I’ve been thinking a lot about what fairy tale characters go through.
When I was little, my favorite tales were about a quest. I loved the adventure and excitement of it all. I think my favorite part was the coziness of going on a long journey (on horseback, please—I loved horses!), getting wet and cold and possibly wounded, and then taking refuge at an inn or friendly castle where my companions and I would be given hot baths and food and new clothes and warm fires and soft beds.
I think it was the safety after the danger that appealed so much, though I only thought about the danger abstractly then. It was only a story, after all. And yet, when I think about it now, fairy tale characters deal with some serious trauma. Cinderella is abused by her family. Hansel and Gretel are purposefully abandoned by theirs, then kidnapped, imprisoned, and nearly eaten. Little Red Riding Hood IS eaten, in some versions at least. There is betrayal and murder, dismemberment and blinding, and that’s just for the protagonists. It’s heavy stuff.
And yet, for the most part, those protagonists keep going, somehow. They sometimes make unwise choices—they use that key they’re warned not to, they stray from the path or make a bad bargain. But in the end, they fight off the witches, make their way through the wood, escape parents who want to kill them, or worse, marry them. And at last, they arrive at a well-deserved Happy Ever After.
That makes for a satisfying story, but when you think about it, how can it be? How can these characters go through what they do and come out unscathed? My guess is only because fairy tale characters are fairly one-dimensional, and the stories are very simple. But if these characters and their stories were fleshed out, surely there would be some long-term consequences from all those grim experiences.
It’s an idea that’s long been working in my subconscious. Not being able to admit to (let alone know how to process or even articulate) some of my own experiences, I began exploring them in the context of fairy tales. For quite a while, I only knew I was writing things I needed to write and that writing provided relief from something I couldn’t name.
When I began writing about a Cinderella whose glass slippers no longer fit her, I knew I was digging into my past experiences of searching for a purpose and a place to belong. But I later realized there was far more going on. I was examining the consequences of trauma. In the case of the narrator of my book, Glass and Feathers, these consequences are things like anxiety, withdrawal, and making choices that harm not only her, but also the person she loves most. Writing a journey of healing for my girl in the glass slippers provided me a map for how I might face these consequences in my own life.
In the last couple of years prior to my own book coming out, I’ve been excited to discover other authors exploring the effects of trauma in their fairy tale writing. While more fairy tale adjacent, Wendy, Darling continues Peter Pan from the point of view of an adult Wendy who has been in denial of the harm done to her by the eternal boy. Weep, Woman, Weep examines the tale of La Llorona through the lens of intergenerational trauma passed from mother to daughter and tells the story of a woman determined to break the cycle. After the Forest asks what internal scars Hansel and Gretel would truly bear after escaping the witch.
It seems to me fairy tales are perfectly suited to explore the consequences of real-world trauma. Because their protagonists aren’t elves, fairies, or shape-shifters. They’re very often ordinary mortals, and not terribly powerful ones at that. Perhaps they are wealthy or even royal, but they are just as likely to be despised youngest children, dispossessed soldiers, or babies traded away for a handful of greens. And yet, when they or their loved ones are in trouble, they possess and wield an instinctual power. The princes in Sleeping Beauty and Snow White awaken (or even resurrect) their princesses with a kiss, Rapunzel cures her love’s blindness with her tears, the Handless Maiden even spontaneously grows her hands back—not because she wants to have hands again, but so she can save her child from drowning. This power comes from their very human emotions like love, grief, and compassion.
It is a very hopeful idea. Because if these characters are able to heal their own and others’ hurts by virtue of their very humanity, perhaps we can too.
Guest Contributor Bio
Lissa Sloan is the author of Glass and Feathers, a dark continuation of the traditional Cinderella tale. Her fairy tale poems and short stories have appeared in The Fairy Tale Magazine, Niteblade Magazine, Corvid Queen, and anthologies from World Weaver Press. Visit Lissa online at lissasloan.com, or connect on Facebook, Instagram, @lissa_sloan, or Twitter, @LissaSloan.
Glass and Feathers serial cover is by Amanda Bergloff.
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