Fairy Tale Tuesday No.114 – The Shadow

This is such an obscure Hans Christian Andersen fairy tale that I’d never heard of it before now. The protagonist is a scholar who has recently relocated to a very hot country and is not coping well; he shuts himself up inside the house all day and loses an unhealthy amount of weight. It’s only when the sun goes down that he feels like himself.

He spends the evenings sitting on his balcony, listening to the city nightlife, and speculating about the inhabitants of the house across the street. He’s never seen anyone living there and the ground floor is entirely occupied by shops, but there are flowers flourishing on the balcony and sometimes the scholar hears music drifting from the windows. One night he wakes to see the mysterious house bright with lights, and a beautiful girl standing amongst the flowers. By the time he goes to the balcony for a better look, however, the illumination is gone and the girl too. The only sign of life is the distant sound of music.

After that the scholar becomes a little obsessed. Another night, while he’s on self-appointed stakeout, the angle of light in his own house casts his shadow against the balcony opposite, so it looks to be standing among the flowers. The scholar jokes aloud that it should seize the opportunity to sneak inside and look around. He then stands up, and the shadow stands up too – but when the scholar goes inside his house, the shadow goes into the house across the street.

When the scholar wakes the next morning and realises his shadow is gone, he’s really annoyed, because this would make a fantastic story but someone else wrote it down first. Is this a reference to Peter Pan? Anyway, he tries to lure his shadow back with cunningly arranged lights, but no dice, it’s disappeared. It’s not the end of the world – within a few weeks the scholar has grown a new shadow and when he goes back to his home in the north no one can tell the difference. He writes a number of philosophical books and keeps the story of the shadow to himself.

Years pass. Then one day, a soft knock sounds at the scholar’s door and he opens it to find a strangely thin man standing on the step. “Whom have I the honour of addressing?” the scholar enquires politely. “Ah, that is just what I expected!” exclaims the stranger, “that you would not know me. I have become so thoroughly flesh and blood, and covered with clothes too, and, no doubt, you never expected to see me so well off. Do you not know your old shadow?” Since they parted ways all those years ago, the shadow has become a very wealthy man, and has come to discharge debts with his…twin? Of sorts?

The scholar is somewhat taken aback by all the weirdness and asks for more explanation. “Well, it is not commonplace,” the shadow admits. “But then you are something out of the common yourself, and you know that from your childhood up I have always trodden in your footsteps. As soon as I found that I could make my way alone in the world, I started for myself, and a brilliant position I have gained; but then an irresistible longing came over me to see you once more before you die, for you know that die you must. I wanted to see this country again as well, for one always must love the land of one’s birth. I know that you have another shadow; and if I have to pay it or you anything, pray have the goodness to tell me so.”

The scholar waves away any suggestion of a debt and welcomes the shadow inside as an old friend, eagerly asking for his life story. The shadow is willing to tell him all on one condition: that he reveal to no one the truth of their association. This agreed upon, the shadow settles into a chair. He’s quite an impressive sight, dressed all in black with leather boots and diamond rings – and turns out he has some fancy names to drop as well. Their old neighbour, the one whose house he moved into after he left the scholar, was actually Poetry. As in, the goddess thereof. TARDIS-like, her house was bigger on the inside, and full of strange marvels. Under her influence, the shadow transformed into flesh and discovered ambition.

He became a creature of the night, running through the streets and spying on the unwary to learn what being human meant. “It is a bad world,” he remarks, “and I would not be a man were it not that it is a position of accepted importance.” Using his unique set of talents, he became a master blackmailer and won everything he now has that way.

The two men don’t exactly become friends – the shadow is not that kind of person – but he returns a year later to check up on the scholar. Life is going less well for him: his philosophical books aren’t selling and humanity is disappointing him. The shadow suggests they go travelling together. “Will you go as my shadow?” he asks. “I shall be very happy to take you with me, and will pay your expenses.”

The scholar is freaked out and refuses. Things don’t improve for him, though. He loses weight again and people begin to say he looks…like a shadow. Well, that’s not alarming at all.

His rich friend returns, this time advising a trip to the baths (meaning hot springs). “I pay the expenses, and you can write the description of our journey, and can amuse me a little on the way,” he says airily. “I want to go to the baths, for my beard does not grow as it should, which is an illness too, and one must have a beard. Now be sensible, and accept my offer; we shall travel as friends.” The scholar accepts, and if his former shadow insists on positioning himself according to the sun, so that the scholar falls behind as his shadow – it’s nothing more than an eccentricity, right?

