Category Archives: Fairy Tales
To follow up yesterday’s rather fishy post, I thought I’d list some great mermaid reads! You should be able to find most of these at your public library, so dig in! (My personal favorite is Sirena by Donna Jo Napoli!).
2.) Mermaid: A Twist on the Classic Tale (Carolyn Turgeon)
3.) The Forbidden Sea (Sheila A. Nielson)
4.) The Vicious Deep (Zoraida Cordova)
5.) Lies Beneath (Anne Greenwood Brown)
6.) Lost Voices trilogy (Sarah Porter)
7.) The Little Mermaid (Hans Christian Andersen)
8.) The Syrena Legacy series (Anna Banks)
9.) To Catch a Mermaid (Suzanne Selfors)
11.) A Treasury of Mermaids: Mermaid Tales from Around the World (Shirley Climo)
12.) Daughters of the Sea trilogy (Kathryn Lasky)
13.) Ingo series (Helen Dunmore)
14.) Sirena (Donna Jo Napoli)
15.) Rising (Holly Kelly)
16.) The Secret of the Emerald Sea (Heather Matthews)
17.) Water trilogy (Kara Dalkey)
18.) Antara (Marilena Mexi)
I have seen them riding seaward on the waves
Combing the white hair of the waves blown back
When the wind blows the water white and black.
We have lingered in the chambers of the sea
By sea-girls wreathed with seaweed red and brown
Till human voices wake us, and we drown.
― T.S. Eliot
Just as Adam came before Eve, so the merman came before the mermaid. At least, that’s how legend goes. The Babylonian god Oannes predates the first known legend of the mermaids by more than a thousand years. Unlike the mermaids and merman we picture now, Oannes had both a human body and a fish body, allowing him to live both among men and beneath the sea. Convenient, huh?
The Syrian mermaid, Atargatis, came along much later than Oannes. One version of her story says that, when she was a goddess (and not yet a mermaid) she fell in love with a humble shepherd, but killed him by accident. Mortified, she threw herself into the sea intending to take the form of a fish. The waters could not hide her beauty, however, and instead of a fish, a mermaid was born. Ancient depictions of Atargatis showed her as a fish with a human head and legs.
Greek mythology has stories of the god Triton, the merman messenger of the sea. In much of European folklore, of course, mermaids were considered unlucky. They were known to sing enticing songs, luring sailors to their deaths on rocky shoals. However, this representation of mermaids more accurately describes Sirens, who were originally bird-women, or demons of death sent to hunt souls. But years of time combined the characteristics of these two half-human creatures, and mermaids acquired a rather bad reputation as a result. Nereids (sea nymphs), on the other hand – not to be confused with the Sirens – were always quite protective of sailors. They reserved their beautiful voices to sing only for their father’s amusement – not to tempt sailors to a watery grave.
Mermaids do not have souls. Well … this also may be a characteristic they inherited from the demonic Sirens, who themselves were soul-catchers. Stories say that one way a mermaid could gain a soul is to marry a human man. Perhaps one of the best illustrations of this is Hans Christian Andersen’s “The Little Mermaid.” Andersen also left the “Siren” angle behind when he caused his own little mermaid to not only NOT kill the human man, but to save his life instead.
Sightings of these mythical creatures? You bet. From thousands of years ago even to modern times there have been “sightings” of mermaids, findings of their bodies, and documentaries made entertaining the idea of their existence. One or two displays were made of a mermaid’s “remains” – although later discovered to be fake, of course.
There are documents and journals from long ago which record sightings. Virginia’s Captain John Smith claimed to have seen one in 1614 while exploring the West Indies, describing her as having long green hair, and even claiming to have felt “the first pangs of love” when looking upon her. Christopher Columbus saw “three sirens” that “came up very high out of the sea,” in 1492.
In 1608 the English navigator Henry Hudson wrote of his own supposed mermaid sighting off the arctic coast of Russia:
“This morning, one of our companie looking over board saw a mermaid, and calling up some of the companie to see her, one more came up, and by that time shee was close to the ship’s side, looking earnestly upon the men: a little after, a Sea came and overturned her: From the Navill upward, her backe and breasts were like a woman’s.., her body as big as one of us; her skin very white; and long haire hanging down behinde, of colour blacke; in her going down they saw her tayle, which was like the tayle of a Porposse, and speckled like a Macrell.”
