Princess, Cyborg, Witch, Thief

Princess of the Wild Swans by Diane Zahler

With this retelling of Hans Christian Andersen's "The Wild Swans," Zahler is becoming the go-to author for middle grade fairy tale retellings. (Well, Zahler and Jessica Day George!) Her previous outings include a retelling of "The Twelve Dancing Princesses" called The Thirteenth Princess and a retelling of Andersen's "The Princess and the Pea" called A True Princess.

As in the other two books, our heroine is a tween, this time 12-year-old Meriel. She and her five older brothers are surprised when the king their father comes home from a journey with a new queen, coldhearted Lady Orianna. The lady is surprised, as well—in the course of her whirlwind (read: calculating) romance, she had not realized her new husband had five sons. This puts a cramp in her plans to have a son and put him on the throne. Orianna transforms the five princes into wild swans, and it is up to Meriel to save them. As you may recall from the original tale, this means Meriel must weave five shirts out of nettles before it's too late. (It's eleven brothers and shirts in Andersen's story, but this is a minor change.) In addition, Meriel must not speak a word while she makes the shirts. Here we see the princess preparing for the task:

I put on an old dress that Riona had outgrown, for she told me that the nettles would rip and stain anything we wore. Then we started out for the field. I felt the weight of my task heavy on me as we walked, and knew I was afraid. Riona had explained that we had to soak the nettles, so that their fine, stinging needles would come off, and then dry them, even before I began to spin. It seemed an endless series of labors, and the very thought of it wearied me. My days, I saw now, had been filled with play and entertainment, and I wondered why I had complained so about the simple tasks Mistress Tuileach set me. I did not know how to work. How could I possibly pick and soak and dry, spin and weave and sew, and do it all before the lake froze?

Rather than sending the princess to a foreign land and introducing her to a prince who wants to wed her, as in the original story, the author keeps Meriel around to continue challenging the witchy queen. Fortunately, there are other, nicer witches (or half-witches) around, and they help Meriel. Zahler gets past the silence thing by allowing Meriel to speak mind-to-mind with her allies. She'll need all the help she can get, especially since the author introduces a new threat—apparently Orianna has been wheeler-dealing with the fay. The ending may be a foregone conclusion, but it's nice to see how Meriel's struggle with the evil queen plays out.

Zahler's retellings are reader-friendly books for the 8 to 12 crowd with feisty tween heroines whose friends and pluck help them combat the forces of evil. There's a hint of romance for the younger crowd in each one, along with a more serious romance between an older prince or princess and a potential mate (often a worthy commoner). Recommended for fairy tale-mad middle graders, as well as for teens who prefer their retellings without violence and sex.


Cinder by Marissa Meyer

This one has a really great premise—it's a Cinderella retelling set in a dystopian future, with Cinder as a cyborg! Cyborgs being people who are part machine and don't have rights because they are merely property, of course. Cinderella was adopted by her father, who remarried and gave her an evil stepmother and two stepsisters (one of whom is pretty nice). In a further world-building twist, Cinder lives in New Beijing, so we get details incorporated from the place's Asian heritage. Our story begins with Cinder working in the marketplace at her little repair booth when Prince Kai stops by and asks her to fix his malfunctioning android. He seems to be flirting with her, but she can't believe it. She does hide her mechanical hands and leg from him, not wanting him to look down on her.

The plot is rather complex thanks to an evil queen who rules the colony on the moon. The Lunars have mind-controlling powers similar to fairy glamour in the old tales, which makes them even more dangerous. Warmongering Queen Levana threatens to destroy the Earth if Kai doesn't marry her. Also, a plague is spreading across the land—and scientists are allowed to experiment freely on cyborgs.

Here are the first few paragraphs, where we meet Cinder:

The screw through Cinder's ankle had rusted, the engraved cross marks worn to a mangled circle. Her knuckles ached from forcing the screwdriver into the joint as she struggled to loosen the screw one gritting twist after another. By the time it was extracted far enough for her to wrench free with her prosthetic steel hand, the hairline threads had been stripped clean.

Tossing the screwdriver onto the table, Cinder gripped her heel and yanked the foot from its socket. A spark singed her fingertips and she jerked away, leaving the foot to dangle from a tangle of red and yellow wires.

She slumped back with a relieved groan. A sense of release hovered at the end of those wires—freedom. Having loathed the too-small foot for four years, she swore to never put the piece of junk back on again. She just hoped Iko would be back soon with its replacement.

Cinder is a fresh approach to fairy tale retelling with some excellent world-building. Cinder makes a valiant heroine, and the low social status of the cyborg class is genuinely poignant. My only real source of disappointment is that the story doesn't wrap up on the last page. We get Cinderella's ball, but we don't get a happily ever after. Yep, we'll have to wait for the sequel (second in a total of four planned books, as I understand). Consider yourself warned!


Born Wicked by Jessica Spotswood

In Spotswood's alternate history, there really were witches during the time of the Salem Witch Trials, and they ruled the land with their powers until men rose up to destroy most of them. Now witches must keep their abilities hidden or the Brothers will punish them with imprisonment or worse. A nun-like group called the Sisters support the Brothers in their work. All girls have to choose or accept a husband or join the Sisters by the time they turn seventeen. In the meantime, they must attend church classes where the Brothers thunder against immorality, strong women, and magic, i.e., the power of the witches.

Cate Cahill has spent the years since her mother's death trying to keep her younger sisters Maura and Tess out of trouble. The problem is, Maura is getting increasingly restless. All three of the girls are witches, something they must keep secret. Take a look at Cate and her sisters, not to mention Cate's childhood friend, Paul:

"You're hopeless, both of you. Perhaps you ought to go and ask Elena about the proper etiquette for entertaining callers." I take Paul's arm and feel his muscles twitch beneath my palms. "A walk would be delightful. Please. Before I murder them both."

I mean to sweep out dramatically, but somehow the doorsill drops away and I lift my foot into empty air. I trip forward, narrowly avoiding rapping my skull on the hall table and destroying an heirloom vase that belonged to Great-Grandmother. Instead, Paul catches me. In fact, he holds me closer than is entirely necessary. I hear a titter behind me and spin around to see Maura, her hand over her mouth, shoulders shaking. Even Tess can't suppress a smile.

Lord help me, my sisters are evil and my best friend's become a rake.

Paul is back from the city and wooing Cate, but she finds herself attracted instead to a poor bookseller's son named Finn instead. A meddling neighbor introduces a governess named Elena into the household and Cate begins learning of her mother's secrets. Turns out there's a prophecy about three sisters who are witches, and the Brothers really want to stop it from happening...

