Mother Holle: Commentary (part IV)

John Charles Dollman, Frigg Spinning.

Fairy Tale Fridays: Mother Holle, Mother Holle: Commentary (part I), Mother Holle: Commentary (part II), Mother Holle: Commentary (part III).


Mythology (continued)

Frigg
Frigg, like Hlodyn (Hel) is married to Odin, and is a maternal goddess, ruling over areas such as: fertility, love, and domestic arts. Perhaps most interesting though, is that Frigg is associated with the spinning of wool and is a sky goddess. In fact, Orion’s Belt has been called Frigg’s Distaff, and, as shown above, she spun the clouds. And, like Artemis and Hulda, Frigg takes part in the hunt, (though she is usually accompanied by Odin).

As mentioned earlier, Frigg was a maternal goddess; like Hulda and Mother Holle, she is associated transformation, and credited with helping women birth children.

Although the spindle was discussed in the first part of this commentary, the recurring theme throughout this discussion of goddesses has brought it back to the fore. The idea of spinning and weaving in mythology is an old one—consider the Greek Fates weaving destiny. As such, for goddesses of transformation and change, the spindle is a particularly appropriate symbol—not only can it be tied to weaving a life’s journey, but also to creation. Through the art of spinning we create the threads we need to create fabric, stuff. Without spinning, there is no clothing, no blankets, no rope, no mattresses to stuff, even no toy for a child to cuddle in her sleep. Spinning was also a womanly art, and even the primary function for many German housewives. And so it easy to imagine that as the beautiful girl bled upon the spindle, she may have prayed to Frigg, or Hulda, or even Mother Holle (remember that the girl is fearful of Mother Holle’s appearance, but not surprised by Mother Holle herself).

In his Tetuonic Mythology, Jacob Grimm says:

Then her special care of flax and spinning…leads us directly to the. Frigg, Odin's wife, whose being melts into the notion of an earth-goddess…[1]

Isn’t an earth goddess the ultimate maternal goddess? The ultimate goddess of change and transition? And, as an earth goddess, the astute reader will consider the possible link between Frigg, Demeter, the seasons, Persephone, and the underworld.

Considering the material discussed above, lines of influence are easily drawn between Frigg, Hulda, and Mother Holle. That said, it is important to remember that although these are intriguing lines of study, there are many more facts to be considered, and, at this point, we are more standing at the edge of the precipice enjoying the view, than wading through the depths of jungle below.

The past four days of commentary have been in no way exhaustive, but I hope they have provided some useful insight with regard to certain fairy tale tropes. The symbolism inherent in the elements of the story--including, but not limited to the apples, the spindle, and the bread--is a fascinating study in and of itself, but, coupled with the idea of Mother Holle's origins, this story is an excellent example of the importance and relevance of fairy tales in both the modern world and the human psyche.


Fairy Tale Fridays: Mother Holle, Mother Holle: Commentary (part I), Mother Holle: Commentary (part II), Mother Holle: Commentary (part III).

Footnotes:

[1] Grimm, Jacob, Teutonic Mythology, Chapter 13.

References:

Grimm, Jacob, Teutonic Mythology, Chapter 13, online version provided by Northvegr, http://www.northvegr.org/lore/grimmst/index.php
Gould, Joan, Spinning Straw Into Gold: What Fairy Tales Reveal About The Transformations In A Woman’s Life, Random House Trade Paperbacks, 2006.
Hamilton, Edith, Mythology (New Ed.), Back Bay Books, 1998.
Leeming, David, The Oxford Companion To World Mythology, Oxford University Press USA, 2005.

Mother Holle: Commentary (part III)

Hel
(Image kindly provided by Thalia Took)

Fairy Tale Fridays: Mother Holle, Mother Holle: Commentary (part I), Mother Holle: Commentary (part II)

Mythology (continued)

Hel
Hel, a Nordic goddess of the underworld, has long been linked with Mother Holle, and there is an etymological connection between her name, Hel, and the German word for hell, Hollë. Interestingly, the word Hel is derived from a Proto-Germanic word meaning ‘one who covers up or hides something’, as Mother Holle covers the earth with her blanket of snow. An interesting aside: from an earlier Indo-European root, both Hel and Holle are related to the English word for the underworld, hell.

Although Nordic mythology describes her as a monster, half alive half dead, the bringer if disease, in Nordic mythology, Germanic mythology represents Hel as an almost maternal figure, a goddess of death and transformation[1].

Hel, a maternal figure in her underworld, is an interesting shade of Demeter and Persephone. The underworld, oft associated with winter, can also be linked to old age and change. It is in winter that the world sleeps, readying for the new spring. Like the earth in winter, like Persephone, the beautiful maiden 'sleeps' in the underworld, unconsciously preparing herself as she sweeps and cleans and shakes out Mother Holle's coverlet.


Hulda/ Frau Holda
Another name for Mother Holle, Mother Hulda[2] is seemingly derived from the Germanic goddess Hulda, a kind goddess, patroness and guardian of maidens, yet also the goddess of marriage, This is entirely fitting with the story of our mistreated but beautiful girl and her journey through the well’s meadow: beginning as a maiden she is protected by Mother Holle/Mother Hulda, who also ushers her forward into the next stage of her transformation, the next stage of her life i.e. marriage[3].

In The Living Goddesses, Marija Giambutas discusses Hulda as a triple goddess, i.e. maiden, mother, and crone, a goddess of the transformations in a woman’s life, sometimes known as the Dark Grandmother and the White Lady. Her lore says that she lives in the bottom of a well, first taught the art of spinning flax to linen, and has control over the weather—dominion over sunshine, snow, and rain.