Were these men seeing things? Manatees, for example? Dugongs? Seals? Or perhaps they had been too long at sea, too exhausted from exposure to sun or cold or salty sea air. Perhaps they saw from a distance, and filled in the details with their own mythical/imaginative mindsets and subconscious, with the stories they themselves had heard while growing up.
I myself have sighted several mermaids … although always between the pages of a book, I’ll admit J But that, I believe, is where mermaids truly shine. Stories, legends, fantasies and fairytales – these are the places these creatures of the sea were always meant to be. Where they can spark our imaginations and lead us into stories greater than ourselves, stories in which the strength of beauty is enough to lead men willingly into the arms of death, stories where a girl gives up her soul and turns to sea foam in order to save the man she loves.
This intrigue, this excitement, this heart-wrenching pain and love and angst, this bigger-than-me quality – isn’t that what stories are truly about, in the end, after all?
So many great fairy tales, fairy tale retellings, and fantasy books from 2013 … and too little time to read them! Heading into 2014 I am certain there will be many more to add to my list. I’ve included several here which, according to Goodreads, were some of the top reads for the year. Have you read any on the list – or maybe all of them?! Which were your favorites?
I’m privileged to be writing at a wonderful site this week called Speculative Faith. I’m talking about the deeper meaning of fairytales and fantasies, and why I think they are so effective in our minds and hearts – more so, many times, than any other type of fiction.
Head on over to read my post, here, and then stay a while and check out some of the other great articles and discussions on Spec Faith.
Book Review: The Girl Who Circumnavigated Fairyland in a Ship of Her Own Making (by Catherynne Valente)
Catherynne Valente is a truly shining author, as The Girl Who Circumnavigated Fairyland proves with each turn of the page. I can’t say that I’ve ever read anything like this book before. Valente’s creativity blows my mind – the places she goes with her characters, the images she conjures, the words she uses to work her spell.
This book is no quick and easy read – but that has nothing to do with its length, which is normal for a young adult book. It’s a book whose premise is undoubtedly attractive to children, but the story itself has such depth, such meat and heart, that’s it’s impossibly alluring for adults as well.
September is a “somewhat heartless” twelve-year-old girl who, when the Green Wind comes to her kitchen window in the form of a leopard and offers to accompany her to Fairyland, does not even bother waving goodbye to her mother. Her journey begins on the coast of Fairyland, where she must choose which direction to take. The path to lose her way, to lose her life, to lose her mind, or to lose her heart.
September meets with many adventures in Fairyland, some of them delightfully imaginative, some of them darkly troubling – all of them of a nature to keep your eyes pasted to the page, and all of them having the potential to make September’s heart grow just a little bit more. She becomes fast friends with a Wyvern who believes he is the son of a library. She makes the difficult and painful choice to part from her shadow in order to save someone’s life. She rides amidst a herd of wild bicycles and is sent by the child-like but formidable Marquess, ruler of Fairyland, to fetch a talisman.
‘There must be blood,’ the girl thought. ‘There must always be blood. The Green Wind said that, so it must be true. It will be all hard and bloody, but there will be wonders, too, or else why bring me here at all? And it’s the wonders I’m after, even if I have to bleed for them.’
Every page, every paragraph, every word of this book is placed with seamless intent, woven to spectacular advantage into a story that is so much bigger than it seems. It is truly a masterpiece.
Sometimes you know as you begin a book that you can sit back and relax because you are in expert hands. This was such a book; Valente is such an author.
For a free preview of this amazing book, go here.
- Catherynne M. Valente – The Girl Who Soared Over Fairyland and Cut the Moon in Two (sffbookreview.wordpress.com)
- Top Ten Tuesday (71): Sequels (pagesunbound.wordpress.com)
- Catherynne M. Valente – The Girl Who Fell Beneath Fairyland and Led the Revels There (fyreflybooks.wordpress.com)
I wrote The Hunt as a part of fantasy author Anne Elisabeth Stengl’s “Childhood Chills” challenge. I’ve taken a very real childhood fear and wrapped it in a story all its own. Hope you enjoy.
