Introduction: On Folk and Fairy Tales
Introduction: On Folk and Fairy Tales
(Introductory Essay)
“Fairy tales can be read twice and in two ways in one's life. First simply, as a child, with the naive belief that the lively, colourful world of their events is true, and then, much, much later, with the full awareness of their invention.”Stefan Zweig, translated by the present writer
“Fairy tales are more than true: not because they tell us that dragons exist, but because they tell us that dragons can be beaten.”Neil Gaiman, paraphrasing G.K. Chesterton
“Some day you will be old enough to start reading fairy tales again.”C.S. Lewis
“Every fairy tale has someone who believes it.”Karl Friedrich Wilhelm Wander, translated by D.L. Ashliman1
I have loved fairy tales for as long as I can remember. Whereas most children would pester their parents for the newest toy, I would pester mine for the latest illustrated fairy tale book that I found at the bookstore. Even at a young age, I recognised how fairy tales can be transformed yet still retain their essence through both text and art. I certainly didn’t know then that fairy tales were once the domain of adults as well as children, or that there are people who dedicate their careers to discussing them. It was simply something I was deeply drawn to.
In spite of my ever-growing collection of fairy tale books, I received my first proper treasury of fairy tales — that one book many of us treasure as children and fondly think back to as adults — on my eighth birthday. It was a Romanian translation of Arcturus Publishing’s amply titled A Treasury of Fairy Tales — a bestseller in my country. The beautiful illustrations, the engaging text and the overall gorgeous design made it a favourite of mine, and I would take it with me wherever I could, just to pore over it once more. This is where, I believe, I first learned the story of “Bluebeard”, but more on that later.
Another favourite fairy tale treasury was an Italian book called Grandi fiabe per sognare — titled Bedtime Stories for Children in the Romanian edition. It was a collection of 25 fairy tales illustrated by Claudio Cernuschi and Maria de Filippo. This is where I was introduced to the story of “The Selfish Giant,” and possibly “The Wild Swans” too. Both of these treasuries are now proudly sitting on my bookshelf. Their age and wear is noticeable, though they are still perfectly functional, and they are both cherished parts of my ever-growing collection.
But my love of fairy tales did not pertain only to books; I was (and still am) equally captivated by the myriad ways fairy tales can be adapted for film and television. As a child of the 2000’s, I grew up on shows like Simsala Grimm and The Fairytaler on TV. I watched Toei’s World Fairy Tale Series and the Barbie fairy tale films on DVD. And, when I finally had access to the internet, the very first things I found and watched were Saban’s My Favorite Fairy Tales and Grimm’s Fairy Tale Classics.
By then my knowledge of fairy tales was mostly limited to the perennial classics, as well as a handful of lesser-known stories from Grimm, Andersen, and Perrault. It was around middle school — that awkward phase when you don’t know what you want in life — when I stumbled upon a complete edition of the Grimms’ fairy tales at the school library. It had illustrations by Ludwig Richter, and I was quickly hooked. My experience with these stories was similar to many others’: they were violent and strange, yet oddly comforting and intriguing.
It was also around that time when I was introduced — through the German-language library in my city — to the Märchenfilme: German TV films based on fairy tales, mostly from Grimm. I initially watched the two current fairy tale series — Sechs auf einen Streich (Six in One Strike) and Märchenperlen (Fairy Tale Pearls) — but I later discovered the classics — the Märchen-Klassiker — from DEFA.2 Although their sensibilities were similar to Disney, minus the songs and animation, they were much more faithful to the original tales.
The period between middle school and high school was mostly marked by rediscovery. I got reacquainted with the fairy tale films from Disney, Soyuzmultfilm and others that I had seen when I was younger. I also reread James Finn Garner’s Politically Correct Bedtime Stories, my first proper book of fairy tale retellings. I first read it when I was far too young to appreciate its intent — but now I do. I also read — and fell in love with — my first proper fairy tale novel: Chris Colfer’s The Land of Stories: The Wishing Spell. It served as a great bridge between remembering the classics and revisiting them with different eyes.
But the book that truly cemented my love of fairy tales was a German anthology that I found in the aforementioned German-language library. It is titled Das große Märchenbuch: Die hundert schönsten Märchen aus ganz Europa (The Big Book of Fairy Tales: The One Hundred Best Fairy Tales from All Over Europe). As the title suggests, it is an anthology of one hundred European folk and fairy tales selected by Christian Strich, and this was my introduction to a whole array of stories and folktale traditions.
Like the Grimm collection illustrated by Richter, this book pulls no punches. All the stories, not just those from Grimm, are both violent and enthralling, and they are accompanied by Tatjana Hauptmann’s gorgeous and haunting illustrations: Prince Ivan’s gruesomely severed body abandoned in the forest (in “Prince Ivan, the Firebird, and Grey Wolf”); Little Red Riding Hood being lifted from the dead wolf’s guts by the hunter; Rumpelstiltskin tearing himself in two before the terrified queen, as she clutches her child; the ghostly image of the Bremen Town Musicians braying and howling at the robbers’ window.
It was this book that inspired me to dive deeper into fairy tales, to research their origins, and to seek out as many retellings and adaptations as I could find. I’m not exactly sure why it was this one that has had such an impact on me — perhaps it was the comprehensiveness of it all? — but it did, and my own copy now proudly sits on my bookshelf as well.
Whatever your opinion on fairy tales is, it is undeniable that they have become an integral aspect of our shared cultural heritage, to the point where it is hard to find someone who doesn’t know at least a couple of them. Perhaps you were told the story of “Little Red Riding Hood” as a child, or you might have found the story of “Rapunzel” in a book, or maybe you saw a film version of “Snow White.” But it doesn’t matter how one first encountered these stories — they all possess a special kind of magic that has kept them alive in our hearts and minds.
Fairy tales also represent storytelling in its purest form, which may explain why we see traces of them throughout all types of fictional media. Popular characters like Captain Jack Sparrow, Bart Simpson, and Bugs Bunny may be seen as successors to trickster characters such as Puss in Boots, Jack (of Beanstalk fame) and the Master Thief. “The Nutcracker” and “The Steadfast Tin Soldier” may be among the earliest instances of sentient toys in fiction, paving the way for subsequent works like the Toy Story franchise. And Cinderella, that reigning queen of fairy tales, has given rise to countless other rags-to-riches stories like Sabrina (1954, 1995), Pretty Woman (1990) and The Princess Diaries (2001).
Stephen King’s novel The Shining references the story of “Bluebeard” both directly (Jack reads the story to his young son Daniel) and indirectly (Jack becomes mad and chases his wife Wendy through the hotel, intending to kill her). Swan Lake — a ballet in which a group of maiden are cursed to be swans by day and humans by night — uses motifs from various fairy tales, one of which no doubt is from a variant of “The Wild Swans.” Bryan Lee O’Malley’s graphic novel series Scott Pilgrim can be seen as a modern fairy tale: the eponymous protagonist has to defeat his girlfriend Ramona’s seven evil exes to be with her, similar to how a prince has to defeat a dragon or monster to get to the princess.
Naomi Lewis suggested that the characters of Toad and Mole from Kenneth Grahame’s The Wind in the Willows may have been inspired by characters from “Thumbelina.”3 Similarly, critics like Alison Lurie and Katherine Langrish have pointed out that Charlotte Brontë’s Jane Eyre draws from both “Cinderella” and “Beauty and the Beast.”4 Acclaimed authors such as Franz Kafka, Salman Rushdie, and Angela Carter have also incorporated — and subverted — folklore motifs and conventions in their works.5
So fairy tales are everywhere: in fiction, in advertisement, in casual speech. But this leads us to one big question: Why? How do these ancient, seemingly outlandish stories continue to wield such power over us? What is it about them that keeps us coming back? The answer to this question goes much deeper than one might imagine, with a rich history and a myriad of meanings attached to it. So join me as we delve into the perplexing and fascinating world of fairy tales.
What is a Fairy Tale?
“Fairy tale” is a term that has come to be used rather loosely: as a descriptor (“a fairy tale wedding”), as a genre (fairy tale films), and, most of all, as a catchall for classic children’s stories, regardless of whether they’re actual fairy tales or not. Andrew Lang included an abridged version of Book 1 of Jonathan Swift’s Gulliver’s Travels (“A Voyage to Lilliput”) and an adapted version of the myth of Perseus (“The Terrible Head”) in his Blue Fairy Book (1889).
The aforementioned anime series from Toei, World Fairy Tale Series, features adaptations of novels like The Three Musketeers and Gulliver’s Travels alongside Grimm tales like “The Golden Goose” and “The Wolf and the Seven Kids.” Samantha Newman’s book Adventure Stories for Daring Girls contains adaptations of novels like Heidi and The Wonderful Wizard of Oz, the ballad of Mulan, the myth of how Athena became the patron goddess of Athens, and classic tales from around the world. The ABC series Once Upon a Time (2011-2018) incorporates novels like Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde and 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea, Arthurian legends, Robin Hood and Greek mythology into its cast of fairy tale characters. Animated series like Ever After High (2013-2016) and the first season of Super Why! (2007-2010) feature stories and characters from literary novels, nursery rhymes, fables and legends.
Because so many non-fairy-tale stories are often conflated with fairy tales — likely due to their inclusion in the broader category of classic children’s stories — it may be useful to first clarify what is not a fairy tale. To do this, I will go over the most common categories of what scholars and folklorists refer to as “folk narratives.” Folk narratives are generally divided into three groups: myths, legends and folk tales, but further subdivisions exist. These categories can also change form or cross between one another depending on the storyteller’s wishes, who often “neither know(s) nor care(s) about (scholarly) distinctions.”6 Still, it it may be useful to make some general distinctions for the sake of clarification.
Nursery Rhymes
Nursery rhymes are almost never brought up in folk and fairy tale studies, but since they are often conflated with fairy tales, I saw fit to include them in this discussion. Nursery rhymes are short, traditional verses typically sung or recited to children. They often contain repetitive phrases and catchy rhythms, making them easier to remember. But whereas fairy tales are full-fledged stories, with a proper beginning, middle and end, nursery rhymes usually depict just one sequence of events.
Another distinction between fairy tales and nursery rhymes, as Chris Duffy pointed out, lies in their malleably: “The shortness of the nursery rhymes (sic), plus their essence as something spoken or sung, mean(s) that (they are) very interpretive (…). (The telling of fairy tales) is more about adapting and less about interpreting.”7 Furthermore, folk and fairy tales can be told in both prose and verse, whereas nursery rhymes are always presented in verse.
It should also be noted that, even more so than folk and fairy tales, nursery rhymes were originally used as covert critiques of prominent figures of the time. For example, “Humpty Dumpty” may be a reference to “a piece of military weaponry used during the English Civil War,” as Karen Dolby put it, while the events in “Jack and Jill” could be an allusion to the execution of King Louis XVI and Queen Marie Antoinette during the French Revolution of 1793.8
Myths and Legends
Myths and legends are closely related genres, as they are both fictionalised accounts of events that claim to be true. Their difference lies in what they focus on. Legends like “Robin Hood” are stories with a historical basis and often involve a specific historical figure (King Richard I of England, also known as King Richard the Lionheart), a specific location (Sherwood Forest in Nottinghamshire, England), or a specific event (the tensions between the aristocracy and the common people in the late twelfth century). While legends may contain supernatural elements (Saint George slaying a dragon), they are typically more “human centered, (…) more specific, more individual, and more local than myths.”9
Myths, on the other hand, are foundational stories that explain the origins of things through the deeds of heroes and deities. Their settings are more ambiguous than those in legends — usually just their country of origin — and they are characterised by their connections to the “religious beliefs and practices of the people.”10 In the Greek myth of “Athena and Arachne,” the eponymous characters engage in a weaving contest, with Arachne being transformed into a spider at the end. Thus the myth provides a fantastical explanation for the origins of the spider.
Unlike myths and legends, a fairy tale is ambiguous in its setting, taking place in an unspecified distant past with only superficial references to religion and real-life people, places, and events. Some exceptions do exist, however. “The Pied Piper of Hamelin” originally started as a legend based on historical events and then “gradually assumed more characteristics and motifs that make it similar to a fairy tale.”11 While the story contains magical elements usually found in fairy tales (a mysterious stranger with supernatural powers, a magic flute, and an impossible task), it is set in a real place (the German city of Hameln) and it ends with an allusion to historical events (the migration of Germans across Europe). In some adaptations, the historical allusions are omitted, thus making the story more akin to a fairy tale.
On a related note, adapting folk and fairy tales differs from adapting myths and legends. While folk and fairy tales reflect the time and place in which they were written, they are also fictitious stories, meaning that storytellers can play fast and loose with the details. The same freedom cannot be applied to legends, and especially myths, as Judy Sierra explained:
“Most myths have as their purpose the justification of a social order that is far from universal or natural, such as one group (…) dominating another. Adapting myths for contemporary audiences poses a real challenge to the storyteller. Taken out of cultural context and altered to appease potential censors, myths become marginally interesting stories that are important only because they are marketed as “sacred tales from such and such a culture.””12
Fables and Animal Tales
It is often assumed that folk and fairy tales are meant to convey moral lessons, but that is not their primary purpose, as will be discussed later. Fables, on the other hand, are short stories specifically intended to convey a moral or a message (“slow and steady wins the race”) by way of talking animals, plants, and sometimes people. The fable’s defining features are its humanisation of animals and plants, its brevity, and its didactic nature.
The moral in fables can sometimes be interpretive or dependent on context, as seen, for example, in “The Hare and the Tortoise.” Judy Sierra pointed out that the story’s moral is contradicted by its facts, as “the tortoise’s victory depends upon the hare’s overconfidence”; thus the story “serves more as a warning to the swift than as advice to the slow.”13
Fables, along with other folk narratives such as myths, legends, and folk and fairy tales, fall under the broader category of animal tales. The defining feature of all animal tales is their use of anthropomorphised animals as primary characters. In folk and fairy tales, animals usually appear in secondary roles as helpers (“Puss in Boots”) or opponents (“Little Red Riding Hood”), but in some they take on the role of protagonists (“The Three Little Pigs”).
J.R.R. Tolkien did not consider stories like “The Three Little Pigs” to be fairy tales, as he believed that “the animal form is only a mask upon a human face, a device of the satirist or the preacher.” He did, however, view stories with secondary animal characters, such as “Puss in Boots,” as fairy tales because they express “the desire of men to hold communion with other living things.”14 But animal tales like “The Three Little Pigs” are not explicitly didactic, as already explained; they follow a narrative structure typical of folk and fairy tales and have deep folkloric roots. Variants of “The Three Little Pigs” can be found in countries like America and Turkey, for example.15
Fairy Tale Novels
Despite being occasionally included in fairy tale media, as noted above, classic novels aimed at adults, such as Gulliver’s Travels and The Three Musketeers, and those aimed at children, such as Heidi and The Jungle Book, are not fairy tales. These novels are much longer in form and present more complex, realistic narratives, whereas fairy tales are shorter and more fantastical in nature.
