How to Summon a Giant Skeleton

         As we get into the Hallowe’en season, now seems a good time to share this epic fantasy/horror Japanese wood block print.  It dates to about 1844 and is by Utagawa Kuniyoshi (Japan, 1791-1861).  It illustrates a historical/mythological scene in which Takiyasha, the daughter of an executed rebellious warlord, uses her witchcraft to summon a giant skeleton monster.  You can see her using a scroll or spell book to work her magic, and the monster is menacing a government official who had come to search for any of her father’s allies.  The sheer size of the skeleton makes it absolutely monstrous, but apparently it was summoned up from the presumably vengeful bones of those who had died in the battle in which her father was defeated.  Another version of the myth says that Takiyasha unleashed this monster in vengeance for the disrespect shown to her father by displaying his head in Kyoto.  The monster wrought havoc on Kyoto until the head was taken down and treated properly.

        It is a rip-roaring illustration with wonderful use of contrasts for drama.  In the background we see slashes of shape and texture that make up the dilapidated manor where Takiyasha lives, as well as the monster tearing right through the wall and curtains.  The colors are dramatic, too, with dark blacks and reds punctuated by the huge whiteness of the skeleton.  The monster’s details are masterfully depicted with its shape barely even fitting into the borders of the print.  Indeed, it overwhelms two sheets of the triptych.  From my interpretation of wikipedia’s slightly contradictory explanation of giant skeleton monsters in Japanese mythology, this story - and largely this print itself - was the inspiration for a kind of monster popularized in the later 20th century.  Called Gashadokuro, these spirits are giant skeletons created from the ghosts of unburied dead.  Gashadokuro capture travelers at night, bite off their heads, and drink their spurting blood, until all their anger is finally sated.  If you are out after midnight, you can have warning of the approach of a Gashadokuro by the loud ringing sound of its rattling teeth, and Shinto charms can be of some protection from them.

        While my brief overview of the story doesn’t show any of the characters involved to be particularly noble or heroic, sorceress Princess Takiyasha certainly sounds like an interesting character.  I wonder what other magic she performed.

[Triptych of Takiyasha the Witch and the Skeleton Spectre, wood block print by Utagawa Kuniyoshi, c 1844 (Image from Wikimedia Commons (from V&A)).]

Persephone

        The Greek myth of Persephone (Roman Proserpina) is one that many people have found resonant, but in a surprisingly broad range of ways.  The story represents very different things to different people, and to different artists.  When I went looking for one or two relief block prints to post with my poem about the Persephone myth, I found so many I thought I’d take a closer look.

  Myths, like fairy tales, aren’t really about individual people.  They’re about symbols, and symbols don’t have emotions, except when the emotion is the point of the myth.  Demeter’s grief at losing her daughter explains the barrenness of winter.  But how does Persephone feel?  Part of fantasy’s job is to explore these things.  There are many possible ways the bare bones of the myth could be fleshed out into a story of experience,  reflecting the complex realities of life as a human.  (Persephone and the other characters in this myth aren’t exactly humans, of course, but as the Classical gods are pretty much just superpowered humans, and as all stories that humans tell are, really, about ourselves, I let my statement stand.)

        So, was Persephone raped in our modern sense of the word?  Kidnapped and sexually assaulted, and forced, then, to marry her rapist?  Or was she thrilled at the adventure of running off with the tall dark and handsome Hades, escaping from the frankly smothering love of her powerful mother?  Did she grow to love Hades gradually, like Beauty and her Beast?  Did she, like me, find eternal summer boring and enjoy the rhythm of changing seasons, each with its own evocative beauties?  What about Hades; did he merely lust after the nubile maiden, or perhaps just want a trophy wife to sit on the throne by his side, or did he really love Persephone?  Was Persephone tricked into tasting those pomegranate seeds, or was it freely chosen, an acknowledgement that life with Hades was something she was willing to take on, or perhaps even wanted?

