Murder, Murder On The Wall

Murder, Murder On The Wall

Murder, Murder On The Wall

A review of Murder She Wrote Season 5, episode 21: Mirror, Mirror On the Wall

By Derek Newman-Stille

I have often thought that creating a murder mystery story around Snow White would be an exciting and engaging idea. However, fairy tales are engaged in constant revisioning and reimagining and I found out that my vision had already been realized, though with more realism and less fairy tale content… and it had been realized in the strangest of places – on Murder She Wrote. For those of you unfamiliar with Murder She Wrote, it ran from 1984 until 1996 and featured widowed mystery writer Jessica Fletcher who travelled from place to place solving murders. The show engaged in a lot of meta activities, engaging in cross-overs with other shows, proposing solutions for murder mysteries filmed in the 40s, and, as I discovered, even playing with fairy tale narratives.

The two-part episode Mirror, Mirror On The Wall is a fairy tale adaptation, but brought into the world of Jessica Fletcher and the fictional Maine town of Cabot Cove. Like the fairy tale Snow White, the story features attempted murder, and, of course, a poisoned apple. It is also a story that features jealousy. However, rather than engaging in the ageism of Snow White, Mirror, Mirror on the Wall features two women of roughly the same age. It does still engage in jealousy, but is instead about one writer, Eudora McVeigh, who used to be a best-selling mystery author who is now experiencing writer’s block and her jealousy of Jessica Fletcher’s rising success in the genre. By featuring two ageing women, Mirror, Mirror On The Wall intentionally disrupts the idea of older women being threatened by and afraid of younger women, instead placing the interest of the episode on the competitive world of creative writing and one woman’s fear of another’s success.

Although Murder She Wrote has anti-feminist elements, often directly criticizing feminists, it, perhaps unintentionally, brings attention to the problem of women who don’t engage in ideas of sisterhood and instead seek to oppress each other. Rather than directing her anger at a system that only favours one female mystery writer at a time, Eudora begins the episode by wanting revenge on Jessica, seeing her success as inherently threatening to her own instead of seeking revenge on her publisher who is setting her aside in favour of Jessica. She ignores the men who are oppressing her and instead turns her anger toward another female writer, not seeing the potential for a united front by both of them sharing resources and challenge the patriarchal system and male publisher who is seeking to pit them against each other.

Fascinatingly, Eudora keeps referring to Cabot Cove as a little fairy tale town, pointing out the town’s perceived simplicity and wholesomeness… however, as we who read fairy tales know, there is a dark side to fairy tales, and not only does this fairy tale end in violence and murder (like so many), in this episode, the Sheriff (who moved from New York for a nice, simple life), points out one of the key issues of the show – for a small, quiet little town… there are the highest number of murders per capita. The show features about 24 episodes per year, many of them set in Cabot Cove, and lasted for 12 seasons… and there is at least one murder per episode in addition to multiple attempted murders. Cabot Cove’s quaint, dreamy, fairy tale setting is constantly being undone by murder in order to keep the show progressing.

Ultimately, like most Murder She Wrote episodes, the fairy tale storyline is secondary to the main focus on the show – murder. Ultimately, it is a story that engages with human psychology, clues, criminal slip ups, and the all-important confession.

Advertisements

A Pinocchio Tale That Isn’t Wooden

A Pinocchio Tale That Isn’t Wooden

A Pinocchio Tale That Isn’t Wooden

A review of Charlie Petch’s Daughter of Geppetto.
By Derek Newman-Stille

Screen Shot 2019-03-13 at 9.55.45 PM.png

In their performance “Daughter of Geppetto”, Charlie Petch takes the fundamental idea of Pinocchio – “I want to be a real boy” – and turns it into a Trans tale, asking questions about what “real boy” means and the questions this poses about gender and performance.

Petch performs a one-person play, using multiple media including a sound board that lets them echo sounds and play with soundscapes to provide context for their act of storytelling, music performed by Petch, and shadow puppetry to invite the audience to think about ideas of echoed voices, overlapping waves of sound and the idea of puppetry itself (since Pinocchio is, ultimately, a puppet). Petch brings attention to the ways that theatre is made and the theatricality of theatre, breaking down the boundaries between audience and stage. They invite their audience to think about performance itself and the ways that we perform our identities off stage, pointing to the scripted way that we express gender in our society.