Even with these distinctions in mind, a few classic fantasy novels are frequently categorised as fairy tales in nov form, those being The Adventures of Pinocchio, The Nutcracker and the Mouse King, Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland, The Wonderful Wizard of Oz, and Peter Pan and Wendy. What these novels all have in common is that they “involve young protagonists, who take miraculous journeys and are transformed through their adventures” and their plots follow “the traditional outlines of the fairy tale’s scheme of departure from home.”16
Indeed, even the authors of these works seem to have acknowledged how similar they are to fairy tales. For instance, Carlo Collodi’s Pinocchio begins with the following lines:
“Once upon a time there was…
“A king!” my little readers will no doubt say in a flash.
““No, kids. You got it wrong. Once upon a time there was… a piece of wood.””17
Similarly, in Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland, after growing large inside the White Rabbit’s house, Alice remarks: “When I used to read fairy-tales, I fancied that kind of thing never happened, and now here I am in the middle of one!”18
L. Frank Baum introduced his book The Wonderful Wizard of Oz by stating that it was intended as a modern fairy tale “in which the wonderment and joy are retained and the heartaches and nightmares are left out.”19 However, this statement is contradicted within the work itself; there is colour and whimsy in Oz, for sure, but there is just as much darkness and danger too. This blend of light and shadow, I believe, contributes to its enduring charm.
There are just as many arguments one can make for why these works should be considered fairy tales as there are arguments for why they should not. It ultimately comes down to one’s perceptions of these novels. In my opinion, however, I view Peter Pan, Alice in Wonderland and The Wizard of Oz more as fantasy novels rather than genuine fairy tales, as they make a clear distinction between the real world inhabited by the protagonists and the imaginary worlds — Neverland, Wonderland, and Oz — to which they travel. J.R.R. Tolkien pointed out that one of the defining features of a fairy tale is its commitment to presenting its wondrous, fantastical events as true: “(S)ince the fairy-story deals with ‘marvels’, it cannot tolerate any frame or machinery suggesting that the whole story in which they occur is a figment or illusion.”20
Pinocchio and The Nutcracker, by contrast, do embrace their fantastical elements and never make a clear distinction between the real world and the one the characters inhabit, making them genuine fairy tales in my eyes. This view is further supported by the incorporation of folkloric elements within these stories. As Jan M. Ziolkowski argued, they “may not conform to any one tale type, but (they) absorbed many techniques and motifs familiar from folktales, both oral and literary.”21 Pinocchio mirrors folk tales like “The Snow Child”, where an inanimate object — a puppet in this case — comes to life, while The Nutcracker reimagines the Beastly Bridegroom motif, with a nutcracker’s curse being lifted through a girl’s love and devotion.
Certain works of fiction that feature magic and fantastical beings, like J.R.R. Tolkien’s The Lord of the Rings, are sometimes described as fairy tales. However, these works more accurately belong to the genre of fantasy, specifically high fantasy. High fantasy stories are characterised by extensive world-building, intricate lore and detailed histories. In contrast, fairy tales are much simpler narratives, often set in vague, unspecified locations with a focus on universal themes rather than detailed world-building. Moreover, fairy tales are not strictly quest or adventure stories, whereas The Lord of the Rings is fundamentally a quest narrative.
Folk Tales and Fairy Tales
Folk tales, as their name suggests, are the stories of the folk, the common people. These stories originated in the oral tradition, long before people knew how to read or write, and they have no accredited author. In other words, no one knows who first told a particular folk tale, as it was originally transmitted by word of mouth.
Folk tales are generally characterised by human scenarios, rather than magical ones. The characters are far more likely to be common people like peasants and farmers, animals like cunnings foxes and loyal dogs, or a blend of the two. The day is won not by use of magic, but by a clever trick or answer, usually accompanied by a joke or a biting remark.
Because folk tales originated in oral storytelling, their structure can sometimes feel disjointed and repetitive when written down. A story like “Henny Penny,” which relies on repetition to advance the plot, can come across as monotonous in written form. In “The Black Bull of Norroway,” a Scottish variant of “East of the Sun and West of the Moon,” a maiden rides on the back of a black bull, who later leaves her near a valley and never comes back. The second half of the story seems disconnected from the first, as the girl shifts her focus to capturing the attention of a knight. Whether this knight is the bull freed from a curse remains unclear. According to Rosalind Kerven, this narrative inconsistency “signals (the story’s) origin as an oral narrative designed to hold listeners’ attention and remind them of what has gone before.”22 Such storytelling techniques, though effective in oral traditions, often lose their impact when written down. As Robert H. Hock explained:
“Telling a folktale is a natural art, but writing a folktale down is an act of translation. (…) It require(s), therefore, an even greater artist to make this rendering live once more, to make this translation from the living voice into a true tale that you could not only hear in your head as you read it but also continue to hear in your ears.”23
This brings us to fairy tales, which, broadly speaking, are a literary subset of folk tales. Fairy tales are characterised by the presence of magic and wondrous elements, rather than, as their name might imply, the presence of fairies. In the words of Mary Hoffman:
“What makes a story a fairy tale is a little bit of magic that stirs the imagination, and it doesn’t matter where it comes from. It can be a pumpkin that is turned into a beautiful coach, a talking animal that can make a wish come true, or a spell that turns a handsome prince into a beast.”24
In spite of this, many of the stories that are commonly recognised as fairy tales — such as “Cinderella,” “Snow White,” and “Beauty and the Beast” — are actually just literary variants of much older folk tales. As such, it can be difficult to separate fairy tales from folk tales.
Further complicating this distinction is the term itself: “fairy tales.” Only a few of the stories commonly recognised as fairy tales — “Cinderella,” “Sleeping Beauty,” and “Pinocchio” — actually feature fairies. Many others, such as “Snow White,” “Jack and the Beanstalk,” and “Rapunzel,” feature different magical beings like witches, giants, and elves. This is because the fairies most commonly associated with these tales come from the French tradition. In contrast, the Fae folk of the British Isles, as depicted in stories like “Kate Crackernuts” and “Burd Janet and Tam Lin,” are often portrayed as fickle, dangerous beings, far removed from the benign, godmotherly fairies we typically imagine.
The term “fairy tales” originates from the French phrase “contes des fées,” coined by Marie-Catherine d’Aulnoy in the seventeenth century. At that time, fairies played a vital role in many stories, so d’Aulnoy used the term — which directly translates to “tales of the fairies” — to describe her works. The phrase “fairy tales” first appeared in English in 1749, but it only gained widespread usage in the latter half of the nineteenth century, particularly through English translations of d’Aulnoy’s and the Grimms’ stories.25
Over time, scholars have debated the accuracy of the term “fairy tales,” arguing that it is somewhat misleading, as these stories are defined more by a sense of magic and wonder than by the presence of fairies. Some have suggested alternative terms like “magic tales,” “wonder tales,” or the more encompassing “folk tales.”26 Others believe that “fairy tales” remains an appropriate term. Steven Swann Jones, for instance, contended that the term effectively refers to stories that “depict the world of magical fantasy.” Jones further explained: “Since, in the English folk tradition, the fairy realm is the embodiment of the magical aspect of the world, (the term “fairy tales”) is used metonymically to refer to all folktales that incorporate the magical and the marvelous.”27 Similarly, Martin Hallett and Barbara Karasek argued that “fairy tales” serves as a helpful compromise between oral folk tales and literary tales.28
For the purposes of this discussion, I will be using “fairy tales” to refer to stories rooted in the literary, magic-focused folklore tradition, “folk tales” for the oral, global folklore tradition, and “folk and fairy tales” as a general term encompassing both.
In the introduction to Favorite Folktales from Around the World,29 Jane Yolen identified three types of folk and fairy tales, which are:
Oral Tales (“Stone Soup”): These tales remain closely connected to their folkloric roots, existing in numerous versions without any one “authoritative” text.
Transcribed Tales (“Rumpelstiltskin”): While these tales also have folkloric origins, they have been significantly reshaped and “tidied up” by known authors or collectors in the course of their preservation.
Literary Tales (“The Reluctant Dragon”): These are original stories that draw on motifs and conventions from traditional tales.
Building on this classification, I’ll borrow from Andrew Teverson30 and introduce a fourth type:
Artful Tales (“Beauty and the Beast”): These stories are based on or inspired by traditional tales but are so creatively reimagined that they feel like original narratives. They stand between transcribed and literary tales.
While these distinctions are valuable for scholarly purposes, the origin of a tale — whether oral or literary — is ultimately secondary; a good story is a good story, regardless of its origins.
The World of Fairy Tales
Jean Cocteau opened his iconic 1946 film La Belle et la Bête (Beauty and the Beast) with a direct appeal to his viewers:
“Children believe what we tell them. They have complete faith in us. They believe that a rose plucked from a garden can plunge a family into conflict. They believe that the hands of a human beast will smoke when he slays a victim, and that this will cause the beast shame when a young maiden takes up residence in his home. They believe a thousand other simple things. I ask of you a little of this childlike simplicity and, to bring us luck, let me speak four truly magic words, childhood’s “Open Sesame”: Once upon a time…”31
By this Cocteau didn’t imply that “Beauty and the Beast,” or any other fairy tale, should be treated as a mere children’s story. Rather, he suggested that these stories should be viewed not as ordinary works of fiction, but as expressions of the human imagination. Children, with their curious and open minds, may ask questions, but they are often more willing to accept the fantastical nature of these tales than adults, who are constrained by logic and reason.
Fairy tales take place in a strange, marvellous world dominated by magic. In this realm, ordinary people live alongside all manner of magical beings: witches and sorcerers, giants and trolls, fairies and elves, dragons and mermaids. The trees and animals of the forest can not only talk, but, like Puss in Boots, can be far wiser and cleverer than human beings. There are castles that stand atop glass mountains, enchanted objects that can grant wishes, and winged horses that fly though the sky. Here, people can be transformed into bears, frogs, and swans, and then back again. Anything can happen in the world of fairy tales.
Take the story of “Prince Ivan, the Firebird, and Grey Wolf.” It begins with a king who owns a tree that bears golden apples. To a rational mind, this immediately raises questions. How can a tree produce golden apples? Where did it come from? How did the king procure it? But such questions miss the point. Magic in fairy tales is not explained but implied, focusing not on how it came to be, but on how it effects the lives of those who possess it. As Marina Warner put it: “The power of (a fairy tale) lies in its ineluctability: nobody asks why things should be so.”32 Enchanted trees and magic mirrors are as normal in the world of fairy tales as cars and computers are in our current modern world.
Magic in this world may defy human logic, but it is not arbitrary. At the stroke of midnight, Cinderella’s dress turns back into rags. A hand-mill will only work and stop when the correct magic words are spoken. In “The Wild Swans,” Eliza’s brothers are turned into swans, and to break the spell, she must sew shirts from nettles without uttering a single word. At the end of her labour, the last shirt lacks a sleeve, so the youngest brother is left with a wig instead of an arm. Magic here is inviolable, and it cannot be abused. A fisherman’s wife, dissatisfied with her lot, demands ever greater riches: first a cottage, then a mansion, then to be a queen, then to be an empress, and finally to be a god. Her last wish is too much, and so everything reverts back to the tiny hovel she began with.
But amidst all the glimmer and glamour, this world can be a dark and dangerous place. Children are mistreated and abandoned, lovers are separated from each other, and the poor and weak are exploited by those who should protect them. In this world, it doesn’t matter if an animal can talk: the food chain still applies. Appearances can often be deceiving: a tempting gingerbread house may be a trap set by a hungry witch; a silver-tongued wolf or a well-to-do gentleman may conceal sinister intentions; a gentle, alluring water nixie may offer you wealth and salvation, but at a terrible cost: the person you cherish most.
But the reverse can also be true: a half-hedgehog half-human creature may be far more honourable than a mighty king; a scruffy, ragged princess could be the one to drive away those pesky invading trolls; that booming giant or ferocious beast living in a deserted castle might just be a lonely, gentle soul with a terrible temper.
When rules or conditions are imposed, they are bound to be broken in some way. Bluebeard forbids his wife from opening the forbidden door, but her curiosity compels her to do it. The Little Mermaid is warned by the Sea Witch that if the prince does not return her love, she will turn into sea foam — and indeed, he falls for another. Aleodor is cautioned by his father to avoid the mountain of Half-Man-Half-Lame-Hare, yet he ventures there heedlessly. But even when these warnings are disregarded and danger follows, the characters always find a way to overcome their fate.
To succeed in this world, you’d need quick thinking, courage, and resilience. Emotional strength is valued over physical strength, and journeys and quests take precedence over battles. It is also advisable to help those in need, for who knows who you might encounter along the way. The freezing bear you shelter during a snowstorm may be a prince under a spell; the frail old woman you share your bread with could grant your heart’s deepest wish. In the realm of fairy tales, anything is possible.
It would be amiss to generalise fairy tales too much, as they are defined just as much by their exceptions as by their rules. A wolf might pursue a little girl in a red cape or go after seven little goats, but he could just as easily assist a prince in finding a firebird or help a sheepdog regain his owners’ favour. While helping those in need is advisable, caution is equally important: when Snow White shows kindness to an old woman, her good deed is turned against her, resulting in her poisoning. Fairies usually appear to assist those in need, as seen in “Cinderella” and “Ricky Tuftyhead,” but they are not always benevolent. In “Catherine and her Fate,” Catherine’s Fate causes her endless trouble until it becomes too much, while Sleeping Beauty’s destiny is shaped by both good and wicked fairies.
Still, a fairly consistent, though not universal, pattern can be identified in fairy tales, as noted by structuralist scholars like Vladimir Propp in Morphology of the Folktale.33 Fairy tales often begin with a young adult or child in a disadvantaged position. A boy may be the youngest of three brothers (“Puss in Boots”), often regarded as a fool by others (“The Little Humpbacked Horse”) or seen as incapable of measuring up to his older brothers (“Prince Ivan, the Firebird, and Grey Wolf”). Similarly, a girl may find herself in the lowest position in the family (“Cinderella”), or may be forced to leave home by circumstance (“Cap o’ Rushes”) or by necessity (“Thousandfurs”).