Bow, arrow, knife. That’s all Theron had ever needed. With those three things, he could eat, protect, kill. With those three things, he ruled his own world.
He had received word days ago from a village in the north, farther than he had ever traveled, requesting his services.
Begging is more like it, he thought wryly as he recalled the meeting he had had with the town leaders.
“A beast haunts our wood,” one of the white-haired men had said to him in a voice spindly with age. “It has been here for generations, but it’s never once attacked any of us – until now.”
“What sort of beast?” Theron had asked. Dragon, chimera, gorgon? Theron had hunted and killed all these creatures before, and many more besides.
A shuffling of feet, clearing of throats, was his answer. Finally: “We … we don’t know for certain,” one of the men admitted. “But,” and his face grew dark, “it has taken – killed – three of our own of late, and has left no trace of them behind. Whatever it may be, it’s a danger of the worst kind.”
“Why not send one of your own after it?” Theron asked bluntly. “Why me?”
“We did,” the white-haired man said. “The first of ours the beast took was my granddaughter, who was only in the wood looking for herbs. But the second two it took were the ones sent to search for her. Both full-grown men. Both fully armed.”
“So you see,” one of the others grasped Theron’s wrist. “You see why we need you. We have heard you are the best.”
“I am,” there was no hesitation in Theron’s answer.
“Well, then,” all eyes turned to him in judgment, expectation – hope. “Prove it.”
The wood was dark, darker than Theron would have expected for early winter. The trees were straight and high, and – astonishingly – many of them still had leaves, which blotted out the already feeble rays of sun.
So much the better, thought Theron. The darkness could work for his benefit. He would wear it like a cloak. Taking in his surroundings, he felt the familiar tenseness creep into his muscles as he entered the trees. Alert senses, sharp eyes, sensitive ears – the hunt had begun, as had his thirst for it.
All other thoughts were wiped clean from his mind. Even the reward the villagers had promised him – nothing to scoff at – was shoved aside. This was why no one could match him. This was why he was the best, his services in constant demand, his name spread far and wide. For anyone could learn to track – anyone could learn to see and smell and hear the right things. But few could turn their bodies into the instrument that Theron’s became, made for one purpose alone. And few could slip into their prey’s consciousness and fears as he had taught himself to do.
And he had learned it at a young age. “When your father beats you from the time you can walk, and your mother would curse you as soon as speak your name, you learn to adapt,” Theron had confessed with a laugh when questioned once where his abilities came from. “You learn that strength is not solid like a rock – but fluid, like water.”
He had never revealed so much of himself to anyone before, never spoken the words of his past aloud. But the girl who asked him – years ago, now – had been different. Special. But she was gone now, too. Gone, shoved to the back of his mind and heart like everything else. And he was free to fill the emptiness in him with the hunt.
“You can’t run forever from the things that haunt you, Theron,” she had said to him.
“I can try,” he had told her jokingly, trying to ignore the pain and pity in her sweet eyes.
Now here he was, still running. But he was running to something – not from it. And those two things were worlds apart – weren’t they?
Theron squatted and brushed his fingers across the ground, sweeping a leaf gently aside. The giant print of a winter-stag was pressed into the cold, hard dirt. Not what he was hunting, but – he thought –something to remember. The racks of winter stags – made entirely of ever-frozen ice – sold well in the south; the price of one would keep him for half the year at least.
A noise made him lift his head. His eyes were keen as they scanned through the most distant trees. The sound had been like none Theron had ever heard before – and he had heard a great many. A cry, wild and empty. The moment it died away, he could not remember if it had been closer to the mewling of an infant, or the roaring of an angry dragon. He shook his head in confusion and frustration.
Out of the corner of his eye he saw something flit from a pile of leaves, spiraling up into the high branches of a tree.
Only a sylph.
Theron watched the tiny creature fly higher and higher, its wings fanning like two golden leaves sprouting from its back. The movement of its flight, so familiar to him, brought him calm. He breathed deep before shouldering his bow and trudging deeper into the heart of the wood.