Holla is set before us as a spinning-wife; the cultivation of flax is assigned to her. Industrious maids she presents with spindles, and spins with reels full for them over night; a slothful spinner's distaff she sets on fire, or soils it. The girl whose spindle dropt into her fountain, she rewarded bountifully....The Greeks put spindle and distaff in the hands of several goddesses, especially Artemis and her mother Leto, but also Athene, Amphitrite and the Nereids. All this fits in with Holda, who is a goddess of the chase (the wild host), and of water-springs.[4]

Like Artemis, Hulda is the White Lady, associated with the hunt and the maiden, a protective goddess, and sometimes vengeful one. She, too, is a guardian to protect and aid the beautiful girl of our story. And, like Mother Holle, both goddesses despise the idle, the slothful. But, where Artemis is depicted as beautiful in most renderings,

…Hulda, instead of her divine shape, assumes the appearance of an ugly old woman, long-nosed, big-toothed, with bristling and thick-matted hair. 'He's had a jaunt with Holle,' they say of a man whose hair sticks up in tangled disorder…[5]

This old woman is likely Hulda in her crone phase; the ‘jaunt with Holle’ supports this idea, for, to paraphrase Joan Gould, old women are arguably the most comfortable with the idea of sex, and, thereby, the self. And who better than a woman (or goddess) comfortable in her own skin to guide the transformation of others?

So what does all this suggest about our fairy tale? Is it likely that Mother Holle, Hulda, Holda, and Hel are one in the same?

For this reader, the etymological similarities discussed provided an interesting, though weak link, but the province of the goddesses mentioned, coupled with parts of their lore and worship are highly suggestive of the idea that Mother Holle is indeed derived from these, or, at least, similar sources.

Although I had intended to discuss Frigg today, the above commentary proved longer and more in depth than I had expected. I will post more about Frigg tomorrow, then, on Friday, post a Polish tale, The Glass Mountain.

Fairy Tale Fridays: Mother Holle, Mother Holle: Commentary (part I), Mother Holle: Commentary (part II)

Footnotes:

[1]Another such goddesses is the widely misunderstood Kali of Hindu belief.
[2]Hulda has also been linked with Hertha, goddess of peace and fertility, and another name for Hloydn (also called Jord) in the Edda (Poems and Tales of Norse Mythology).
[3]It is important to remember that, in fairy tales, all maidens wish to be married, and all women wish to have children. Though this may not be the case in today’s world, it is necessary for us to take these values for the sake of meaningful analysis and commentary.
[4] Grimm, Teutonic Mythology, Chapter 13.
[5] ibid.

References:

Gimbutas, Marija, The Living Goddesses, Berkeley: University of California Press, 2001.
Grimm, Jacob, Teutonic Mythology, Chapter 13, online version provided by Northvegr, http://www.northvegr.org/lore/grimmst/index.php
Gould, Joan, Spinning Straw Into Gold: What Fairy Tales Reveal About The Transformations In A Woman’s Life, Random House Trade Paperbacks, 2006.

Mother Holle: Commentary (part II)

Gustave Dore: The Snow Queen

Fairy Tale Fridays: Mother Holle, Mother Holle: Commentary (part I)


Princesses—the role of the heroine

In Basile’s The Three Fairies, Cicella and Grannizia are differentiated only by their appearance. Sometimes, as in the Grimms’ version of Mother Holle, the beautiful sister is also the better person, though this is by no means always the case. So what is it about fairy tales and beauty? Why is the heroine always the most beautiful girl, but not always the cleverest or the bravest or the kindest?

First, let us consider the motivations within a fairy tale: why does the heroine do what she does? What are her reasons? Oftentimes, nothing of note—she wants a singing, springing lark, she wishes to test a suitor, she wants to seek her fortune. But what about the individual reasons? Why is the heroine the way she is? What about her upbringing? Does she like white roses or red? Is she a shoe girl, or is she more into embroidery?

Although there is a current trend toward exploring such individual fairy tale motivations (see Shannon Hale’s Book Of A Thousand Days, The Goose Girl, or Gregory MacGuire’s The Ugly Stepsister for examples), fairy tales tend to play on archetypes, letting readers sketch in the appropriate motivation as needed. In this way, they possess cross-cultural appeal: anyone can read about the heroine and make the appropriate assumptions. But where does this leave us in terms of beauty?

Because fairy tales are working within a given set of rules, they play to what we, as humans, expect: outer beauty is a reflection of inner beauty, outer ugliness is a reflection of inner ugliness. In short, the beautiful girl always wins.

But there is still more: the beautiful girl is a peasant, is she not? Yes. Like Cinderella, Beauty, and the lesser-known Rose Red, the heroine is a poor girl, with little save her beauty and good heart to her name. But how then does she always contrive to marry the prince? (Even in Mother Holle, where there is no prince figure, the gold showered upon the beautiful girl indicates that a good marriage is the logical conclusion to the girl’s story.)

Interestingly, fairy tales often equate beauty with nobility—a beautiful girl is, in essence, a born princess, a girl with all the qualities cherished by princes and peasants alike. Mother Holle’s function, aside from helping the girl transition into womanhood, is to bring her born rank in line with her economic one[1]. In some cases, this is accomplished in tandem with marrying the prince.

Mythology

Nehalennia
A goddess known around what is now Zeeland and the Netherlands, Nehalennia worship peaked circa the second and third centuries C.E. She may have been a regional goddess, though sources differ.

