books).

  “Happy Dens or A Day in the Old Wolves’ Home” © 1984 by Jane Yolen. First appeared in Elsewhere, Vol. III (New York: Ace Fantasy Books).

  “Mama Gone” © 1991 by Jane Yolen. First appeared in Vampires: A Collection of Original Stories (New York: HarperCollins).

  “The Moon Ribbon” © 1976 by Jane Yolen. First appeared in The Moon Ribbon and Other Stories (New York: Thomas Y. Crowell).

  “Once a Good Man” © 1977 by Jane Yolen. First appeared in The Hundredth Dove and Other Stories (New York: Thomas Y. Crowell).

  “One Old Man, with Seals” © 1982 by Jane Yolen. First appeared in Neptune Rising (New York: Philomel Books).

  “One Ox, Two Ox, Three Ox, and the Dragon King” © 1993 by Jane Yolen. First appeared in Here There Be Dragons (San Diego, California: Harcourt Brace).

  “Sister Death” © 1995 by Jane Yolen. First appeared in Sisters of the Night (New York: Aspect/Warner).

  “Sleeping Ugly” © 1981 by Jane Yolen. First appeared in Sleeping Ugly (New York: Putnam & Gosset Group).

  “Slipping Sideways Through Eternity” © 2007 by Jane Yolen. First appeared in Wizards: Magical Tales from the Masters of Modern Fantasy (New York: Berkley Books).

  “Snow in Summer” © 2011 by Jane Yolen. First appeared in Snow in Summer (New York: Puffin Books).

  “Sule Skerry” © 1982 by Jane Yolen. First appeared in Neptune Rising (New York: Philomel Books).

  “Sun/Flight” © 1982 by Jane Yolen. First appeared in The Magazine of Fantasy & Science Fiction, May 1982.

  “The Undine” © 1981 by Jane Yolen. First appeared in Neptune Rising (New York: Philomel Books).

  “The Unicorn and the Pool” © 1994 by Jane Yolen. First appeared in Here There Be Unicorns (San Diego, California: Harcourt Brace).

  “The Woman Who Loved a Bear” © 1994 by Jane Yolen. First appeared in Tales of the Great Turtle (New York: Tor Books).