Around noon Theron found the first sign of the beast’s presence. A tuft of hair, black as night, stuck on the low branch of a hemlock. It was like nothing Theron had seen before. It shone, beautiful as starlight. He pressed it to his nose and coughed. It smelled of death.
He knew beyond a doubt that it belonged to the beast. He knew also that this beast was like nothing he had hunted before. And the challenge of it sent a thrill right through him. The danger of it lit his senses on fire.
After that, the signs were easier to spot. More black hair, faint trails beaten through the sparse underbrush, hardened piles of droppings, each as large as his fist. Once even the suggestion of an enormous paw print, though it was scuffed almost beyond recognition. A lesser hunter than Theron could not have done it. He shifted through the trees like a wraith, tasting the wind, careful that his own scent caught the faint breeze and drifted far behind him. His strength never faltered, though he didn’t stop once the whole day through for food or rest.
The fever of the hunt ran through him. “Like a disease,” she would have said to him, all those years ago. “Like a passion,” he would have corrected her.
The cave was deep in the forest, at its very heart. Theron reached its entrance just before sundown. Vines hung like frilled curtains over the black gape of its mouth. The cave itself receded into the side of a slope in the forest floor that was so gentle it might have gone unrecognized by casual eyes.
But Theron’s eyes had spotted it long before he reached it.
Perfect. He smiled to himself. The creature had trapped itself.
For a moment – only a moment – he let the thought of his prize money flit into his mind. The things he would do with it. Maybe he would go east and look for her. Maybe … maybe he would stop hunting, stop running, just to be with her.
The scent of rotting carcasses rose to meet Theron like a slap in the face. What manner of beast keeps the remains of its meals inside its own lair?
His skin tingled with anticipation as he ducked beneath the rocky cave opening. Stepping gently over piles of bones, Theron swung his bow off his shoulder and strung an arrow in one silent movement.
Yes, the beast was here. The same scent of darkness and death that had been upon its hair permeated the still air inside the cave.
He crept further into the shadows. Every moment he expected to hear a warning growl, see the deadly glint of eye-whites or the flash of bloodied teeth. He was ready for it. He had lived his life ready for it, taught himself to fight this thing before ever he needed to fight it.
When the black form loomed ahead of him, he shot immediately. The twang of the arrow sounded odd in the confines of the cave walls. The next arrow was strung almost before the first had hit its mark.
No angry roar, or scream or pain. No sound other than the clatter of bones, picked clean, beneath Theron’s feet, and the echoed drip of water from a cold rocky corner.
Theron crept closer to the still, black form. He reached out to touch it. His hand came back with a clump of black hair, bright as starlight, and with the warmth of blood from fresh wounds. No rise and fall of breath. No life in the creature at all.
Dead, then. The beast was already dead.
Theron felt a sigh go out of him. Tension drained from him in a wave. He could still claim the prize, he knew. The villagers need never know the beast had already been dead. But that wasn’t it. He had wanted this kill. He had longed for it. How many hunters got the chance to kill the unknown? To slay the unseen?
Yes, he had wanted it badly. The knot that had been forming in his chest escaped in a single sob. It hit the walls of the cave and turned back on him like an accusation. He turned from it, left the cramped , rocky space and burst out into the darkening chill of evening. He turned a full circle, gazing up at the silhouetted trees, their leaves dancing and glowing with sylph light.
Maybe it’s time for a change, after all, he told himself. Something pushed at his heart, tiny and persistent. Hope.
The cry erupted from behind him, on the embankment opposite the cave. It was as wild and empty and desperate as it had been the first time. Like a child’s yowl of helplessness and a dragon’s furious fire together. Deadly.
Theron went still. His heart beat its regular, steady rhythm. His blood ran as warm as always. But his heart was like a rock inside of him. He had been duped. He had been led, like a senseless animal into a trap. Here was the unknown, here was the unseen thing, still alive and at his back, just as it had always been.
Before he turned, he let his gaze wander to the black mouth of the cave once more. Whatever creature lay in its depths had only been the bait.
And he, the hunter, had been the prey.
Strength, he said to himself, is not solid, like a rock, but liquid, like water.