This is quite the potboiler and fairly engrossing. It is also a book for teens, with some frank references here and there to sex and sensuality (e.g., passionate kissing leads to Cate's magic acting up!). Naturally, the story cliff-hangs in the final pages, so you'll have to look for a sequel to see what happens to our girl Cate—who is willing to sacrifice anything to protect her sisters. I have to say: This book reminds me a tiny bit of Stephanie Burgis's Kat, Incorrigible. If you take out the lightheartedness, focus on the oldest sister, and add witch hunters, that is.


Thief's Covenant by Ari Marmell

I'm a Megan Whalen Turner fan, so maybe I just like stories about clever thieves, but Thief's Covenant is a good book in its own right. I will caution you that the author makes extensive use of flashbacks, which adds to the suspense but might irritate some readers just a tad. The other caution I have is that the book has a rather high level of violence and gore. It's definitely meant for teens (and adults)!

But let's turn to page 1 of the Prologue, where we discover a young woman named Adrienne Sati clinging to the rafters high above a room filled with people being slaughtered. Tears run down her face, but she keeps silent even after the murderers depart and the city guardsmen arrive. It seems they don't see her up there in the shadows. And Adrienne is about to reinvent herself once more, this time as a thief named Widdershins.

The Prologue takes place "Two years ago" and Chapter One starts off "Eight years ago." How did Adrienne come to be in that room, and how did she get out? More important, how did she wind up carrying her own pocket god named Olgun around the city?

Now Widdershins is trying to carry out a bit of honest theft undisturbed, but the city thieves' guild is after her, and so is the city guard, along with a couple of far more ominous villains. Somebody isn't happy that Adrienne escaped the carnage that terrible day. Couple all of this with a visit to the city from the high priest of the land's number one religion (basically the pope), and Widdershins is up to her neck in trouble.

The book is also pretty darn funny. Here's an excerpt that introduces Adrienne and gives you a small taste of the humor.

Hours later, the sun setting at her back, Widdershins wandered the crowded boulevard, whistling a jaunty tune. She wore a tunic of verdant green and earth-brown breeches topped by a green-trimmed black vest, a combination that made her look vaguely like an ambulatory shrubbery. Her chestnut hair hung in a loose tail, her rapier swung freely at her side (the intricate silver basket now reattached), and her coin purse overflowed with the smallest portion of the baron's liberated gold. All in all, the last couple of days had been magnificent, and she was determined to share her good cheer.

And, Olgun aside, the thief possessed only one close friend in Davillon with whom she might share it.

Some parts of the story use recognizable fantasy tropes. For example, the clever thief hero has certainly been done before. But Marmell's tapestry of plot threads is intriguing, especially thanks to his creative use of gods. Widdershins herself has dash worthy of the Scarlet Pimpernel and a bit of Gen's whininess and self-doubt. We even get a few city guardsmen who may remind you of characters from Pierce or Pratchett. I'm pretty sure you'll be cheering for Widdershins and her buddies every step of the way. I know I'm looking forward to Book 2. (And I'd like to thank Ari Marmell for actually ending the book! Hooray!)

Honk If You Still Love Fairy Tales

What if you're not on board with the publishing industry's newly dismissive attitude toward picture book fairy tales for 5- to 8-year-olds? What if you—and your kids—are still in love with fairy tales and their happily-ever-afters? Fortunately, there's a lot of good stuff already in print and still more at your local library.


Picture Book Fairy Tales and Folktales

Since many folk- and fairy tales have been around for a few centuries, illustrators are the place to start, most notably illustrator Trina Schart Hyman, whose romantic renderings continue to appeal to girls wanting a good princess fix. For that matter, her Caldecott Honor book Little Red Riding Hood has never been beat. Neither has her Sleeping Beauty. Or her Snow White. Besides which, her dragon in Caldecott winner St. George and the Dragon is pretty much the coolest one I've ever seen.

Kinuko Craft is the new go-to illustrator for classic fairy tales, though some have argued that her artwork has more adult appeal than child appeal. My favorite story she has illustrated is Marianna Mayer's retelling of Baba Yaga and Vaselisa the Brave—featuring the scariest witch of all time! Gennady Spirin is another fairy tale illustrator whose work, I feel, has a real adult sensibility. Then again, one reason to collect the literary fairy tale is because the art can be so sumptuous.

Paul Galdone brilliantly illustrated many folktales. The Three Billy Goats Gruff is a good example of his robust, loose-line style.

Look for Errol Le Cain's illustrations, as well, with their art deco feel. I especially like his Cinderella.

Or find books illustrated by Margot Zemach, particularly The Funny Little Woman and The Three Wishes. Also track down Duffy and the Devil, retold by Harve Zemach. As The New York Times Book Review said of this Caldecott-winning book, "Margot Zemach draws like an intoxicated angel" (qtd on Amazon).

James Marshall created some of the best—and funniest—versions of fairy tales and folktales ever, e.g., his Cinderella, Hansel and Gretel, and The Three Little Pigs.

Other folk- and fairy tale illustrators of note include Susan Jeffers, Ruth Sanderson, and Caldecott winners Gerald McDermott and Paul O. Zelinsky. Not to mention Anita Lobel—look for her illustrations for Princess Furball, as retold by Charlotte Huck.

As for authors, four big names in folktale retelling are Robert D. San Souci, Rafe Martin, Eric A. Kimmel, and Aaron Shepard. I'll recommend The Talking Eggs for San Souci (a Caldecott Honor book), The Rough-Face Girl for Martin, Anansi and the Moss-Covered Rock for Kimmel, and One Eye! Two Eyes! Three Eyes! for Shepard. These and other writers will introduce your child to world folktales, a great way to look beyond the European tradition.

A publisher called Barefoot Books is well known for its collections and single titles of world folktales, so watch for their stuff and check out their catalog.

Or try Mufaro's Beautiful Daughters, a Caldecott Honor variation of the Cinderella story set in Africa. And illustrator Rachel Isadora is single-handedly rewriting the Disney canon, producing well-told versions of well-known tales, all set in Africa—most recently The Twelve Dancing Princesses, The Princess and the Pea, Rapunzel, and Hansel and Gretel.

A few other favorites of mine are Mr. Semolina-Semolinus by Anthony L. Manna and Christodoula Mitakidou, illustrated by Giselle Potter; The Language of Birds by Rafe Martin, illustrated by Susan Gaber; and East of the Sun, West of the Moon, whether illustrated by P.J. Lynch or Mercer Mayer.

For a gritty, funny American backcountry tale, try The Old Woman and the Willy Nilly Man by jill Wright, illustrated by Glen Rounds.