        Traditional depictions of “the Rape of Persephone” tend to emphasize the violence of the kidnapping, and the titillation of Persephone’s beauty, which highlights the somewhat disturbing fascination that artists (and/or their patrons) have with that unholy combination of sex and violence.  The first piece above, by Guiseppe Scolari around 1600, is of that type, although his version is unusual in failing to focus on Persephone’s nudity as most other artists seem to do.  Scolari seems to have had much more interest in the cleft from hell opening in the earth and venting infernal fumes.  That was probably a more interesting challenge than just another naked chick.

        In ancient Greece Persephone was always paired with Demeter as a goddess of spring, flowers, and fertility, or paired with Hades as the queen of the underworld.  These two pieces by Cynthia Cratsley reproduce the traditional iconography, and the scene with Hades is directly based on a votive tablet found at an altar dedicated to Persephone.

        Another popular theme for artists is Persephone as a lovely maiden gathering flowers.  Presumably this is simply because lovely maidens and pretty landscapes are always a sure bet in art, and calling it “Persephone” adds Culture by way of an excuse.  Sometimes this version of Persephone is shown looking pensive, as a reference to her coming sorrow.  I’ve included a sampling of these, in different styles and different printmaking techniques.

        Finally I get to some of the more unique interpretations.  I’ve included Georges Braque’s version because he’s famous and all, but really, I have absolutely no idea what we’re supposed to be looking at here!  And while we’re feeling cryptic, here’s another piece inspired by Persephone’s story, without being too literal.  The artist Steve Goodwin says this is about “the experience of being split between two worlds, pulled apart in two opposite direction, never fully dwelling in one place.”

        Mina Mond’s Persephone is also split between two worlds, Hades’s hands clutching after her as she rises from Hell into a world of sunshine… and growing pomegranates.

        Persephone’s beauty is always emphasized, and here is a beautiful dress for her, a verdant springtime tangle of plants and flowers and birds… and pomegranates.

        Demeter is beautiful, too, but Persephone’s beauty is that youthful, springtime loveliness that all fashionable women desire — and it can be yours with Le véritable corset Persephone, rendering the sveltest Parisiennes even svelter!

        So many things to so many people… What does the myth of Persephone mean to you?

[Pictures: Rape of Persephone, wood block print by Guiseppe Scolari, 1590-1607 (Image from The Met);

Demeter and Persephone, and Persephone and Hades Enthroned, linocuts by Cynthia Cratsley (Images from the artist’s Etsy shop CynthiaRaeCratsley);

Persephone, etching(?) by Roberto Rascovich from The Myth of Demeter and Persephone, c 1903 (Image from Smithsonian American Art Museum);

Proserpina, woodcut by Eric Ravilious, 1928 (Image from MutualArt);

Persephone, paper relief by Lila Oliver Asher, before 1972 (Image from Smithsonian American Art Museum);

Persephone, woodcut by Georges Braque, 1948 (Image from MutualArt);

Persephone, linocut print by Steve Goodwin (Image from the artists’s Etsy shop rememberinggreen);

Persephone, woodcut in three colors by Mina Mond (Image from the artist’s shop Mina Mond Prints/DUO DESORDRE);

Persephone, woodcut by Ouida Touchön (Image from the artist’s shop Ouida Touchön Portfolio);

Le Véritable Corset Persephone, advertisement from 1911 (Image from Mary Evans Picture Library).]

Alice, Irene, and Dorothy

        March being Women’s History Month, I thought I’d mention once again fantasy as a place where female characters have always had a chance to shine.  I think it’s remarkable that many of the earliest classic fantasy books for children feature strong, adventuresome, feisty girls as protagonists.  In an era when women had few legal rights, had to struggle to participate in higher education or non-menial jobs, were relegated to the home, and were supposed to be pure angels of heavenly light while being too weak and feeble-minded to take part in any important affairs, (male) writers of juvenile fantasy were portraying interesting, active, heroic girls who made a difference.