Like much of Petch’s work, “Daughter of Geppetto” defies simple categorization, encompassing theatrical performance, puppetry, musical performance, spoken word poetry, and fairy tale.

“Daughter of Geppetto” illustrates the craving and need for fairy tales in the Trans community and the power that fairy tales have to shift and change and adapt to new voices. For a community that is constantly being told about tradition and that we don’t fit into tradition, the idea of adapting fairy tale traditions for the Trans community is important because we need these stories. We need to play with our fairy tales and see ourselves in and through them.

“Daughter of Geppetto” is a powerful, evocative, and, yes, transformative tale. It is beautifully dark while also delightfully light and playful. It is new and innovative while also playing with and illustrating the magic of traditional tales.

 

To find out more about Charlie Petch, visit their website at http://www.charliecpetch.com

Check out a trailer for “Daughter of Geppetto” here https://youtu.be/YYt5NHfYB_U

Father Christmas’ Childhood

Father Christmas’ Childhood

Father Christmas’ Childhood

A review of Matt Haig’s A Boy Called Christmas (HarperCollins Publishers Ltd, 2015).

By Derek Newman-Stille

Matt Haig’s adorable children’s book A Boy Called Christmas sets out to fill in the details of holiday tradition and fill in gaps in the folklore and mythology of Father Christmas (the British name for Santa Claus), and specifically to fill in details that would be relevant to his target audience by asking the question “What would Santa Claus’ youth be like?” The story starts with an 11 year old boy living in poverty who has been nicknamed Christmas because his birthday fell on Christmas and takes him on a magical quest fuelled by his belief and his desire to see his father who had gone to the North. Like many magical quest narratives, he undergoes the traditional fantasy narrative of picking up helpers along the way. These helpers allow him to encounter the “Other” and learn from those experiences, becoming changed by the animals and supernatural characters he brings along with him on his voyage.

Haig follows the tradition of writing Santa’s life as a fantasy tale that was established by L. Frank Baum in The Life and Adventures of Santa Claus. He provides details to his tale, specifying where each of Father Christmas’ traditions come from as he battles the monstrous and spreads joy. Most tales have tended toward leaving gaps in knowledge and leaving it up to the reader’s imagination, rather than setting down specific origins for Santa’s behaviour as Baum and Haig have done. Haig’s tale details how Father Christmas first gets his red hat, why he first begins putting toys in stockings, how he comes to acquire toys from elves, how he begins to use his distinctive laugh, and, perhaps most importantly, what motivates him to believe that he needs to spread joy through gift-giving.

Yet, A Boy Called Christmas isn’t just a detailled mythology. In choosing a boy living in poverty with only a turnip carved like a doll as a toy, he brings attention to issues of poverty and how they affect children, while also bringing attention to the fact that many human “naughty” behaviours have come from living under constant oppression. His character, Father Christmas, uses his knowledge of human nature to begin searching for ways to increase human happiness and decrease misery and he situates expressions of joy and caring as the central feature for a better society (one that shares resources and takes time to enjoy life).

Haig initially portrays the elves in this narrative as people who have become xenophobic and joyless as a result of fear mongering by the elf newspaper and explores the power of overthrowing regimes that are based on isolationist policies and racism. As much as this is a story about Christmas, it is also a tale about revolution and calling into question hate-based and fear-based discourse.

This is a book of enlightenment – not just because of the happy, joyful content, but because it reminds readers that they have the power to stop being afraid and make positive changes. It is a book about growing up as an individual, but also growing up as a society.

To discover more about Matt Haig, go to http://www.matthaig.com

To find out more about A Boy Called Christmas, go to http://www.matthaig.com/a-boy-called-christmas/

Superhero Santa

Superhero Santa

Superhero Santa

A review of Grant Morrison and Dan Mora’s Klaus: The New Adventures of Santa Claus (Boom! Studios, 2018)

By Derek Newman-Stille

I have to admit that I have an absolute love for Yule holiday traditions and stories, especially ones that play with and complicate traditional narratives. There is something otherworldly about the holidays and they inspire a need to read – particularly for those of us in the Northern hemisphere during Yule. The shorter days and longer nights call out for a need for hope and light, so reading optimistic holiday tales can evoke that feeling of hope in the long, long nights.

