The Grammar of Fantasy

Rodari, Gianni. The grammar of fantasy: An introduction to the art of inventing stories. New York: Teachers and Writers Collaborative, 1996. [Original published in Italian, 1976. Translated and with an introduction by Jack Zipes].

"There is always one child who will ask a question and it will be exactly like this: "What do you have to do to invent a story?" This question deserves an honest answer."

I would love this book for the title, even if were not such a precise description of the contents. What a treat for me that it is so exactly about what it promises - the practical linguistic process of creating new stories and hands-on ways to use these ideas when working with children. Or: the honest answer to the child's question about how to invent a new story. And the answer is honest, drawing from the author's own experience as a prolific and celebrated writer of children's literature, as well as his experience helping facilitate the nuts-and-bolts of imagination with young students over many years.

The book is a collection of transcripts of short talks by the author done for teachers at the schools in Reggio Emilia, a small town in Italy with a huge influence on current ideas about early childhood education North America. Most of the 41 chapters are only a few pages long, and focus on a specific technique or function of language or part of the story-making or story-telling process. Writing in 1976, he has a very grounded understanding of the fractured fairy tale and the very specific dynamics of how and when to approach this process of deconstructing and re-imagining familiar fairy tales with children. On this topic, I especially liked: Chapter 12 - Popular Folk Tales as Raw Material; Chapter 13 - Making Mistakes in the Story; and Chapter 14 - Little Red Riding Hood in a Helicopter. Teachers will love the very specific pragmatic details about how to bring projects of the imagination into the classroom, but those with a more philosophical interest in the nature of language, story and imagination will also be satisfied with the depth of understanding and the quality of the writing itself. This is much more than an activity book - it is a grappling with pedagogy, with linguistic theory, with the writing process, with the role of story, and with the process of creation. It is a call for compassionate education and, above all, it is a championing of imagination both as a human right and as a practical process that can be supported in very concrete ways. Real examples of stories created by preschool and school age children are recorded and thoughtfully considered, but the techniques could easily be used by writers on any age.

I can only assume from the prices on Amazon.com that the book is out of print, and I find that tragic. So let's hope the libraries have been doing a good job along the way. Because this is a book worth reading.

"I received Jesus into my heart when it was godzilla"

I've already given away my favorite part of the NPR interview with Guillermo Del Toro, the director of Pan's Labyrinth, but I still think the rest is worth listening to. It's a discussion of the origins of the movie, the role of fantasy and fairy tales, their relationship to religion, and the idea of monsters. He talks about the movie as a parable of disobedience and choice, and explores the relationship between violence and fragility: "Our lives actually gain more sense when we believe in pain and mortality. I believe it makes us better to connect with the dark side of life - I believe so." He also talks about his experiences of violence growing up in Mexico, about being exorcised by his Catholic grandmother for using his imagination, and about vampires. Very cool.

Pan's Labyrinth

I don't watch scary movies. Period. I got scared in Buffy the Vampire Slayer and I am aware that it's not a scary movie. So this movie was scary. I had my hood down over my face for much of it, but I couldn't ever fully look away. I'm not particularly suggesting it as a movie for kids or writing a review, so I won't bother with the plot or details (more info and a small taste of the soundtrack here). I mention it here while we're on the theme of fairy tales because this is one of the most powerful calling up of the fairy tale world that I've experienced in a long time. It reminds me that to re-imagine and re-make fairy tales is not always a light endeavour a la Jon Scieszka.

This was an exceedingly violent, gory, political, creepy and sinister movie. The violence was difficult for me, but maybe it was important or even integral to the story. All I know is that something about the power of fairy tales felt intact. When the fairies first appear, they are creepy many-jointed things that resemble possessed metal stick bugs. Not until the child Ofelia points to a picture book fairy, do the creatures reshape themselves in that familiar image. And everyone seems to agree that is what we have done to fairy tales over times - taken the creepy or violent or too-scary-for-children out to make them potable. So it is interesting to note my own reaction to this violent but gripping movie: I walked out of the theatre unable to speak for several minutes, but the longer I walked the calmer I became until I felt oddly cleansed by the whole thing. If feels odd to write that - and I'd choose another word if I could think of one - but cleansed is all that comes to mind. Scary as it was to watch (at least for me), I suppose something about the internal logic of fairy tales and underworlds, the easy split of good and evil, the sense of a plot more powerful that the characters themselves - something about all that is immensely satisfying or reassuring, not despite the violence but in a way that is more inextricably linked. This certainly isn't a new idea, but it was a visceral experience of it. And a bit of a surprise for me.

It also reminded me of a passage from The Grammar of Fantasy that's been haunting me today where Gianni Rodari talks about the right time to deconstruct of fairy tales with children: "This must happen sooner or later, but certainly not before the wolf, the monster, and the witch have fulfilled their deep functions, but it also must not happen too late." But are we ever really finished with the wolf? How do we know?

Thanks to Dana and Adam for going with me. I wouldn't have wanted to go in alone.

Cinderella

McClintock, Barbara. Cinderella. New York: Scholastic, 2005.