        Beginning with Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland, published in 1865, we see a girl who is feisty, strong-willed, and definitely neither passive nor angelic.  Perhaps the secret here was that Lewis Carroll was basing his character not on a fictional ideal but on a real child, so that Alice has both the virtues and the flaws of an actual child rather than a stereotype.  (More on Alice in a previous post.)  Whatever the reason, we’re presented with a girl who goes on an adventure, asks questions, stands up for herself, and tries to make sense of her own world rather than just accepting everything she’s told.  She even stands up to a dictator and her corrupt court at the end.
        By contrast, Irene in George MacDonald’s The Princess and the Goblin, 1872, is definitely an idealized character.  She’s always good, always determined to do her duty, always tries to be obedient.  It is sometimes popular these days to reject “being good” as a goal for girls (“Well-behaved women seldom make history”) but I think there’s a very important distinction to be made here.  Irene is obedient, but she’s obedient to a higher cause.  When true goodness requires her to break rules, she does so bravely and without hesitation.  She apologizes to her nurse for causing difficulties, and then staunchly goes out and does what she feels she needs to do.  Girls (and boys, of course) shouldn’t be taught that “being good” is bad.  Rather, they should be taught that being good isn’t the same as being passive or submissive, or never rocking the boat.  Irene is sweet, gentle, and selfless, but no one can doubt her strength, courage, enterprise, or leadership.  MacDonald also includes in many of his stories Wise Women: ancient women who are the representatives of true goodness, wisdom, and strength.  Let’s not get too smug about our modern representations of fighting teen girls when we compare how old women are usually portrayed nowadays with MacDonald’s beautiful goddess-like figures.  (A little more on George MacDonald in a previous post.)

        And finally, Dorothy from The Wonderful Wizard of Oz in 1900.  Dorothy is noted for her common sense, practical kindness and problem-solving, adventuresome spirit, and pluckiness.  She speaks truth to power when she can, and makes the best of bad situations when she has to.  As a feminist I see no cause for complaint.  Not that Baum is uniformly a beacon of PC progressiveness, of course; the case of General Jinjur is particularly cringe-worthy.  My point here, though, is that even in a fictional world that was undoubtedly a product of its time our hero is a girl of admirable spirit who doesn’t let others define her or force her into narrowness or passivity.
        The last of the four most famous and enduring juvenile fantasy novels from the dawn of the genre is Peter Pan, first written by J.M. Barrie as a play in 1904 and then published as a novel in 1911.  Peter Pan stands in stark contrast to the others.  All of Barrie’s female characters represent male-defined stereotypes of different archetypal roles for women, and all his female characters exist merely to gratify in their various ways the juvenile male ego of Peter Pan.  No more than one might expect of something written over a hundred years ago, you might say, which is what makes it all the more remarkable that the others are so much more enlightened.  Indeed, this is yet more evidence for the role of juvenile fantasy in making the world a better place.  I’m not an expert on the literature of this period over all, so I’m sure there’s quite a variety of different portrayals of girls and women, but I’m guessing that the “realistic” fiction of the era wasn’t presenting nearly so many girls going on so many adventures, or being so self-directed.  So here in Women’s History Month it’s worth giving some thanks to the authors in the history of juvenile fantasy who gave us the stories of such admirably adventuresome girls.  (Fantasy picture books with strong female leads in a previous post here.)

[Pictures: Alice, wood block print by George A. Walker, 2011 (Image from the Globe and Mail);

Dorothy melts the Wicked Witch of the West, wood block print by Michael McCurdy, 1999 (Image from Living, Libraries and [Dead] Languages).]

Some Favorite Fairy Tales

        When I was in fourth and fifth grade I would read pretty much nothing except fairy tales.  I ran my way through every anthology I could get my hands on, from the Ruth Manning Sanders books organized around themes such as Cats and Creatures or Sorcerers and Spells, to the many books collecting tales from particular countries, to the color-titled anthologies by Andrew Lang, who began with The Blue Fairy Book and eventually had to stretch to such obscure colors as Olive and Lilac…

        I admit that I'm not entirely able to say why I was so obsessed with fairy tales, given how strange and unsatisfactory so many of them are as stories, how inclined to sexism and stereotypes, how rife with horrific violence, how short on characterization or even logical plot.  One factor that got me started may simply have been that for my fourth grade year I was living in a city with a very small public library and there probably wasn't a very good selection of other options.  But even after I returned to the excellent library of my native Cleveland Heights, I still continued to haunt the 398 section of the stacks.  It's certainly safe to say that my reading of fairy tales, however unsatisfactory they sometimes are, fueled and was fueled by all those things I love about fantasy to this day.