He turned slowly, not bothering to lift his bow.
Not hard, like a fist, his heart chanted. But fluid, like blood.
He lifted his eyes, dark with long-awaited understanding, to see the fate he had created for himself.
(Copyright Ashlee Willis, 2013)
We have all seen the Disney versions. We have all read the middle grade and young adult spin-offs. But what about the original, the darker, versions of the fairytales told by the Brothers Grimm – the ones many of us at least feel are so familiar? Ever wonder how the true, unabridged, original manuscripts read? Ever wonder how these stories were told, before a pen ever wrote them down, around a cozy hearth at night, or in a child’s darkened room before bed? You may find this list of the various little-known twists and turns of these tales quite interesting. And you may just find it a bit disturbing and, well … grim.
- The Frog Prince. The princess drops her golden ball into the well. A friendly, albeit “disgusting” (her words, not mine!) frog fetches it for her. How does she discover that this green slimy creature is in fact a prince? What does she do that unlocks his identity at last? A kiss, you say? Think again. In one translation of this classic, our delicate princess throws the poor frog across the room, hoping to kill him, and when his poor little froggy body slams into the wall and falls to the ground … poof! He’s a prince. Romantic stuff, huh?
- Rapunzel. Ah, yes, where should I start with this one? First off, her father is horrible and cowardly enough to promise her to a witch before she has even been born. Yikes. Then Rapunzel herself is forced to live in a tower, alone and seeing no one but the enchantress, the only mother she knows. At this point I would be so depressed and cabin-fevered it’s not even worth thinking about. But best yet is the fact that, when she is at last banished to the desert for meeting with the prince, we find out that their … ahem … “meetings” have been quite productive, as she soon gives birth to twins. “Aaaand, that’s the end of your story for the night, children. Sweet dreams!”
- Hansel and Grethel (yes, it’s “Grethel” in the original). Headline: Father and step-mother can’t provide enough food for entire family, so they lead kids deep into forest and leave them to die. Enough said, yes? (Unless, of course, you want to discuss the fact that a very young girl gets up the nerve to shove an old lady into a fiery oven to her death … talk about disturbing!).
- Cinderella. After her father remarries, he apparently mentally checks out. That’s what got me most about this one. After verbal abuse, an insane amount of chores, lavished gifts on the two step-sisters, and banishment from the ball, you’d have thought her father (who, contrary to Disney’s version, did NOT die) would have been man enough to come to his only legitimate daughter’s rescue. If he was any example to Cinderella, you’d have thought she’d swear off men altogether and just forget the ball. There’s also that fun part about how the step-sisters cut off part of their feet so they can fit them into Cinderella’s slipper and marry the prince. When their treachery is discovered, two birds come and peck out their eyes. Ugh and double-ugh.
- Little Red-Cap. We know her as Little Red Riding Hood, of course. A story of which details my 6-year-old son would be enraptured by, as they concern a huntsmen taking a pair of scissors to a wolf’s gut to release the old lady and girl he had swallowed. Still, though … I’m not sure we’ll be reading that one for another couple years at least. Another not-so-fun fact: in the French version of this tale, neither Red Riding Hood nor her grandmother even make it out alive!
- The Pied Piper. This man – very understandably – wishes to get revenge on the village of Hamelin for not paying up after hiring him to rid them of their rat infestation. To get back at them he leads all their children away. Now, some stories say he leads them through the mountain, never to be seen again. From most points of view, that’s scary enough, really. But one dark, early version of the tale says the piper leads the poor children straight into a river, where they all drown. I would say the punishment here most definitely does NOT fit the crime. This is a guy who has issues with letting things go …
- Snow White. You’d of course expect Snow White to be a bit bitter after all the witch put her through – I mean, the old broad wanted to have her killed, after all. And none of us reading the story actually wish the witch to live happily ever after – right? Least of all Snow White. Her skin may be as white as snow – but her thoughts most certainly are not. After her eventual marriage to the prince, Snow White forced the witch to put on red-hot iron shoes and dance at her wedding celebration until she dropped down dead. I don’t know about you, but that’s not a girl I’d want as an enemy.