From this humble starting point, the story unfolds and the protagonist metaphorically leaves the safe confides of childhood and ventures into the unpredictable terrain of adulthood. This transition is typically marked by a quest, a pursuit of fortune, a series of daunting tasks, or being forcefully cast out. This represents a “rite of passage,” as Carl Lindahl called it, “a ritual marking a person’s transition from one state to another — from childhood to adulthood, for instance.”34
This rite of passage in fairy tales generally follows a three-part ritual, well exemplified in the story of “Snow White”:
Separation: Snow White is cast out of her home, the castle, and must venture into the forest alone.
Initiation: She finds refuge with the seven dwarfs, but her ordeal isn’t over. The wicked queen subjects her to a series of life-threatening “tests,” which lead Snow White through a process of maturation.
Return: Once she has matured and grown wiser, Snow White returns to the castle, ready to assume a new, more autonomous role in society.
Sometimes the protagonist is faced with a seemingly impossible task, but that is when the magical helper comes in. The magical helper — a fairy godmother, a talking wolf, a kind old man — is one of the most misunderstood characters in folk and fairy tales. Some view the helper as merely fulfilling the protagonist’s desires while the protagonist passively stands by. It must be pointed out, however, that the protagonist earns the helper’s assistance through actions: the girl from “East of the Sun and West of the Moon” is aided by three old women during her quest, while the boy from “Three Perfect Peaches” receives a magic whistle after kindly sharing one of his peaches with an old woman. As Joanna Cole explained:
“The heroes’ relationships with the magical helpers can be understood as their willingness to partake of what their surroundings have to offer, their acceptance of good fortune when it comes their way, and even their reliance on parts of their own nature not under their conscious control. Theirs is an attitude of trust, or faith, in the world, without which life is a bleak business indeed.”35
The actions of the protagonists stand in direct contrast to those who refuse to help (like the older brothers in “Three Perfect Peaches”) or those who offer assistance only when it benefits them (as the lazy sister does in “Mother Holle”).
Over the course of the story, the protagonist manages to overcome obstacles and ultimately achieves perfect happiness. In fairy tales, the good can triumph over the wicked, and the humble can outwit the proud. A lazy, good-for-nothing rascal like Jack in “Jack and the Beanstalk” can become a daring hero, a lonely “ugly” duckling can find a loving family, and a poor, forsaken peasant may accomplish extraordinary feats. This optimism in fairy tales, with their hope for a better tomorrow, is perhaps why certain people, like psychologist Bruno Bettelheim, insist that fairy tales always end happily. A story that ends tragically, like Andersen’s “The Little Match Girl,” is not a fairy tale in Bettelheim’s eyes, because it does not “convey the feeling of consolation characteristic of fairy tales at the end,” while a happier literary tale like Andersen’s “The Snow Queen” “comes quite close to being a true fairy tale.”36
Here I muss stress again that fairy tales are defined not only by their rules but also by their exceptions. Aside from Andersen and Oscar Wilde, whose stories often end sadly, one can find fairy tales by the likes of d’Aulnoy (“The Yellow Dwarf”) and the Grimms (“Cat and Mouse in Partnership” and “The Singing Bone”) where the protagonists meet a tragic end. But even in those rare instances, there is a strangely uplifting element to the whole ordeal, as if to remind us that life goes on beyond darkness and despair. Fairy tales are anchored in what I’d call realistic hope — they offer no false promises about life, but they still provide consolation and encouragement.
For fairy tales are more than just wish-fulfilling fantasies: the protagonists achieve perfect happiness only after they overcome trials and tribulations. In many ways, folk and fairy tales present us with the worst-case scenarios: What if your parents abandoned you in the forest? What if your child was the size of a thumb? What if the person you love most is taken away from you? By placing these dilemmas in fantastical realms and conveying them through symbols, motifs, metaphors, and archetypes, folk and fairy tales give us a way to express our deepest fears and desires without ever needing to name them directly. They also inspire us to use our wits, to show kindness to others, and to find the courage to face the monsters in our lives, all while shaping our understanding of the world — and ourselves.
C.M. Woodhouse deftly pointed out the dark nature of these stories as well as their moral ambiguity:
“The point about fairy-stories is that they are written not merely without a moral but without a morality. They take place in a world beyond good and evil, where people (or animals) suffer or prosper for reasons unconnected with ethical merit — for being ugly or beautiful respectively, for instance, or for even more unsatisfactory reasons. A little girl sets out to do a good deed for her grandmother and gets gobbled up by a wolf; (…) dozens of young princes die horrible deaths trying to get through the thorn-hedge that surrounds the Sleeping Beauty, just because they had the bad luck to be born before her hundred-year curse expired; and one young prince, no better or worse, no handsomer or uglier than the rest gets through merely because he has the good luck to arrive just as the hundred years are up; and so on and so on. (…)
“For all this is related by the fairy-story tellers without approval or disapproval, without a glimmer of subjective feeling (…). They never seek to criticise or moralise, to protest or plead or persuade; and if they have an emotional impact on the reader, as the greatest of them do, that is not intrinsic to the stories. They would indeed only weaken that impact in direct proportion as soon as they set out to achieve it. They move by not seeking to move; almost, it seems, by seeking not to move.”37
There is a common misconception that all fairy tale characters are either purely good or entirely wicked. Yes, folk and fairy tales often operate within a clear good-versus-evil dynamic, but a closer reading reveals many shades of grey woven throughout these stories.
Both the princess and the frog in “The Frog Prince” display vanity and selfishness: the princess by breaking her promise and the frog by taking advantage of her predicament. Goldilocks, a seemingly innocent little girl, breaks into the home of a seemingly fearsome family of bears. Rapunzel’s parents give up their child in exchange for some herb. The wicked queen from “Snow White” seems to be driven by desperation and insecurity rather than pure evil.
“Rumpelstiltskin” features a cast of morally questionable characters: a miller who, out of greed, brags about his daughter and gets her in trouble; a king who imprisons a girl and forces her to perform an impossible task on pain of death; a little man who takes advantage of a helpless girl to claim her child; and a girl who does not seem to consider the consequences of her own decisions.
Hansel and Gretel’s father seemingly loves his children, yet he is complicit in their abandonment, too weak-willed to protest in their defence. Also weak-willed is the fisherman from “The Fisherman and his Wife,” who, out of fear, does everything his wife demands, no matter how outrageous. Maria Tatar observed that in “The Emperor’s New Clothes,” the narrator “adopts no clear point of view, neither endorsing the ingenuity of the swindlers nor defending the vanity of the emperor.”38
Then there are trickster characters like Puss in Boots, Jack from “Jack and the Beanstalk,” and Molly Whuppie, who lie, steal, and deceive to achieve their goals. At first glance these stories seem to go against the core values of folk and fairy tales, but it’s important to remember that trickster tales such as these operate outside the typical good-versus-evil system. Bruno Bettelheim aptly referred to them as “amoral fairy tales” and described them as follows:
“Such tales or type figures as “Puss in Boots,” who arranges for the hero’s success through trickery, and Jack, who steals the giant’s treasure, build character not by promoting choices between good and bad, but by giving the child the hope that even the meekest can succeed in life. After all, what’s the use of choosing to become a good person when one feels so insignificant that he fears he will never amount to anything? Morality is not the issue in these tales, but rather, assurance that one can succeed.”39
In my experience of working with children, I’ve found that many are naturally mischievous, so seeing a character with similar traits can be particularly exciting for them. I also like the explanation by Bob Hartman, which places trickster tales in context and emphasises their widespread appeal:
“Some people may question the value of such stories and worry that they promote deceitfulness. But I would rather focus on the origin of those tales. Stories about rabbits tricking foxes usually come from cultures where one group had dominated or exploited another. The smaller creature becomes a figure of hope — using what it has (usually only its quick wits) to overcome a more powerful adversary. Understood in this context, these stories are about much more than brain over brawn. They are about dignity and resourcefulness. And better still — they are lots of fun!”40
This is not to suggest that fairy tale characters are more complex than they seem — their strength lies in their simplicity. Fairy tales do not follow the same rules that we expect from a novel, nor should they be judged by those rules. Fairy tale characters are both particular individuals and universal archetypes. When we see a girl in a red cape, a cat in boots, or a boy made of wood, we instantly recognise them as Little Red Riding Hood, Puss in Boots, and Pinocchio. But these characters are often two-dimensional, defined by just a few adjectives: the big bad wolf, the valiant prince, the benevolent fairy. Their motives are clear from the start, and they rarely, if ever, develop or change; anything that happens to them occurs on the outside.
They seldom have names of their own, and if they do, they are either descriptive, like Thomas Treefork or Snow White, or extremely common ones, like Gretel or Jack. Otherwise they are known by their profession or social status, such as “the princess,” “the old soldier,” or “the youngest son.” Certain characters come in sets of multiples: three little pigs, six mermaid sisters, seven swan brothers, twelve dancing princesses. Unless one of them is the protagonist or a crucial figure in the story, they are virtually indistinguishable from one another.
Philip Pullman suggested that the most fitting visual representation of fairy tale characters is found in silhouette figures, such as those seen in the films of Lotte Reiniger: “Only one side of them is visible to the audience, but that is the only side we need: the other side is blank. They are depicted in poses of intense activity or passion, so that their part in the drama can be easily read from a distance.” Pullman further pointed out:
“(N)one of the information you’d look for in a modern work of fiction — names, appearances, background, social context, etc. — is present (in a fairy tale). And that, of course, is part of the explanation for the flatness of the characters. The tale is far more interested in what happens to them, or in what they make happen, than in their individuality.”41
Like their characters, fairy tale narratives don’t follow the same rules we expect in other types of stories. Descriptions are sparse and abstract, dialogue is minimal, and the action is swift and often contrived. There is no reflection or deliberation; the tale says only what is necessary, nothing more, nothing less. In many ways, fairy tales follow a kind of dream logic: strange events unfold without rhyme or reason, yet they also feel oddly familiar, as if mirroring the subconscious thoughts and emotions within us.
Folk and fairy tales are metaphorical stories, so taking them at face value risks missing their deeper meanings. An example of this can be seen in Vivian Vande Velde’s The Rumpelstiltskin Problem, a collection of retellings of the “Rumpelstiltskin” story. In her introduction, Velde lambasted the original story’s logic and the motivations of its characters. Among her many complaints, she questioned why Rumpelstiltskin demands the miller’s daughter’s ring, necklace, and eventually her child in exchange for spinning straw into gold:
“Here’s someone who can spin an entire roomful of straw into gold. Why does he need her tiny gold ring? Sounds like a bad bargain to me. (…) Why he wants (her) child he never says, and she never asks.”
Velde concluded her rant by stating: “What do you think your teacher would say if you handed in a story like that? I think you’d be lucky to get a D—. And that’s assuming your spelling was good.”42
However, as Maria Tatar explained, this kind of literal critique misses the deeper, metaphorical logic of the tale:
“Escalating demands are typical of fairy-tale helpers. They ask for something trivial to start with, then move to something that is beyond the norm of an economy of bartering. The helper or donor quickly moves into the role of villain.”43
Folk and fairy tales operate on emotional — rather than logical — rules. These rules may not be immediately apparent, but they become clear once we recognise that the events are metaphors for real-life experiences and concerns. In the case of “Rumpelstiltskin,” the titular character’s increasing demands — from a ring to a child — can be seen as an allegory for manipulation and exploitation, akin to how a drug dealer lures someone in with something small, only to later demand much more as the victim becomes trapped. Rumpelstiltskin’s behaviour reflects the way some people exploit others’ vulnerabilities for personal gain.
Another example can be found in “The Nixie of the Pond,” where a woman seeks to rescue her husband from a water nixie’s grip. After failing to convince the nixie to free him, the woman falls asleep and dreams of climbing a steep mountain to a cottage inhabited by an old woman. Upon waking, she follows this dream and finds the very cottage, where the old woman — seemingly a good witch — provides her with magical tools to aid her quest.
At this point many questions arise: Who is this old woman? Why is she willing to help? How will the items she gives — the comb, the spinning wheel, and the flute — free the woman’s husband? And why did the woman dream of her in the first place. The explanation lies in the emotional logic of the story. The woman’s love for her husband is so powerful that it enables her to succeed, even through magical means. The details of how events happen are less important than why — the focus is on the strength of the woman’s love and her determination to save her husband. As David Holt beautifully explained:
“Most adults have been through many changes themselves and relate to the complexity and difficulty of the relationship in this tale. (…) This is one of those stories that can’t be completely explained but rather is felt on some deep level.”44
Once again, exceptions do exist, particularly in literary tales by the likes of Andersen, where the characters are slightly more complex, and descriptive passages are woven into the narrative. This highlights one of the key differences between literary and oral tales. What they all have in common, though, is their language, which is simple, but not primitive; evocative, but not florid; child-friendly, but not patronising.
Fairy tales often break the conventions of what is typically considered a “good” story, but that is not necessarily a bad thing. In fact, some of the best stories do just that. Above all, fairy tales persist in our collective conciseness through the vivid imagery they evoke: Rapunzel’s long hair tumbling from the tower; Jack climbing the beanstalk to the castle in the clouds; the three dogs summoned by the magic tinderbox, one with eyes as large as teacups, another with eyes as big as mill-wheels, and a third with eyes as big as a tower. These are powerful, symbolic images that carry deep layers of meaning and interpretation. As Idries Shah observed, folk and fairy tales have “a surface meaning (perhaps just a socially uplifting one) and a secondary, inner significance, which is rarely glimpsed consciously, but which nevertheless acts powerfully upon our minds.”45
Another misconception is that fairy tales always have a moral. Yes, a moral can be drawn from them, but it is not always clear what that moral is, or if there is one at all. Take “The Princess and the Pea” for example. Does the story suggest that a “true” princess is defined purely by her delicacy and sensitivity? Or does it subtly call attention to the absurdity of the situation, showing how far the queen will go to determine the princess’s nobility? And for that matter, what makes a “true” princess, if not royal linage?
Fairy tales are thus interpretive in nature, and what massage they’re trying to convey is up to the individual to determine. As Neil Philip explained, each fairy tale “can be read as a spiritual allegory, as political metaphor, as psychological parable, or as pure entertainment. (…) The multi-layered quality of a fairytale text is resistant to any single simplified meaning.”46 What all folk and fairy tales share, however, is a sense of hope and a metaphorical reflection of the human experience.
But this still doesn’t fully answer the question I raised at the beginning: why do folk and fairy tales continue to persist in our culture, despite their chaotic, rule-breaking structure? The best explanation lies in their dual nature: they are both universal and personal stories. They reflect the collective experience of a culture while also portraying the unique journey of a single person. The characters represent both the everyman and the individual, and the simple yet evocative language ensures these stories resonate with people of all ages.