It appears that she was a goddess of travellers and, possibly, domestic duties. According to Hilda Davidson:

Nehalennia, a Germanic goddess worshipped at the point where travellers crossed the North Sea from the Netherlands, is shown on many carved stones holding loaves and apples like a Mother Goddess, sometimes with a prow of a ship beside her, but also frequently with an attendant dog which sits looking up at her.

[2]

As previously discussed, apples and bread both have life and fertility symbolism. Bread is a symbol of the fecundity of the earth, and even the process of making it, of loading, baking, and unloading can be linked to the process of copulation, pregnancy, and child birth.

In his Teutonic Mythology, Jacob Grimm discusses the possible origins of the name Nehalennia, noting that:

In inscriptions found on the lower part of the Rhine there are compounds, whose termination (-nehis, -nehabus, dat. plurals fem.) seems to contain the same word that forms the first half of Nehalennia; their plural number appears to indicate nymphs rather than a goddess, yet there also hangs about them the notion of a mother.[3]

In the Rhineland, the suffix –ennia may denote the role of a triple goddess (see more on matrones), though it is possible the suffix originates elsewhere. From both a proto-Celtic and proto-Germanic view, it is possible that the name has ties to destructive forces and, mayhap, the underworld.

So here we have some interesting parallels to our story—like Mother Holle, Nehalennia can be seen as a mother goddess; a goddess who helps guide travellers and, perhaps transition; a goddess of the underworld and so possibly associated with change and seasons; and her symbols are loaves and apples, such as the beautiful girl encounters in the meadow. Does this mean that Nehalennia and Mother Holle are one in the same? No. But the information presented above is certainly an interesting study and perhaps one worth considering. It is important to remember, however, that the etymology of the name Nehalennia is uncertain, and that there are many possible roots. As such, it is unwise to draw conclusions from etymology and phoenetic comparison alone.


Tomorrow: Hel, Hulda, and Frigg.

Fairy Tale Fridays: Mother Holle, Mother Holle: Commentary (part 1)

Footnotes:

[1] Tatar, The Annotated Brothers Grimm, p. 131.
[2] Davidson, Roles of the Northern Goddesses.
[3] Grimm, Teutonic Mythology, Chapter 13.

References:
Davidson, Hilda, Roles of the Northern Goddesses, Routledge and Kegan Paul,1998.
Grimm, Jacob, Teutonic Mythology, Chapter 13, online version provided by Northvegr, http://www.northvegr.org/lore/grimmst/index.php
Ragan, Kathleen (ed.) Fearless Girls, Wise Women, and Beloved Sisters: Heroines in Folktales from Around the World, W.W. Norton and Company, 2000.
Tatar, Maria, The Annotated Brothers Grimm, W.W. Norton and Company, 2004.

Mother Holle: Commentary

Gustave Dore: The Snow Queen

Fairy Tale Fridays: Mother Holle

History

The most well-known version of this story was collected by the Brothers Grimm and published in their 1812 Children’s and Household Tales. It was first told to them by, Henrietta Dorothea Wild[1] (who later married Wilhelm Grimm). It has since been included in a number of anthologies, and the oral telling of the tale persists in parts of Germany, most notably Hesse.

Despite the continuing popularity of this fairy tale, it’s difficult to trace its origins. Etymology suggests a link to Norse mythology, in particular the goddesses Frigg and Hel. This will be discussed further below.

Classification and Variations

Like our earlier tale, Kate Crackernuts, Mother Holle is a ‘tale of kind and unkind girls[2]’. Unlike Kate Crackernuts, however, there are several extant variations on Mother Holle. In the Pentamerone, Basile tells of Cicella and Grannizia in The Three Fairies; the Grimms’ collected Three Little Men in the Wood, also in Andrew Lang’s Red Fairy Book; Hans Christian Andersen’s The Snow Queen; and The Old Witch, in Joseph Jacobs’ More English Fairy Tales. Sometimes it is known as Frau Holle, or Mother Hulda--even Grandmother Winter.

For a reversal of the kind grandmother role, see Hansel and Gretel, and some of the Baba Yaga tales.

Symbolism

Depending on the perspective, Mother Holle can be considered both rich and poor in symbolism. Here, we will focus on only a few possible elements: spindle; apples; bread; and rooster.

Spindle
The spindle has long been a symbol of domesticity—spinning is a woman’s province and, in earlier times, one of the few ways in which poorer women could support themselves. The distaff and drop spindle are also symbols of the Nordic goddess Frigg, who has been linked with Mother Holle (we will discuss this more below).

Why does the beautiful girl jump in the well? Ostensibly, it’s because her stepmother has ordered her to fetch the spindle she has dropped. And why has she dropped it? Because she has bled upon the spindle, then attempted to wash it clean[3]. Now, I don’t want to get into the sexual symbolism of fairy tales—it’s a tricky area to navigate, and I’ve never been much for psychology, but, In this context, it’s likely the bloody spindle is representative of the girl’s entering menses, i.e. of the girl reaching sexual maturity. Why is this important?

Let us consider the situation for a moment: the beautiful girl has been kept in reduced circumstances for the better part of her life; she is afraid of her stepmother; and now she has dropped a spindle and expects punishment from the aforementioned stepmother. Considering this, why doesn’t she run away? We know she is industrious and hard-working, we know she is skilled, we know she is kind-hearted and beautiful. Any one set of these qualities assures of her work elsewhere and yet the idea of leaving never enters the beautiful girl’s head.

Why?

Because she’s unready. The blood on the spindle is the reason she leaps into the well beginning her transformation, the catalyst for change. Running away accomplishes nothing—the girl would remain the same, dependent creature she has always been.

