One-Eye, Two-Eyes, and Three-Eyes - AT Type 511
This story is... a bit of an odd one. It's another tree story, because I enjoy running with a theme, and I'm learning a lot. In fact, it's not just another tree story (Green Willow was a tree story too, but I don't think it's anything like these). It's another "tree providing for a little girl when other people are cruel to her" story, which for some reason or another seems to really appeal to me. I think I'll conclude my current visitations on the subject with my favorite fairy tale ever tomorrow. For now, though, I'm writing about this one, because it helped me solve a particular problem I've been thinking about for some time.
I spend a lot of my time thinking about seemingly irreconcilable dichotomies of action or thought. One that has always provided me with a great deal of challenge has been the clash between stability and change. I'm a very mutable person. I'm prone to mood swings, have a very short attention span, and love novelty. I also crave stability. I like having a routine in my life, and forming long-lasting friendships, and repeating things often enough to get very good at them. How can I live with these two forces constantly at war with one another? I want to stick with things for a very long time, but I get bored or distracted or simply overwhelmed with everything else I could be doing.
I am happy to say that I've discovered a new solution today: find things that are a constant part of my life that are themselves constantly changing! How I discovered this was simple. Today I brought the girl I am babysitting to my studio (at her mother's request - she likes art), and we had some time to kill. I asked her if she wanted to try some painting or drawing, or visit other artists at work, but she seemed very interested in the way I decorate my studio. Right now there is thread and yarn stretched all across the ceiling and walls, and lots of things like tree branches and strings of beads and dried flowers hanging from it. She made the suggestion of separating one part of my studio from the other by hanging a bunch of bead strings together to make a curtain. It was a great idea, and we spent the rest of our time working on the project. It occurred to me that the space of my studio, and the sort of general space of "where I am" is kind of like this ever-changing but ever-constant reminder of who I am and the people I care about. The contents, layout, or even location of the space may be constantly changing, but it always reflects the people that matter to me, and keeps me grounded in a very stable reality.
The reason this reminded me of today's story was because of the presence of the old woman. She's a constant source of nourishment for the girl (sort of taking the place of the real mother in the "evil stepmother" stories like Juniper Tree and Magic Orange Tree), but that source of nourishment changes and moves with the girl. First she is given a goat, with magic that works just for her. When the goat dies (as all goats must, especially, it seems, when they're standing in for motherly love), its entrails are used to create a brand new magical tree that only provides food for Two-Eyes. And what's more, when Two-Eyes moves away, the tree moves with her! This brings me right back to the topic of my last entry, the constancy of love. And the funny thing is, even though they're full of fairy-magic happy endings, they're actually pretty relevant to real life if you know how to interpret them.
Showing posts with label trees. Show all posts
Showing posts with label trees. Show all posts
Wednesday, January 20, 2010
Monday, January 18, 2010
The Juniper Tree
The Juniper Tree - AT Type 720 (Mother Killed Me, Father Ate Me)
The Juniper Tree is another one of my favorite fairy tales, decidedly morbid though it may be. I read it today because of the similarities I noticed between it and The Magic Orange Tree from Haiti. Namely, they both feature dead mothers who protect or save their children in the form of a tree.
What leads adults to tell stories like these to children? I think we feel their need for us, their dependence and the shelter they seek in our arms, and we fear our own inadequacy. How can we possibly measure up to such love, and such demand for love in return? I've met children who would rush happily into my arms moments after they met me, trusting me completely. Somewhere along the transition from child to adult, we lose the capacity to love unconditionally, unquestioningly. We shut ourselves off for fear that our love won't be returned, or we learn that our trust should not be so freely given. It is this that leads adults to tell children stories like these.
In these stories, the trusted mothers do not abandon their children. They do not fail, they do not die. They live forever and love forever, persisting in magical form as a provider of shelter and nourishment, persisting despite their shortcomings to nurture their children even after death. Only a fear of one's own inadequacy could produce these stories. If you have ever looked into a child's trusting eyes, you have known that fear. How could you tell them you have to leave? How could you explain why? How could you ever explain how much their trust means to you? You can't, you can't. And so you tell them stories, you tell them you'll be back, you tell them everything will work out in the end. And they learn.
The Juniper Tree is another one of my favorite fairy tales, decidedly morbid though it may be. I read it today because of the similarities I noticed between it and The Magic Orange Tree from Haiti. Namely, they both feature dead mothers who protect or save their children in the form of a tree.
What leads adults to tell stories like these to children? I think we feel their need for us, their dependence and the shelter they seek in our arms, and we fear our own inadequacy. How can we possibly measure up to such love, and such demand for love in return? I've met children who would rush happily into my arms moments after they met me, trusting me completely. Somewhere along the transition from child to adult, we lose the capacity to love unconditionally, unquestioningly. We shut ourselves off for fear that our love won't be returned, or we learn that our trust should not be so freely given. It is this that leads adults to tell children stories like these.