In short, the fairy tale’s typical features can be outlined as such: a protagonist starts out inexperienced but, through a series of events, matures and becomes wiser. The protagonist is accompanied by a cast of characters who play a variety of roles: helpers, adversaries, or both. There is a sense of a bygone time and place baked into the events. A curse is broken by an act of kindness and courage, and, sometimes, love starts to blossom.
Harsh reality is acknowledged alongside joy, and some elements are left up to interpretation. In other words, fairy tales reflect real life, in all of its shades and complexities, in such a way that every person, regardless of age or background, can understand and relate. They reflect like a mirror the best and the worst that we all have: jealousy and greed, loyalty and love, kindness and courage, disobedience and cunning. But they wouldn’t be around if they didn’t entertain as well; how a story is told matters just as much as what it tells.
A Brief History of Fairy Tales
In his pioneering essay “On Fairy-Stories,” J.R.R. Tolkien introduced the concept of “the Cauldron of Story,” which he described as such:
“Speaking of the history of stories and especially of fairy stories we may say that the Pot of Soup, the Cauldron of Story, has always been boiling, and to it have continually been added new bits, dainty and undainty. (…) But if we speak of a Cauldron, we must not wholly forget the Cooks. There are many things in the Cauldron, but the Cooks do not dip in the ladle quite blindly. Their selection is important.”47
Angela Carter later expanded on Tolkien’s metaphor, reshaping it into her own concept of “Potato Soup.” Carter wrote:
“Ours is a highly individualized culture, with a great faith in the work of art as a unique one-off, and the artist as an original, a godlike and inspired creator of unique one-offs. But fairy tales are not like that, nor are their makers. Who first invented meatballs? In what country? Is there a definitive recipe for potato soup? Think in terms of the domestic arts. ‘This is how I make potato soup.’”48
Though using different metaphors, both Tolkien and Carter express the same idea — the way humans have continually borrowed, reshaped, and repurposed ideas and materials to create stories. This process is much like how oral folk tales have been passed down through generations. For now, though, I’ll refer to them simply as “stories.”
Since the dawn of time, people have told each other stories — after long days of work, usually around campfires, or just to while away the time. Travellers told stories to make journeys seem shorter. Women told stories to make tasks like spinning more pleasant. Along with music-making and dancing, storytelling was one of the few sources of entertainment people had at the time — and one of the most cherished.
Storytelling was a major source of community, with each story serving a different purpose. Some stories, like “Why the Sea is Salty” and “The Half Chicken,” provided imaginative explanations for natural phenomena, such as why seawater is salty, or the origins of the weathervane, long before the emergence of science. Incidentally, folklorists refer to this type of story — folk tales with a mythological ending — as an etiological tale. Other stories, like “Little Red Riding Hood,” had an educational purpose, teaching children about the dangers of the world, especially at a time when forests were much more perilous places. Many stories sought to rationalise the fears of an unknown world or impart folk wisdom — the customs, values, and cultural traditions of a people. But above all, they were meant to entertain, to console, to inspire, and perhaps to provide food for thought.
Contrary to certain notions, these stories were not merely escapist entertainment; they served a much deeper purpose. At a time when survival was uncertain, stories provided not just temporary distraction but emotional strength as well. In the aforementioned essay “On Fairy-Stories,” Tolkien defended the value of escapism and hope in the fantasy genre by using allegory:
“Why should a man be scorned, if, finding himself in prison, he tries to get out and go home? Or if, when he cannot do so, he thinks and talks about other topics than jailers and prison-walls? The world outside has not become less real because the prisoner cannot see it.”49
This idea is powerfully illustrated in the Cartoon Saloon film The Breadwinner (2017). Parvana is a young girl living in Taliban-controlled Afghanistan, where females are not allowed to leave their homes without being covered and accompanied by a male. When her father is imprisoned and the only other male in the house is her baby brother, Parvana makes a difficult decision. She disguises herself as a boy to support her family, while living in constant fear of being discovered by the authorities.
Throughout the film, Parvana tells a story to her family and her friend Shauzia, who is in a similar situation. It is about a boy who embarks on a quest to defeat an evil elephant and save his people from a drought. The story doesn’t solve her real-world problems, but it provides a much-needed escape and helps keep her spirits up. We later learn that the story also mirrors Parvana’s own struggles, giving her and those around her the courage to keep going. It is this unique quality — not merely distracting from reality but helping people face it with renewed strength and hope — that has made storytelling such a powerful and cherished art form.
As these stories were originally shared by word of mouth, they often had repetitive patterns — usually in sets of three — and recurrent motifs to make them easier to remember. And they weren’t just for children: everyone in the community heard them, remembered them and then passed them on. Storytellers would recall the best of the stories they heard and adapt them to suit the tastes and customs of the audience. It was in this way that stories were handed down from person to person, across time and place, changing a little with each new telling. Some details were omitted while others were added or embellished. Names changed and so did places. As a result, we can find variations of the same story or theme all over the world.
For example, in the most common versions of “Puss in Boots,” primarily those from Western Europe, the titular character is a cat. But in Scandinavia, Eastern Europe and parts of Asia, the protagonist is a fox; in India, it is a jackal; in the Philippines, a monkey; in East Africa, a gazelle.50 Likewise, the brothers in “The Wild Swans” are turned into various kids of birds, depending on the version you come across: swans and ravens, ducks and geese, doves and eagles, and even parrots in Surinam.51
To better illustrate the ever-changing nature of folk and fairy tales, I’ll share one right here: “The Conceited Little Mouse,” a well-known Spanish folk tale. The story exists in many different versions, but they all begin the same way: a little mouse is sweeping the front of her house when she finds a gold coins. She deliberates on what to buy, and eventually decides on a pretty ribbon to tie around her tail. This attracts the attention of several male suitors, who ask for her hand in marriage. To each of them, the little mouse asks to hear their call — the barking of the dog, the braying of the donkey, the crowing of the rooster — and dislikes every single one of them. She is finally won over by the cat’s gentle meowing and charming manners, so she agrees to marry him — only to discover that he intends to eat her!
This is where the story diverges. Traditional versions end with the cat eating the mouse, while others have the mouse escaping from the cat’s clutches, either on her own or with the help of neighbours. More modern versions, typically told to children today, end with a male mouse saving the female mouse from the cat, leading to their marriage and a happy life together.52 In Latin American variations, the mouse is named Martina, and she might be an ant, butterfly, cockroach, or rat, while her suitor is Ratón Pérez. They happily marry, without the threat of a sneaky cat, and go on further adventures together.53
And this is how folk and fairy tales have endured over the years — by always changing, always evolving, always coming up anew. Some details may be forgotten, others added, but the core essence of the stories remains the same.
Because folk and fairy tales originated in the oral tradition, their history is difficult to trace. However, written evidence has shown that these stories have existed for thousands of years, though not in the forms they are recognised today.
The Odyssey is often regarded by scholars as an early example of a folk tale. Although it belongs to the broader genre of epic, the episode where Odysseus confronts the Cyclops Polyphemus is considered one of the first instances of the trickster narrative.54 More famously, the myth of “Cupid and Psyche,” which appeared in the second century AD in Apuleius of Madaura’s The Golden Ass, is the earliest known literary version of “Beauty and the Beast”, as well as other animal bridegroom stories such as “East of the Sun and West of the Moon” and “The Frog Prince.”55 Scholars like Graham Anderson and Jan M. Ziolkowski have also found early traces of folk and fairy tales in the classical works of Ancient Greece and Rome, as well as in Medieval Latin literature.56
The Hebrew Book of Tobit (circa 600 BC) contains a variant of the “Grateful Dead” cycle of stories, to which “The Traveling Companion” belongs.57 The Panchatantra, an ancient collection of Indian fables from the third century AD, contains some of the earliest versions of stories like “The Three Wishes” and “The Town Mouse and the Country Mouse.”58 Another collection of Indian legends and folk tales, The Ocean of the Streams of Stories by the Brahmin Somadeva Bhatta, compiled in the eleventh century AD, contains episodes that echo motifs from tales such as “Bluebeard” and The Thousand and One Nights, as well as early variants of stories such as “The Princess and the Pea.”59 Some of William Shakespeare’s plays incorporate elements from old folk tales: “King Lear” draws partly on “Love Like Salt” tales such as “Cap o’ Rushes,” while “Cymbeline” borrows from versions of “Snow White” and “The Wild Swans.”60 The Canterbury Tales by Geoffrey Chaucer and The Decameron by Giovanni Boccaccio both include narratives reminiscent of traditional folk tales.61
The oldest recorded fairy tale is believed to be the story of “Anpu and Bata,” found in ancient Egyptian papyri dating back to the twelfth century BC. This tale bears similarities to the Grimms’ “The Two Brothers,” as well as to stories from Russia, Greece, Italy, Ireland, Chile, and the Democratic Republic of the Congo. The oldest recorded folk tale, on the other hand, is “The Smith and the Devil,” which dates back 6.000 years to the Bronze Age. This story is about a blacksmith who makes a pact with the Devil, trading his soul for supernatural abilities, only to later renege on the deal by using his powers to trap the Devil to an immovable object.62 It shares motifs with other stories like “Old Nick and the Dancing Girl,” and has inspired numerous stories and films where characters make deals with the devil.
The fairy tale as a genre started to emerge in sixteenth- and seventeenth-century Europe, specifically in Italy, with the publication of two foundational collections of folk and fairy tales. The first, The Pleasant Nights, was published in Venice in 1551 and 1553 by Giovanni Francesco Straparola; the second, The Tale of Tales, also known as The Pentamerone, was written in Neapolitan dialect by Giambattista Basile and published posthumously by his sister Adriana in 1634 and 1636.
These two works share many similarities. Following in the tradition of Chaucer and Boccaccio, both are structured around a frame narrative. In The Pleasant Nights, a group of exiled aristocrats, residing in a villa on the island of Murano, gather during the Venice Festival to tell stories over thirteen nights. Of the seventy-five stories in Straparola’s collection, fifteen have been identified as fairy tales, including early versions of “Puss in Boots” (“Constantino Fortunato”), “Iron Hans” (“Guerrino and the Wild Man”), and “Big Peter and Little Peter” (“The Priest Scarpacifico”).
Not only is The Tale of Tales comprised primarily of fairy tales — including early versions of “Rapunzel” (“Petrosinella”), “Sleeping Beauty” (“Sun, Moon, and Talia”), and “Cinderella” (“The Cat Cinderella”) — but its frame story is a fairy tale too. Princess Zoza, who is deeply melancholy, laughs one day at an old woman’s mishap. In anger, the old woman curses Zoza to only marry Prince Tadeo, who lies asleep in a faraway tomb under a fairy’s curse. The only way to break Tadeo’s curse is to fill a pitcher with tears. Zoza embarks on a journey to the prince’s tomb and fills the pitcher with two days’ worth of tears. However, just when a few more tears are needed, Zoza falls asleep, and a passing slave adds her own tears. Tadeo awakens, mistaking the slave for his savior, and marries her instead. Heartbroken, Zoza arrives at the prince’s castle, and using three magical gifts from fairies, curses the now-pregnant slave to crave stories. At the slave’s command, Tadeo assembles the ten most talented storytellers in the city to entertain her. Over five days, each storyteller tells one story per day, resulting in fifty tales. Zoza tells the final story, using it as an opportunity to reveal the truth. Upon hearing it, Tadeo has the slave and her unborn child buried alive, and marries Zoza instead.
Both collections were written for a literate adult audience, and are thus filled with bawdy humour and vulgar content — a stark contrast to the more “sophisticated” and child-friendly Italian folk tales collected by the likes of Giuseppe Pitrè and Laura Gonzenbach in the nineteenth century. Basile’s stories, in particular, are filled with scatological elements: in “The Goose,” for example, a precursor to “The Golden Goose,” a magical goose excretes gold for two sisters, but when it is stolen by jealous neighbours, it produces only waste. The goose later attaches its beak to a prince’s behind, and only one of the sisters manages to free it, earning her the prince’s hand in marriage. Due to such earthy content and the obscure Neapolitan dialect of Basile’s work, these tales remain relatively unknown outside of literary circles.
In late seventeenth-century France, a trend emerged among the upper classes, particularly women, in which they would gather in fashionable “salons” and discuss matters of culture, art, and literature. These discussions sparked a growing interest in fairy tales, prompting the conteuses to compose sophisticated, elaborate tales based on folk tale models.
As well as entertaining themselves, the conteuses used these stories to make subtle critiques of the corruptions and social injustices of the French court. Many of the conteuses’ stories, for example, commented on arranged marriages, reflecting their desire for the freedom to choose their own lovers. In d’Aulnoy’s “The White Cat” — which draws on motifs from tales like “The Frog Princess,” “Beauty and the Beast,” and “Rapunzel” — a princess, abducted by fairies, is forced to marry the king of dwarfs. She refuses, and when the fairies discover her plan to elope with her true love, a gallant prince, they feed him to a dragon and curse her to live as a white cat. The curse can only be broken if a prince who resembles her former lover in every way falls in love with her, which eventually happens.
The conteuses’ tales were first recited aloud in salons before being published in books. Among the most notable of these conteuses was Marie-Catherine d’Aulnoy, who coined the term “contes de fées” (“tales of the fairies”) because fairies were predominantly featured in her tales and many others’. Other notable names include Charlotte-Rose de la Force, Henriette-Julie de Murat, Catherine Bernard, and Marie-Jeanne L'Héritier.
The most famous and influential of these writers, however, was Charles Perrault, a civil servant in the court of King Louis XIV and a regular attendee of the conteuses’ gatherings. In the early 1690’s, Perrault published three verse tales: “Griselda,” “The Foolish Wishes,” and “Donkey Skin.” In 1697, Perrault published his collection Stories or Tales of Past Times with Morals, which contained eight stories, among them the well-known versions of “Cinderella” and “Puss in Boots.” As Iona and Peter Opie wrote:
“Perrault’s achievement was that he accepted the fairy tales at their own level. He recounted them without impatience, without mockery, and without feeling they required any aggrandizement, such as a frame-story, though he did end each tale with a rhymed moralité. If only it had occurred to him to state where he had obtained each tale, and when, and under what circumstances, he would today probably be revered as the father of folklore.”63
Perrault’s writing was simpler and more child-friendly than that of his female contemporaries, though it still retained a sophisticated, courtly charm. Curiously, his collection was initially published under the name of his then seventeen-year-old son, Pierre. While the exact reason for this remains unclear, some scholars, including Jack Zipes, speculate that Perrault wished to protect his reputation in the eyes of the French government. Also uncertain is whether Perrault was familiar with Straparola’s and Basile’s versions of his stories, though their plots were widely known even in his time. As the more elaborate, sophisticated (and somewhat convoluted) style of the conteuses’ stories fell out of favour, Perrault’s collection became a success and laid the foundation for future fairy tale anthologies.