Bread
In her journey throughout the well-world, the beautiful girl encounters an oven full of bread, begging to be taken from the oven.

Like Persephone, the beautiful girl has been carried away to an underworld to bide her time. In fairy tales—consider Snow White, Sleeping Beauty, and Cinderella—this time of hibernation is the unconscious period in which the heroine gathers the necessary information and energy she needs to move into a new stage in her life.

Bread is an old, old symbol of domesticity and fertility. Until recent times, bread was made in house. And by whom? Wives. Mothers. Here is a test of the girl’s domestic skill, and her readiness for keeping a household of her own.

Finally, the girl’s encounter with the oven and, later, the apple tree, is a call to the girl’s compassion. In some stories the heroine helps inanimate objects on her way; on her return, said objects protect her from the giant, witch, or other creature in pursuit. These stories are somewhat unknown to most people—perhaps more familiar are the talking animal set in which the protagonist helps a colony of ants, a fish, a hive of bees[4], or some other distressed creature.


Apples
Now taken for granted in most parts of the world apples have, at times, been considered quite precious. In the UK, they were believed to be fruit of the good folk; the fabled Isle of Avalon is actually the Isle of Apples. It was also believed that harming an apple tree caused offense to the fairies and, as such, brought ill fortune, while apple blossoms have been thought to bring good luck to a new marriage.

Apples are also featured in a variety of myths, most notably: the Biblical story of Adam and Eve[5]; in Greek mythology, golden apples were much sought after and, indirectly, the cause of the Trojan War; and in Teutonic mythology it is associated with beauty and youthfulness. Most relevant to this story, though, is Nordic mythology, in which apples were sacred, and oftentimes buried with the dead (see discussion of Hel and Nehalennia below).

How does all this relate to our story? Like the encounter with the bread, the apple tree is asking for the beautiful’s girls compassion. But the fruit, like the girl herself, is in a stage of transition . Finally, apples are sacred and associated with death—the girl is in, for all intents and purposes, an underworld and one part of her life is dying, falling away.

Interestingly, apple trees are heterozygous—that is to say that, like people, the seeds give rise a new individual, rather than a clone of the parent ; mayhap the tree is representative of motherhood, fertility, and childhood.

Rooster
The presence of the rooster is one of the stranger elements of Mother Holle. Its role is unclear, though Maria Tatar suggests that it is symbolic of the recognition of a male. Perhaps the original setup of the story—stepmother and two daughters—did not allow for a male figure, and the rooster acts as substitute.

Tomorrow: fairy tale princesses, Mother Holle in mythology.

Footnotes:

[1] Paradiz, Clever Maids: The Secret History of the Grimm Fairy Tales
[2] Tatar, The Annotated Brothers Grimm, p. 128
[3] See also the role of the spindle in Sleeping Beauty.
[4] See The Queen Bee, Children’s and Household Tales, Jacob and Wilhelm Grimm.
[5] Familiar strains of apples, like the red delicious, are the product of grafted trees.

References:

Tatar, Maria, The Annotated Brothers Grimm, W.W. Norton and Company, 2004.
Gould, Joan, Spinning Straw Into Gold: What Fairy Tales Reveal About The Transformations In A Woman’s Life, Random House Trade Paperbacks, 2006.
Paradiz, Valerie, Clever Maids: The Secret History of The Grimm Fairy Tales, Basic Books, 2005.
Ragan, Kathleen (ed.) Fearless Girls, Wise Women, and Beloved Sisters: Heroines in Folktales from Around the World, W.W. Norton and Company, 2000.
Alexander, Marc, The Sutton Companion to Folklore, Myths and Customs in Britain, Sutton Publishing, 2006.
Zipes, Jack, et al., The Complete Fairy Tales of the Brothers Grimm All-New Third Edition, Bantam, 2003.

Fairy Tale Fridays: Mother Holle

Fairy Tale Fridays: Mother Holle

From "Frau Holle", illustrated by von Hermann Vogel

There once was a widow with two daughters, one pretty, kind-hearted, and industrious, the other ugly, mean, and slothful. But the widow favoured the ugly girl more, because she was her own daughter, pampering and coddling the one child, whilst forcing the other to fetch and carry, wash and cook, spin and sew, until her pretty face lay hidden beneath a mask of ash and grime.

Every day, fine or frosted, clear or cloudy, the widow sent the girl to a well by the roadside to do her spinning. The girl did as she was told, spinning until her fingers bled.

Now, this particular day, the girl’s spindle had grown red with blood. Taking it in both hands, she leant over the well to wash it clean. But the spindle was slippery and the girl’s fingers sore and tired, and the thing soon slid from her hands and into the water, fast-sinking to the very bottom of the well. Fearing the wrath of her stepmother, the unhappy girl wept all the way home.

The stepmother was as cruel as such women usually are, berating the girl for her clumsiness, then declaring that: “since it was you who let the spindle fall, it will be you who goes to fetch it.”

And so the girl returned to the well, pacing and crying, until it began to seem that the most sensible thing was to jump in.

When she awoke, the girl found herself lying in a rich and verdant meadow, well-covered in small, star-like flowers.

The girl wandered about the meadow, soon discovering a large brick oven in the centre, scented with the warm and homey smell of baked bread. She stepped closer and the bread called out: “Take me out, take me out, I’ll burn! Take me out, take me out, I’m done, I’ll burn!”

Instantly, the girl did as she was asked, wrapping her hands in her apron and lifting each loaf from the oven. She then continued on her way.