Of course, we must also acknowledge the greatness that is The Stinky Cheese Man and Other Fairly Stupid Tales, by Jon Scieszka, illustrated by Lane Smith! And the equally wonderful The True Story of the Three Little Pigs.

Some more standouts, in my opinion:

--Bearskin, by Howard Pyle, illustrated by Trina Schart Hyman (look for the multicultural families!)
--Everyone Knows What a Dragon Looks Like, by Jay Williams, illustrated by Mercer Mayer
--The Fearsome Inn, a Newbery Honor book by Isaac Bashevis Singer, illustrated by Nonny Hogrogian
--The Fool of the World and the Flying Ship, a Caldecott winner retold by Arthur Ransome and illustrated by Uri Shulevitz
--The Frog Prince, translated by Naomi Lewis, illustrated by Binette Schroeder
--The Gunniwolf, retold by Wilhelmina Harper, illustrated by William Wiesner (not the newer version, please no!)
--Heckedy Peg, by Audrey and Don Wood
--Henny-Penny, retold and illustrated by Jane Wattenberg (with photos)
--Hershel and the Hanukkah Goblins, retold by Eric A. Kimmel, illustrated by Trina Schart Hyman
--Iron John, retold by Marianna Mayor, illustrated by Winslow Pels
--King Bidgood's in the Bathtub, by Audrey and Don Wood
--King Grisly-Beard, by the Brothers Grimm and Maurice Sendak
--The Lady and the Lion, retold by Laurel Long and Jacqueline K. Ogburn, illustrated by Laurel Long
--The Little Red Hen Makes a Pizza, retold by Philemon Sturges, illustrated by Amy Walrod
--Lon Po Po: A Red Riding Hood Story from China, a Caldecott winner retold and illustrated by Ed Young
--The Magic Nesting Doll, by Jacqueline K. Ogburn, illustrated by Laurel Long
--Mirandy and Brother Wind, a Caldecott Honor book by Patrician C. McKissack, illustrated by Jerry Pinkney
--O'Sullivan Stew, by Hudson Talbott
--Ouch! retold by the wonderful Natalie Babbitt, illustrated by Fred Marcellino
--Puss in Boots, translated by Malcolm Arthur, illustrated by Fred Marcellino
--Snow White, retold by talented middle grade author Josephine Poole, illustrated by Angela Barrett
--Snow White, illustrated by Charles Santore
--Sugar Cane, A Caribbean Rapunzel, by Patricia Storace, illustrated by Raul Colón
--Tam Lin, retold by Jane Yolen, illustrated by Charles Mikolaycak
--The 3 Bears and Goldilocks, retold by Margaret Willey, illustrated by Heather M. Solomon
--The Three Billy Goats Gruff, illustrated by Janet Stevens (note the biggest goat in shades and a black leather motorcycle jacket)
--Three Sacks of Truth, retold by Eric A. Kimmel, illustrated by Robert Rayevsky
--The Tinderbox by Hans Christian Andersen, retold by Stephen Mitchell, illustrated by Bagram Ibatoulline
--Tom Thumb, retold and illustrated by Richard Jesse Watson
--Tops and Bottoms, a Caldecott Honor book illustrated by Janet Stevens
--The Twelve Dancing Princesses, retold by Marianna Mayer, illustrated by Kinuko Craft
--The Twelve Dancing Princesses, illustrated by Jane Ray
--A Weave of Words, retold by Robert D. San Souci, illustrated by Raul Colón
--The Well at the End of the World, retold by Robert D. San Souci, illustrated by Rebecca Walsh
--The Wild Swans, translated by Naomi Lewis, illustrated by Anne Yvonne Gilbert

There are many more, but I'll stop there! For Cinderella variations, see my annotated list in this post: "How Cinderella Got Twittered."



Original Folktales, a Contradiction in Terms

These would be stories by writers who love fairy tales and folktales and have written their own—I've done one myself. Hans Christian Andersen is the most famous such author, with his The Little Mermaid (the original is very sad), The Emperor's New Clothes, and The Snow Queen, among others. I also really like James Thurber's delightful tongue-in-cheek tale, Many Moons, whether illustrated by Louis Slobodkin or Marc Simont. And Jane Yolen has written some books I treasure, most notably Good Griselle and Dove Isabeau.

And then there's Eleanor Farjeon's long and lovely story, Elsie Piddock Skips in Her Sleep, illustrated by Charlotte Voake. Did you know, too, that Ursula K. LeGuin wrote an original picture book folktale? It's got trolls in it! Look for A Ride on the Red Mare's Back, illustrated by Julie Downing. Or perhaps you'd prefer a fairy godmother story by Charles Dickins: The Magic Fish-Bone, illustrated by Robert Florczak.


Collections, Adapted or Academic

Basically, fairy tale collections fall into two categories: adapted collections for children, often used as read-alouds, and lengthy collections of tales for scholars or serious fairy tale fanatics (um, like me!). Just note that a lot of the collections really are for grown-ups, so the stories can be fairly mature, especially when it comes to violence. The Brothers Grimm are famous for that.

Since most of the adapted collections for young readers I own are out of print, let me just recommend that when you choose a collection, you should read some sample stories first to make sure the reteller has a way with words and hasn't completely slaughtered the plots in doing the adapting. The most poetic reteller I've come across is Geraldine McCaughrean, who's done collections of the Greek and Roman myths, for instance. If you want a highly simplified collection, I will suggest DK's A First Book of Fairy Tales, edited by Mary Hoffman and Anne Millard, illustrated by Julie Downing.

Look, too, for collections of stories from different countries. As a child, I loved my collection of Japanese fairy tales, also the selections from the tales of the Arabian Nights that my grandma gave me for Christmas one year. Now you can get stories from every continent and many individual cultures, as well. For instance, being from Los Angeles, I'm quite fond of Jane Curry's collection of California Indian stories, Back in the Beforetime.

Grimms' Fairy Tales are available in various editions, but a couple of classics are The Juniper Tree, selected and illustrated by Maurice Sendak, and Tales from Grimm and More Tales from Grimm, illustrated by Wanda Gág of Millions of Cats fame.

For those of you who worry that the fairy tales are all about guy heroes, with passive princesses around every corner, try these feisty feminist collections: Tatterhood and Other Tales and The Maid of the North, both edited by Ethel Johnston Phelps; Fearless Girls, Wise Women, and Beloved Sisters, edited by Kathleen Ragan; and Not One Damsel in Distress, collected and retold by Jane Yolen, with illustrations by Susan Guevara. (The Phelps books are for older children, the Ragan collection seems geared toward adults, and the Yolen collection is for kids in about 3rd-6th grades, I'd say.)