Another noteworthy collection that sparked Western interest in non-European fairy tales was The Thousand and One Nights, also known as The Arabian Nights. The earliest known version, a fourteenth-century Syrian manuscript, contained stories from South Asia and the Middle East. However, the edition that had a profound influence in Europe was Antoine Galland’s French translation in the eighteenth century. Like many earlier collections, it featured a frame narrative: a king, believing all women to be unfaithful, marries a new bride each night and kills her the next morning to avoid betrayal. This cycle continues until Scheherazade, the vizier’s daughter, marries the king and tells him a story each night, cleverly delaying the story’s ending to ensure her survival. She maintains this pattern for 1.000 nights, ultimately softening the king's heart and saving not only herself but all future brides.
It’s important to note, however, that the most famous stories from The Thousand and One Nights — such as “Aladdin and the Magic Lamp” and “Ali Baba and the Forty Thieves” — were not part of the original manuscript. They were added in the French edition by Galland, who heard them from the Syrian storyteller Hanna Diyab. Additionally, some tales in the collection are early variants of European stories like “Cinderella,” “The Speaking Bird,” and “The Frog Princess.”64
Another famous eighteen-century fairy tale is “Beauty and the Beast.” Initially written as a novella by Gabrielle-Suzanne Barbot de Villeneuve, it was later popularised in an abridged, moralistic version by Jeanne-Marie Leprince de Beaumont.
The success of Perrault’s collection and Galland’s translation of The Thousand and One Nights sparked a growing interest in literary fairy tales in France. This movement culminated in Le Cabinet des Fées (The Fairies’ Cabinet, 1786-1789), a forty-one-volume anthology edited by Charles-Joseph de Mayer, which featured stories by many French authors, including those mentioned above. However, with the onset of the French Revolution, this trend waned in France, though it soon found a new life in Germany.
Except, at that time, what we now call Germany was then not a unified nation but a collection of around three hundred states, making them vulnerable to conquest during the Napoleonic Wars. This turmoil sparked debates among scholars about what it meant to be German, fueling a growing interest in collecting and preserving the folk traditions of the German past. Among those involved in this movement were the Romantic writers Clemens Brentano and Achim von Arnim, who published a collection of German folk songs and poetry titled The Boy’s Magic Horn.
But the most influential collection, the one that would shape the way fairy tales were written and recorded for generations, was compiled by brothers Jacob and Wilhelm Grimm. Both studied law at the University of Marburg, where they were influenced by Professor Friedrich Carl von Savigny. Savigny believed that law naturally evolved from the language and history of a people, which sparked the Grimms’ interest in philology and, eventually, older German literature and folklore.
Wilhelm Grimm had previously contributed a handful of folk songs to the second and third volumes of The Boy’s Magic Horn, which led Brentano to ask the brothers to collect prose folk narratives for a potential project. He even sent them two tales written in a Pomeranian dialect by the artist Philipp Otto Runge, including “The Fisherman and his Wife.” The Grimm Brothers became deeply interested in the project and began gathering tales in earnest in 1806.
Some stories, like “Rapunzel” and “The Fisherman and his Wife,” came from literary sources, but most were collected orally from literate, middle-class friends, neighbours, and relatives, many of whom were women. A major contributor was Dortchen Wild, the daughter of a pharmacist, who later married Wilhelm. As noted by Nicholas Jubber in The Fairy Tellers, Wild’s own complicated relationship with her father may have influenced the troubling paternal figures in stories like “Rumpelstiltskin,” “Hansel and Gretel,” “Thousandfurs,” and “The Six Swans.” Her strong work ethic and domestic knowledge also echo in tales such as “Mother Holle.”65
Another significant contributor was Dorothea Viehmann, a fruit-seller from Niederzwehren, who provided several tales, including “The Bremen Town Musicians” and “The Goose Girl.” Viehmann had an extraordinary talent for storytelling: not only did she bring the tales to life, but she repeated them with such precision that the brothers could transcribe her words verbatim. Despite her French ancestry, the Grimms held her in high esteem, seeing her as an ideal embodiment of the “authentic” German storyteller.
Other notable contributors included the Hassenpflug sisters — Marie, Jeanette, and Amalie — who told multiple versions of the same story, helping shape tales like “Little Red Cap.” Given their mother’s French ancestry, it is possible they were familiar with French variants of the stories they shared, including Charles Perrault’s “Little Red Riding Hood.” There was also Johann Friedrich Krause, a retired soldier who provided cheeky, amoral tales like “The Knapsack, the Sack, and the Horn” in exchange for old clothes.
In 1810, the Grimms sent Brentano a manuscript of fifty-six tales as evidence of their progress. Brentano, by then, had lost interest in the project and ultimately misplaced the manuscript. Fortunately, the Grimms had made a copy, allowing them to continue with their work. The lost manuscript was later found in Brentano’s posthumous papers, thus providing scholars valuable insight into the Grimms’ editorial process. Despite his waning interest, Brentano continued to support the Grimms’ endeavour, while Arnim helped secure them a publisher.
In 1812, the first volume of the Grimm Brothers’ collection Children’s and Household Tales was published, which contained eighty-six stories. A second volume followed in 1815, adding seventy more stories and bringing the total number of tales in the first edition to 156. Though the title might suggest an emphasis on children, the collection was originally intended for an adult, scholarly audience, as it contained extensive notes on the genealogy and variants of the stories.
The reception to the Grimms’ collection was mixed to positive. Some, like Brentano, criticised the tales as unpolished, while others, like Arnim, felt the academic presentation was ill-suited for children. Some parents objected to the stories’ violent and superstitious content, deeming the collection inappropriate for young readers. Nevertheless, many others began reading the tales to their children — and to themselves. Despite the criticism, the first edition sold well enough to warrant a second edition in 1819.
Over time, the collection went through six further editions — with Jacob doing most of the research and Wilhelm doing most of the editorial work — till the seventh and final edition in 1857. During this process, some tales from the first edition were omitted in subsequent editions. The reasons varied: some, like “How Some Children Played at Slaughtering,” were considered too brutal for the collection’s increasingly younger audience; others, like “The Mother-In-Law” were incomplete or fragmentary. In fact, the first edition included a group of stories simply titled “Fragments.”
The most common reason for omission, however, was that some tales had non-German origins, and were therefore not “authentically” German by the Grimms’ standards. For example, “Puss in Boots” and “Bluebeard” — both coming from the Hassenpflug sisters — were omitted due to their close resemblance to Charles Perrault’s versions. Another tale, “The Pea Test,” a variant of “The Princess and the Pea,” was included in the fifth edition and later removed after the Grimms discovered its Scandinavian origins following a meeting with Hans Christian Andersen. Despite their non-German origins, tales like “Briar Rose,” “Little Red Cap,” and “Cinderella,” — which also had parallels in Perrault’s collection — were kept throughout all seven editions, as the Grimms felt they contained enough distinctly German elements.
Conversely, some stories were added in later editions, such as “Snow White and Rose Red,” “The Nixie of the Pond,” and “The Master Thief.” Certain omitted tales (like “The Summer and Winter Garden,” a close variant of “Beauty and the Beast”) were replaced by more authentically German tales (“The Soaring, Springing Lark”), while others were replaced with variants the Grimms deemed more polished, as with “Fearless John” and “Iron Hans.”
By the seventh and final edition of the Grimm Brothers’ collection, the number of tales stood at 200. However, if we include the ten religious children’s legends appended at the end, an unnumbered tale, and several grouped tales (for example, “The Elves and the Shoemaker” is part of the group “The Elves”), the collection expands to 216 tales in total.
The Grimms’ changes were not limited to selecting or omitting tales; they also involved stylistic and narrative revisions. Beginning with the second edition, the stories became a little longer, more elaborate, somewhat more lyrical, and certainly more distinctly German. This is somewhat ironic, as in a 1809 letter to Wilhelm, Jacob had criticised Brentano and Arnim for doing the same thing: drastically altering folk material to suit their Romantic ideals.
To illustrate how the Grimms — particularly Wilhelm — altered, reshaped, and expanded the tales, here is a comparison of the opening paragraph of “The Frog King, or Iron Heinrich,” from the first (1812), second (1819), and last edition (1857):
1812 Edition:
“Once upon a time there lived a princess. One day she went into the forest and sat down by a cool well. A golden ball was her favorite toy. She loved to amuse herself by throwing it up into the air and catching it when it came back down.”
1819 Edition:
“Once upon a time there lived a princess who was so bored that she didn’t know what to do. She took a golden ball that she liked to play with and went out into the forest. In the middle of the woods there was a well with clear, cool water. She sat down next to it and threw the ball in the air, then caught it, and that’s how she amused herself.”
1857 Edition:
“Once upon a time, when wishes still came true, there lived a king who had beautiful daughters. The youngest was so lovely that even the sun, which had seen so many things, was filled with wonder when it shone upon her face.
“There was a deep, dark forest near the king’s castle, and in that forest, beneath an old linden tree, was a spring. Whenever the weather turned really hot, the king’s daughter would go out into the woods and sit down at the edge of the cool spring. And if she was bored, she would take out her golden ball, throw it up in the air, and catch it. That was her favorite plaything.”66
The Grimms also made significant changes to the stories’ content, such as removing sexual elements, adding Christian references, or shifting indirect speech to direct speech. These changes reflected the Grimms’ evolving attitudes towards their collection, tailoring the tales to appeal to their growing middle-class readership.
For example, in the 1812 edition of “Rapunzel,” the titular character asks her guardian, a fairy, why her clothes are so tight, unknowingly divulging her lover’s visits. The implicit pregnancy was deemed so unsuitable for young readers that one leading critic condemned the collection as “the most pathetic and tasteless material.”67 The Grimms took this criticism to heart, and changed the text so that Rapunzel’s children appear more subtly at the end of the story. By the final 1857 edition, the fairy had been changed to a sorceress, and Rapunzel asks her why she is heavier to pull up than the prince. Similarly, in the 1812 versions of “Snow White” and “Hansel and Gretel,” it was their birth mother who sought to do them harm. To better reflect their idealised view of motherhood, the Grimms later changed the mothers into stepmothers.
While the Grimms toned down sexual or otherwise “improper” content, they simultaneously increased the level of violence in the tales. In the 1812 version of “Rumpelstiltskin,” after his name is revealed, the titular character leaves in a fit of anger by flying away on a spoon; by the 1857 version, he tears himself in two. Likewise, in “Cinderella,” the stepsisters originally cut off parts of their feet to fit the slipper, but in the 1857 edition, their punishment became more brutal: their eyes are pecked out by birds, so that, as the text put it, “they were punished for their wickedness and malice with blindness for the rest of their lives.”68 At that time, it was perfectly acceptable to depict excessive violence to children, as long as it served a moral or didactic purpose.
The Grimms’ collection was not an immediate success; in fact, Ludwig Bechstein’s German Tales, published in 1845, was far more popular at the time. Like the Grimms, Bechstein collected German folk tales, often retelling stories from their collection, but he added his own distinctive touches. A notable example is “The Seven Ravens,” which appears in both collections: in the Grimms’ version, the father curses his sons to become ravens, and they are transformed back as soon as their sisters finds them; in Bechstein’s version, it is their mother who curses them, and the brothers only return to human form after reconciling with her. As Ruth Bottigheimer explained, while Bechstein’s literary style suited the “benevolently humorous middle-class” audience of his time, it became “outdated and outmoded” by the 1890s, “whereas the style of the Grimms’ Tales, crafted slowly and steadily until it approximated German usage in its deepest structure, remained recognisably usable.”69
Another factor in the growing popularity of the Grimms’ collection was the release of a “Small Edition” in 1825, which featured fifty of their most popular stories, complete with illustrations by their brother Ludwig. This cheaper and more accessible edition helped popularise both their collection and the idea of the illustrated fairy tale book for children. Over the Grimms’ lifetimes, ten editions of the “Small Edition” were produced, while the seven editions mentioned earlier are known as the “Large Edition.” By the time of the seventh and final edition, the Grimms’ collection had gained immense popularity, becoming one of the most — if not the most — influential collections of folk and fairy tales.
Inspired by the Grimms’ success, as well as the nineteenth-century movement of national romanticism, many scholars began to compile their own collections of folk and fairy tales. Some, like Peter Christen Asbjørnsen and Jørgen Moe of Norway, and Alexander Afanasiev of Russia, collected tales from their respective homelands, while others, like Joseph Jacobs and Andrew and Nora Lang, produced volumes of tales from around the world.
Another significant trend in the nineteenth century was that of the literary fairy tale. Many acclaimed authors, such as Oscar Wilde and George MacDonald, wrote original fairy tales that drew on traditional motifs and themes. Stories like “The Light Princess” and “The Reluctant Dragon” often provided a way for the authors to explore and express their spiritual, philosophical, or moral beliefs. They were also reflective of the literary tastes of their era: “consistently non-serious, but in a heavily elaborate or even patronising way,” and “never (losing) the sense of the Victorian/Edwardian world of their tellers in the timeless world of the fairy tale.”70
The most famous author of literary fairy tales — and arguably the one that started the trend — was Hans Christian Andersen. Hailing from Denmark, Andersen published about 156 fairy tales and stories between 1835 and 1872. While his work followed the storytelling model established by the Grimms, it was also imbued with his own distinctive voice. Thus Andersen’s tales, along with those of Oscar Wilde, stand as notable exceptions to the more typical style of nineteenth-century literary fairy tales.
Andersen’s life was, in many ways, like a fairy tale, something he alluded to in his autobiography The Fairy Tale of My Life (1855). Born to a poor shoemaker and washerwoman in Odense, Andersen moved to Copenhagen at the age of fourteen, seeking fame and fortune. After working various odd jobs, he caught the attention of philanthropist Jonas Collin, who recognised his potential and arranged for him to attend grammar school due to his limited education.
Like the protagonist of “The Ugly Duckling,” Andersen felt out of place in school. At seventeen, he was older and bigger than his eleven-year-old classmates, and his awkward, effeminate mannerisms, poor spelling, and low social standing made him a target for ridicule. This sense of alienation stayed with Andersen even as he rose to fame, making him feel perpetually uncomfortable in high society, whose approval he still craved. His personal struggles are deeply reflected in his stories; as Andersen himself had said: “Most of what I have written is a reflection of myself.”71 “The Ugly Duckling” echoes his painful journey from rejection to acceptance, while “The Little Mermaid” tells of a mermaid who sacrifices everything to be in a world where she doesn’t fit in — much like Andersen himself.
