This Fairytale World of Mine

"The realm of fairy-story is wide and deep and high and filled with many things: all manner of beasts and birds are found there; shoreless seas and stars uncounted; beauty that is an enchantment, and an ever-present peril; both joy and sorrow as sharp as swords. " - J.R.R. Tolkien, On Fairy-Stories

 

"She lived happily in her nest, standing at the edge in the sunset looking upon the beautiful world," Little Wildrose, Artist Henry Justice Ford

Once upon a time there lived a girl-child, very young and very eager. She lived in a little room papered with Flower Fairies, and hung with twinkling lights. She slept in a little bed, guarded by a menagerie of stuffed toy animals, each with their own personality. In a garden there were flowers and butterflies and sunshine, and she had two (later three) little brothers with whom to play and adventure. This child was always surrounded by love and possibility - and books. Every day her mother (or father) would read to her - children's stories or poems; little songs, Aesop's fables and fairytales.

The Nine Peahens and the Golden Apples
Artist Henry Justice Ford

Snow White and Rose Red
Artist Henry Justice Ford

Most important of all to her developing sense of self, were the fairytales. In a bookcase of dark, richly stained wood, on the top shelf (beyond the grasp of stretching little fingers) stood a row of magical tomes, the Lang Fairy Books: Red, Blue, Yellow, Orange, Brown, Violet, Lilac and (a truly ancient first-edition with gold embossed Art Nouveau cover) Crimson. More stories than a child could count - and so they blended in her mind together into a tapestry of story, a window to a world... Every day - or almost every day, her mother would read a tale to her. The stories in these books spoke of something true within the child's soul; something strange and infinitely marvellous - a perilous beauty that enriched every instant and added an incomparable colour to the world. The stories told of heroes, male and female, of cunning and courage, of speaking animals and shape-shifting spirits, and of the restless desire to go beyond the realm of the ordinary - to climb into the sky and bring down a singing harp; to divine the secrets of the wizards' book; to be stronger than fate; to seek the Bird of Truth and learn the shivery wonder of the words "East of the Sun, West of the Moon".

"The crown returns to the Queen of the Fishes" , The Girl-Fish
Artist Henry Justice Ford

How Ian Direach Got the Blue Falcon
Artist Henry Justice Ford

You will have guessed by now the name of that girl-child. My own fairytale began this way, snuggled between my mother's legs, resting my head against her stomach and looking with wide, wondering eyes at the pages she held before my face - the arcane script I was to understand a few years later, and the pictures which I understood immediately on a deep, instinctive level. These were in truth pictures of Faerie, full of a life, emotion, beauty and detail - and more, a solemnity that I trusted. They took themselves seriously; they contained no falsity and cliché. They were not confined to any particular time-period or culture, and so felt at once universal and uniquely faerie. They helped to mould my own imaginings. As I heard the words of each story, other, vivid images bloomed in my mind, in beauty and kind like unto the Lang illustrations by Henry Justice Ford. I would find later that music, as well as words, evoked such fantasies in my mind - and even later would be able to name that joyful gift as synaesthesia. 

"When she stood upright her ugliness had all gone", The Groac’h of the Isle of Lok,
Artist Henry Justice Ford

"Pivi dives for the shellfish", Pivi and Kabo
Artist Henry Justice Ford

"Under the golden apple tree", The Nine Peahens and the Golden Apples,
Artist Henry Justice Ford

Later I would be able to create my own stories, and to depict some of my imaginings with pencil and paint. I would discover that I had an inner world that I could quite literally explore and recount and describe the things I saw along the way... I would eventually discover my potential for heroism. But that would be later. The first notes of the "horns of Elfland" echoed in my mother's voice, and my first glimpses of Faerie were through beguiling, beautiful illustrations of H.J. Ford.

Lung Lung
Artist Henry Justice Ford

Mother Holle,
Artist Henry Justice Ford

This was the first page of my fairytale. But in my life there have been (already) many chapters and many developments of my persona from the baby girl to the young woman - many stories. Let us turn the pages...