Of course, I can scarcely mention fairy tale collections without referring you to Andrew Lang's classic series, named by color: The Red Fairy Book, The Blue Fairy Book, The Yellow Fairy Book, etc. These are densely told, so are not necessarily appealing to all of today's younger readers, but you sure get a lot of stories. Older kids with a strong interest in fairy tales might go for these.

In addition, I would suggest you get your hands on Jane Yolen's comprehensive collection for grown-ups and older children: Favorite Folktales from Around the World.


The Rise of the Retelling

I am happy to report that when one door closes, another door opens. Or maybe a window. Sorry for the cliché, but it does apply in this case—the demise of the picture book fairy tale in contemporary publishing coincides rather uncoincidentally with another trend, the rise of fairy tale retellings for middle grade and young adult readers. It's like when you're watching Peter Pan and everyone yells, "I do believe in fairies!" I won't make a lengthy list here, but a few key titles are Ella Enchanted by Gail Carson Levine and Goose Girl by Shannon Hale. See also Adam Gidwitz's new book, A Tale Dark and Grimm, which deliberately incorporates some of the Grimms' gorier tales into a single long story starring Hansel and Gretel, here re-imagined as a prince and princess.

The retelling trend is heartening, as is the knowledge that publishing decisions come in waves—and that our libraries already contain a treasure house of picture book folk- and fairy tales. Long live the fairy tale, in whatever shape it takes during the next century!


Note #1: On Monday, I'll be hosting a discussion of fairy tale retellings over at the Enchanted Inkpot.

Note #2: The definitions of the terms "fairy tale" and "folktale" overlap, but the latter refers specifically to stories collected from the oral tradition and more recently has been used, I think, to refer to stories about animals or those tales beloved of smaller children, such as Little Red Riding Hood, The Three Billy Goats Gruff, The Three Little Pigs, and Goldilocks and The Three Bears. In popular usage at least, fairy tales have come to mean mostly the princess tales, especially the classics coopted by Disney—Sleeping Beauty, Cinderella, and Snow White. Fairy tales also tend to feature magical powers and spells, more than the simple inclusion of talking animals. It may interest you to know that in the original story, Rapunzel is not actually about a princess, despite the long golden hair and her depiction as a princess in the new Disney movie, Tangled. (On a historical note, the French nobility had such a craze for fairy tales during the 1600s that some of the aristocrats wrote their own, though these often ramble, tending to be more courtly than well plotted. Madame d'Aulnoy is the best known of these writers.)

Note #3: See also my annotated roundup of trickster tales from earlier this year.

Note for Worried Parents: Trina Schart Hyman's illustrations occasionally show semi-nude female figures, e.g., in the wood carvings. Jane Ray's folk art-style versions sometimes include breast-feeding women. And Grimms' tales, if not adapted, are pretty darn grim, with violence, child abandonment, betrayal, cannibalism, etc.

Update #1: At her blog, Seven Miles of Steel Thistles, YA fantasy writer Katherine Langrish has been asking guest authors to talk about their favorite fairy tales. This week's guest is the marvelous Megan Whalen Turner. And look back over the previous ten posts in the series! (Thanks to ccwtaylor of Sounis for the link.)

Update #2: Check out this article by Marjorie Ingall in the New York Times Review of Books, "When Stories Had Sharp Teeth," in which she talks about three recent children's books inspired by Grimms' fairy tales.

Update #3: When it comes to the demise of the fairy tale (in general, not in picture book publishing!), folk- and fairy tale expert Jack Zipes begs to differ. Thanks to Amy of Amy's Library of Rock for the link to this article.

Update #4: Bildungsroman has posted a terrific list of fairy tale retellings!

Once Upon a Time: Classic Fairy Tale Retellings

Between Shrek and Gail Carson Levine's Ella Enchanted, fairy tale retellings might seem to be an invention of the turn of the millenium. But we can go clear back to the 1920s and 1940s for a quartet of early gems in the retelling corner of the children's fantasy treasury.

You've heard of Arthur Rackham, right? You may not have heard of Charles Seddon Evans, though. C.S. Evans wrote novel or rather novella-length versions of Cinderella in 1919 and Sleeping Beauty in 1920 to accompany Rackham's illustrations. Evans was actually an editor (and later Chairman and Managing Director) of the Heinemann publishing firm.

Evans's retellings might easily have fallen short of Rackham's masterful work, but they are surprisingly strong in their own right. The style is a little old-fashioned, but it's still a lot of fun. Here is an excerpt from Sleeping Beauty:

The first thing [the king] did was to summon all the magicians of his own and neighboring countries, promising a rich reward to the one who could show him a way to defeat the old fairy's malice. The magicians came in scores, some with long beards reaching to their feet, some without any beards at all, some with bald heads, and some with matted hair that looked as though it had not been combed for centuries. For days there were so many magicians about the palace that they were as common as cats, and it was impossible to enter any room without surprising one or the other of them, sitting in deep reflection and looking as wise as only a magician can look. But nothing came of their thinking, and one after the other they gave up the task and departed, having first asked for their traveling expenses.

The story of Sleeping Beauty needs a bit more padding than Cinderella does, so Evans is at his leisure to fill us in about things like the food on the menu at the christening feast. Alternatively droll and painterly, Evans gives us menu items such as "sardines from Sardinia" and "eagles carved of ice hovering over silver dishes filled with apricots." Evans has a knack for fleshing out this well-known story with just the right details, such as presenting the words of the proclamation banning spinning wheels from the kingdom.

All of this makes for a pleasant, leisurely retelling, more of a drawn-out version of the original rather than a true novelization. As for Rackham's illustrations, they are all done in silhouettes, which feels like a lost art form these days. Spreads showing the entire palace and various people in it are especially striking, as are a couple of rather terrifying illustrations of hapless princes trapped in the brambles and turning to skeletons.

We get a lot more description in Evans' Sleeping Beauty than is common in today's fast-paced work, but all of it is very pretty, and certain young readers will enjoy the detailed depiction of the palace—for example, when the hundred years have passed and the prince is making his way through the somnolent rooms. In such scenes, Evans captures Perrault's tone, then extends it.

Evans' Cinderella is arguably the better of the two books, perhaps because he has more plot to play with. Here is Cinderella's father describing the new stepsisters to his daughter, already sounding worried:

"One is called Charlotte," answered her father, and the other Euphronia."
"I like the name of Charlotte," said Ella miserably. "Are they big girls or little ones?"
"Well, you see," said her father, "correctly speaking, they are not girls at all. That is to say, child, they have—ahem—arrived at years of discretion. You must not expect them to play ball or anything like that, or run about the garden with you. They are—what shall we say?—a little sober in temperament; but excellent creatures, nonetheless—excellent creatures. You will get on very well together, I'm sure, with a little give and take on both sides."
"Just a minute, father," pleaded Ella. "Do tell me some more about my new sisters. I cannot understand all the big words you use. Do you mean that they are grown up?"
Her father nodded. "In point of fact, adult," he said, and his tone was so gloomy that Ella had to smile.