At the baths they meet a lovely and perspicacious princess, who does not believe the rich man’s story about his beard for a minute, because she sees he casts no shadow. Curious, she confronts him about the matter. “I know that your illness was seeing too clearly,” he replies, “but that defect has evidently left you, and you are cured. I have not only a shadow, but a most extraordinary one. Other people have only a common shadow, but I do not like what is common. People give their servants finer clothes than they wear themselves, and I have made my shadow human.” With that, he gestures to the scholar.

Thoroughly intrigued, the princess continues the acquaintance. That night she discovers him to be a superb dancer, an extensive traveller and surprisingly well informed about everything. By now quite charmed and willing to fall in love with him, she asks him the most difficult question she can think of, so as to test his intelligence. The shadow can’t answer, but calmly deflects by saying even his shadow can tell her what she wants to know. So the princess goes over to the scholar and is very impressed by the content of his conversation. “What an extraordinary man that must be,” she muses, “to have so learned a shadow! It would be a real blessing for my subjects if I chose him as a husband.”

She makes swift arrangements, and the shadow does likewise. He offers the scholar a generous living allowance and a place at court on the condition that he pretend their roles are reversed, and have always been so. “You must allow yourself to be called shadow by every one, and not say that you have ever been a man; besides which, once a year, when I sit on the balcony and show myself to the people, you must lie at my feet, as it becomes a shadow to do.” The scholar is appalled and flat out refuses. He tries to warn the princess, but the shadow has him arrested and imprisoned. He then goes to the princess himself to tell her his ‘shadow’ has gone mad.

“Poor shadow!” the princess exclaims. “He is very unhappy, and it would be a real blessing to release him from his sufferings.” The shadow sighs at dreadful necessity and agrees with all speed. That night he weds the princess, and the scholar is executed. This kingdom is in a lot of trouble.

While not strictly a ghost story, I think this counts as Halloween appropriate, by virtue of just being so disturbing. Hans Christian Andersen had a remarkable, if morbid, imagination. Right up until the end you assume the scholar will escape – but it’s the shadow who gets a happy ending. Perhaps. The princess is, after all, quick to notice strange things. Hopefully she’s more than a match for her murderous magical husband.

Review No.129 – Bloody Bones

Bloody Bones (Anita Blake, Vampire Hunter No.5) – Laurell K. Hamilton

Berkley Books, 2005

Originally published in 1996

The undead are out of the crypt and it’s a brave new world of legal bureaucracy. When an old graveyard is uncovered during the excavation of a chunk of multi-million dollar real estate, bringing the true ownership of the property into question, Anita Blake is brought in to question the only people who can resolve the issue for sure: the dead themselves. Sorting one pile of mangled bones from another while not ripping into her belligerent client is enough of a challenge – and that’s before she learns there’s a sword-wielding supernatural killer at large in the woods.

I think of the Anita Blake books as urban fantasy, but they could just as easily be classified as horror. The plot twists delve into very dark territory, edged by gallows humour. Hamilton has constructed a fascinating reality, though, and I love her focus on the bureaucratic implications the undead bring with them. Anita remains fantastic as a protagonist, though I worry about her life choices, and I still want to punch Jean Claude in the face every time he shows up. The series continues with The Killing Dance.

Fairy Tale Tuesday No.113 – The People Could Fly

Stories are powerful. They are the amber in which lost voices are preserved; through them, you can slip inside someone else’s skin and see out of their eyes. Stories turn wishes into opportunities, because if you can imagine a thing then it is not quite impossible. This week’s Fairy Tale Tuesday is taken from Virginia Hamilton’s The People Could Fly: American Black Folktales (Walker Books, 1988), an anthology of stories originally told by African slaves and retold by generations of black American storytellers. This one is the last in the book, and the one for which the collection is named. I warn you, it’s not easy to read.

‘Say that long ago in Africa, some of the people knew magic’. And these magicians can walk through the air, or spread wide wings and fly away. Nevertheless, when the slavers come, many are captured and forced to leave their wings behind. Crowded onto ships and carried far from their homes, the magic is buried deep. A secret that must never ever be told.

Two slaves with the secret end up on the same plantation – an old man known as Toby, and a young mother called Sarah. Their ‘owner’ has thugs in his employ to patrol the fields with whips and savage tempers, keeping everyone in such a state of terror they keep labouring through the long day. These are about the worst possible working conditions for the mother of an infant. When the baby strapped to Sarah’s back wakes up and starts crying, she dares not stop. What comfort can she possibly give? The overseer tells her to make the baby shut up, because he is not only a thug, he’s really stupid – as the crying continues, he HITS THE BABY WITH HIS WHIP.