        Whatever my reasons for my voracious appetite for the traditional fairy tales, there was a point in my youth when I had read them about as comprehensively as any scholar in the field of folklore.  That was a long time ago, and I will no longer claim that I remember them all, much less that I have any particular expertise in the types and tropes into which scholars like to categorize the tales.  But nevertheless, I thought I would list a few of my favorite fairy tales.
        As I began to compile my list, it grew longer and longer, until I began knocking stories back off.  I considered knocking off the famous ones and keeping the lesser known, but as you can see, in the end I mostly stuck with iconic tales.  That's because my idea was to point out some of what it is that I find so compelling about these crazy stories.  (I've also linked each one to a site where you can read it on-line.  How cool is that!)

In the Brothers Grimm version, Sleeping Beauty's name
is Briar Rose.  Rose names are popular in fairy tales.

        Sleeping Beauty (Grimm, based on Perrault)  I like the "rules" of magic followed by the fairies, and I like the mysterious atmosphere of the sleeping castle, with sleep falling over even the flies on the wall and the fire on the hearth.  This one has been used as the basis for an astonishing number of adaptations and variations, from modern horror to the most saccharine of romances.  It's got all kinds of interesting "bits" that can be pulled out and manipulated and reused.

        Snow White and Rose Red (Grimm)  I like that the two sisters are kind not just to the enchanted prince but also to the wicked dwarf, and I like the humor of the dwarf's ingratitude.  I also like that the mother is, for once, not wicked!

        Beauty and the Beast (French)  I like that Beauty is brave and honorable, and that the beast has a heart of gold.  I like that it's a much longer and more complete story than most, with lots of interesting details.  By the way, I also like the Disney version very much.  It's definitely my favorite of the Disney fairy tale movies.

        The Singing Springing Lark (Grimm)  This begins a lot like Beauty and the Beast, and ends with the wife having to go rescue her husband in distress.  Adventures ensue.  (There's a really nice version called The Lady and the Lion in my post on Fantasy Picture Books of Note.)

        Ali Baba and the Forty Thieves (The Thousand and One Nights)  I like that most of the conflicts are not face to face, but instead each side makes a move in the dark, waiting to see what the response will be before planning the next move.  I like that it's Morgana who saves the day through her cleverness and her action.

        Jorinde and Joringel (Grimm)  I like this for the rich, evocative descriptive passages and the beautiful, strange, dreamlike quality of the entire thing.

        The Twelve Dancing Princesses (Grimm)  I like the idea of an enticing but dangerous fey kingdom entered through a secret passage.  I like the ordinary man figuring out a solution to the problem.  (If it is a problem!  In some versions the princesses seem perfectly happy with the set-up and don't want it to end.  In others there are definitely overtones of unwanted enchantment.)  I particularly like the versions in which an actual relationship grows between the hero and one of the princesses (it makes a nice change when it's the eldest), so that the eventual marriage seems right, not a mere payment for services rendered to the king.  And in versions with illustrations, I always liked the plethora of princess gowns to admire.  I remember picking out which of the princesses I would be.

        In addition I should add a couple more fairy tales that, as far as I can remember, I either didn't know or didn't care about as a kid, but which I like now.

        Hans in Luck (Grimm)  See more about it in my post on The Root of Happiness.

        The Gentle People (Argentinian)  I adapted this into a traditional Minarian folk tale in my book Vision Revealed.  (I found the story in Tales Alive, by Susan Milord.)

[Pictures:  Magical Symbol, rubber block print by AEGN, 2008 (commissioned for a not-yet-published fantasy novel by a friend of mine);

Sweet Briar, rubber block print by AEGN, 1997 (sold out).]