"The Princess at the Curtain",  The Enchanted Knife
Artist Henry Justice Ford

"The kitchenmaid listens to the nightingale", The Emperor and the Nightingale
Henry Justice Ford

Once upon a time there lived a girl-child, who walked half her waking hours in Faerie; an adventurer and a dreamer, avid for knowledge and story. She read anything and everything she could find: natural history, ancient history, children's stories, recipe books and first-aid guides, and - smuggled into her bed when she was supposed to be having her afternoon nap - Anne of Green Gables.  She read poetry too - anthologies that filled her mind with half-understood images and scenes of far-off times. She thrilled to them.

"Petru is forced to turn back", The Fairy of the Dawn
Artist Henry Justice Ford

"The King sees the Snow-Maiden", The Snow Maiden and the Fire-Son
Artist Henry Justice Ford

Once upon a time there lived a girl-child who, when bullied at school, garbed herself in invisible armour and saw scales on the skin of her tormentors; a child who turned every obstacle, in her own mind, into just another a trial in a heroic quest; a child who whispered to the trees in her garden and made offerings of berries and hair to the spirits of the flowers and the trees. 

East of the Sun, West of the Moon
Artist Henry Justice Ford

Once upon a time there lived a girl-woman who, restless, began to seek new knowledge and new stories - who discovered ugliness, triteness, evil and cynicism in her quest to find the Bird of Truth, and who learned "what fear was" on her quest. A girl-woman who discovered true friendship, love (and loss), confidence (and doubt). A girl-woman who discovered further insights into Faerie through the books of Tolkien, Jordan, Hobb and Dart-Thornton; the paintings of Burne-Jones, Kinuko and John Howe; the poems of Tennyson, Keats and Yeats; and the music of Enya, Loreena McKennit and Kitaro, among a galaxy of other inspiring luminaries. A girl-woman who named herself for the hero she wanted to be - a magical, strong and beautiful "second self" - then later realised that "alter-ego" was herself. A girl-woman who stumbled and despaired; knew exhaustion and elation and uncertainty; who was understanding, and unfair; who knew great bliss and shone most gloriously.

"The North Wind seizes the wreath", The Fairy of the Dawn
Artist Henry Justice Ford

"Fairer-than-a-Fairy summons the rainbow", Fairer-than -a-Fairy,
Artist Henry Justice Ford

Once upon a time there lived a girl-woman who began to set her feet on "the Road less traveled", and who decided on a monster to pursue, and a gleaming goal to strive towards... Who pushed herself to create, and to excel - but who nonetheless found many distractions along the road. A girl-woman who understood that the heart of Faerie is Mystery, and the heroic quest a journey towards "that untraveled world whose margin fades/Forever and forever as I move". 

"Among the flowers were lovely maidens who called to him with soft voices", The Fairy of the Dawn
Artist Henry Justice Ford

"Then she reached the three cutting swords, and got on her plough-wheel and rolled over them", The Glass Mountain,
Artist Henry Justice Ford

Here I pause, where the ink is wet. 

The rest of the page is blank. This is my fairytale - so far. But it is part of the beauty of a fairytale, that it can be told again and again with slight variations and in different voices, and yet mean much the same thing... The heroes (female and male) of the Lang books are all archetypes that we contain within us. Thus while my story is uniquely, magically mine - many of you may have stories that are similar in kind, though not in form.

"The Witch-Maiden sees the youth under a tree", The Dragon of the North,
Artist Henry Justice Ford

"The Blue Fairy transforms Prince Darling", Prince Darling
Artist Henry Justice Ford

Tolkien wrote:

"In the Trees of the Sun and Moon root and stock, flower and fruit are manifested in glory". 