In these stories, the trusted mothers do not abandon their children. They do not fail, they do not die. They live forever and love forever, persisting in magical form as a provider of shelter and nourishment, persisting despite their shortcomings to nurture their children even after death. Only a fear of one's own inadequacy could produce these stories. If you have ever looked into a child's trusting eyes, you have known that fear. How could you tell them you have to leave? How could you explain why? How could you ever explain how much their trust means to you? You can't, you can't. And so you tell them stories, you tell them you'll be back, you tell them everything will work out in the end. And they learn.
Saturday, January 16, 2010
Tradition
The Magic Orange Tree
Today's story is very rewarding because it demonstrates, as I had hoped, a number of connections to other topics and traditions I have come across in my fairy tale readings. The first thing I noticed about this story, as it is presented, is that it draws very palpably in its narrative style from the oral tradition in which it originated. The "Cric?" "Crac!" callback and group singing are familiar tropes of Caribbean storytelling, ones which I've only seen in film (and, if I'm remembering correctly, a film set in Martinique and not Haiti), but would love to be a part of in person. I love it when I can feel a speaker's voice in a written story. It serves as a reminder that these tales are quite older than the written word and indeed often flourish in cultures where writing is not at all common. The Grimms' stories often contain these little narrative indicators of a speaker as well, usually in sing-song rhymes or funny little jokes at the ends of stories. They seem odd in a written work, but happily remind us that words are meant to be spoken aloud. These stories work best when delivered by a practiced voice to an eager audience.
Another interesting comparison I found was in the commentary at the bottom of this story, which describes the practice of burying a child's umbilical cord with a fruit seed, and essentially giving the resultant fruit tree to the child. I read here (in a note to one of my favorite stories, The Girl With No Hands - incidentally, this is what inspired my brief obsession with pears in my paintings about a year ago) that a similar ritual was once common in Europe as well. The practice of allowing the child to use the tree for her own economic benefit seems unique to Haiti though, and implies a lot more self-reliance at an early age, a value that is upheld throughout today's story. I very much enjoy the tale of The Magic Orange Tree, and find its message of resilience and autonomous power much more appropriate and truthful when applied to real children, at least the ones I've met. I would say I'd be adding it to my repertoire for stories to tell at Lemberg, if not for that pesky recurring theme of killing evil step-parents. Somehow I don't think that would be well-received by the children, their parents, or my superiors.
Today's story is very rewarding because it demonstrates, as I had hoped, a number of connections to other topics and traditions I have come across in my fairy tale readings. The first thing I noticed about this story, as it is presented, is that it draws very palpably in its narrative style from the oral tradition in which it originated. The "Cric?" "Crac!" callback and group singing are familiar tropes of Caribbean storytelling, ones which I've only seen in film (and, if I'm remembering correctly, a film set in Martinique and not Haiti), but would love to be a part of in person. I love it when I can feel a speaker's voice in a written story. It serves as a reminder that these tales are quite older than the written word and indeed often flourish in cultures where writing is not at all common. The Grimms' stories often contain these little narrative indicators of a speaker as well, usually in sing-song rhymes or funny little jokes at the ends of stories. They seem odd in a written work, but happily remind us that words are meant to be spoken aloud. These stories work best when delivered by a practiced voice to an eager audience.
Another interesting comparison I found was in the commentary at the bottom of this story, which describes the practice of burying a child's umbilical cord with a fruit seed, and essentially giving the resultant fruit tree to the child. I read here (in a note to one of my favorite stories, The Girl With No Hands - incidentally, this is what inspired my brief obsession with pears in my paintings about a year ago) that a similar ritual was once common in Europe as well. The practice of allowing the child to use the tree for her own economic benefit seems unique to Haiti though, and implies a lot more self-reliance at an early age, a value that is upheld throughout today's story. I very much enjoy the tale of The Magic Orange Tree, and find its message of resilience and autonomous power much more appropriate and truthful when applied to real children, at least the ones I've met. I would say I'd be adding it to my repertoire for stories to tell at Lemberg, if not for that pesky recurring theme of killing evil step-parents. Somehow I don't think that would be well-received by the children, their parents, or my superiors.
Saturday, January 9, 2010
Green Willow
Hello friends. You may have noticed that I didn't post an entry yesterday, even though this is a "daily fairy tale writing project." Hopefully none of you are planning on policing my entry rate, but I should clarify that my intent at this time is to post entries five to seven times per week. I did read a fairy tale yesterday. It was The Good Bargain. I think it is rather stupid and I have nothing to say about it, but please feel free to read it. I will skip a story every nce in a while. That being said, I decided to depart from the Grimms for at least a day and read a story from a book I have, entitled Green Willow and Other Japanese Fairy Tales. It was given to me by my good friend Marissa, and contains a number of nice stories. However, the classification of today's story will force me to reconsider my definition of fairy tale in general, if we are to consider it one. At the very least, it is quite different from the largely German and entirely Western fairy tales I've been examining. In any case, I am very interested in classification and genre, so this will be a fun exercise. Without further ado...