Sarah falls to the ground, her baby screaming twice as loud. Toby comes to her side to try and help her up, but she can’t stand – burnt by the merciless sun, heartsick at the sobbing of her child, she sits there despairing in the row. The overseer returns, swinging the whip until her skirt is tattered and her legs are bloody – a mindless, pointless brutality. “Go,” Toby whispers to her, “as you know how to go!” Lifting his hands, he breathes words of magic and Sarah rises into the air, her baby clasped tightly in her arms. Clumsy at first, she rights herself in the air and soars above the trees. Though the overseer runs after her, his shouts are empty threats: she’s gone and she’s never coming back.

So what’s a petty tyrant to do? Pretend it never happened, of course. The next day things go on the same way as before, and because that way is horrific beyond all description, another slave collapses. All the overseer’s beatings can’t get the young man up, but Toby leans to whisper in his ear, and the words lift him up like gravity itself is rebelling. He rides the air currents higher and higher and at last disappears into the distance.

As one slave after another succumbs to heat and maltreatment, Toby is there to give them wings. Even the overseer can’t deny this is magic any more, and that every time it happens, the same old man is there. He shouts for Toby to be seized. The plantation’s owner comes running, drawing a gun to murder the old man in cold blood.

And Toby laughs.

“Don’t you know who I am?” he demands. “Don’t you know some of us in this field? We are the ones who fly!” Throughout the field the slaves stop work, caught by the elusive whisper of the language they have been forbidden to speak. They catch each other’s hands, rising through the air like a flock of birds, far beyond the reach of a whip or bullets. Toby flies behind them, looking down at the seemingly endless fields, and the wondering slaves watching him pass above their heads. He has no time to stop, no time to give them wings – he can’t save them all. They must wait, and run if they can.

This story is rooted in one of the ugliest events of human history. It is the dream of freedom, devastatingly out of reach for so many of those who needed it most, but kept stubbornly alive – after all, if you can’t escape in body, you can try in mind. Stories like this took courage. The least they deserve is remembrance.

Review No.128 – Ancillary Justice

Ancillary Justice (Imperial Radch No.1) – Ann Leckie

Orbit, 2014

Originally published in 2013

Deep in the outreaches of human civilisation, far from the heartland of the Radch where her life began, Breq is searching for a secret that could topple an empire. She is all that remains of the vast military starship Justice of Toren – an artificial intelligence that once commanded thousands of human ancillaries. It was lost twenty years ago, and now Breq is alone. But she knows who betrayed her. And she knows how to avenge herself.

Ancillary Justice is a remarkable novel, skilfully constructed around a fascinating concept. Breq is one of the most unusual characters I’ve ever encountered and it took me some time to settle into the structure of the book, but its quiet emotional depth and excellent world-building hooked me in. I especially love how Leckie plays with different languages within her universe to reveal cultural norms and ingrained biases. There were a couple of characters whose behaviour changed too quickly for my liking, without quite enough explanation, but overall the support cast of Ancillary Justice were strong. The Imperial Radch series continues with Ancillary Sword.

Review No.127 – The Islands of Chaldea

The Islands of Chaldea – Diana Wynne Jones (completed by Ursula Jones)

HarperCollins Children’s Books, 2014

For time out of mind the Wise Women of Skarr have been granted visions when they undergo initiation, but when twelve-year-old Aileen emerges unenlightened she takes it as confirmation she’ll never live up to her indomitable Aunt Beck. She’s given no time to dwell on her disappointment, however. As the only Wise Women left on Skarr, the two of them are summoned in secret and tasked with fulfilling a prophecy – to break down the magical barrier that cuts off the island of Logra from Skarr and its neighbours, and rescue the High King’s long-lost son. A task that would be much easier if the prophecy were not so hazy, Aileen’s companions not so incompetent, and someone was not trying so hard to see them fail…

This was the novel Diana Wynne Jones was working on at the time of her death and as such would have remained unpublished had her sister not finished writing it in her stead. It is to Ursula Jones’ credit that I couldn’t tell while reading where one author left off and the other started. Diana Wynne Jones was one of the greats of British fantasy – The Islands of Chaldea is not the best of her works but it contains the same eccentric magic and playful twists that made her work so irrepressibly fun. She will be much missed.