Soon, she came to an apple tree, its limbs laden with the ripest, reddest fruit. She stepped closer and the tree called out: “Shake me, shake me, my apples are all ripe! Shake me, shake me, my apples are all sweet and ripe.”

Instantly, the girl did as she was asked, shaking the tree, then piling the apples neatly by the trunk.

Finally, the girl came to a house; by the door stood an old woman with large, frightening teeth. At first, the girl backed away, but the old woman spoke kindly to her: “Why do you back away, child? Come, stay with me and, if you work hard, you will be well rewarded. But you must remember to shake well the covers of my bed and make the feathers fly about so that there will be snow upon the earth, for I am Mother Holle.

The woman’s words and tone calmed the girl’s fear, and she entered the small house with a glad heart. Every day she did the chores the old woman set, and every day she made sure to shake well the covers of the bed, making the feathers dance and fall about. Her life, once miserable, was now comfortable and happy: Mother Holle was always gentle and soft spoken, and every day there was meat upon the table, boiled or roasted.

But after a while, a certain melancholy settled upon the girl, and she found herself sickening for home. It seemed against reason, for she was happier with Mother Holle than she had ever been before, but still she yearned for familiar sights and scents, perhaps even familiar faces.

“Well,” said Mother Holle, “it is quite natural that you should want to go home, child, and I’m not angry at you for it. And, because you have been such a good and loyal girl, I will show you the way myself.” So, taking the girl by the hand, the old woman led her from the house and along until they reached a tall gate. The gate swung open and the girl passed through it; as she did so, a shower of gold rained down upon her, the pieces sticking to her hair, her frock, her toes. Handing her her spindle, Mother Holle said: “This is your reward for working so hard and so well.” Then the gate closed, and the girl found herself standing in bright sunlight, next to the well. When she came to her yard, a rooster began to crow: “Cock-a-doodle-do, cock-a-doodle-do, golden girl’s returned, she’s quite well-to-do!”

Then the girl passed into the house, where her stepmother and sister fussed over her and her golden fortune.

When her stepmother learned how the girl had come into riches, she was determined that the same good fortune should come to her ugly, lazy daughter. And so, handing the ugly girl a spindle, she sent her to the well to spin, telling her “to make sure the spindle is slick with blood”. The girl, envying her sister’s luck, went to the well as told; there she pricked her fingers in the hedge and spattered the spindle with red. Then she tossed it into the well, and herself after.

Like her sister, the ugly girl found herself lying in a rich and verdant meadow, well-covered in small, star-like flowers. Ignoring her surroundings, she set out, determined to make her fortune.

Soon, she came to the oven and the bread called out: “Take me out, take me out, I’ll burn! Take me out, take me out, I’m done, I’ll burn!”

“No,” said the girl. “What if I burn myself? What if I dirty my dress?” And she passed the bread by.

Soon, she came to the apple tree, and the tree called out: “Shake me, shake me, my apples are all ripe! Shake me, shake me, my apples are all sweet and ripe.”

“No,” said the girl. “What if an apple hits me on the head? What if your wood splinters in my hands?” And she passed the tree by.

Finally, the girl came to the house; she was unafraid, for she had already heard of Mother Holle’s large and frightening teeth. So she entered the small house and the old woman's service.

Come the first day, the girl tried hard, doing the chores the old woman set, and shaking well the covers of the bed, making the feathers dance and fall about. Come the second day, she was tired, and she felt she deserved a little break. Come the third day, she remained in bed.

Soon, Mother Holle grew tired of the ugly girl and asked her to leave. “Oh, good,” the girl thought to herself. “Now I shall get my reward.” And so she followed old woman from the house and along until they reached a tall gate. The gate swung open and the girl passed through it; as she did so, a cauldron of darkest pitch emptied upon her head. “This is your reward for your work,” said Mother Holle. Then the gate closed, and the girl found herself standing in bright sunlight, next to the well. When she came to her yard, a rooster began to crow: “Cock-a-doodle-do, cock-a-doodle-do, this girl’s pitch black, she’s ugly too!”

Then the girl passed into the house, where her mother fussed over her, but no amount of scrubbing and bathing would rid her of the pitch, and she left the world even uglier than she had entered it.

Arthur C. Clarke

Stick figures rock. Especially for those of us who can't draw.
Inspired by the comic stylings of the excellent xkcd.

Review: Click, Clack Moo--Cows That Type

by Doreen Cronin and Betsy Lewin

Story:
Farmer Brown has a problem. His cows have a typewriter and they aren’t afraid to use it. When the cows get cold, they send Farmer Brown an ultimatum: if you want milk tomorrow, you’d better get us some electric blankets.

With cows that type, chickens on strike, and duck as an intermediary, Click Clack Moo is a unique take on civil disobedience, skilfully crafted, and never didactic.

Illustrations:
Lewin’s (Dooby, Dooby Moo; My Tooth Is About To Fall Out) simple watercolours are delightful, aptly showing Farmer Brown’s growing exasperation. Small details add to the excitement—keep an eye out for the very last page.

Kate Crackernuts: Commentary

Kay Nielsen: On The Way To The Dance, Twelve Dancing Princesses

Fairy Tale Fridays: Kate Crackernuts

This particular style of tale, with one beautiful and one ugly twin, is relatively rare, save for in some parts of Scandinavia, though the 'king girl, unkind girl' archetype is a common one. But this is certainly not the most interesting detail about the story. What about the evil Queen? What happens to her? And the fairies—why would they force a prince to dance to his death? The girls in The Twelve Dancing Princesses wanted to dance, didn’t they? Where does the story come from? Is it English, Irish, or Scottish? Why are they both called Kate?