- Rumpelstiltskin. I read this one many times growing up, but in each version Rumpelstiltskin basically throws a temper tantrum when his name is discovered, and stomps himself right through the floor. The end. Want to know the grim Grimm version? I knew you did! This little guy throws a fit to rival Henry II, planting one foot deep down into the earth. He then grabs his other foot with both hands and – brace yourself – pulls his leg until he’s ripped himself clean in half. Gross. I did warn you.
The list goes on and on, really. All you have to do is grab the original Grimm’s Fairy Tales and go to town if you want to hear the original tellings. For myself – I love fairy tales, make no mistake, but a little goes a long way when it comes to horrible parenting, cruel and unusual revenge, and just plain mean princesses.
How ‘bout you? What are some of your favorite (or least favorite) details from the Grimm archives?
- How Hollywood destroyed the classical fairytale (sensoria300.wordpress.com)
- Popular Grimm Fairy Tales: Cinderella and Beyond (parenting.answers.com)
- 5 Forgotten Grimm’s Fairy Tales (mentalfloss.com)
The Frog Princess by E. D. Baker
Emma is an awkward princess who does not agree with her mother’s wishes to get her married off. When she visits her favorite haunt, the swamp, she meets a talking frog who claims to be a prince under a spell. Emma kindly consents to kiss him so he will return to his human form, but instead becomes a frog herself! She and her new “prince” frog friend must journey together to find a reversal to their spell.
A charming take on the original “frog prince” story, in my opinion. Baker takes us on Emma’s exciting journey and we get to watch as the princess goes from annoyed with her royal froggy companion to – well, quite fond! Emma’s voice is distinct, and her personality comes through in the story.
Baker does an excellent job of spinning an adorable fairytale that I would recommend to any child (girls most especially!) over the age of 8 or 9. If I had read this story as a middle grader, I know I’d have loved it. Oh, heck, what am I saying? I love it now! And if you read it and love it, too, don’t forget to check out all the exciting sequels!
Frogged by Vivian Vande Velde
This book was published after – and I read it after – Baker’s “The Frog Princess.” So when I discovered the basic premise to the book (girl-kisses-frog-and-turns-into-frog-herself) I’ll admit I was a bit skeptical.
All I can say is – what was wrong with me?! I should have had more faith in Vande Velde! She came through (as usual) with an original story, very far removed from Baker’s book. Another unhappy princess, yes (this one named Imogene). Another kiss that turns the princess green, yes. But that’s where the similarities ended. From searching for the witch who cast the spell to begin with, to joining a group of traveling players, this book is completely entertaining from start to finish. I barely put it down! Vande Velde’s main character has a wry and sarcastic sense of humor, wit, charm and personality, and I was drawn to her from the start.
So … yet another great book for middle-graders, middle-agers, and … well, you get the point.
Happy reading, friends!
Once upon a time, I discovered that fairytales are not just stories.
They became not just my book obsession, not just an infatuation with princesses and mythical kingdoms. Fairytales became, for me, a way of life, and a way of thinking. Something that, as a child, came straight from my heart and has, over the years, wound through my entire being, even finding its way into my logical thinking.
I can remember the first time I read a fairytale that transported me completely from this world into another. I can still remember the way it felt as if I had just discovered that magic truly existed. I can remember the smell of the book and the feel of my hands on it, the way the sunlight was coming into my bedroom as I sat cross-legged on my bed, leaning over my book until I developed a horrible crick in my neck … but kept reading anyway.
Yet I grew older I experienced troubles and heartbreak, just as everyone does. I became cynical and cautious, and almost lost hold of the fairytale in me. But God gave me a second chance in the form of my own child. I have learned to see things through his eyes. And does he see things!
When he was only two, he pointed out a large chink in our neighbor’s driveway, stooped to carefully examine it, then stated most seriously that he had found a dragon footprint.
I related the above event to my husband, rapturously declaring that our son had the imagination of a genius (well, I’m a mom, so I can say those things …). And of course, while he is no doubt a genius, I think the thing that truly struck me that day (and has struck me countless times since) was how something so astoundingly mundane could become so, well, astounding. And all in the course of two seconds – all because of a handful of words, a different point of view, a tiny drop of imagination and the guileless courage of a two-year-old to see something for what it could be instead of what it in fact was.