Barbara McClintock's re-telling of Cinderella has a very classic feel, both in the text (which is based on the 17th century French version by Charles Perrault) and in the illustrations. Using pen, ink and watercolour, Clintock has created finely detailed drawings overlaid with transparent colour in a style reminiscent of old hand-coloured etchings. Based on Versailles and the Paris Opera, the ballroom scenes are ornate and the fashion decadent and fanciful. A finely-wrought, traditional, and gentle re-telling of a standard by an award-winning author-illustrator.

The Frog Prince, Continued

Scieszka, John. The Frog Prince, Continued. Illust. Steve Johnson. New York: Viking, 1991.

Ever wonder what really happens after "happily ever after?" Because this is Jon Scieszka, you can guess this story isn't going to play by the book. For the princess and the transformed Frog Prince, the aftermath of ever-after isn't pretty: The prince's frog-like habits annoy the princess to no end, he complains that she never wants to go out to the pond anymore, and generally the two drive each other crazy. The Frog Prince eventually decides to set out into the forest in search of a spell-wielding witch who will transform him back into a frog. But he finds more than bargained for in the forest, and is soon wishing he could return home. Steve Johnson's textured, angular but always humorous paintings are a perfect match for the dry wit of the narrative. The illustrations get darker and darker as the Frog Prince travels deeper into the forest, but they always provide a wealth of detail and visual clues to help the reader to figure out the references to other fairy tales.

Joseph had a little overcoat

Taback, Simms. Joseph had a little overcoat. New York: Viking, 1999.

"Joseph had a little overcoat. It was old and worn. So he made a jacket out of it and went to the fair..." So begins this re-telling of a story in an old Yiddish song, in which an overcoat becomes a jacket becomes a vest becomes a scarf, until eventually even the button is lost and Joseph truly has nothing. But when he makes a story out of this experience, he proves you really can make something from nothing. Simms Taback's lively painted illustrations have a bright folk art feel at times, but also use well-integrated elements of photographic collage which gives them a more modern feel. It is the simple but brilliant use of die-cuts, however, that most clearly tie the illustrations to the narrative by re-framing the fabric of one item into the next smaller one - a scarf into a necktie, for instance. This playful and well-executed use of the die-cut technique not only adds continuity, but also provides a gentle sense of visual suspense. The combination of appealing and engaging illustrations with a short and patterned text make this an excellent candidate for story time. A Caldecott Medal book.

A re-illustration of an earlier version by the same author/illustrator. Song lyrics and notation provided at the end.

Two of everything

Hong, Lily Toy. Two of everything. Morton Grove, IL: Albert Whitman & Company, 1993.

In this re-telling of a classic and humorous Chinese tale, Mr. Haktak digs up an unusual brass pot in his garden. When he brings the pot home to his wife, they discover it magically makes two of anything they put inside. Their plans for great riches are complicated when first Mrs. Haktak and then her husband fall into the pot. What will this couple do with two of everything, including themselves? The airbrushed paintings, with their muted colours and thick even outlines, provide expressive but stylized illustrations for this gently comic and endearing story.

The Enormous Potato

Davis, Aubrey. The Enormous Potato. Illus. Dusan Petricic. Toronto: Kids Can Press, 1997.

The judiciously economic language used to re-tell this traditional story is perfectly balanced with the lush full-spread watercolour and pencil illustrations, and the two work together beautifully to tell this cumulative tale of a potato so big it takes an entire family, and assorted animals, to pull it out of the ground. Bright, whimsical and expressive paintings combined with a short but repeating text make this a perfect book for story time. A simple but gorgeously crafted story.

The Horned Toad Prince

Hopkins, Jackie Mims. The Horned Toad Prince. Atlanta, Georgia: Peachtree Publishers, 2000.

When a spunky cow-girl loses her new sombrero down a well, a certain horned toad is more than happy to help her out - for a price. Set in the wild dusty prairie of the American southwest, this story features lasso-loving Reba Jo as the unlikely heroine of a revised Frog Prince tale. In keeping with the locale, the text is sprinkled with Spanish words and phrases in a way that doesn't distract but adds to the strength of the story. The story is illustrated by detailed but stylized (pencil crayon or pastel?) drawings with cartoon-like expressiveness and a playful sense of perspective. Other than the change in setting and character, the plot is remarkably true to the original until the end, when the prince shows he's got a little spunk of his own.

Golden Goose

Reid, Barbara. Golden Goose. Markham, ON: Scholastic Canada, 2000.

This re-telling of the Golden Goose fairy tale preserves the magic of the original, while providing a more modern setting for the tale and adding a lovely tom-boyish twist to the princess. The narrative is strong and thoroughly enjoyable but, once again, the illustrations steal the show. Reid's plasticine renditions of the scenes in the story overflow with the small details of life and humour; her carefully wrought faces have an uncanny ability to express personality and emotion; and the golden goose is enchantingly golden and shiny. That being said, however, the illustrations do not crowd out the story but work well with the text to create a entertaining and pleasing finished product.