Together with Cinderella, we get to know the stepsisters all too well, adding weight to the injustice of her situation. Arthur Rackham's illustrations are again presented in black silhouettes, although he uses a little gray to add dimension to the grander scenes. Cinderella attends the ball for two nights running, allowing the story to build more suspensefully. It also makes the romance a bit more credible. Evans gives us an all-too-real concern from Cinderella herself after the second ball: "It is the Princess he loves... If he could see me now in these ragged clothes, or find me at my drudgery in the kitchen, would he recognize me? And even if he did know me again, would he be horrified to think that he had danced with a kitchen-maid?"

Fortunately, the prince is not so shallow as all that. "He felt sure that she must be in some trouble, otherwise she would not have run away from the ball so suddenly." He resolves to find her and help her. And he suspects she might have been the poorly dressed girl the guards saw running away.

One of my favorite parts of this book is that Rackham and Evans promenade the shoe-aspiring girls in batches. On one page, we are told, "First of all came the princesses," and we are shown two princesses in silhouette. The next page says, "and then the duchesses," with three duchesses shown below. "And then the countesses," six of them. "And so on to the plain gentlewomen," (ten women), "until it was the turn of the servants in the kitchen, but the slipper would not go on the foot of any of them" (twelve servant girls and a cat). That's in the palace, but of course we know the search will broaden its reach and lead us to "happily ever after."

The Rackham and Evans books are very nice, and I do recommend them; however, they have to step aside modestly when they see the next two books coming... Eleanor Farjeon's clever, whimsical, often-funny voice makes her Cinderella retelling, The Glass Slipper, and her Rumpelstiltskin retelling, The Silver Curlew, true classics.

Even if you think you've never heard of Eleanor Farjeon, you might know who she is—she wrote the poem "Morning Has Broken," which was set to music and performed by Cat Stevens. (She is also the author of a long and luxuriously fantastical story about jump ropes, elves, and sugar candy currently available in picture book format. Charlotte Voake is the illustrator of Farjeon's Elsie Piddock Skips in Her Sleep.)

It's worth noting that in their early editions, Farjeon's two retellings are illustrated by another famous artist, Ernest H. Shepard of Winnie-the-Pooh fame.

Now, cynical modern readers might find The Glass Slipper—which was originally a play in 1944—too adorable to bear, but anyone who likes slightly old-fashioned, kinda girly books like Frances Hodgson Burnett's A Little Princess and The Secret Garden or Noel Streatfeild's Ballet Shoes will be happy to discover this tale.

Ella is so very sweet, the Princess of Nowhere... She talks to the objects in the kitchen, and they answer. Her stepmother finds out that Ella has a little picture of her mother and uses it to keep her under control. Ella's bed in the kitchen is a sort of cupboard, so the stepmother locks her into it when the girl defies her. Here's an early encounter with Cinderella, who is wishing she could sleep in:

"Cockadoodledoo!" crowed the Rooster.
"Cockadoodledoo!" mocked Ella. "Well, I won't! Everybody orders me about, but you shan't!" And down she lay with her fingers in her ears. That seemed to finish the Rooster, and he didn't crow again. But now all round the kitchen went the funny little stir that meant the day had begun and the Things weren't being attended to. The tall clock in the corner seemed to be ticking a little more impressively than before, and Ella couldn't shut it out:

Tick-tock!
Tick-tock!
The Grandfather Clock
Agrees with the Cock!

And as it began to strike seven:

Bing-Bong!
Bing-Bong!
It's exceedingly wrong
To stay in bed long!

Ella sat up again with a little sigh. "All right Grandpa. I know. You never let me off, do you?"
"I never let anybody off," ticked the Clock.

As the Things stop fussing and Ella begins her day, her father sneaks in the kitchen door from outside, hoping for a quiet moment with his daughter before his wife catches him there. But of course, she does.

Some of this may sound a bit twee, but I have to tell you, the story unfolds so delightfully that it works. One touch I like is that Farjeon incorporates a fairy tale trope by having Cinderella help an old woman in the snowy woods. In return, the hungry girl finds a magical meal. Later the woman turns out to be her fairy grandmother.

We also get some giddily colorful characters at court, such as the king's fool (AKA the Zany) and a tenderhearted herald. Of course, Farjeon creates her own version of the dreadful and silly stepsisters:

"I'm not going to be a wallflower." The Sisters pranced about, practicing curtsies. "Nobody's not going to ask me to dance, so there!"
"Nobody's going to neglect me," said Arethusa.
"Nobody's going to reject me," said Araminta.
"I'm going to be the most beautiful bloom in the whole of the room, so there!"
"Excepting for me! People will pass the remark, 'She's just like a hothouse rose'—so there!"
Minta tossed her head. "If I don't get lots of introductions, look out for ructions!"
"If I don't get first prize for airs and graces," said Thusa, "I'll smack their great big ugly faces. I'm not going to be a wallflower.""
"No more am I not going to be a wallflower!"
"So there!" The Sisters flopped on the floor in a heap, with not a curtsy left between them.
Ella came timidly to the door. "The bath is ready, madam."
"Dip, dip, dip!" said the Stepmother.
The Sisters gathered themselves up, piled Ella's arms with towels and soap and sponges and perfume and rubber ducks, and pushed past her to the bathroom, where she had to scrub their backs for them. They were much too lazy to do it for themselves.

If The Glass Slipper is delightful, The Silver Curlew is strange and marvelous. It has a more modern sensibility than the retelling of Cinderella, almost an edge. And yet, that's a subtlety not everyone will notice. The most obvious and appealing thing about this book is its humor.

Here Farjeon combines the story of Rumpelstiltskin with a nursery rhyme about the man in the moon. Only in her version, Rumpelstiltskin (or rather Tom Tit Tot) has become a little black imp, clearly kin to devils and demons, while the miller's daughter is pretty Doll Codling, the laziest girl in all the land—but also a girl with a real knack for motherhood, when she gets the chance.

More important is Doll's younger sister Poll, who is wiry and adventurous and clever. She's the real hero of our story.

The tale's comic centerpiece is Nollekens, King of Norfolk, an overgrown child and towering sulker who clashes less-than-majestically with his new sister-in-law and nearly spoils the whole thing when it comes to naming names. His temper is a running joke that eventually offers up a tidy tidbit of a message, though not in a pompous way.