Although Andersen wrote novels, plays, poetry, and autobiographies, his true gift was storytelling. As a child, his father told him tales from The Thousand and One Nights, while his paternal grandmother shared many traditional folk tales with him. These early influences, as well as many others, shaped some of Andersen’s most famous works. Stories like “The Tinder Box” and “The Princess and the Pea” were literary adaptations of folk tales he heard growing up; others, such as “The Emperor’s New Clothes” and “Thumbelina,” were original creations inspired by various literary sources.
Andersen’s stories often feature a mix of human, animal (“The Ugly Duckling”), and even inanimate protagonists (“The Steadfast Tin Soldier”), thus reflecting his deep sentimentality and vivid imagination. In stories like “The Emperor’s New Clothes,” “The Nightingale,” and “The Little Match Girl,” Andersen subtly critiqued societal hypocrisies and injustices, but he also reflected his views on art and its role in life.
Andersen was also devoutly religious, and he infused many of his stories, such as “The Little Mermaid,” “The Travelling Companion,” and “The Snow Queen,” with Christian themes. Some of these tales, however, can also feel overly punitive by modern standards, particularly in their treatment of female characters. Stories like “The Red Shoes” and “The Little Mermaid” show women and girls suffering extreme consequences for their actions. This has led authors and literary critics to decry Andersen’s works. For example, author A.S. Byatt called Andersen a “psychological terrorist,”72 while Maria Tatar argued that his stories promote a “cult of grotesque suffering” designed to stir pity rather than inspire hope, as the Grimms’ tales often do.73
However, as Andrew Teverson noted, Andersen’s female protagonists are more than passive sufferers. Because Andersen often projected himself into his characters, their struggles reflect his own internal battles. This is why the trials faced by figures like the Little Mermaid and Eliza in “The Wild Swans” are so emotionally cathartic. Teverson also pointed out that Andersen’s tales were among the first to bridge the gap between children’s literature and adult literature, paving the way for authors like C.S. Lewis, Philip Pullman, and Salman Rushdie to write stories that resonated with readers of all ages.74 Andersen’s distinct literary style — simple, yet deeply personal and evocative — allows his stories to appeal to children and adults alike.
Fairy Tale Scholarship in the Twentieth and Twenty-First Centuries
What we now refer to as fairy tale scholarship — the analysis and discussion of various aspects of folk and fairy tales — was initially confined to introductions, prefaces, and occasional essays within books. It was the Grimm Brothers’ Children’s and Household Tales that paved the way for future research and study of folk and fairy tales through their annotations, which were later published as a separate volume.
Although the Grimms initially wanted to record German folklore as accurately as possible, they eventually deviated from their goal, as discussed above. Modern folklorists, such as John M. Ellis and Alan Dundes, have criticised the Grimms for not transcribing the tales verbatim from their informants, which is now a standard practice in folklore research. Additionally, the Grimms were not always transparent about their sources, blended multiple versions of a story into one (as they did with “Little Red Cap” and “The Brave Little Tailor”), and even destroyed some of their manuscripts. Valid though these criticisms are, other folklorists like James M. McGlathery and Neil Philip have argued that they are also exaggerated and overlook the historical context in which the Grimms were working. As Philip explained:
“The Grimms had no model for their work; they had to invent the science of folklore as they went along. The final result may not be a word-for-word transcription of oral storytelling in a community, but it is nevertheless an authentic collection of genuine folk stories.”75
D.L. Ashliman also noted that, unlike their predecessors, and even some of their successors, the Grimms did record the names of their informants, and their annotations listed variations of the tales and compared them to analogues found in other works.76 For instance, they acknowledged the previous versions of “Rapunzel,” “Sleeping Beauty,” and “Cinderella” by Charles Perrault and Giambattista Basile.
Similarly, Marina Warner criticised some of the changes the Grimms had made to the tales, for instance in “Rapunzel,” where she argued that they “turn(ed) Rapunzel into a ninny, whereas before she was clearly a victim of ignorance, and the tale an unapologetic call for sex education for the young.”77 However, she also conceded that Wilhelm Grimm’s literary embellishments improved the tales stylistically. Speaking of the opening to “The Frog King,” Warner remarked that the revisions done to it “strike what sounds like the pure note of fairy tale” and “breathe necessary air and fancy into the bare opening of the original.”78
One of the most contentious issues in modern folklore scholarship revolves around the authenticity (or perceived lack thereof) of folk and fairy tales. On one side of the debate are folklorists like Alan Dundes, who insist that folk and fairy tales must be recorded as faithfully and transparently as possible from their informants. Dundes argued that “anyone truly interested in the unadulterated fairy tale must study oral texts or as accurate a transcription of oral texts as is humanly possible.” In his view, those who “limit (their focus) to the Grimm or Perrault versions of tales” are “deluded individuals” who miss the essence of the tales’ oral origins.79
In contrast, scholars like Ruth B. Bottigheimer challenge the notion of oral authenticity. Bottigheimer argued that “the current understanding of the history of fairy tales is not only built on a flimsy foundation; its very basis requires an absence of evidence.” In essence, Bottigheimer argued that fairy tales are primarily a literary invention, with their origins tracing back to authors like Straparola and Basile, and dismissed the notion that these tales are distilled folk wisdom passed down through generations, viewing it as a romanticised myth.80
These contrasting views reveal a significant divide between scholars and storytellers, the latter of whom are less concerned with scholarly distinctions and more with crafting entertaining, compelling stories. As Neil Philip observed: “For the storyteller, a fairy tale is defined by what it may become. For the folklorist, it is defined by what it has been.”81
This tension between preserving authenticity and embracing adaptation is illustrated in the case of Joseph Jacobs. In his collections, Jacobs softened the dialect of tales like “Cap o’ Rushes” and “The Three Sillies,” and retold them so that they are more accessible to children. Though Jacobs was praised for introducing folklore to young readers, academic folklorists accused him of the same transgression as the Grimms’: significantly altering the original texts and, in doing so, taking on the role of the storyteller. Consequently, Jacobs was ostracised by the academic folklore community and, after his death, received only a tepid obituary in the journal Folk-Lore.
One consistent finding in folklorists’ research is the recurrence of the same themes, details, and narrative turns in tales from all over the world, as noted earlier. For example, many of the Grimms’ tales have global counterparts: in this series alone, there’s a Finnish version of “The Devil with the Three Golden Hairs” (“Thomas Treefork”), an Italian variant of “How Six Made Their Way in the World” (“Moscione the Fool”), a Ukrainian “Old Sultan” (“Sirko and the Wolf”), and a Polish “Hans-My-Hedgehog” (“The Longed-For Hedgehog”). Cinderella, perhaps the most famous example, has so many variants worldwide that in 1893, folklorist Marian Roalfe Cox published a study analyzing 345 versions of the tale.82 Today, scholars believe that number has grown into the thousands.
To organise the myriad global variations of these tales, folklorists devised a classification system known as The Types of International Folktales. This system, which groups similar storylines into “tale types,” was first published in 1910 by Finnish scholar Antti Aarne. It was later expanded and translated by American folklorist Stith Thompson in 1928 and 1961, and further revised by German scholar Hans-Jörg Uther and his international team in 2004, resulting in what is now called the Aarne-Thompson-Uther (ATU) system. Scholars use the abbreviation “ATU” (or “AT” for earlier editions) followed by a number to reference specific tale types, sometimes further amended with letters and asterisks. For instance, ATU-510A “Cinderella” refers to tales in the classic Cinderella mold, while ATU-510B “Peau d’Asne” refers to the “Donkey Skin” or “Thousandfurs” subtype, in which a young woman flees home to avoid marrying her father.
The ATU Tale-Type Index is organised into numbers from 1 to 2000, each referring to a different folktale genre:
Numbers 1-299 cover animal tales and fables, like “The Bremen Town Musicians” and “The Hare and the Tortoise.”
Numbers 300-749 encompass “magic tales,” otherwise known as fairy tales, though some tale types outside of this range are also considered fairy tales.
Numbers 750-849 list religious tales — folk tales that involve religious or supernatural beings, such as ATU-750A “The Three Wishes.”
Numbers 850-999 include novelle or romantic tales, which have little to no magic but follow a similar structure to fairy tales (for example, “The Starry-Eyed Shepherd” is AT-858 “To Your Good Health!”).
Numbers 1000-1199 describe “tales of the stupid ogre,” which are trickster narratives like “The Brave Little Tailor.”
Numbers 1200-1999 cover jokes and anecdotes, usually oral tales aimed at adults.
Numbers 2000-2399 catalog formula tales like “The Old Woman and Her Pig,” which rely on repetitive narrative patterns.
While the ATU tale type system is widely used by scholars and folklorists alike, it’s not without its limitations. It predominantly catalogs tales from Europe and Asia, it often doesn’t account for tales that combine multiple types (such as “The Soldier and Death,” which is ATU-330 “The Smith and the Devil” with elements of ATU-332 “Godfather Death”), and can be inconsistent in its descriptions of tale types because it relies on variable narrative contents rather than constant narrative structures. Despite these flaws, it remains an essential tool for cataloging and studying folktales across the world.
To address the variety of narrative elements, another system called The Motif-Index of Folk-Literature was developed. This six-volume index, published between 1955 and 1958 by Stith Thompson, catalogs recurring narrative motifs, which are smaller story elements that recur across different tales. These motifs can be specific incidents, character types, images, or magical objects. The motifs are grouped alphabetically by theme: A is for gods and creation, B for animals, C for taboos, and so on. Each motif also receives a number, such as K606.2 “Escape by persuading captors to dance.” Although the Motif-Index covers a broader range of narrative genres than the ATU system, scholars and folklorists typically prefer the more specific tale-type system for analysing folktales, as I do in this series.
To explain the striking similarities in folk and fairy tales across cultures, scholars have proposed several theories. Some theorised that these tales originated in India and spread globally from there. Others argued that the themes were so universal that similar tales naturally emerged independently in different cultures. Today, folklorists take a sort of hybrid, case-by-case approach: some tales reflecting universal human experiences likely arose independently, but other more specific stories spread through cultural diffusion.
Initially, the study of folk and fairy tales focused less on interpretation and more on tracing their origins. Early scholars claimed these tales were “degraded myths,” while others approached them from anthropological, structuralist, formalist, and even solar perspectives. However, two primary approaches have dominated fairy tale scholarship: the psychoanalytical and socio-historical.
The psychoanalytical approach, especially influenced by Freudian theory, asserts that fairy tales contain “latent meanings” from the unconscious mind, revealing deep-seated desires and anxieties. Carl Gustav Jung and Marie-Louise von Franz applied Jungian interpretations, focusing on archetypes and the collective unconscious. Sigmund Freud and Bruno Bettelheim, on the other hand, favored a Freudian lens.
Bettelheim, in particular, rose to fame with his study The Uses of Enchantment, where he posited that fairy tales function as metaphorical narratives that guide children through their emotional and psychological development. For Bettelheim, fairy tales serve a therapeutic role by addressing complex emotional struggles, such as family dynamics and the transition to adulthood, in a non-threatening manner. Drawing extensively from Freudian psychoanalysis, he interpreted fairy tale characters and plot elements as symbolic expressions of repressed desires and anxieties, like the Oedipal complex and sexual maturation. Bettelheim asserted that:
“Fairy tales, unlike any other form of literature, direct the child to discover his identity and calling, and they also suggest what experiences are needed to develop his character further. Fairy tales intimate that a rewarding, good life is within one’s reach despite adversity — but only if one does not shy away from the hazardous struggles without which one can never achieve true identity. These stories promise that if a child dares to engage in this fearsome and taxing search, benevolent powers will come to his aid, and he will succeed.”83
The socio-historical approach emphasizes that fairy tales reflect the societies and ideologies of the periods in which they were created, thus demanding analysis through those lenses. Jack Zipes is the foremost advocate of this perspective. Drawing from the neo-Marxist critical theory of the Frankfurt School, Zipes insisted that fairy tales serve a “socialization function.” According to Zipes, fairy tales have been used historically to reinforce bourgeois values, but they can also be repurposed to inspire social and political change by tapping into their utopian potential to challenge dominant power structures. Zipes emphasised that:
“Folk and fairy tales remain an essential force in our cultural heritage, but they are not static literary models to be internalised for therapeutic consumption. Their value depends on how we actively produce and receive them in forms of social interaction which lead toward the creation of greater individual autonomy. Only by grasping and changing the forms of social interaction and work shall we be able to make full use of the utopian and fantastic projections of folk and fairy tales.”84
In Zipes’ view, “society and the civilising process always (have) to be questioned, resisted, and radically reformed,”85 and fairy tales can and should be used for such purposes. He famously lambasted Disney for “commodifying” fairy tales by diluting their supposedly subversive potential,86 argued that J.R.R. Tolkien’s fantasy works represent “a romantic regression into a legendary past,”87 and criticised Bruno Bettelheim (not unrightfully in this case) for presenting a universalist interpretation that ignores the historical and cultural backgrounds of fairy tales.88
Interestingly, while Zipes criticised Bettelheim for imposing a singular view of fairy tales, he simultaneously insisted that they have one definitive function: socialisation. However, as I discussed already, fairy tales have no singular, authoritative purpose. To be sure, understanding a fairy tale’s historical context can deepen one’s appreciation, as it did for me, but that should not be a prerequisite for enjoying it. A good story stands on its own merit, regardless of its origins. Zipes’ assertion that fairy tales have a socialisation function, while not entirely incorrect, is antithetical to their fundamental nature. These stories offer multiple meanings, interpretations, and functions — not just one.