"The hero Makoma and the spirit of the river-fever", The Hero Makoma
Artist Henry Justice Ford

"Queen of the Snakes, give me back my husband!", The Queen of the Snakes
Artist Henry Justice Ford

Whatever our twists our paths may take - no matter how long the road, or how dark the forest, or whether we meet with dragons, demons or fair Fortune herself - this is truth. For those of us who choose to walk partway in the world of Faerie - all reality and all our journeys are given a particular dimension and added joy. 

The Magician's Wife
Artist Henry Justice Ford

"The Queen saves the prince from Death", The Story of the Prince Who would Seek Immortality
Artist Henry Justice Ford

Once upon a time there was a writer... and a reader. And a path.

"The shepherd comes to the arch of snakes", The Language of the Beasts
Artist Henry Justice Ford

And see ye not yon bonny road
That winds about yon fernie brae?
That is the road to fair Elfland,
Where thou and I this night maun gae. - Thomas the Rhymer 

In the Forest
Artist Henry Justice Ford

Embracing the Rain

Late at night
I drift away
I can hear you calling,
and my name
is in the rain,
leaves on trees whispering,
deep blue sea's mysteries. - Enya It's in the Rain

Who can resist the call of the wind and rain?

As I have written before, I feel a wildness within me in moments of elemental potency. In a previous blogpost "Singing into the Wind", I spoke of the intensity and grandeur of the wind, and my urge to add my melody to its eternal song.  Last night the wind called me again - but this time its beguiling song was more tempestuous, with a martial rhythm provided by the primal drumming of the rain. How could I not go out and commune with it once more?

This time the hour was late - or rather early - 2am and I had not slept for eighteen hours. The rest of the house was utterly dark - my entire family slumbering peacefully. To them the sound of the rain was soothing; a lullaby. Not so for me. Despite the hour - the weather invigorated me and set my heart pounding. 

A rain-drenched, roofed balcony, similar to my own except mine stands alone save for a tree beside it... 

My bedroom has two doors - the first a portal to the rest of my safe and carpeted home. The second (less used but more romantic) opens onto a roofed balcony overlooking the harbour. Barefoot and wearing a sleeveless summer dress, I closed the one and stepped out of the other - onto the wooden floor of the balcony, now glassed by the rain to become a mirror of the sky.

Instantly I was caught in the soft, coiling embrace of the wind. I was surprised to discover it felt almost warm, despite the storm. The lancing drops of rain blown into the balcony however felt chill against my arms and back. Within seconds I felt my dress grow heavy with moisture, and briefly worried about it becoming soaked if I did not go back indoors immediately. Then I laughed. Throwing my arms wide to the wind and rain, I walked forward to the edge of the balcony and rejoiced in letting myself get drenched and buffeted by the storm.

I fling my arms out to the rain...

In the midst of my joy, a small part of myself questioned what I had done. Am I going to regret  this? I could catch a cold. I could get my bed wet if my hair stays like this and then it might get moldy. If I get wet I might not be able to sleep at all tonight and then won't function tomorrow... What am I doing really? What's the reward? A part of me feared: Have I been a fool?

My elated, couragous self laughed again and replied: This is my life and this is who I am: a mortal being who responds to the call of the storm and acts upon it - a woman unafraid to join the wind in song - a woman who embraces the rain. The timid voice was silenced. I smiled fiercely.

Storm Witch by merriya on Deviantart

Suddenly I felt like a weather witch. Leaning out on the balcony railing I smelled the magical, elusive scent of petrichor. Within moments I was gauntleted by the rain. In my hands I held a notebook - for I knew this would be a time of many thoughts and strange feelings - spells that could be quickly caught and written down. My pencil was my witch-wand, and I wielded it sightlessly (for there was not enough light to read my words) on paper that became quickly bubbled with the rain.

A hazy harbour in the mist and rain.

Water roared from the gutters and all the windows were rattled by the wind. Beyond the balcony the air was mist-laden and further curtained with rain. Everytthing was partially obscured by the haze of moisture - which strangely dimmed all lights while making the darkness less dense and more nebulous.

At times like these, the borders of reality become blurred...