And who is Charlee, the daydreamy fisherman who wanders up and down the beach, followed by a parade of puffins? When Poll saves a beautiful silver bird from the imps of the Witching-Wood, it is Charlee who helps her figure out how to care for the injured bird. The curlew is even the subject of one of the quarrels between Poll and the king:

"I'm not featherbrained!" cried Poll, stamping her foot at him.
"You are featherbrained!" cried Noll, stamping his foot at her. "And no wonder, sitting over that silly bird of yours, morning, noon, and night. I've a good mind to have it banished."
"Don't you touch my bird! Don't you touch my bird!" squealed Poll.
"I wouldn't touch your bird with a pair of filigree sugar-tongs," said Noll.
"You haven't got a pair of filigree sugar-tongs."
"I shall have some made," said Nollekens, "especially not to touch your bird with. Nursing a sick curlew all the year round!"
"It's getting better," Poll declared.

Other passages are quietly poetic:

[Poll] unclosed her eyes, which felt a little sticky from being so fast-shut. At first the moonlight made everything swimmy and she could only see a sliding silver movement over the grass that seemed to be the wind made visible. Then as her eyes cleared Poll caught and held her breath. What did she see? She saw the Silver Curlew floating above the flower-beds like a large moth. It rose a little, dipped, rose a little higher, and slid to earth again. Poll watched its movements anxiously. It stepped through the dewy grass as though it were stepping through seaweed, and stopped beside the fountain to wet its bill. Refreshed, it began to try its wings again.

Soon the deadline for Doll's guessing the spinning creature's name comes calling, the adventure escalates, and Poll must slip into the Witching-Wood, disguised as an imp, in order to save her baby nephew.

Besides the characters, the humor, and the poet's masterful use of language, Eleanor Farjeon's greatest accomplishment is to make something new out of an old story. She even manages to twine another tale through it using a nursery rhyme. There's an artistry and a grace to The Silver Curlew that transforms it into a gift of a story for any young fantasy reader, even 50+ years after its initial publication.

While you can enjoy all kinds of fairy tale retellings in the 2000's, don't forget the earliest of these books. Sometimes they're the best of the bunch.

How Cinderella Got Twittered

I'm here to write about a trend most people probably haven't noticed: the demise of the literary fairy tale. I've noticed because I write in this genre, and things have dried up. More about that in a minute. Exhibit A, though, is a 2008 version of Cinderella by Max Eilenberg and Niamh Sharkey. At first glance, I thought, How fun! A Cinderella with simple wording for younger or less able readers. And the style is kind of contemporary, which should appeal to today's kids. Then, somewhere in the distance, I heard the sound of a massive pair of doors swinging shut. I wrinkled my brow and began considering the implications of a book like this one.

I'm not so cynical as to call it "dumbing down" when publishers create books that are faster paced and have less sophisticated vocabulary; instead, I think these books accurately reflect our culture, specifically trends in language influenced by journalism (and figures like Hemingway), as well as by other media, beginning with MTV and continuing on to social networking. When all problems can be solved in 30 minutes, not counting commercials, and political issues are summarized in sound bites, yeah, we're living in a different world. Of course, Twitter is a recent and obvious example, in which dibs and dabs take on a strangely surreal importance.

But even if the shift is merely stylistic, one result is that the story book is getting squeezed out.

Pretty much everybody knows about the genre in children's literature called picture books, but what are story books? These are written for slightly older readers, say, second and third graders as opposed to kindergartners and first graders. The language is often more difficult, and the books are generally meant to be read aloud. You'll find that there are a lot more sentences on a page and even a smaller font; in fact, one approach to the story book is to isolate the text on one side of the spread and place the illustration on the other. (Cover above left is Trina Schart Hyman's Sleeping Beauty.)

Most often, books set up this way are fairy tales. The classic examples are those illustrated by Trina Schart Hyman, although Kinuko Craft appears to have taken her place as the queen of the illustrated fairy tale. Texts for stories like "Cinderella," "Sleeping Beauty," "The Twelve Dancing Princesse," and "Little Red Riding Hood" are lightly adapted from Grimm or Perrault for such books. The language reflects the grandeur of oral storytelling, where phrasing could afford to be rich and rolling and was as important or more important than any Johnny-come-lately artwork.

In some cases, the fairy tales are new stories which simply sound like they come from the Brothers Grimm or other collections based on the oral tradition—such as Jacqueline K. Ogburn and Laurel Long's The Magic Nesting Doll (see cover art below right). Or they may be stories combining a couple of traditional tales.

But the story book is losing ground fast, with publishers pushing them to reinvent themselves as picture books. My own experience in this regard is as a writer of original fairy tales. In fact, the first book I sold, The Secret-Keeper, was selected from an unpublished collection of such stories by my editor at Atheneum. It took awhile to come out, and although I'm told it's a lovely book and it garnered a Parents' Choice Recommended award, it hasn't exactly sold like hotcakes. In the aftermath of that experience, I spoke to my editor a year or so ago and told her, "I've noticed there's a need in the market for what I call 'rowdy boy books,' so I've been writing some of those."

She heaved a sigh of relief, and we proceeded to have a conversation in which she admitted that while she likes my fairy tales, she feels that the market doesn't really support them at this time. Not long after, I sold her one of my new "rowdy boy books."

The story doesn't end there. I had already signed on to do a retelling of a Grimms' fairy tale, Hans-My-Hedgehog, illustrated by John Nickle. This project was the illustrator's idea, and when I began working on the text, I produced a somewhat fast-paced version because my head was full of his pictures for The Ant Bully. But my editor wrote back, asking for the "lush fairy tale style" I'd used in my first book. I rewrote the manuscript, pleased, since I actually prefer the traditional fairy tale voice.

The wheels of publishing turn slowly, however, and the project made its way through more than one changing of the guards, for a grand total of four editors. This fall the last editor, some three years after that "lush" request, told me that they really wanted a tighter text because today's picture books are quite spare. Kicking myself for losing the earliest version I'd produced, I rewrote the story, paring out most of the lush language. So that's Exhibit B.

Insufficient evidence? Perhaps. But watch for this particular trend to continue, and I think you'll see what I mean.

One implication is that there's little room in today's picture book market for true storytelling. The small gap between the picture book, in which text is entirely secondary to artwork, and the chapter book with its single piece of cover art is closing. Those doors I mentioned again, marking the proverbial end of an era. I suspect even well-known folktale retellers such as Robert San Souci and Aaron Shepard are feeling this particular pinch. Because right now, publishers would rather see a Fancy Nancy or a "rowdy boy book" than good old-fashioned storytelling. (Cover art at right is from Paul O. Zelinsky's Rapunzel.)