The second instalment in Grant Morrison and Dan Mora’s Klaus graphic series, Klaus: The New Adventures of Santa Claus continues Morrison and Mora’s re-exploration of this reimagining of the Santa Claus figure. But where Santa was a jolly old man with a round little belly that shook when he laughed like a bowl full of jelly, Morrison and Mora’s Santa Claus is a muscular middle aged man who seems to spend more time at the gym than he does eating milk and cookies. Klaus is a warrior figure, set against the tides of darkness that spring up around Yule, whose role is to fight evil… but also inspire hope and caring in children.

Klaus is fully steeped in Norse mythology, formed at the combination of the Joy rune, the Gift rune, and the Fire rune. He is a newly imagined figure who is steeped in the pagan origins of Yule and connected to other traditions like the Yule Lads of Iceland, the Yule Goat of Scandinavia, Ded Moroz of Russia, and the Frost Giants of Norse myth. Instead of reindeer, this Santa Claus is accompanied by wolves. Yet, Mora and Morrison don’t just play with the idea of a magical Santa. He is also steeped in technology, riding a sleigh that looks like it is part space ship and occasionally fighting aliens.

Klaus: the New Adventures of Santa Claus occurs in two narratives – “Klaus and the Witch of Winter” and “Klaus and the Crisis in Xmasville”. Klaus’ encounter with the Witch of Winter involves a battle against forces of cold with hints of The Snow Queen (especially through the notion of children developing a frozen heart), but the tale also connects Klaus to other tales, making this Santa Claus the teacher of Geppetto (from the tale of Pinocchio). This tale brings up concerns about global warming, ideas of family, and the psychological trauma that children undergo.

“Klaus and the Crisis in Xmasville” is similarly charged with magic and political commentary. In this story, Morrison and Mora explore the influence of Coca Cola in shaping the image of modern Santa Claus and his capitalist trappings. Using the name “Pola Cola”, Morrison and Mora point out things like the exploitation of workers and the power of economy to turn people into zombie-like figures, but they also combine this with Klaus’ battle against a werewolf-like figure and aliens from another planet who are trying to suck all of the creativity out of human beings because they don’t have any of their own.

Morrison and Mora have created a new mythology with Klaus, modifying the traditional image of Santa Claus and combining him with another creation of popular culture – the superhero.

To find out more about Grant Morrison, go to https://www.grantmorrison.com

To discover more about Klaus, go to https://shop.boom-studios.com/series/detail/458/klaus

Not Grimm… But Grim

Not Grimm… But Grim

A review of Willow Dawson and Shelley Tanaka’s White as Milk, Red as Blood: The Forgotten Fairy Tales of Franz Xaver von Schonwerth (Alfred A Knopf Canada, 2018).

By Derek Newman-Stille

When I first read the fairy tales recorded by Bavarian folklore collector  Franz Xaver von Schonwerth, the tales seemed whimsically short and light even though many of the tales featured the grim characteristics of fairy tales like abuse, murder, violence, hunger, and torture. This underscores the power of translation and the influence that it has on the way we read folk narratives. Simple things like word choice, tone, or presentation on the page can shift our readings of fairy tales.

When I encountered Willow Dawson and Shelley Tanaka’s White as Milk, Red as Blood: The Forgotten Fairy Tales of Franz Xaver von Schonwerth, my reading of von Schonwerth’s tales changed drastically, and I attribute the way the stories were read in this collection with that shift. The tales suddenly took on darker tones, words stood out like blood, witch, wolf, hunt, strangled, and death. Despite the way that words suddenly spoke themselves suffused with melancholy and anger, it wasn’t Tanaka’s translation alone that triggered the shift in reading. Rather, it was the magical binding of Tanaka’s words to Dawson’s art. Dawson’s illustrations of the tales were able to play with the intrusion of the inhuman into the human world, underscoring the threatening potential of these tales. She evoked a beauty tinged with tragedy in her art, interweaving flowers with bodies and blood.

Text is scattered across Dawson’s images, which gives them a weighty presence in the narrative, making them part of the story rather than a side note, addendum, or marginalia. Dawson is able to pull words out of Tanaka’s translation to emphasize parts of the tale that the reader might disregard.

Dawson’s art incorporates aspects of folk art, giving the work a timeless quality, and reminding the reader that this is folklore in motion – always shifting and changing, but maintaining its roots.

