Just returning for a moment to the question of Ani’s One True Love, which I alluded to somewhat sarcastically. One of the perhaps less obvious legacies of feminism on the retellings is a reimagining of the romance plot of the tales to account for our modern ideas of love and marriage. Most of the retellings of tales that end with marriage in the original also conclude with the union of the hero and heroine, but it’s almost never the case of some hitherto unknown male hero swooping in and saving the day. Most of the authors of retellings generally find a way to bring the lovers together long before the end of the book, in relationships based on friendship, mutual respect and interests, and finally romantic love. In other words, these are modern, equal relationships, from which both hero and heroine—and kingdom—benefit. Geric, the prince in Hale’s novel, puts it thus:

Growing up, I tried to imagine what my mysterious betrothed princess would be like, and I’d think, I hope she’s clever, and I hope we have things to say to one another, and I wouldn’t cry if she was a beauty as well. But I never imagined that I could marry a girl who was all these things and knew Bayern’s needs better than I, who would truly be a partner on the throne. What this kingdom sorely misses is a queen, and you are exactly what they, and I, what we all need.

Not sentiments one might expect to hear from your typical Prince Charming!

I’m not sure that I’d ever read the Grimm Brothers’ “The Goose Girl” before reading Shannon Hale’s novel, so one aspect of the text struck me as particularly interesting. When the wicked lady-in-waiting reveals her true nature to the princess—and this is in the original tale as well as the Hale novel—she does so by expressing her disdain for the role of servant. In the Grimm Brothers tale, she does so simply by refusing to perform her duties such as fetching water, and then by sheer force of will, simply taking over the role of Princess. In Hale’s novel, Selia, the lady-in-waiting, explicitly criticises the system of “birth over worth” that forces her into the menial role while the lesser-deserving Ani gets everything simply by the luck of her birth:

Don’t touch me and don’t call for me. I am no longer your servant. You, what are you? The brat of lucky parents who were related to a childless king. There is no such thing as royal blood. I believe we are what we make ourselves, and as such, you, Crown Princess, are nothing.

In the end, Hale’s novel sees everything restored to rights, with the monarchical birthright system affirmed—after all, Ani triumphs over the scheming Selia, and she gets the prince, and the throne, and while there’s more than a hint that Ani will also, thanks to her experiences as a goose girl, bring some modern concepts of social justice to this fairy tale kingdom, the book doesn’t seriously challenge established patriarchal aristocracy. Robin McKinley’s extraordinary Spindle’s End does.

Spindle’s End is, as I have mentioned, a retelling of “The Sleeping Beauty”, a tale also known as “Briar Rose”. Spindle’s End is a dense, rich and complex retelling of this very familiar tale, and it’s not a book that you can read in a hurry. McKinley’s syntax is complex; you can’t read her quickly at all, she requires that you pay attention to every phrase, and some sentences take a lot of teasing out to get to their sense. But it’s a richly imagined and rewarding novel, and I recommend it highly, not least of all for its clever view of meritocracy versus aristocracy—worth versus birth.

Spindle’s End follows the version of the tale that has the baby princess spirited away in order to protect her from the curse laid upon her at her christening; in the novel, Rosie, as she is known by her adoptive family, grows up in a village far from her true parents’ castle, believing herself to be kin to the two fairies who raise her. As a young woman, she forms a great friendship with Peony—the two women are true friends to the heart, and when Rosie’s 21st birthday nears, and her birthright and curse are revealed to her, it is decided that Peony will masquerade as the Crown Princess, and Rosie as her lady-in-waiting. The idea is to trick the wicked fairy, make her curse fail, and to restore the proper order to the royal succession.

But Rosie just doesn’t want to be a princess–and she’s simply not cut out for it. One of the delights that comes early in the novel is to do with the benevolently-intentioned gifts bestowed upon Rosie at her naming ceremony by the fairy godmothers. In the audience at the naming is Katriona, who will end up raising Rosie, and she is appalled by the wastefulness of the fairy’s gifts:

Katriona nearly fell over. Golden hair! Golden hair? What an utterly idiotic gift! Aunt had always taught her that you were respectful of your magic! And here, the very first—Golden hair! from a fairy godmother, who could give you anything—well, almost anything. They would only have invited the best to be the princess's godmothers. But here was the second godmother. Surely she would do better.

Wrong. "To our princess, I give the gift of eyes as blue as love-in-a-mist, or summer sky after rain." Katriona put her head in her hand."Skin as white as milk." She'll have to live under a royal parasol all her life, then; skin like that burns indoors, with the shutters closed...

Next ==>

©Judith Ridge 2005