October is the Month of Authorial Announcements

phantazein2014 has already been a fantastic year for me as a writer, and this month kicked off to an excellent start with the launch of Phantazein, the latest FableCroft anthology. It is home to my fairy tale retelling ‘Twelfth’, which is about love and betrayal and bad life choices. As you can see, my copies arrived today in a parcel of gorgeousness. Print and electronic options are available here.

My work will also be appearing in Lethe Press’s anthology Daughters of Frankenstein, scheduled for release in February next year! It’s a collection of short fiction about lesbian mad 1590213602scientists, which has to be one of the most fun themes I’ve ever written for. My story is called ‘Doubt the Sun’ – you can expect an argumentative artificial intelligence with a Regency haircut and an ever diminishing tolerance for fools. It will be the second science fiction story I’ve published. My first, ‘The Oblivion Box’, is being reprinted by Ticonderoga Publications in The Year’s Best Australian Fantasy and Horror 2013. It is such a great honour to be chosen for this collection, alongside so many wonderful writers! You can see the full table of contents here.

years-best-fantasy-and-horror-v4-slideI have one more announcement to make. For over two years now I’ve been posting weekly fairy tale reviews, analysing and enthusing and exploring folk stories from all over the world. I have loved every minute of it. I am particularly delighted at the responses I’ve received and the conversations readers have shared with me in the comments – thank you all, so much, for sharing this with me. But it feels like time to strike out for new ground, and sadly that means that at the end of this year I’ll be bringing Fairy Tale Tuesdays to a close. That does not mean I plan to stop writing about fairy tales. (Honestly, is that even possible?) I have big plans for blogging in 2015, not complete enough to share yet, but I promise there is much more than a glimmer of the fantastical on the horizon.

In the meantime, there are dragons to rescue, princes to fight, and stories to tell. Always, there are more stories.

Fairy Tale Tuesday No.112 – Monster Copper Forehead

This Russian fairy tale is taken from Ruth Manning-Sanders’ collection A Book of Monsters and begins with a hunter called Zar, who is having a bad day. Having utterly failed to find any game, he’s dispiritedly turning for home when a creature called Monster Copper Forehead springs out at him from behind the trees. Zar panics and tries to shoot him in the head – which does not work so well, because copper forehead.

“Now I shall eat you!” shouts the monster. Zar offers anything he owns in exchange for his life and Monster Copper Forehead agrees to spare him, at the price of something at home Zar does not know he has. Of course, when he gets home his wife has given birth, and he realises that what the monster wants is his infant son Ivan. Sure enough, Monster Copper Forehead shows up on the doorstep the very next day to claim his prize. When both parents plead to keep their child, saying they’d rather give anything else, the monster points out they have nothing else to give. Nevertheless, he grants them a delay of twelve years. At the end of that time he’ll come back, and this time he will take the boy.

Twelve years is a lot of time for Ivan’s desperate parents to plot. They dig a huge cellar under the garden, stock it well with food, and as the time draws near for the monster’s return, they move in. Zar’s mother is installed in the house instead, with the promise she will not give them away. That promise counts for a lot less when the monster himself arrives. “If you lie to me it will be the worse for you,” he menaces. “I have been known to make my dinner off little old grandmothers.” YOU FIEND. Terrified, the old lady tells him to take the poker and toss it in the garden. By weirdly predictable good luck – or bad luck, depending upon your position – it lands precisely against the hidden trapdoor to Zar’s family bunker. Before long the monster has dragged out all three of its residents.

“If I weren’t a kind-hearted fellow,” he roars, “I’d crack your skull in, Zar, for so deceiving me!” He settles for taking Ivan away to his house in the deep dark woods.

He does not, however, want to eat him – far from it, he does not want Ivan for himself at all, but for a little girl called Berta who already lives with him. He took her away from a wicked stepmother and now keeps her locked up inside the house like a beloved pet. One day while he’s out, however, a huge raven visits the house and calls out to the children. At his suggestion they climb up the chimney, jump onto his back and fly away for home.

Unfortunately for them, Monster Copper Forehead is quick to notice their absence. Using his villain of the story superpowers, he scans the skies and spots the runaways, then stamps his foot and sends a flame spearing up through the air. The fire singes the raven’s wings and he falls to earth, where Monster Copper Forehead is waiting. He snatches up the children and storms home, thoroughly put out.