Although Tanaka and Dawson don’t use all of von Schonwerth’s tales, they create a representative sample, a tasting of the folklore that von Schonwerth was able to collect. By incorporating the visual with the textual, Tanaka and Dawson are able to capture some of the multivocality and mutability of fairy tales, highlighting the way that fairy tales can take on new meanings through their contexts.

to find out more about White as Milk, Red as Blood: The Forgotten Fairy Tales of Franz Xaver von Schonwerth, go to https://penguinrandomhouse.ca/books/546931/white-milk-red-blood#9780345812186

To discover more about Willow Dawson, go to https://www.willowdawson.com

to discover more about Shelley Tanaka, go to https://www.writersunion.ca/member/shelley-tanaka

Telling Silences

Telling Silences

Telling Silences

A review of Margaret Yocom KIN S FUR (Deerbrook Editions, 2018)

By Derek Newman-Stille

Margaret Yocom was the person who first introduced me to erasure poetry, so I am extremely excited that her erasure poem KIN S FUR has been published. KIN S FUR transforms the fairy tale All Kinds of Fur, revealing the voice of the daughter between the lines, in that interstitial space where ideas are formed. Yocom sorts through words, sifting them until she finds the silenced voice within the fairy tale.

Fairy tales have power and part of their power is their ability to adapt, to transform, to shift and change, and Yocom combines the metamorphosing power of these tales with the transformative quality of erasure poetry. Yocom searches through the fairy tale All Kinds of Fur to find what is left unspoken and devoiced and she finds that voice at the margins, hidden within the words fo the fairy tale and pulls these words to the surface, casting her own spell of discovery over the text.

Yocom brings up the voices of women, highlighting words like wife, daughter, mother, she, and her, focussing the reader’s attention on the role of women and their significance to fairy tales (even ones like All Kinds of Fur where female characters remain unspoken). Yocom proves that even the seemingly silent speaks and that sometimes the oppressed speak their strongest through silence.

To discover more about Margaret Yocom, visit https://margaretyocom.com

To find out more about KIN S FUR, visit http://www.deerbrookeditions.com/kin-s-fur/

Saved From The Music

Saved From The Music

Saved from the Music

A review of Jay Asher and Jessica Freeburg’s Piper (Penguin Random House, 2017)

By Derek Newman-Stille

Fairy tales have frequently invoked disability, often using the disabled body as a motivating point for stories of change and transformation. Jay Asher and Jessica Freeburg’s graphic novel Piper explores the question of what would happen if the Pied Piper of Hamelin encountered a young woman who is Deaf and therefore couldn’t hear the allure of his magical pipe. Maggie, a young Deaf woman who has been ostracised by her village, becomes a foil for the Pied Piper, a person who has a strength that counters that of the Pied Piper. She has the ability to resist control because of being Deaf.

Maggie became Deaf when children put her in a barrel when she was a child and throughout her life she experienced ostracism and violence from the rest of her community. When the Piper arrives in her town, the first thing he notices is the prevalence of violence and oppression in the community and the power that those in positions of authority or wealth exert over the rest of the community. He notices that the town has a rat infestation, which is has the ability to counter with his ability to summon rats with his pipe, but he also reads the imbalance of power in the town and wants vengeance for those who are attacked by the community. His own father died as a result of violence from a community that ostracized him and this has left the Piper aware of the violence that ostracism can visit on those who don’t conform.

Asher and Freeburg give us a modified version of the tale, giving further context to why the Piper eventually lures all of the children away from the village beyond the fact that the town doesn’t pay him for removing all of the rats.

The tale evokes disability again when the kidnapping of the village’s children is discovered after a disabled child is unable to keep up with the rest of the children and therefore escapes the Piper’s abduction, therefore situating this tale as one that uses disability and Deafness as symbolic media within the context of the tale, associating bodily difference as a way to demonstrate the town of Hamelin’s abuse toward disempowered groups.

This is also a fairy tale within a fairy tale since Maggie creates stories about those who have been violent toward her. She shifts the narratives that are imposed on her and remakes herself into a position of power by retelling her experiences as fairy tales. Ultimately, she shifts the tale of the Piper of Hamelin, her own tale, in order to modify it, remaking the story into the one that is familiar from legend and obscuring the reality of the tale.

To find out more about Piper, visit https://www.penguinrandomhouse.com/books/539282/piper-by-jay-asher-and-jessica-freeburg-illustrated-by-jeff-stokely/9780448493664/