What about the evil Queen?

What about her? She disappears from the story the moment Bonny Kate is enchanted, a deus ex machina, if you will. Like many evil mother figures, the Queen’s purpose is to propel the heroine forward, forcing her toward the beginning of her own life and maturation.

It is, however, interesting that the Queen is not punished—rewarding good and punishing evil is a standard, almost expected theme, in fairy tales. Because there are few literary versions of Kate Crackernuts, scholarship is somewhat sparse, and it is difficult to determine if a punishment for the Queen ever existed, and if so, why is was removed. Lang and Jacobs, the earliest English editions, have no record of a punishment for the Queen.

And the fairies—why would they force a prince to dance to his death? The girls in The Twelve Dancing Princesses wanted to dance, didn’t they?

Yes, they did—they also enjoyed the secretive, almost forbidden nature of the activity, declining their father’s questions and believing themselves about discovery. But Kate Crackernuts turns this tale on its head—it’s a prince being forced to dance, and there is nothing lighthearted or pleasurable about it. Surprising as it may seem, this darker idea of the fairies’ dance is quite common in British fairy tales, and the wasting disease has been linked to consumption (tuberculosis).*

Why would the fairies do this? Fairy tales show us the good and the bad, the glamourous and the horrific. Not all magic creatures are pretty and kind; many are cruel and outright vicious. And although these ideas may be frightening at first, fairy tales possess the magic of ‘once upon a time’, casting us into another land, another time, another reality, reassuring us that this type of cruel, at least, cannot happen in our world, our home.**

Why 'Crackernuts'?

The nuts Kate is cracking in the story are probably hazelnuts. A member of the birch family, the hazel tree has long been a symbol of wisdom, protection***, and wishing. The practice of making wishing caps (small crowns woven with hazel twigs) and adorning the hair with hazel twigs was at one time quite common. Divining rods, sometimes known as wishing rods, were most times forked branches of hazel, though apple, beech, and alder were also used. Perhaps most interesting, Halloween Night was once known as ‘Nutcrack Night’ in the UK.

Why are they both called Kate?

Personally, I think it’s to do with the twin nature of the fairy tale, and the twin nature of us as humans. Bonny Kate (called Anne in the Joseph Jacobs’ version), although alive to the evil of the Queen, is an almost passive character, merely a means to an end, while Kate Crackernuts actively seeks her fortune, demonstrating courage and wit. Perhaps Bonny Kate is the passive self, the slumbering maiden awaiting an awakening, akin to Snow White, Sleeping Beauty, and Cinderella*. Kate is also an accessible name, the name of a plucky heroine listeners can relate to, derived from Katherine, meaning ‘pure’.

Where does the story come from? Is it English, Irish, or Scottish?

In the words of Maria Tatar, “Fairy tales should never be considered sacred texts. They existed in thousands of versions; there wasn’t one ‘Little Red Riding Hood’.”* I’ve seen Kate Crackernuts attributed as all three; many take the English Joseph Jacobs’ (Katie Crackernuts) version to be the first; Andrew Lang also collected a version of the story in the Orkneys, which was later published in Longman's Magazine; and Yeats recorded a similar story in his Irish Fairy Tales and Folktales. Several versions I’ve read have tended toward more Scottish tellings.

Footnotes:

*Katharine Briggs, An Encyclopaedia of Fairies "Consumption ", Pantheon Books, 1976, p. 80.
**Maria Tatar, Harvard Magazine, ‘The Horror and the Beauty’, p. 38, Harvard Magazine Inc., 2007.
*** Jacob and Wilhelm Grimm, Grimm’s Fairy Tales: The Hazel Branch, Wordsworth Editions, Ltd., 1998.
http://www.woodsforall.org/_taldrum/mythology/index.html

References:

Katharine Briggs, An Encyclopaedia of Fairies "Consumption ", Pantheon Books, 1976.
Maria Tatar, Harvard Magazine, ‘The Horror and the Beauty’, p. 38, Harvard Magazine Inc., 2007.
Joan Gould, Spinning Straw Into Gold: What Fairy Tales Reveal About The Transformations In A Woman’s Life, Random House Trade Paperbacks, 2006.

Fairy Tale Fridays: Kate Crackernuts

Fairy Tale Fridays: Kate Crackernuts

Kate Rolls Nuts To The Baby

Kate Crackernuts: commentary

Once upon a time, there was a King with a daughter called Bonny Kate, and a Queen with a daughter, also named Kate. Princesses both, the two girls loved one another very much, sharing the best of heart and hearth. The King and Queen, remarking this, soon decided they should love one another also.

Now, everything between the girls remained as before, but the Queen’s heart was stained by jealousy, being as the King’s Kate was bonnier than her own. Vexed, she walked out to the old hen-wife to seek help with her trouble. “Just send her to me a-fasting,” said the old woman, “I’ll set her bonny looks to rights.”

So, come early the first day, even before the fast-breaking, the Queen said to Bonny Kate, “ Walk out to the hen-wife and fetch me back a basket of eggs, for I hear her chickens are in fine fettle.” And so the girl set out, but as she passed through the kitchen, she laid her hand upon a crust of bread, and took it with her to nibble along the way.

When she came to the hen-wife’s house, Bonny Kate bespoke a basket of eggs, and the hen-wife said to her: “Look into that stirabout for me, love, while I off and get your eggs.”

Kind lass that she was, Bonny Kate did as she was told, unaware of the hidden hen-wife’s gaze. Leaning over the fire, she watched the pot faithfully, but nothing happened. The hen-wife then handed her a basket of eggs, and sent her home, “and remember your mother to keep her larder better locked.”

