On Fairytales

And doing more than wishing on stars.

Last year, I was asked to make a list of my favorite queer books of all time. An impossible feat, but after much deliberation, I narrowed it down to 20 books. On it were four fairytale retellings. (Three takes on Cinderella, one on Sleeping Beauty.) Most of them are "twisted" fairytales; darker stories than movie versions I watched as a child (or the musical adaptations, in Cinderella's case), but so compelling and interesting. It's easily one of my favorite subgenres of fantasy books.

I think I gravitated toward fairytales growing up because they were (at least, my favorites were) about women getting what they wanted. I'm sure the cute animals and pretty songs helped, but I think ultimately that's what my favorites had in common. Even if what they wanted wasn't what I wanted, the fact that their dreams came true was something hopeful to hold onto. I didn't want a pretty dress or a handsome prince, but I wanted to see what was just around the riverbend, I wanted adventure in the great, wide somewhere. And all these women got those things, despite the forces working against them to do it.

Now, of course, as an adult, I can see the more problematic aspects of some of the Disney-fied versions of those fairytales, but that's why, these days, I find myself drawn to those fairytale retellings. Especially queer retellings, but any will do. I love how many different ways different authors can take the same structural pieces and create completely different stories. Some stick to the story beats but genderswap or modernize. Some write from the perspective of the "villain" of the story. Some evolve far past the original inspiration, some sprinkle homages to its source material throughout. Since submitting that list, I've read more fairytale retellings, including two takes on Snow White, and I am always hungry for more.

The major difference between the movies I grew up watching and these retellings is that, in these books, the heroine is an active participant in her story. At least in the ones I've read and loved. They are fully-formed, fleshed out characters with distinct personalities who make choices. A benefit of the medium, yes, but also of being written by women who get it. Women who loved fairytales too but wished Belle had landed a punch square on Gaston's jaw or that Aurora had a sword. In Kalynn Bayron's Sleep Like Death, the princess was trained to be a warrior her whole life. In Heather Walter's Malice, "Sleeping Beauty" isn't even the main character (this is one of those "did the 'villain' have wickedness thrust upon her" tales) but she is STILL working to fight against her own curse. In Malinda Lo's Ash, the heroine isn't swept off her feet by an anonymous stranger who doesn't even know her name (or shoe size), she gets to know and learn from and love her companion. If any "saving" happens in these books, it's a long process that requires the heroine to want to be saved, and to participate in the saving.

One thing these retellings have in common with the fairytales of my youth is the one thing that drew me to this style of story in the first place: hope. These retellings I read now are darker, with more struggles and higher stakes. But like a burning ember in the ashes, like a lily under the snow, amidst the grief, hope remains.

This week, as I'm sure many of you are, I am tired. A deep-in-my-bones kind of tired no amount of sleep would cure, even if I was able to get any. My heart is heavy and my mind is whirring and everything feels dark and scary. I’m sick of bad news, I’m sick of living through unprecedented times, I’m sick and I’m tired. We're at the part of the story when the evil sea witch grows twenty times their size, when the person who cursed us reveals they can turn into a dragon, when our siblings are turning into ice sculptures, and an angry mob with pitchforks and torches is storming the castle. Hope is harder than ever, but I'm going to hold onto it, with a clenched jaw and white knuckles. I refuse to let them take it from me. I'm going to stoke this tiny ember, protect the lily from the worst of the frost. I'm going to volunteer and protest and donate and fight. I'm going to take up my metaphorical sword and help slay this dragon. I’m going to fight for me, I'm going to fight for you, I'm going to fight for everyone who can't fight for themselves. I’m going to fight for happily ever after, or something like it.

I'm going to fight for hope. And I hope you will, too.