Should we mourn the loss of this subgenre? Or is it, like the extinction of certain species in nature, an inevitable evolution? I will point out that a spot remains for this type of rich, roll-off-your-tongue, read-aloud storytelling in collections for older readers with few or no illustrations, although again, it's not considered a strong commercial segment of the market. And yet, Kinuko Craft seems to be holding her own, arm firmly thrust through those closing doors and waving a masterful paintbrush.

The emphasis is clearly on illustration in today's picture book market. Sounds like sour grapes, I know, since I come from the writing side of things. But trends are trends, and I think this one is worth mentioning. I do know that even in the haiku-like format of the true picture book, when the storytelling is as breathtaking as the artwork, you've got one of those books that will stay in print forever and ever. (E.g., Where the Wild Things Are and Millions of Cats.)

And so, in honor of today's post and those ominous doors I keep talking about, I give you a smorgasbord of Cinderellas from my own library (which is cheerfully attempting to take over the house). Many of these books are out of print, but you can always visit your local library to find them.

Cinderella, by Max Eilenberg and Niamh Sharkey
This is the newer book that got me thinking about this topic. Aside from its symbolic value as described above, I really do like it! Here is the first page:

Once upon a time there lived a girl whose mother—the kindest mother in all the world—had died and whose father had married again.
The wedding had barely ended before the new wife began to reveal her true nature. She was snobbish, mean, and foul-tempered. Ooh, she was horrid!
And she was especially cruel to the girl, whose beauty made her own two daughters look positively hideous. The stepmother couldn't stand this.

I think you'll find that this is a very good retelling for 5- to 7-year-olds. And you as a parent or teacher will catch the Britishisms from the London-based writer (e.g., "In fact, they looked frightful."). I particularly like the way the author uses sounds, which are presented in a larger font in the middle of the page. For example, listen to the fairy godmother's wand in action: "Tap tap WHOOSH!" My only disappointment about this Cinderella is that the art is sometimes bland.

Cinderella, by Ruth Sanderson
Sanderson has it all, combining elements from the "Cinderella" most children know with pieces of a less well-known version, the German "Ashenputtel." Sanderson includes the hazel tree with its white birds that help Cinderella, leaving out the mother's grave. Instead she adds a white rose tree nearby to symbolize the mother's love. But the author also brings in an actual fairy godmother. For those who know the two stories, this results in a considerable muddle, but young readers probably won't notice. The birds do punish the stepmother and stepsisters at the end, though less violently than in "Ashenputtel." Sanderson's illustrations, which she paints from live models, are a nice blend of romanticism and realism.

Cinderella, by Susan Jeffers
The text occasionally lapses into summary, but is basically accessible and well told. Jeffers' colored pen-and-ink illustrations are the best thing about this version, although none of the interior paintings come close to the beauty of the portrait of Cinderella on the front cover. Then again, the spread showing Cinderella on her way to the ball is quite striking!

Cinderella, by Charles Perrault and Loek Koopmans, translated from the Swiss by Anthea Bell
I'm not sure whether Bell translated from Perrault's French or a Swiss rendering of Perrault's tale, but the illustrations are a little unexpected and very likable. I particularly enjoyed one that shows Cinderella holding a pumpkin aloft in a daylit garden, and another of her sleeping by the fire. Watch as well for the surprising way in which the prince takes Cinderella away from her home.

Cinderella, by Barbara McClintock
Right now McClintock is best known for her Adele and Simon books, but her faintly theatrical rendering of Cinderella is worth owning. As the back flap copy explains, the illustrations "were inspired by a trip to Paris. The prince's palace is based on Versailles and the Paris Opera, and all the costumes and hairdos reflect France in the time of Louis XIV. [McClintock] was also influenced by the work of Watteau, Fragonard, the films of Jean Cocteau, and the Tintin comic books."

Cinderella, by K.Y. (Kinuko) Craft
Craft's paintings are unabashedly luxurious and traditional, evoking the old masters and the decorative arts from various European courts a few hundred years ago. Her heroines and even her heroes tend to have curling blonde hair and blue eyes, not to mention those cupid's-bow lips you mostly see in royal portraits hanging in museums rather than on actual faces. It's all beautifully done as well as delightfully decadent, and 8-year-old girls will eat it up. Fancy Nancy's got nothing on these illustrations!

Cinderella, by David Delamare
I treasure this unusual book, which gives us a Cinderella who lives in a slightly magical version of Venice. Think powdered wigs, and you've got the right era. The palette is dark and mysterious. Cinderella's face is a bit too modern with its Angelina Jolie lips, and the fairy godmother really doesn't work for me. But the rest of the artwork is marvelous, and a nice change from the traditional look of this particular story. The text is less striking, though pleasant.

Cinderella or The Little Glass Slipper, by Charles Perrault and Errol Le Cain
If you haven't seen Errol Le Cain's illustrations, you really should. His style is closer to the work of Erté than just about anything else I might mention, but with a liveliness that non-illustrators in the art deco movement never even attempted to capture. Take a look at Le Cain's rendering of a mouse turning into a horse, for example, tinted blue and green and even a little red in the moonlight. Or details such as the profiles of the stepmother and stepsisters appearing at the edge of an illustration of Cinderella in the kitchen, where they watch her malevolently. There's nothing else like this out there.

James Marshall's Cinderella, by Barbara Karlin and James Marshall
Despite all the gorgeous artwork I've been talking about, if I had to choose only one Cinderella, this would be it. The facial expressions alone are worth the price of admission. For example, when Cinderella brings in two lizards from the garden, she holds them out at arm's length on either side of herself and makes a face like, "Oh, yuck, I can't believe I'm doing this!" Meanwhile, the fairy godmother and the rat sit there, kind of laughing. Very, very fun. This story is far more entertaining when it isn't taken so seriously, but only James Marshall could make such a humorous retelling work so well.

Some of the Cinderellas out there are versions from around the world.

Shirley Climo's retellings: The Egyptian Cinderella and The Korean Cinderella, both illustrated by Ruth Heller; The Persian Cinderella, illustrated by Robert Florczak; and The Irish Cinderlad, illustrated by Loretta Krupinski
In case you didn't know, state educational standards often include a requirement to compare different versions of the same folktale from around the world, usually in second or third grade. That only partly explains the market for books like Shirley Climo's, which are excellent stories in their own right. I think The Persian Cinderella is my favorite. You'll find that the women go to the "ball" but don't interact with the men since the women's and men's parties are held separately. Here the glass slipper is a lost ankle bracelet.