Come early the second day, even before the fast-breaking, the Queen contrived to send Bonny Kate back to the hen-wife, “for a bunch of fresh sage, which,” she said, “grows best in the clay soil near the hen-wife’s farm.” And so the girl set out once more, with nary a bite of breakfast.

Rambling along the road, the princess soon met some kind farm folk pea-picking by the wayside, and she stopped to pass the time of day with them. After a spell, Bonny Kate returned to her errand; the farm folk gave her some peas to gnaw as she went her way.

Again the hen-wife slipped into the larder; again Bonny Kate looked over the pot; and again nothing happened. The hen-wife then handed her a bunch of sage, and sent her home, “and bid your mother keep a sharper eye on her ducklings”.

Come the third day, the Queen went with Bonny Kate to see the old hen-wife. The princess’ stomach rumbled as the walked, but the Queen said “we must hurry,” thereby ensuring Bonny Kate ate nothing along the way.

When she was bid look over the hen-wife’s pot, the princess hesitated. But what could she do, with the Queen and the hen-wife urging her? Mustering her courage, Bonny Kate leaned over the pot—and as her own head fell off, a sheep’s head leapt on! With the Queen and hen-wife cackling at her misery, Bonny Kate covered her head with her apron, and walked home in shame.

Seeing her sister thus, the Queen’s own Kate’s was moved to pity. Fetching her best scarf, she tied it around her sister’s head, then gathered together a parcel of bread and cheese and nuts. When twilight settled over the land, the sisters departed the castle they had lived so happily in, determined to find a spell for the sheep’s head charm.

They passed through several villages, Kate offering her services as a scullery maid and kitchen hand in exchange for food and lodging. Sometimes, the warm-hearted country-folk would give them a bit of something, a cottage loaf, or a rind of cheese, because they were such nice, well-mannered girls. Such people always felt sorry for Bonny Kate. They couldn’t see what her trouble was, because she kept her head covered and eyes low, but her sad air and quiet voice spoke her sorrow just the same.
One evening, as the girls passed into a new land, Kate heard a pair of peddlers gossiping.

“It’s true,” said the elder one. “I had it from the barkeep, who had it from the hostler, who had it from the king’s stable boy. Any soul willing to sit the night with the king’s sickening son ‘ll get a pouch o’ silver.” Thanking the peddlers, Kate immediately went to the castle and agreed. A whole pouch of silver! It would go a long way toward helping her sister.

Come sun down, Kate settled herself by the fire in the prince’s room. She had heard that all the people who had sat with him ‘til now had been stolen away by morning. But Kate was a strong lass, brave and true, and now she sat in front of the fire, calmly took work from her apron, and mended stockings.

All was well ‘til midnight, when the great bell began to toll. Then the prince rose, dressed, and ran to the stables with Kate after him, her footsteps lithe and light. He hopped on his horse; quietly, she leapt up also, and held fast to his cloak.

On through the forest they rode, soon passing into a grove of hazel trees. Quiet and nimble as the smallest mouse, Kate plucked nuts and stowed them in the apron. On and on they rode ‘til, after what seemed like hours, they came to a mountain, tall and wide and green. Here the prince halted, saying, “Open green hill, open, and let the prince, his horse, his hound, in!”

“And his lady behind him,” murmured Kate.

Within the green hill, a great dance was taking place. Even the darkest crook blazed with light The prince dismounted and handed his horse to a steward, along with his cloak and hat. Then he was whisked off by some very pretty women, with small pointed ears and dainty wee feet. And so Kate knew she stood in a hall of the good neighbours, and that the prince was caught in their spell. Covering her hair, Kate slipped away and hid herself in a corner, where she watched the prince dance until he could dance no more.

Soon after, the cock crew, and the prince returned to his horse; Kate leapt up behind him. Then back through the forest they rode, Kate plucking nuts all the while.

The next night passed much as the first had done:

Come midnight, when the great bell began to toll, the prince rose, dressed, and ran to the stables with Kate after him, her footsteps lithe and light. He hopped on his horse; quietly, she leapt up also, and held fast to his cloak. Again, Kate plucked nuts and stowed them in her apron; again they passed into green hill; again the prince danced until he could dance no more.

Meanwhile, Kate heard a small cry, and turned to find a baby shaking its rattle at her, wanting attention. She cooed obligingly. Nearby, a woman said, “That’s quite a useful rattle. Three strokes against the forehead, and ‘twill make Kate's sister the bonniest lass that ever there was.”

And so Kate began rolling nuts to the baby, cooing and calling ‘til he dropped the rattle and began to toddle toward her; Kate scooped the toy into her apron, and crept away to another corner.

Soon after, the cock crew, and the prince returned to his horse; Kate leapt up behind him. Then back through the forest they rode, Kate plucking nuts all the while.

When the King and Queen entered the Prince’s room that morning, they found Kate calmly roasting and cracking her nuts by the fire. “I shall need to spend another night,” she said. Then she ran off in search of her sister.

Lightly did Kate strike her sister upon the forehead, one, two, three. At the third stroke, there sounded a great crack as the sheep’s head tumbled to the ground, and Bonny Kate's own head appeared in its place.

The next night passed much as the first two had done:

Come midnight, when the great bell began to toll, the prince rose, dressed, and ran to the stables with Kate after him, her footsteps lithe and light. He hopped on his horse; quietly, she leapt up also, and held fast to his cloak.

Again, Kate plucked nuts and stowed them in her apron; again they passed into green hill; again the prince danced until he could dance no more.