Dom DeLuise's Hansel & Gretel

DeLuise, Dom. Dom DeLuise's Hansel & Gretel. Illus. Christopher Santoro. New York: Simon and Schuster, 1997.

Before I tell you how much I disliked this book, allow me to digress for a moment: I know that part of the tradition of fairy and folk tales, of oral tradition in general, is the re-telling and re-shaping of stories over time. That change is part of vitality. That there are re-worked and even fractured fairy tales that break open the story to allow for new and exciting narrative possibilities while leaving the magic of storytelling intact (David Wiesner's brilliant telling of The Three Pigs, for instance). There are also, however, some re-tellings of old stories that leave the story not broken open but simply broken, that substitute clever for compelling, that take the didactic element so far that the balance between story and telling is completely lost in favour of a thinly-disguised agenda. For me, Dom Deluise's Hansel & Gretel is such a book.

In this re-telling, Hansel and Gretel live in a poor but health-concious family. They long for sugar treats, but instead pie a la mode they are offered healthy fruit choices for dessert. After their mother dies, they are left in the woods when their father re-marries a cranky widow who hates children. The inevitable candy house in the forest is inhabited by Miss Glut Annie Stout, a glutonous and terrifying women who imprisons them and forces them to bake for her. Eventually they escape, and gratefully return to their father's home (he has since ditched the evil step-mother) where they live heathily and happily ever after.

This is an excellent example of a book that aligns fairly well with my own values - I am deathly against the over-sugaring of children and can't eat sugar myself - and yet manages to offend every fibre of my being. But perhaps this is not quite fair since I do have issues with how the "childhood obesity" campaigns play themselves out in North America, and this book represents some of the worst of those problems. Let me just say that I am not in favour of childhood obesity, but that I worry about how current publicity only ends up feeding the stigmatization of fatness (and I'm fairly sure that eating disorders haven't disappeared - they're just not the flavour of the month any more) instead of truly changing our approach to health and excercise. Here is an excellent example of a villain who is evil (and grossly fat) because of her bad and unhealthy behaviour around food, while a loving family is measured by the the health of the foods eaten: "He took excellent care of his children for many years, and every night they all wished each other not sweet dreams but golden dreams (fewer calories). They were a family again. A loving, fat-free, healthy family who lived happily ever after."

In an effort to be clever and witty, the writing adopts a self-conciously sarcastic tone which undercuts the power of the narrative, tries to cater to both children and adult audiences while appealing to neither, and often ends up falling flat:

""Home? Ha, Ha. Never! You'll live here and help me make puddings, cakes, and pies." The children trembled. It was clear that Miss Glut Annie Stout was (a) completely unaware of how unhealthy all that fat and sugar is! and (b) not very nice. . . not very nice, indeed!" So the children worked as hard as they could helping Glut Annie Stout while she cooked and cooked . . . and cooked."

To give the illustrator credit, the bright cartoon-like illustrations are much more convincing as a diatribe against sugar and junk food: The frenetic, sugary, sticky spreads of life inside the candy house - in which oversized cakes and sundaes and plates of greasy breakfast food tower over the small figures - create a visceral reaction that was enough to put me off sweets for quite a while.

While some teachers or parents might be tempted to use this book to teach about healthy eating habits and the dangers of sugar and junk food, I just don't think it's worth it. Not only is the story un-compelling and somewhat condescending, the message focuses much more on calories and cholesterol than it does on healthy eating. And do we want to suggest that parents don't really love their children if they feed them junk food?

The Three Billy Goats Gruff

Finch, Mary. The Three Billy Goats Gruff. Illus. Roberta Arenson. New York: Barefoot Books, 2001.

There is nothing fractured or post-modern about this re-telling of The Three Billy Goats Gruff, and that is part of what I love about this book. The narrative voice is straight-forward but strong, with just enough venacular ("And he picked up his hooves and kicked the troll into the middle of next week!") to invoke a sense of story-telling. The loose, bright, expressive collage illustrations are reminiscent of Eric Carle, with slightly more detail and texture added to the coloured paper (with pastel, paint and crayon) before it is cut up. A simple but pleasing and completely charming book. Also available in Spanish.

The Three Pigs

Wiesner, David. The Three Pigs. New York: Clarion, 2001.

What would happen if the big bad wolf huffed and puffed and accidentally blew the pig right out of the story? This fractured fairy tale follows the three little pigs as they escape right off the page and take charge of the story from outside. The illustrations are creative in their use of white space and multi-layered perspective in which pages from stories fall to the ground and are folded, crumpled or made into paper airplanes. But what seems most striking is the way David Wiesner's astounding illustrations switch styles throughout so that we can watch the pigs transform as they leave the frames of the story and enter the white space in between where they are three-dimensional and more realistic. As the pigs have some fun running in and out of other familiar stories, they take on the illustration style of each one, blending into the story and then jumping out the other side. They make some new friends on their journey, and when it's time to go home they know just how to deal with that old wolf. A witty, delightful and visually complex book that turns a traditional tale on its head, offering the pigs a chance to write their own ending. A Caldecott Medal book.