I felt like I stood at the merging of reality and possibility - the "otherlands" I dream of seemed at once almost close enough to touch. My head was light and my thoughts swirled as though taken by the wind, out onto the bay. Out there - water and air became indistinguishable and the far-lights of the towns across the harbour seemed to float like hazy stars in a grey sky, or a faery shore unreachable by mortal boat... 

The shores of Valinor, Ultima Thule or the island at the world's end? 

I don't know how long I stood there on the balcony. Inevitably I knew I must return to my room and sleep like the rest of the city, enveloped by the rain. But I wished I could do more - to wander free all night and alone in the wet streets, until every part on me was drenched in glorious rain...

When I did go back inside I sat for a while beside my window. On dry nights I sometimes keep it open, and the wind enters my room and haunts my dreams. But tonight the humidity would ruin the paint and breed mold on my shoes and clothes. So the window was shut and so I sat behind the barred leadlight glass, and the wind battered vainly against the panes. I felt a bit bereft.

But I looked down at myself and saw the sheen of water on my skin, and laid my notebook with my slippery pencil on my darkened desk. Although I had left the storm outside - I carried some of it with me, on my skin and in my book in the form of words imperishable. And part of my spirit - my wild and gleeful spirit - remains outside, cavorting in the wind and rain. 

Slowly I changed out of my wet dress into pyjamas - but I did not dry my skin completely. In the depths of the night I lay in bed and yet - my spirit wandered with the wind on waves lanced by the rain -  towards the lights glimmering faintly on the unseen shore.

Communing with the rain and wind...

The Snow Queen: Visions of Female Strength

The imperiously beautiful Snow Queen covers the town with a carpet of white 

Hans Christian Anderson's fairy stories have a peculiar, thought-provoking quality - a certain kind of magic that the better-known tales of the Brothers Grimm do not possess. Perhaps it is that his visions do not conform to the archetypes that pervade other fairy stories, or that they cannot be easily categorised. Some are more akin to myth; others are allegorical. Some are darkly funny, and yet others are pretty fancies full of charm but not much substance. While several of his stories are well known and appreciated today (the Little Mermaid, Little Thumb (Thumbelina), and the Steadfast Tin Soldier among others) - some of his lesser known works are uniquely powerful, such as the evocative The Bell, the patriotic Holger Danske and the strangely humorous Galoshes of Fortune. 

His best stories are those which are both mythic and allegorical - yet suffused with emotion and undeniable loveliness. Of all his tales The Snow Queen is my very favourite, for many reasons. I love the sheer glory and vibrant colour of the vision and its epic scope - with the window boxes; the robber cave; the garden of flowers and each flower's vision; the hanging beds like lilies in the palace the shadowy, galloping dreams; the flickering aurora hanging like curtains of light - and of course the  Snow Queen with her pristine and terrible beauty. I love the humorous touches - like the Raven couple and the wise woman writing words on a piece of dried fish. I love how the story of Gerda's journey seems to intersect with other, equally epic stories - like that of the princess and the robber girl. Most of all, I love the strong female characters, out of whom each have different agendas and competing powers - yet none of whom end the tale defeated. Alone among all fairy stories - this tale is one in which the female occupies almost all the heroic parts.

Here follows a description of these awesome female characters.

Gerda

Gerda and little Kay
Art by Arthur Rackham 

Gerda is the main heroine of the tale, and she undergoes a remarkable development through the story - gaining strength and courage through her adventures, while retaining her essential core of love and honesty.

In the beginning of the story, Gerda is an innocent little girl, who feels glee and simple pleasure in play and stories. When Kay becomes nasty and reductionist due to the splinter of enchanted glass in his eye and in his heart, she remains loyal to their friendship - and when he is thought dead, having tied his sled to the Snow Queen's chariot and disappeared, she nevertheless goes to seek him. At the start of her quest, Gerda behaves like any child would be expected in these circumstances - easily frightened and confused; trusting and gullible. Thus she is delayed (possibly for many years) by a witch and her garden - but in being reminded of her quest by the reappearance of roses, she makes the difficult choice to leave the comfort of the witch's abode where she "slept and dreamed as delightfully as any queen".