In her corner, Kate played with the baby once more. This night, he held a wee birdie in his hands. As before, the baby’s mother and her companion began to talk, unaware of Kate’s long ears.“Ah," said the companion, "three bites of that there wee birdie, they would make the king’s son as bright and bonny a lad as ever he was.”

And so Kate began rolling nuts to the baby, cooing and calling ‘til he let go the birdie and began to toddle toward her; Kate laid hands upon the birdie, tucked it into her apron, then crept away to another corner.

Soon after, the cock crew, and all was as before.

When they reached the castle, the prince went to bed. But not Kate, oh no! Clever Kate Crackernuts, she hastened to the kitchen and cooked up that birdie fierce quick. By the time the sun was awake in her sky palace, she stood in the prince’s room with a fine tray, laden with coffee and bread and a well-cooked wee birdie.

“Oh!” said the sickening prince, leaning forward. “Oh! If I only had a bite of that birdie—" so Kate gave him one, and he sat up. “Oh, if I had but another bite of that birdie!" so Kate gave him another, and the prince reached for the tray. “Oh! If I had just one last bite of that birdie I feel I might—" And so the prince ate it all up. Soon, roses returned to the prince's cheeks, shine returned to his eyes, and strength returned to his person.

Next morning, when the King and Queen came to the prince’s room, they found the prince sitting with Kate, by the fire, roasting and cracking nuts. And everyone sat down, around the fire, and listened as Kate told them the story of the green hill and the fairies and the good baby. And they all lived happily after, and are living so still, if they have not died.



Kate Crackernuts: commentary

Fun With Collective Nouns

I love words. I love English. It’s messy and complicated, but in the most exquisite manner. There are so many ways to twist and bend and shape it into half a dozen meanings and characters.

Thinking about this today, I started doing some research on interesting words which, unsurprisingly, led me to the joy that is the collective noun. I find it whimsical and quaint, the way humans have created animal collective nouns based on perceived properties of the animal in question. It’s certainly a lot more fun than “herd of mongooses (yes, it’s mongooses)”, and “flock of pigeons”. In fact, it’s really quite charming.

So, without further ado...

mongoose	mongaggle (it’s quite possible this was born in all seriousness.)
crow	murder
ferret	business
gnu	improbability
pigeon	flight
crane	sedge
elk	gang
finch	charm
giraffe	tower (this, I think, is my favourite)
hawk	kettle
otter	romp
rook	clamour
tiger	ambush
ass	coffle
bison	thunder (most appropriate)
bobolink	chain (I wonder how modern this one is...)
jellyfish	smack (related to the imagined sound of a jellyfish?)
magpie	tiding (I think I may have to create a story, just for this. It immediately makes me think of the rhyme.)
penguin	creche
geese (in flight)	skein
bear	sleuth (do bears really investigate? or is this tied to their seemingly ponderous nature?
hippopotamus	bloat (perfect!)
pig	drift (which, oddly, makes me think of grifting...)
monkey	barrel
fish	draught

More to come, next time I’m in need of a bit of procrastination…

Died In A Blogging Accident

According to xkcd, 2 people have died in a blogging accident. Extensive and in-depth yahoogling reveals that this is not in fact the case.

But what if it were?

TOP FIVE BLOGGING ACCIDENTS

Death by blogging accident #1:

August, 2001. Busy updating her LJ list on her recent break-up with Cory Doctorow, DoctGrrl34 (just how does he do it?) fails to notice the insistent drip drip drip of her living room ceiling. Wracked with grief, she also misses the hiss of black smoke and fire-cracker like sparking coming from her power board. 11:02 p.m. her jellybean mac explodes.

Death by blogging accident #2:

The Right Hon. Rev Milo Kurtis wants to share his love of God with the world. And what better way than writing in his diaryland page while seated at the altar? Well, as centuries of bloodshed (and ID/creationists) have shown us, religious fervour is rarely a good thing. Caught up in a sermon about a particularly rousing chapter in the Old Testament, Rev. Kurtis knocks a half empty (or half full) communion chalice on to his lenovo keyboard, and is then smote by lightning.

Death by blogging accident #3:

Top Gear presenter Jeremy Clarkson’s blog isn’t nominated for Best of the Blagosphere 2007, while co-presenters James May's and Richard Hammond's are. Disgusted with the low-brow opinion of the masses, Clarkson sets out to prove his superiority via a series of stunts in a borrowed Bugatti Veyron. Yes, well, no need to say more. We all know that blogging+arrogant prat+fast car does not end in awesome.

Death by blogging accident #4:

In need of a little light relaxation, Joe Malarkey takes his iPhone into his well-appointed WASP bathroom to catch up on his RSS feeds (and escape the wife and kiddliwinks). Just as he settles in for the long haul, an anonymous blog post flashes up: Linus Torvalds, Richard Stallman, Wil Wheaton in plane crash. Only Wheaton survives. Stunned, Malarkey drops the iPhone on to his Bud Light inspired rubber floor, whereby said iPhone bounces upward, shattering the crystal light fixture. Shards of leaded glass rain down, blinding him. Malarkey stumbles to his feet, trips over the bath mat, and cracks his head open upon the transparent Kohler sink.

Death by blogging accident #5

Determined to show his gift for techno-political punditry, Fake Bill Gates rocks back in his chair at a desk in the grad student common area at Harvard. Behind him, his code monkey friends are waiting on their code compiling—and having a three-way sword fight. An unfortunately timed rock and swoosh later, Fake Bill Gates’ surprisingly bloodless head tumbles to the floor.