The Egyptian Cinderella is a Greek slave in Egypt named Rhodopis. Then a falcon steals her red-gold slipper and brings it to Pharoah... whereupon the search for the shoe's owner begins. The Korean Cinderella, Pear Blossom, is helped by a frog, sparrows, and an ox before her sandal is found by a handsome young magistrate.

The Irish Cinderlad features a boy who befriends a magic bull. The bull helps him slay a dragon and rescue a princess. She then tracks him down using one of his large boots—Becan's family had always teased him for his oversized feet.

Yeh-Shen: A Cinderella Story from China, by Ai-Ling Louie and Ed Young
Famed illustrator Ed Young illuminates Louie's retelling of the Chinese Cinderella, in which the part of the fairy godmother is played by a magic fish. After her stepmother kills the fish, Cinderella gathers the bones, which continue to help her. Young's soft illustrations add to the magical mood of the story.

The Rough-Face Girl, by Rafe Martin and David Shannon
In this Algonquin version, village girls vie for the attention of a supernatural warrior called the Invisible Being. The Rough-Face Girl is scarred from working by the fire, but her pure heart allows her to see what others cannot in a challenge conducted by the warrior's sister.

Mufaro's Beautiful Daughters, by John Steptoe
This highly regarded book is a Caldecott Honor winner and gives us a Cinderella set in historic Zimbabwe, from a story collected in Africa by a man named G.M. Theal and published in 1895 in his Kafir Folktales. Kind Nyasha and selfish Manyara get their appropriate rewards, and we learn that the fairy godmother, a small green snake, is also the prince—or rather, the king.

Domitila: A Cinderella Tale from the Mexican Tradition, by Jewell Reinhart Coburn and Connie McLennan
Adelita: A Mexican Cinderella Story, by Tomie de Paola
I'm not too crazy about Reinhart Coburn's variation. It seems a little long winded. I prefer Adelita, Tomie de Paola's Mexican Cinderella, which I recently checked out from the library to read to a student. In going on Amazon to order a used copy of Adelita, I noticed that Reinhart Coburn has also written Hmong and Cambodian versions of the story. Visit them at the library and see what you think.

Then we have some colorful contemporary variations:

Cinder Edna by Ellen Jackson and Kevin O'Malley
There aren't very many didactic books that I like, but this one's a doozy. In a blatantly feminist take on the world's best-loved fairy tale, Jackson gives us two Cinderellas—the one you think you know and a girl who lives next door, Cinder Edna. Jackson has a wonderful time making the traditional Cinderella out to be a complete wimp and creating a sensible, proactive counterpoint in the form of her title character. There's even a nod to recycling here. Fortunately, Jackson's message takes a backseat to the humor of her storytelling, which is all the more delightful thanks to O'Malley's lively illustrations. My favorite page shows the fairy godmother practically rolling her eyes at Cinderella's lack of initiative:

Meanwhile, Cinderella's big, bright eyes brimmed with tears. "But, Fairy Godmother, how will I get to the ball?"
The fairy godmother was surprised that her goddaughter couldn't seem to figure anything out for herself. However, with another wave of the wand, she changed a pumpkin into a carriage, six white mice into horses, and a stray rat into a coachman.
"Be sure to leave before midnight," she warned Cinderella as she helped her into the elegant carriage.
Cinder Edna took the bus.

Smoky Mountain Rose: An Appalachian Cinderella, by Alan Schroeder and Brad Sneed
This story is written partly in a backwoods dialect, but it's not too hard to follow. Sneed is a terrific illustrator, and I love the fact that the fairy godmother is a large hog.

Cinderella Skeleton, by Robert D. San Souci and David Catrow
I hope you recognize both these names. San Souci is a highly regarded reteller of folktales, and David Catrow is known for his amazingly nutty and cartoonish illustrations (e.g., in I Ain't Gonna Paint No More by Karen Beaumont). This skeletal Cinderella would be perfectly happy in Tim Burton's movies, The Nightmare Before Christmas and Corpse Bride. San Souci's rhymed text is a little overwhelming at times, but it's certainly ambitious and often funny.

Prince Cinders, by Babette Cole
If you've never read any of British author-illustrator Cole's other books, you've been missing out. We're talking tongue-in-cheek contemporary stuff with a unique flair. In this book, Prince Cinders does all the work while his three big hairy brothers go out partying at the disco. Of course, it's dangerous to wish to be big and hairy when your fairy godmother is a little ditzy. And then there's the pair of lost jeans, dropped by a guy who's less of a hero than a sweet mix-up... Track this one down!

Cinderhazel: The Cinderella of Halloween, by Deborah Nourse Lattimore
Hazel doesn't mind a bit when her witchy stepmother and stepsisters accuse her of being grimy:

"You are disgusting! Absolutely yucky!" said her stepmother. "All you think about is dirt. For all the time you spend in that fireplace, we ought to call you Cinderhazel."
"Ooooh, would you?" asked Hazel.

This witch can't fly right, but she loves dirt. Could it be that she and the prince have something in common? A little-known but entertaining read-aloud, especially at Halloween. Really, though, it works any time of the year.

I'm embarrassed that I don't have the classic Marcia Brown Cinderella, which won the Caldecott Medal in 1955, but here are a few of the others I've come across, whether in the library, in the bookstore, or while surfing Amazon:

Cendrillon: A Caribbean Cinderella, by Robert San Souci and Brian Pinkney
Cindy Ellen, A Wild Western Cinderella, by Susan Lowell and Jane Manning
The Gospel Cinderella, by Joyce Carol Thomas and David Diaz
Cinderella's Rat, by Susan Meddaugh
Bigfoot Cinderrrrrella, by Tony Johnston and James Warhola
Cinderella Penguin, or The Little Glass Flipper, by Janet Perlman
And even Sumorella: A Hawaii Cinderella, by Sandi Takayama and Esther Szegedy

With all these Cinderellas, it may seem odd that I'm worrying that the literary fairy tale is on its way out. But consider how many—or how few—fairy tales are being published at present. And think of one more thing: the way Disney has commandeered the genre. Besides all the books based directly on the movie art, have you seen the recent Disney version with text by Newbery medallist Cynthia Rylant? Which should be a good thing, but I was put off by the concept, let alone the vague artwork by Mary Blair, who was apparently told to create a more painterly rendering of the animated version. [Update: Read Becky's contribution in the comments to find out exactly how I misjudged Mary Blair—very interesting!]

So keep an eye on your fairy tales, folks. Because the story book has developed a nasty cough, and that corner of the children's literary canon inspired by the Brothers Grimm just isn't what it used to be.

Update (1-24-10): See this striking discussion of the demise of the folktale picture book (really the same thing I'm talking about here) at author Bobbi Miller's site. She also provides other great links.