The raven is not the only bird to have noticed their captivity, though. The next time Monster Copper Forehead is out, a huge falcon comes flying to his house. “Creep up the chimney, young Ivan,” he urges. “Creep up the chimney, little Berta, and I will carry you home.” But the falcon is no more able to elude the monster’s fire than his predecessor, and the children’s escape fails again. This time Monster Copper Forehead blocks up the chimney, to prevent a third attempt.

But he lives in a fairy tale and can no more prevent the Third Thing taking place than he can reverse gravity. This time a huge bull shows up outside his house. The children break a window and clamber onto the beast’s back, and he runs like a monster is on his tail. Which, of course, one is. He runs so fast it is too late to employ the fire, so Monster Copper Forehead pursues on foot instead. He corners the bull at a lake, and it seems like this rescue will fail too – but across the water come the bull’s friends, Sharp-Clawed Cat and Bristle-Haired Dog, who just happen to have a raft. They pick up the bull and the children and Monster Copper Forehead is left stranded on the other side, crying out to the children, begging them to come back. Ivan has no sympathy, being kidnapped and all, but Berta has lived with the monster longer and knows he’s not all bad. One day, while the assorted beasts and birds she now lives with are busy with other things, she borrows the raft and crosses the lake to where Monster Copper Forehead is still crying.

“Ah, ah, you will come back and live with me, my darling!” he cries delightedly, at the sight of her. “No,” Berta corrects him, “but get on the raft, and I will take you to live with us.” I like you, Berta, I like the way you think. Her hopes for forging one big happy family are crushed, however, when she hears her housemates returning, singing about how they want to kill the monster. While their attitude is understandable, given the history, it’s ultimately unhelpful. Berta has extracted a promise from the monster not to harm Ivan; at this moment she realises Ivan has made no similar promise and isn’t likely to do so. Monster Copper Forehead quickly turns himself into a pin and she hides that in the wall. The cat and dog are suspicious and try to search the house, but Berta has prepared supper and soon everyone is eating instead.

The next morning, when they have all gone hunting, Berta pulls the pin loose and it turns into a monster again. She tells him he must go home or her friends will murder him – and I think it’s significant she uses the word ‘murder’ rather than ‘kill’. Monster Copper Forehead would rather run the risk of bows and arrows than return alone to his empty house, so Berta agrees to go with him. “But you must never again lock the door and bar the window and keep me prisoner,” she warns him, and he gives her his word he won’t.

Ivan’s reaction when he realises Berta is gone is mild annoyance. “We have lost our housekeeper,” he complains. “Now we must take it in turns to stay home and do the cooking!” No wonder she ran away to live with her monster. The whole Lost Boys lifestyle suits Ivan for a while, but eventually he begins to think about his parents and decides to go home. As a farewell gift, the cat and dog dig him up a cache of gold coins, and the bull helps him carry them home. His parents had given up hope of his ever returning – they are so overjoyed at his suddden appearance that they adopt all his friends too, an assimilation made much easier by the riches in Ivan’s bags.

So Ivan is happy, his parents and friends are happy, and Monster Copper Forehead – who never liked Ivan that much anyway – is happy, because he has Berta. But Berta herself is beginning to feel her isolation. As she grows up she often feels very alone, and the monster, being a surprisingly attentive father figure, realises she needs other humans in her life. One day he stays out late and eventually comes home with a startled prince tucked under his arm, whom he promptly pushes at Berta like a doll. “What did I tell you?” he exclaims proudly. “Isn’t she good? Isn’t she beautiful? Doesn’t she shine like the very sun, doesn’t she, doesn’t she?”

Ahem. I may have something in my eye.

“She make the darkness bright around her,” says the prince, who is not an idiot. Berta laughs. When she agrees to marry her giftwrapped suitor, the monster gives them both a very literal lift back to the palace. “I will not come in to fright the wedding guests,” he tells them sadly. “I will say goodbye to you here, my little Berta.” He may be an incompetent parent, but he means well and he’s tried very hard. She kisses him affectionately on the cheek, and though he returns home alone, it is with a smile on his face.

SHE DOESN’T MARRY IVAN. I was so sure that was coming, I was bracing myself for it – but no, she doesn’t have to marry the neglectful hunter who saw her only as a housekeeper, she gets a poetically minded prince! She also has a terrifying adoptive parent to call on in times of crisis, always useful when you enter a royal family. If anyone ever threatens her children, I’m pretty sure they’ll regret it. After all, what prince or princess’s life story could not be improved by the presence of a ferociously protective monster grandad?