It’s not a new concept by any means, looking for inspiration in unexpected places. But even so, it’s one that is all too easy to forget in the hubbub of our daily lives, in the busyness of our work and family schedules and the running to and fro.
Mostly it just takes a conscious will to stop, or at least slow down, and look around you. It doesn’t matter if you live in a bustling city, or a small town, or out in the middle of nowhere. Nothing is off limits. Everything can be fairytale. Is it ugly? Is it boring? Is it broken? Those things make some of the most beautiful fairytales of all.
Because really, when you think about it, aren’t we living out epic tales of our own? A tale called “life” that’s tragic and involved and messy and glorious and heartbreaking and, most of all, full of hope.
Today my son found a “gnome home” in the hollow of a tree as we walked in the woods. That was his fairytale. And my fairytale? Yes, I found one today, too, but not in the tree. It was in the thrill of love I felt watching my son’s brown eyes widen with excitement as he made his own small, but crucial, discovery. And I was transported into his world.
Isn’t that just how fairytales are supposed to make you feel?
Are you ready for the third and final fairytale food post? I’ve split the group of recommendations into two – the first group is for the kiddos, the second is for us older ones. These were so fun, just let me say. You don’t even have to be a cook (and I’m not!) to get some prime enjoyment out of these books. The illustrations, the accompanying stories and rhymes, and even the names of the recipes themselves are enough to keep you turning the pages, though you may have no intention at all of stepping a toe into your kitchen!
A list for the little kiddos:
1. Teddy Bears’ Picnic Cookbook (Abigail Darling)
2. The Boxcar Children Cookbook (Diane Blain)
3. Green Eggs and Ham Cookbook (Georgeanne Brennan)
4. Winnie-the-Pooh Teatime Cookbook
5. Winnie-the-Pooh Picnic Cookbook
6. The Anne of Green Gables Cookbook (Kate Macdonald)
7. Cooking with Anne of Green Gables (Sullivan Entertainment)
8. Peter Rabbit’s Natural Foods Cookbook (Arnold Dobrin)
9. The Wind in the Willows Country Cookbook (Arabella Boxer)
10. The Secret Garden Cookbook (Amy Cotler)
11. Roald Dahl’s Revolting Recipes (Josie Fison and Felicity Dahl)
12. The Beatrix Potter Country Cookery Book (Margaret Lane)
13. Book Cooks: 26 Recipes from A-Z Inspired by Favorite Children’s Books (Cheryl Apgar)
And now a list for the big kids!
1. Wookiee Cookies: A Star Wars Cookbook (Robin Davis)
2. A Feast of Ice and Fire: The Official Game of Thrones Companion Cookbook (Chelsea Monroe-Cassel)
3. The Unofficial Game of Thrones Cookbook (Alan Kistler)
4. The Official Narnia Cookbook (Douglas Gresham)
5. The Unofficial Narnia Cookbook (Dinah Bucholz)
6. Regional Cooking from Middle Earth: Recipes of the Third Age (Emerald Took)
7. The Unofficial Harry Potter Cookbook (Dinah Bucholz)
8. The Book Club Cook Book (Judy Gelman)
9. The Book Lover’s Cookbook: Recipes Inspired by Celebrated Works of Literature (Shaunda Kennedy Wenger)
Now it’s your turn to cook up some whimsical, fantastical recipes on your own! Here is a list of links to some fun and interesting things to make. Comment below with your own ideas or links to more recipes!
Marilla’s Plum Pudding (Anne of Green Gables)
Star Wars recipes (including Wookiee Pies, Ice Cream Clones, and Death Star Popcorn Balls)
Buzz-Worthy Bee Cupcakes and Hive (Winnie the Pooh)
The Boxcar Children Beef Stew RecipeThree-Finger Hobb’s Breakfast (A Game of Thrones)
Licorice Wands (Harry Potter)
Tea with Mr. Tumnus (The Chronicles of Narnia)
Beatrix Potter’s Recipe for Gingerbread (Peter Rabbit)
Bag End Apple Bread (The Lord of the Rings)