Green Willow
(A note on the versions - in the version I read, the story ends when Tomotada, as a holy man, returns to see the three tree stumps, remembers the song he once sang for his love, and then correcting himself and saying a prayer of mourning. Also, much greater emphasis is placed on Tomotada's failure to complete is master's task. He is explicitly told before leaving not to look any maiden between the eyes. In another difference worth mentioning, Green Willow is explicitly stated as being 15.)
The first difference from the typical Grimm formula that I noticed in this story was that it didn't seem to be a coming-of-age story, as the protagonist is not a particularly young man (presumably, given that he's a samurai - please correct me if this assumption is incorrect). It is also a love story with a male protagonist (not a story about making a living, as most Grimm stories about boys seem to be). Finally, it doesn't have the expected happy ending. This last difference is really the most striking to me. I am willing to quickly accept that there are different values being discussed here, given that it's from a very different culture, but that the very structure of the narrative changes is quite surprising! Now, I feel like I could perceive in one of two ways: either this story doesn't have a happy ending, because such an ending is not necessary for Japanese children's tales, or this story does have a happy ending, it's just not the kind we're used to. We (the western reader) are expecting the "happy ending" to involve Tomotada and Green Willow overcoming her strange enchantment and living a happy life together forever. In the version I found online, this sort of happens, in that the two become new trees and grow together. In the version I read first, Tomotada simply mourns and moves on, remembering sadly the life of carefree love he once lived. Could this be a happy ending? Once again, in the version I read, great emphasis is placed on Tomotada's failure to complete his daimyo's errand, and being led astray, so to speak, by Green Willow. In a sense, his eventual progression to a holy life and his ability to mature past the infatuation of his younger days could be seen as a happy ending. In fact, it could also be seen as a coming of age, just an older age. In fact, it even suggests that this is not a love story, but rather a spiritual enlightenment story.
I wish I could show you the exact text of the version I have, because even in comparing it to what I see online shows some remarkable changes in message. The online version is much closer to the western idea of a happy ending and a traditional love story. I would like to believe that my text version is more accurate to the original tale, but this will clearly take further reading. Time permitting (these Japanese stories are a bit longer than most of Grimms') I will stick with this cultural comparison for a while, or at least try to maintain the theme along with all the others. Thanks for reading!
Green Willow
(A note on the versions - in the version I read, the story ends when Tomotada, as a holy man, returns to see the three tree stumps, remembers the song he once sang for his love, and then correcting himself and saying a prayer of mourning. Also, much greater emphasis is placed on Tomotada's failure to complete is master's task. He is explicitly told before leaving not to look any maiden between the eyes. In another difference worth mentioning, Green Willow is explicitly stated as being 15.)
The first difference from the typical Grimm formula that I noticed in this story was that it didn't seem to be a coming-of-age story, as the protagonist is not a particularly young man (presumably, given that he's a samurai - please correct me if this assumption is incorrect). It is also a love story with a male protagonist (not a story about making a living, as most Grimm stories about boys seem to be). Finally, it doesn't have the expected happy ending. This last difference is really the most striking to me. I am willing to quickly accept that there are different values being discussed here, given that it's from a very different culture, but that the very structure of the narrative changes is quite surprising! Now, I feel like I could perceive in one of two ways: either this story doesn't have a happy ending, because such an ending is not necessary for Japanese children's tales, or this story does have a happy ending, it's just not the kind we're used to. We (the western reader) are expecting the "happy ending" to involve Tomotada and Green Willow overcoming her strange enchantment and living a happy life together forever. In the version I found online, this sort of happens, in that the two become new trees and grow together. In the version I read first, Tomotada simply mourns and moves on, remembering sadly the life of carefree love he once lived. Could this be a happy ending? Once again, in the version I read, great emphasis is placed on Tomotada's failure to complete his daimyo's errand, and being led astray, so to speak, by Green Willow. In a sense, his eventual progression to a holy life and his ability to mature past the infatuation of his younger days could be seen as a happy ending. In fact, it could also be seen as a coming of age, just an older age. In fact, it even suggests that this is not a love story, but rather a spiritual enlightenment story.
I wish I could show you the exact text of the version I have, because even in comparing it to what I see online shows some remarkable changes in message. The online version is much closer to the western idea of a happy ending and a traditional love story. I would like to believe that my text version is more accurate to the original tale, but this will clearly take further reading. Time permitting (these Japanese stories are a bit longer than most of Grimms') I will stick with this cultural comparison for a while, or at least try to maintain the theme along with all the others. Thanks for reading!
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