The door was locked; but she pressed heavily against the rusty hinges, and it sprang open, when out she ran in her bare feet, into the wide world... When she could run no long she... saw that the summer was gone; it was late in the autumn... How grey and depressing it was in the wide world!

Soon after this interlude, Gerda is befriended by a Raven, having learned bitterly "how much there lay in that one word "alone"" and despite hearing that Kay has supposedly married a princess of surpassing cleverness and beauty, she feels neither crippled by jealousy nor inferiority but with the help of the Raven's sweetheart creeps into the palace to the royal chambers. Here she is disappointed - for the new prince is not little Kay, but she does not lose hope. Resisting for the second time the lure of a pleasant life, this time in the palace, Gerda begs instead for the means to "go out again into the wide world" on her quest. She is given a golden coach.

They drove through the dark forest, but the carriage gave light like a torch, which affected the robbers' eyes so that they could not bear it. "That is gold! That is gold!" they cried, and rushing forward seized the horses...
Artwork by Arthur Rackham

Captured by a band of violent robbers, Gerda narrowly escapes death through the whim of the robber-girl, yet still does not give up on her quest, enlisting the aid of the robber girl and her animals. She is finally given a reindeer and set free, to continue her journey into the forbidding winter wilderness.

And the Reindeer flew as fast as possible through the great forest, and over heaths and marshes... "There are my old friends the northern lights," the Reindeer said; "see how they shine!" It ran day and night.
Artwork by PJ Lynch

From the frozen home of the wise "Lapland woman"  Gerda and the Reindeer journey to the strange hot-house of the "Finland woman". Here the Reindeer asks for Gerda to be given "the strength of twelve men, so that she may vanquish the Snow Queen". But the Finland woman knows better - scoffing at the suggestion: "that would help her a great deal!" Instead she recognises Gerda's inner strength, derived from her good and loving heart, and from her childlike belief in universal goodness.

"I cannot give her greater power than she already possesses, and do you not see how great that is? Do you not see that men and beasts must serve her and how, barefooted as she is, she has got on so well in the world? She cannot receive her power from us, that is in her own heart..."

Unlike the majority of fairytale heroes, who are endowed with magical gifts or otherworldly assistance, Gerda is now left "without boots and without gloves, in the middle of that fearfully cold Finland".  Undaunted, she continues alone, only to be met by a horde of icy monsters - the guards of the Snow Queen. But the words of the Finland Woman hold true - for Gerda's very breath solidifies into a host of golden warriors who "thrust their spears into the frightful snowflakes, breaking them into hundreds of pieces", and removing the chill from Gerda's hands and feet.

Gerda's breath becomes an army of golden angel-warriors who utterly rout the snow-monsters.
Artwork by PJ Lynch

 Thus she is able to enter the palace of the Snow Queen, and through her love and "bitter, burning tears" she rescues Kay and redeems him, washing the splinter of glass from his heart and thawing the ice.

Kay and Gerda reunited.
Artwork by PJ Lynch

Together then, the quest achieved, they turn homewards through a "beautiful, warm summer". Gerda has grown in that she has endured hardship and terror, and realised her inner strength. Yet she has also retained her child-like simplicity and empathy. Thus she (and through her, Kay) are "grown up and yet children" at the conclusion of the tale.

It is interesting to compare Gerda's journey and development with that of male archetypal heroes in fairytales - those who begin their quest to gain some prize (a golden apple or a throne or a king's daughter) or to slay some enemy\; who overcome their opponents through force or cunning, and often with magical aid, and whose reward is inevitably personal power and a lovely maiden to wife. Gerda is full as heroic as these characters - yet in comparison her motivations are less selfish, her methods less confrontational and her triumph more personal. If only there were more fairytales with such strong and positive female protagonists!