Though Zipes’ views are radical, he has been enthusiastically hailed by scholars like Marina Warner as “the well-named hero of fairy tale studies and mentor to so many readers and scholars,”89 whether or not such praise is fully warranted. Consequently, his ideas have significantly shaped contemporary scholarship, which in turn has adopted a socio-historical approach. For example, Andrew Teverson asserted that:
“The fairy tale may (…) seem timeless, but it seems timeless not because it has no history, but because it has too many histories, because it is plural and many voiced. (…) Fairy tale is not universal or timeless; neither is it innocent of history and politics. On the contrary, it speaks powerfully of the times in which it has been told.”90
Similarly, Jeana Jorgensen argued that fairy tales are political by nature, and that they are exclusively “tied to specific people in specific times and places.” Erasing these specificities, Jorgensen claimed, “means we don’t get the benefit of the context helping us interpret the stuff inside the tale.”91
These views overlook the fact that all media, including fairy tales, are inevitably products of their time, reflecting the attitudes in which they were created. Fairy tales are timeless not because they transcend history but because they contain universal truths about human nature. Their adaptability allows them to evolve and find relevance with each new audience. “Beauty and the Beast,” for instance, may have originated as an allegory for arranged marriages but has since transformed into a tale about the power of love and seeing beyond appearances.92
In 1986, Jane Yolen expressed a sentiment that is as relevant today as it was back then:
“Recently I attended a fairy tale conference at Princeton University where the participants were so busy being academic about the motifs and morphology of a tale, about the sociological implications of the endings of Grimm stories, about the bourgeois subsumption of the female tale teller, about the psychological embellishments and the validation of emotion, that the words “Once upon a time ...” were never spoken. The tale was treated as an anthropological document or as an archaeological dig or as a prototype of therapy or as a product of a particular social-economic evolution. No one remembered even to mention that a story has its own logic, its own meaning, its own integrity. (…) If the story does not have that breath of life, all the journeying, all the history, all the mystery, are for nought. And it is up to the tale teller to make sure that the story speaks.”93
Despite the elitism often found in fairy tale scholarship today, these stories continue to be passed down not just orally, as they once were, but through books, films, music, and other forms of media. Over time, countless versions of hundreds of tales have been created, with people adapting them to suit their tastes and ensuring that the storytelling tradition remains alive.
Some may wonder why the same tales are being retold again and again. After all, if a novel or film seems too derivative, it’s often dismissed as unoriginal or even plagiaristic. But folk and fairy tales don’t operate under these constraints. Unless issues of ownership and copyright are at stake,94 the question storytellers ask is, “What new angle can I bring to this story? How can I make it my own?” Familiarity is part of the appeal of folk and fairy tales; audiences love returning to well-known stories, but they also enjoy hearing them told anew.
And if that isn’t convincing enough, consider this: a flawed or incomplete tale can inspire someone to rework it into something better. Many folk and fairy tales, especially those found in academic collections or folklore journals, are often skeletal in form, or are merely plot summaries, or have been told in an awkward style by inexperienced writers and translators. It’s the storyteller’s job to improve and flesh out the story or, with more famous tales, to offer a new interpretation that uncovers hidden layers of meaning.
But what about creating entirely new original fairy tales, like the ones from the nineteenth-century? Andrew Lang, in the preface to The Lilac Fairy Book, insightfully remarked: “Nobody can write a new fairy tale; you can only mix up and dress up the old, old stories, and put the characters into new dresses.”95 Indeed, many of the best-known fairy tales draw heavily from earlier sources: there would be no Goldilocks without a Snow White, no Tin Soldier with a Nutcracker, no Light Princess without a Sleeping Beauty.96 True original fairy tales, however, are not simply high fantasy like The Lord of the Rings or The Princess Bride, nor do they seek to deconstruct the genre in a disingenuous, cynical way.
Genuine new fairy tales are stories that draw on traditional motifs, themes, or narrative structures to create original, sincere stories — not parodies or ironic takes. Some notable examples of such stories — in my view at least — include the DEFA film The Singing Ringing Tree, which blends elements from various Grimm tales: a haughty princess who rejects all suitors (“King Thrushbeard”), a prince cursed by a wicked dwarf to become a bear (“Snow White and Rose Red”), a king who must give his daughter to a bear in exchange for the titular tree (“The Singing, Springing Lark”), and a princess who is helped by animals she once showed kindness to (“The Queen Bee”).
Similarly, the episode “The Princess Who Had Never Laughed” from Faerie Tale Theatre isn’t directly based on the Afanasiev tale of the same name, but is an original variation on a motif found in stories like “The Golden Goose” and “Lazy Jack,” where a man wins a princess’s hand by making her laugh.
Leigh Bardugo’s YA anthology The Language of Thorns includes retellings of classic tales like “Hansel and Gretel,” “The Nutcracker,” and “The Little Mermaid,” as well as original stories that use familiar fairy tale motifs. “Ayama and the Thorn Wood” is a frame narrative like those found in folk tales such as “The Endless Tale,”97 while also combining elements from “Cinderella” and “Beauty and the Beast.” “Little Knife” reworks the motif of a king promising his daughter’s hand to whoever can complete a series of impossible tasks, while “The Too-Clever Fox” draws from trickster tales involving clever foxes.
Julia Donaldson’s beloved picture book The Gruffalo is loosely based on “an Eastern folk tale about a child who cons a jungle tiger into submission,”98 yet it feels like an original cumulative tale, reminiscent of stories like “Henny Penny” or “The Gingerbread Man.”
But no matter how many times folk and fairy tales are adapted and created, their core essence remains the same. As Nicholas Jubber explained:
“The joy of storytelling is timeless, and despite the ever-multiplying media, children still respond to its purest form: sitting by a bedside, telling a story “from your mouth.” Our princesses may be more proactive than some of the traditional ones (…); we may give our characters names that reflect a more multicultural society; and we’re less likely to end with a wedding (…). But when we indulge in traditional storytelling, we often find we’re more connected to the past than many of us admit.”99
Fairy Tales: For Young or For Old?
Given their longevity and prominence in society, one might wonder why folk and fairy tales were only written down relatively recently. The answer is simple: educated writers and critics once dismissed them as common, unrefined tales told by ordinary people, too lowly to be considered worthy of publication.
In what may be one of the earliest recorded reflections on folklore, Plato, speaking for Socrates in The Republic (360 BC), criticized adults for telling “casual tales” to children. Such stories, Plato’s Socrates warned, might distort children’s grasp of reality by blurring the lines between fact and fantasy. This skepticism towards fairy tales persisted for centuries, and, to some extent, still lingers today.
Through the ages, critics and educators have argued that fairy tales were dangerous for children, teaching crusting and violence and confusing them about the real world. “Proper” children’s literature, they believed, should be strictly didactic, filled with “realistic” stories to prepare children for adult life. Yet children have always preferred the lively, imaginative world of fairy tales, which presents life’s harsh truths in fantastical ways, over the dull, moralising “realism” of conventional stories. Publishers soon recognised this demand and began to produce works that satisfied children’s desires for fantasy.
Initially, fairy tales appeared in cheaply produced, crudely illustrated chapbooks. However, as printing technology advanced, illustrated fairy tale books gained popularity in the nineteenth century. The Grimm Brothers played a crucial role in this trend, first with Ludwig Grimm’s illustrations in the “Small Editions,” followed by George Cruikshank’s drawings in Edgar Taylor’s 1823 English translation of the Grimms’ collection.
By the mid-nineteenth century, fairy tales had become an established part of children’s literature, though they were still expected to align with the formal, moralistic tone of the period. Hans Christian Andersen’s fairy tales, for instance, were initially criticised for their informal, playful tone and lack of overt moral instruction, something that critics saw as crucial for shaping children’s behaviour.
Andrew and Nora Lang faced similar skepticism when they published The Blue Fairy Book in 1889. The book was a success, however, which in turn paved the way for the celebrated “Coloured Fairy Books” series. Although Andrew Lang’s name became synonymous with the collection, he mostly served the role of editor. Much of the work was done by his wife, Leonora “Nora” Lang, who selected and translated many of the stories, along with a largely female team of colleagues, especially in the later volumes — a fact Andrew openly acknowledged in his prefaces. What set the series apart was the variety of tales gathered from different cultures, lightly adapted for children while preserving their timeless charm. Also contributing to the books’ appeal were the illustrations, mostly done by artists such as Henry J. Ford and Lancelot Speed, which brought the stories vividly to life.
In the preface to The Lilac Fairy Book, Andrew Lang openly criticised the wave of moralistic and unimaginative fairy tales being produced in the Victorian era:
“The three hundred and sixty-five authors who try to write new fairy tales are very tiresome. They always begin with a little boy or girl who goes out and meets the fairies of polyanthuses and gardenias and apple blossoms: “Flowers and fruits, and other winged things.” These fairies try to be funny, and fail; or they try to preach, and succeed. Real fairies never preach or talk slang. At the end, the little boy or girl wakes up and finds that he has been dreaming.”100
In fact, part of the success of children’s books like Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland came from their departure of this didactic formula. Rather than preaching, these books entertained — and often had an anti-authoritarian edge as well. It also helped that, over time, more critics, authors, and scholars, namely those mentioned above, have defended fairy tales, emphasising their value in child development.
As fairy tales became increasingly associated with children over time, the conversation shifted from “Are fairy tales good for children?” to “Are fairy tales meant for children or adults?” Despite their ever-lasting presence, fairy tales continue to face criticism from parents who claim they are too violent and outdated for modern times. Meanwhile, folklorists argue that these stories have become too sanitised, urging a return to their original, more mature forms.
Both sides hold some truth. As mentioned earlier, writers like Charles Perrault and the Grimm Brothers adapted previously adult tales to suit their increasingly young audience. With their establishment in children’s literature and Disney’s family-friendly adaptations, fairy tales have solidified their status in popular culture as stories for children. However, since the 1980’s, a wave of authors has crafted what could be called “adult fairy tales” — retold or original stories specifically written for adults. Angela Carter, with her 1979 collection The Bloody Chamber and Other Stories, is a notable pioneer in this trend, with many following her lead.
When considering the violence in fairy tales and whether it’s suitable for children, we must acknowledge that what is deemed appropriate for young audiences has changed over time. While the Grimms’ tales may seem too violent today, they reflected acceptable norms of justice at the time. It’s true that a balance must be struck between retribution and sadism. As Mary Hoffman noted, “Retribution is all very well, but punishments involving beheadings or boiling wolves alive belong to an older order where revenge, rather than mercy, was the dominant mood.”101
However, storytellers like Lise Lunge-Larsen have argued that children are often more resilient than we assume when it comes to processing the violence in folk and fairy tales:
“Although there is some violence in these stories, I have resisted sanitising them. Violence is an integral part of the stories. To remove it, it is to remove the very threat (the villains) pose and therefore the very real power that these stories have. Furthermore, my experience in storytelling has shown me that children are far less disturbed by the violence than adults are, and that, as psychologist Bruno Bettleheim has pointed out, children need this kind of imagery outlet for feelings they may have themselves.”102
While folk and fairy tales should be told the way one wants, softening their violence drastically or adapting them too closely to modern ideals risks diluting their power. Throughout my research, I’ve come across many adaptations that have failed for this exact reason.
For example, without naming names, in one version of “Snow White,” the wicked queen orders the huntsman not to kill Snow White but to take her to a witch who will turn her into a frog. Later, instead of giving her a poisoned apple, the queen gives Snow White magic shoes that turn her into stone. A bizarre retelling of “The Three Little Pigs” turns the pigs into children in a house-building contest, wearing pig costumes, while the wolf only judges their houses instead of trying to eat them. One version of “Sleeping Beauty” features a princess who simply loves to sleep until she learns she can balance her hobby of sleeping with attending a prince’s soccer party.
Adaptations such as these not only deviate too far from the essence of the original tales, but also strip them of their depth and meaning. These overly simplified narratives often feel shallow and lack the resonance needed to leave a lasting impression on children. This frustration is echoed by the character of Mrs. Peters in The Land of Stories: The Wishing Spell:
“Sadly, these timeless tales are no longer relevant in our society. (…) We have traded their brilliant teachings for small-minded entertainment like television and video games. Parents now let obnoxious cartoons and violent movies influence their children. The only exposure to the tales some children acquire are versions bastardized by film companies. Fairy tale ‘adaptations’ are usually stripped of every moral and lesson the stories were originally intended to teach, and replaced with singing and dancing forest animals.”103
Naturally, Disney is often the focal point of such criticism. Beginning with Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs in 1937, Disney became synonymous with fairy tales, much to the chagrin of folklorists and fairy tale scholars. Some, like Jack Zipes, argue that Disney’s adaptations strip away the supposedly subversive nature of these stories, reducing them to formulaic plots and romantic cliches, while others lament their transformation into sanitised, marketable entertainment.
Disney’s influence on fairy tales is a vast and complicated subject. While a detailed discussion lies beyond the scope of this essay, I’ll briefly address some common criticisms. In my view, there are valid criticisms to make at Disney, particularly in regards to their formulaic plots and their generalisation of folk and fairy tales. However, some of the criticism seem overly pedantic and unfair.
For instance, Jane Yolen argued that Walt Disney’s Snow White “sentimentalises” the story and flattens the characters into “cartoon caricatures,” while simultaneously praising Trina Schart Hyman’s picture book Snow White for its “immediacy” and “sensual” human qualities.104 This comparison overlooks the fundamental differences between a picture book and an animated film, as each operates within a distinct medium, with its own storytelling techniques and audience expectations. Furthermore, these works were created in vastly different eras, each reflecting the storytelling conventions of its time. Disney’s 1937 film might appear simplistic by today’s standards, but at the time, its focus on emotional clarity was groundbreaking, certainly more sophisticated than the comedy-focused cartoons that preceded it. One version of the story is more sentimental, the other more firmly rooted in its dark origins. Both have their strengths, both have their merits; it’s simply a matter of taste which one is better.
And speaking of the so-called “simplistic” storytelling in Walt Disney’s works, film critic Andrew Osmond observed:
“Yes, these films can be cute and mawkish, most notoriously in the characters’ cartoon-saucer eyes. At their best, though, they use their cuteness as a starting point in works of cinema bravado, thematic power and spiritual depth.”105
Osmond referred here to Disney’s first five feature-length films: Snow White (1937), Pinocchio, Fantasia (both 1940), Dumbo (1941), and Bambi (1942), though this statement also applies to some of Disney’s best works. At the heart of Cinderella (1950) and Tangled (2010) are tales of young women overcoming abuse. Films like The Lion King (1994) and The Jungle Book (1967) similarly delve into coming-of-age themes. Lilo & Stitch (2002) portrays a broken family struggling to get back on track. Practically every person I know has been terrified by the donkey transformation scene from Pinocchio, a sequence made all the more haunting by how the villains get away with their crimes.
Disney has undeniably shaped the perception of certain fairy tales. Practically every version of “Snow White” references or responds to Disney’s iconic film, particularly in its portrayal of the dwarfs. Disney’s Beauty and the Beast (1991) was the first to give the Beast a richer backstory and character arc, whereas earlier versions kept him mysterious, thus influencing subsequent adaptations. Although Disney’s The Little Mermaid (1989) wasn’t the first to give the titular character a happy ending (that honour goes to the version from Shirley Temple’s Storybook in 1961), it was the first to have her marry the prince.