Feminist Fantasy Picture Books

        I am a feminist.  Now, "feminist" is a word, like many religious and political words, to which all sorts of people ascribe all sorts of different meanings, some of them practically contradictory.  When I say that I'm a feminist I simply mean that I believe males and females are equally valuable, deserve equal human rights, and should be equally permitted to pursue their own particular talents and skills, whatever they may be.  In the 1970's and 80's when I was a girl with a fascination with traditional fairy tales it was easy to start hungering for interesting, active, strong, intelligent female characters - and luckily huge crops of these soon appeared, both in bringing lesser known traditional tales to the fore and in writing new ones.  This is one of those areas in which I think that juvenile fantasy helped to save the world: it may be easier for society to accept unconventional heroes in fantasy tales.  Indeed, many of the early fantasy authors, including George MacDonald, Lewis Carroll, and L. Frank Baum, presented us with feisty, adventuresome, resourceful girls before it was expected that girls could be feisty, adventuresome, and resourceful in real life.  (More about this here.)  But today I'm only going to concentrate on picture books.  Here are a few of the feminist fantasy tales I've found most interesting.

    The Dragon and the Doctor, by Barbara Danish. This is an oddity.  The story itself is extremely weak - indeed, the entire book, published by Feminist Press in 1971, seems to exist for no reason other than to state the existence of a female doctor with a male nurse.  However, it is pleasantly silly, and the dragon's plaintive cry of "Berkshmert" was a welcome addition to my family's vocabulary when I was a child.  [Note: I just discovered that they came out with a new edition in 1995 which apparently makes the doctor black and adds a lesbian couple with a daughter to the mix.  I haven't seen it, so I have no idea whether the actual story's been improved at all.]

    Brave Margaret, by Robert San Souci, illustrated by Sally Wern Comport.  A traditional Irish tale in which the punch line is "What fools we are for thinking it must be a man who slays that great, dirty giant!"

    Vassilisa the Wise, by Josepha Sherman, illustrated by Daniel San Souci.  The hero of this traditional Russian folk tale is a kick-butt woman who can do everything -- and has to, to save her loving and faithful but not so resourceful husband.

     Goddesses: A World of Myth and Magic, by Burliegh Mutén, illustrated by Rebecca Guay.  Personally, I'm not into the front flap's claim that it will "release the goddess energy that is latent in every one" of us females, and I sure wouldn't want my daughter T to emulate the sort of behavior most of these goddesses seem to get up to - and that's even with the book's most positive possible interpretation of the myths!  Still, it's an interesting reference book, representing mythology from all around the world, and it's beautiful, with gorgeous illustrations and borders.


     The Princess Knight, by Cornelia Funke, illustrated by Kerstin Meyer.  Perhaps nothing radically new, this is nevertheless a nice version of the tomboy who proves herself, with a sensible resolution after her father offers her hand in marriage to the winner of a tournament.  I like the way the illustrations scroll along the pages like a modern Bayeux tapestry.

     Not One Damsel in Distress: World Folktales for Strong Girls, retold by Jane Yolen, illustrated by Susan Guevara.  This isn't really so much a picture book, having only one full illustration for each of the thirteen stories, but I count it here because it isn't a chapter novel, either.  As for the stories, I like some more than others.  My least favorites are the ones in which women act just like stereotypical male heroes - which is to say they're stupid, stubborn, obsessed with pointless honor, and convinced that everything will work out fine if they just hit harder.  I admit that there's a value to representing women of all types, and there's no reason some girls can't be brawny fighting machines… but for my taste I'd rather see more boy heroes who are not like that, instead of more girl heroes who are.  That said, this is a nice collection of stories from all different cultures, showing both the variety and the universality of heroic girls.  My favorites are probably "Bradamante" and "The Pirate Princess."

     Also, several of the picture books listed here have strong female heroes, too.

        Now here we are in 2011, and books with an explicit emphasis on strong girls seem almost pointless.  It isn't that strong female characters are no longer needed, it's just that we've reached the stage where the fact that our hero is a girl doesn't need to be the point.  P and T both take it completely for granted that a story's hero could equally be a boy or a girl.  As far as they're concerned, the idea that a girl might not be capable of all the same adventures as a boy is nothing more than a curiosity of ancient history.  Which is exactly as it should be.  I'm lucky to be raising my children in a time and place where they can take equality of the sexes for granted.  Now if only we can bring this vision out of the realm of fantasy and apply it to our entire world.  After all, that's the real magic of fantasy.

[Pictures: Dancing with Animals, wood block print by AEGN, 1999.]