Grown up and yet children...
Artwork by PJ Lynch

The Princess

The princess is a supplementary character who only appears in one of the chapters of the Snow Queen story - but she is nonetheless an admirable and inspirational female character, whose story hints at a much longer and grander untold narrative.

According to the Raven:

"In this kingdom in which we are now sitting, lives a Princess, who is so immoderately clever; but then she has read all the newspapers that are in the world, read and forgotten them again, so clever is she. Lately she was sitting on her throne, when she began to sing, and the theme of her song was "Why should I not marry?" "Well there is something in that, she said, and so she determined to get married; but she must have a husband who knew how to answer when spoken to, not one who could only stand there and look grand, for that is too stupid."

What a fantastic introduction to a character! And what a refreshing change from the fairytale standard of princesses being first and foremost beautiful! The Princess decides on her own that she wants to get married, and she then goes on to specify what kind of a husband she is looking for - one who is intelligent, unabashed by royalty, unafraid of her power and one who "feels at home' with her.

The Raven then goes on to describe the meeting of the princess and her husband-to-be:

"He was gay and well behaved, but had not come at all to pay court to the Princess, but only to hear how clever she was. He had every reason to be satisfied with her, and she no less so with him."

Again, what a refreshing subversion of the princess trope! The princess' chosen husband is bright-eyed and merry; a poorly dressed "little person" - a wanderer with creaking boots and a knapsack on his back. No dragonslayer he - but one who can match the princess' intellect, rather than impress her with feats of arms.

Gerda sees the princess sleeping in a bed like a great lily suspended from a golden branch...
Artwork by PJ Lynch

As well as being clever, the Princess is later shown to be generous and sympathetic, willing to help Gerda into her new golden carriage herself without formality. Though her part is small in the overall story, and she and the Prince go away to "live in foreign places", one feels sure that such a great character must be the heroine of her own legend.

The Robber Girl

This character is my favourite in the whole story! A spoilt and wilful child, "so wild and wicked nothing could be done with her" - the robber girl is a flawed yet extremely likeable character. The daughter of another strong (and terrifying) female character, the head of the robber-gang, the robber-girl shows herself capable of managing her mother (jumping on her back and biting her ear). Through her wild behaviour, she nevertheless saves Gerda from being killed by the robbers - instead saying "They shall not kill you, if even I am angry with you; I'll do it myself then." She keeps a hundred pigeons and a pet reindeer, and sleeps with a knife in her hand, for "one can never tell what may happen".

The robber girl sets Gerda and the reindeer free
Artwork by PJ Lynch

Despite her (apparent) selfishness and cruelty, the robber-girl is full of unashamed exuberence and honesty - and she responds with sympathy to Gerda's story. Here Hans Christian Anderson again hints at an untold story - the robber girl's "melancholy eyes" are at odds with her fierce and wild behaviour - and her sudden generosity towards Gerda and her freeing of the reindeer are both rather startling given her previous behaviour... That is - until the end of the story, where she reappears.

This was the robber girl with a red cap on her head, and pistols in her belt. She had had enough of home, and was now travelling towards the north to take another direction later, if that did not please her.
Artwork by PJ Lynch

The robber girl evidently had been dissatisfied by her life in the robbers' den, and so had struck out alone and independent, choosing limitless freedom over her pampered life as a robber. The reunion with Gerda occurs with "great rejoicing" - and the robber girl proceeds to question Kay as to whether he deserved all Gerda's efforts on his behalf. (A question I ask myself sometimes...)

After exchanging stories with Gerda, the robber girl promises to visit her if she should ever pass through the town - then - (and this ending always thrills me) - she rode on into the wide world.

That is the last we, as readers hear of her. But oh - how inspiring! How unlike any other female character from myth, legend or fairytale! The "happy ending" for the robber girl is complete freedom.

The Snow Queen

A more lovely and intelligent face he never saw... 
Art by PJ Lynch

Of course, the most mysterious and powerful force in the story is the ubiquitous Snow Queen. Her beguiling of little Kay sets the quest in motion - yet I never think of her as a villain, and she is certainly not evil. In fact, the only evil in the story comes from the splinter of mirror-glass in Kay's heart and eyes, which causes him to have a distorted view of the world, and that was created by a sorcerer many years before, who desired to warp all beauty and goodness in the world. The Snow Queen does not want that. In fact, we never quite know what her motivations are. She is inscrutable as a blizzard, and as capricious as a winter wind that whirls the snow in strange wild patterns. She paints frost-patterns on the windows of the town, and covers all she passes in a blanket of pure, cold white.

Some flakes of snow were falling, and one amongst them, the very largest, remained lying on the rim of the flower box. It increased more and more, till at last it became a woman, dressed in the finest white crape, as if formed by millions of star-like flakes. She was so beautiful - but of ice - dazzling, glistening ice; and yet she was alive, Her eyes sparkled like two bright stars, but they were restless and unsteady. She nodded toward the window and beckoned with her finger...

The Snow Queen casts her mantle over the town...
Artwork by PJ Lynch

Why does the Snow Queen steal little Kay? Perhaps it was a whim - a way for her to fill the "cold, empty splendour" of her palace. She is a being of vast intelligence, and she appreciates Kay's "good mind". And I always think there is something undeniably beautiful about what she gives to Kay - the chance to fly with her in a sleigh drawn by white birds "high, high onto the black cloud"; the ability to hear "old songs" in the voice of the howling wind, and a chance to travel "over forests and lakes, over seas and continents". And she lets him play "the ice game of understanding" on the "mirror of reason", without feeling cold.

The Snow Queen sits in state in her ice palace while Kay plays on the floor beside her
Art by PJ Lynch

No, I do not think the Snow Queen is a villain. In fact - she seems to be outside the moral concerns of mortal beings altogether. When Gerda rescues Kay, she is not even there - rather "peeping into the black cauldrons" of the volcanoes. The Snow Queen is not defeated, though Kay is freed - because the task she set him is complete - the formation of the word "Eternity" out of pieces of ice.

In fact, the more I think about it - perhaps it was best for Kay that the Snow Queen took him - and that it was her snow that froze his heart before the mirror-glass could wholly taint it.

The Strange Old Lady

The strange old lady combs Gerda's hair and feeds her cherries.
Artwork by PJ Lynch 

A very interesting and powerful female character is that of the old witch with the flowery hat and enchanted garden of eternal summer. She delays Gerda, and tries to keep her within her garden - but she is not a villain, nor evil - rather she is well meaning but selfish, wanting to keep Gerda for her own as she had wanted a little girl. She is never fully explained in this story - but I would surely love to know how she got her power, and why her flowers have such strange and beautiful "stories" to tell.


The Lapland Woman

The Lapland Woman cooks fish over an oil lamp
Artwork by PJ Lynch 

Although this character is unable to give Gerda the advice she needs (sending her along to her sister in Finland) - she is intriguing because she is clearly a wise-woman of repute (the Reindeer knows to go to her first) and also because she writes on a piece of dried fish!

The Finland Woman

She read it three times, when she knew it by heart, so put the fish in the soup-pot, for it was good to eat, and she never wasted anything.
Artwork by PJ Lynch

Wiser and more powerful than the Lapland woman, the Finland woman is so clever that she can "bind all the winds of the world together with one piece of string" and concoct potions that will give the drinker the strength of twelve men. In yet another subversion of fairytale stereotypes, this "wise woman" is little and dirty and dripping with sweat in her steaming hot house. Yet without being told she knows the details of Gerda's quest, the secret of the mirror-glass and the hidden strength within Gerda herself.

In conclusion - the Snow Queen offers a refreshing, fascinating and inspiring array of strong female characters that go beyond traditional fairytale roles. Some are heroic, others mysterious. None are stereotypical. Could this be the first true feminist fairytale?

The Snow Queen flies in her great white sleigh, while beneath "the cold wind whistles and the wolves howl..."
Artwork by PJ Lynch