Whether one prefers Disney’s lighter adaptations or the darker, older versions of fairy tales is ultimately a matter of personal taste. If audiences didn’t appreciate more lighthearted (not shallow) fairy tales, these wouldn’t be made, regardless of social influences. There’s no “right” or “wrong” way to enjoy a fairy tale, after all. As Martin Hallett and Barbara Karasek aptly noted: “Disney was no more or less a man of his time as the Brothers Grimm and Charles Perrault were before him; they too manipulated the fairy tale to suit the tastes and expectations of their readers.”106
While some critics argue that Disney “sanitises” fairy tales, turning them into formulaic entertainment, others, like Maria Tatar, offer a more nuanced view:
“Disney has created the one story that we all know. And so, in that sense, you could say that it’s had a kind of negative cultural effect. But Disney kept the stories alive. Were it not for Disney, many of these fairy tales might have disappeared.”107
Given the dominance of film and television in entertainment today, an on-screen adaptation of a fairy tale often signals its continued cultural relevance.
But let us return to the main question: are fairy tales for adults or children? Given their seemingly simplistic nature, many might assume they’re for children. However, folklorists and fairy tale scholars, who have studied these tales’ origins, often claim they were intended for adults. Looking at this statistically, in The Fairy Tale: The Magic Mirror of Imagination, Steven Swann Jones divided fairy tales into three subcategories:
Tales for Young Children: These feature prepubescent child protagonists with conflicts centred on proving their competence and worth within family or society (“Hansel and Gretel”).
Tales for Developing Adolescents: Making up the majority of tales, they follow postpubescent adolescents or young adults who leave home, establish a domain of their own, and often find a lover — thus charting a journey to adulthood (“Prince Ivan, the Firebird, and Grey Wolf”).
Tales for Relatively Mature Adults: These focus on mature adults grappling with moral and philosophical questions around marriage, communication, child-rearing, mortality, and financial stability (“The Fisherman and his Wife”).
Swann also observed that roughly 10% of folk and fairy tales feature middle-aged protagonists and about 5% feature old people as protagonists, meaning that around 85% of these tales focus on children, adolescents, or young adults.108
Thus, folk and fairy tales capture the aspirations and challenges of specific age groups within their cultural context. Children can use fairy tales to navigate complex feelings toward their parents, while adults may use fairy tales to find resonance with life’s challenges. Ultimately, fairy tales have always been for both children and adults. They can be retold for any audience, based on need, purpose, or taste. However, if you’re intending to retell fairy tales for children, consider this comment by G.K. Chesterton: “Children are innocent and love justice, while most of us are wicked and naturally prefer mercy.”109
It’s understandable that parents, driven by a desire to protect their children, might assume fairy tales encourage violence. I once had a similar experience; when I was younger, I reenacted the story “Rumpelstiltskin” with my toys on the living room sofa. I recited the king’s line, “If you don’t spin this straw into gold by morning, you will die!” with dramatic flair. My mom, hearing this from a nearby room, got concerned and told me to stop. But I continued, too engrossed in the story to care.
When I first read “Bluebeard” — the tale of a woman who discovers her husband has killed his previous wives — I wasn’t disturbed, perhaps because I sensed the story’s direction, and the journey to the reveal was nonetheless thrilling. I had a similar reaction upon reading “Donkey Skin” (Perrault’s version of “Thousandfurs”): I accepted its implied condemnation of the king’s urges, and understood it as a reflection of life’s darker truths.
Once, after watching an adaptation of “Hansel and Gretel,” in which the stepmother was revealed to be the witch, my cousin declared he’d never watch it again. But I later saw him watching it again, having grown accustomed to its dark twist. Every child is different, and every child is going to react differently to any story. It is ultimately up to them to determine how much they can handle, but parents should also stay open-minded toward their children’s interests.
If parents prefer to share gentler adaptations with their children, it’s worthwhile to introduce them to traditional versions as well. My introduction to “The Goose Girl” was through an episode of Simsala Grimm, where a maid gives the princess a potion that makes her forget who she is. Reading a more faithful adaptation later, and then the Grimms’ version, I was surprised — but quickly accepted — that the princess was forced to swap places with her maid. Years later, I read a comment from someone hesitant to show his nephew the Simsala Grimm version of “Iron Hans,” because it deviated too much from the Grimms’ version.
In my opinion, fairy tales adapted for children are no less valuable than those for adults and should be taken just as seriously. Works for children can have just as much — and sometimes even more — staying power than those for adults. While expressing frustration at the “Disneyfication” of fairy tales, author Terri Windling clarified that her intent wasn’t “to imply a disdain for the efforts of authors whose books are published as children’s literature.” Instead, she emphasized that “fantasy should not be limited to the realm of children’s fiction, but it should also not be taken away from that ground where it has been nurtured and has thrived throughout the century.” A poorly written story — fantasy or otherwise — is simply a bad story, regardless if it’s for adults or children.110
Ultimately, it all comes down to how engaging the story is, not how violent or lighthearted it is. Gory or “saucy” details don’t inherently make a story good; it’s how they’re implemented and executed that counts. “Darkness” and “lightheartedness” are not indicators of quality, nor should they be taken as absolute categories in fairy tale retellings. I believe a fairy tale is at its best when it speaks to both children and adults. Historically, fairy tales have flourished when they appealed to both, a trend that continues to this day. For example, in 2022, the most popular fairy tale adaptations were Puss in Boots: The Last Wish and Guillermo del Toro’s Pinocchio, both of which were aimed at children but tackled themes that resonated with adults as well.
In this series, I have chosen folk and fairy tales that I believe will appeal to both young and old readers. Of course, some tales, like “Bluebeard” or “The Robber Bridegroom,” will resonate more with adults, while others, like “Henny Penny” and “Goldilocks and the Three Bears,” may appeal more to children. Still, I hope there is something for everyone in all of them, hence the title “Fairy Tales for Young and Old.”
About the Series
The idea for this series was inspired by Christian Strich’s Das große Märchenbuch. Initially, I intended to include only 100 tales, but to allow for the inevitable discovery of new (and in some cases rediscovered) stories, I’ve decided to be flexible, adding these as “extras” to the original hundred.
Like Strich, who deliberately mixed literary tales and folk tales without strict scholarly organisation, I’ve done the same. This selection doesn’t aim to be representative of the entire body of folk and fairy tales, whether European or global. While I’ve included some lesser-known traditions, certain regions — particularly Germany and England — are better represented than others. For readers seeking a more balanced selection of European tales, I recommend Maggie Pearson’s The House of the Cats. Similarly, readers interested in a more representative selection of tale types may refer to Stith Thompson’s One Hundred Favorite Folktales.
I simply chose the tales that I found to be the most interesting, or that spoke to me the most. In fact, were I to be asked for my favourite European tales, I’d simply point to this series. My primary goal was to entertain, and to share what I consider to be good stories, so I didn’t follow any strict selection criteria outside of nationality.
Even though the selection is not meant to be representative, it nonetheless offers a solid introduction to folk and fairy tales. Almost all the major tale types and motifs are represented, with examples showing how similar themes play out across different stories. For instance, I’ve included four (or five, if you count “Iron Hans,” as the Grimms did111) versions of “Cinderella”: a blend of Perrault and Grimm, “Thousandfurs” from Grimm, “Cap o’ Rushes” from England, and “Baba Yaga and Vasilisa the Brave” from Russia. Alongside the familiar “Sleeping Beauty,” there is a version where the roles of the sleeper and the rescuer are reversed (“The Sleeping Prince”), and another where the curse is not a hundred-year-old sleep, but a lack of gravity (“The Light Princess”).
Most of the featured stories are transcribed tales, but I’ve also included a generous sampling of oral, literary, and artful tales. While my selection leans towards fairy tales, some of the stories fall more comfortably under the category of folk tales. Although these may seem like different types of stories, I’d argue that they’re not.
For instance, some stories widely recognised as fairy tales, such as “The Emperor’s New Clothes” and “The Princess and the Pea,” contain no magic at all. One could argue they’re actually folk tales that, due to their popularity, have been misclassified as fairy tales. This illustrates how blurry the line is between fairy tales and folk tales and how difficult — if not impossible — it is to neatly separate one from the other.
Furthermore, the chosen folk tales have such imaginative scenarios that they seem as though they couldn’t have come from anywhere but the land of fairy tales: a king disguised as a peasant who’s outwitted by a shepherd, a girl in a cap of rushes who teaches her father about love by use of salt, a woman who boasts of a fish that flew and a hare that swam. This is yet another endearing aspect that all folk and fairy tale share: the ability to turn the outlandish into the ordinary.
Almost all the well-known classics are here, alongside stories that will be familiar to fans of fairy tales (“Bluebeard,” “Snow White and Rose Red,” “East of the Sun and West of the Moon”), and others that will likely be new to the general reader. At least, I hope there will be some new discoveries here for everyone!
From a folkloric perspective, my selection might seem too conventional, as it is mostly comprised of tales extensively discussed in folklore and fairy tale scholarship. Jack Zipes, for instance, had dismissed the canon of perennial classics as “overtly patriarchal and politically conservative in structure and theme” that reflects “the dominant interests of social groups that control cultural forces of production and reproduction.” He had even argued that “there are so many other fascinating and artistic tales that are just as good if not better than the canonical tales.”112
In fact, when discussing the tales collected by Laura Gonzenbach and Giuseppe Pitrè (whose stories “Catherine and her Fate” and, respectively, “The Speaking Bird” appear in this series), Zipes claimed that their collections are “more valuable than the tales of the Brothers Grimm for understanding the breadth and depth of the oral tradition in European and Mediterranean countries.” By this he meant that Gonzenbach’s and Pitrè’s methods of collecting folk tales align more closely with modern standards of folklore scholarship than the Grimms’ approach.113 Such statements illustrate an unfortunate and absolutist tendency to dismiss well-known works to promote lesser-known ones, as though both cannot coexist.
There is truth in Zipes’s claims: Victorian collectors and translators indeed had biases when selecting stories, often excluding those that did not conform with the societal norms of the time. This is why tales with active female protagonists, like “Tatterhood,” “Molly Whuppie,” and “Mastermaid,” were largely unknown until more recent years.
But if selection bias alone explained why certain tales persist, it wouldn’t account for why the vast majority of Victorian fairy tales are now largely forgotten. John Ruskin’s “The King of the Golden River” has little to offer other than superficial wonder and a passive younger brother pittied against caricaturedly wicked brothers. Similarly, Dinah Maria Mulock Craik’s “The Little Lame Prince” presents an empowering depiction of a disabled prince, but it also reflects the moralistic and sentimental piety typical of its era. Even L. Frank Baum remarked that “although it is charmingly written, it is too pitiful in sentiment.”114 As C.S. Lewis observed:
“I am almost inclined to set it up as a canon that a children’s story which is enjoyed only by children is a bad children’s story. The good ones last. A waltz which you can like only when you are waltzing is a bad waltz.”115
The tales that endure do so not necessarily for ideological reasons, as people like Zipes would suggest, but because they’re simply good stories. They contain universal truths about the human experience and condition, which are conveyed with beauty and hidden depth. This isn’t to say there aren’t hidden gems that deserve more attention, and I’ve certainly made an effort to include those as well.
Another aspect that sets my series apart from Strich’s book is that, while Strich included traditional versions of the stories, the ones in this series are my own retellings, adapted from traditional sources. I did this primarily to present them in a way I felt comfortable sharing. For instance, no version of “Jack and the Beanstalk” or “The Longed-For Hedgehog” felt fully satisfying to me, so I shaped them into what I believe are more complete forms. In other cases, such as “Snow White” or “Sleeping Beauty,” I highlighted themes that I feel have been largely unexplored by other storytellers.
For presentation, I avoided a style that felt overly “modernised” or that was too close to something from the nineteenth century, opting instead for a more timeless “fairy tale language.” I also avoided using antiquated words like “thou” and “shalt,” as well as modern terms like “dating” or “girlfriend and boyfriend.” Each tale has its own voice, its own soul, its own tone, and I’ve tried to capture these as faithfully as possible — whether serious, lighthearted, or a blend of both.
My retellings don’t follow the Disney model, but I also didn’t aim for overly dark or gruesome reinterpretations. While I have softened the fate of a character or two, by and large I haven’t sugarcoated the stories. My approach is inspired mostly by Grimm’s Fairy Tale Classics — preserving the originals’ darker elements while giving characters more personality — and by the Märchenfilme, which make these tales more enjoyable for a contemporary audience.
My intent here was not to reinvent the wheel, to subvert expectations, or to make a specific commentary; if I happened to do any of these, it was unintentional. From the outset, it was important to me that I remain as faithful to the original stories as possible; to retain those timeless, magical fairy-tale elements that have been delighting the young and old alike for centuries. Yet, like any storyteller, I’ve made changes where I felt necessary. In some stories, like “The Happy Prince,” I stayed close to the original; in others, like “The Goose Girl,” I took several liberties. My guiding principle when retelling these stories was a Tuscan proverb once quoted by Italo Calvino: “The tale is not beautiful if nothing is added to it.”116
If there was one consistent approach in my adaptations, it was to expand on the characters’ motivations: What was the relationship between Rapunzel and her guardian, or Puss in Boots and his owner, before the main events of their stories? Why did Prince Ivan’s brothers hate him so much? How did Snow White feel about the queen’s treatment of her? My aim was not to turn these stories into psychological deliberations, but to simply make the characters’ actions make more sense to me.
I must also admit that some of the changes I made to the tales are borrowed from other versions, much like how the storytellers of old borrowed from one another. In some cases, I drew from different variants of a story (“Big Peter and Little Peter”); in others, I was influenced by modern adaptations (for instance, my version of “Beauty and the Beast” is partly inspired by the Disney film). But I also added something of my own to these tales, to make them uniquely mine, while honouring the storytellers that came before me.
I initially worried that I might “contaminate” the stories with my own ideas, stripping them of their ambiguity and thematic complexity. But I eventually realised that my role here wasn’t to replace the originals, but to offer my own interpretations, to emphasise the themes and elements that spoke to me the most. I’ve written these tales as I would tell them to anyone who would like to listen — in a “fairy tale language,” yes, but also in my own voice.
Storyteller Robert Nye once recounted how James Reeves advised him never to reveal a story’s source to the audience. “To do so,” argued Nye on behalf of Reeves, “was a bit like publishing recipes for dishes after the food has been eaten. Any cook knows that the secret is in the cooking.”117
This reminds me of the episode “iPie” from iCarly, in which the main characters learn that Mr. Galini, the creator of their favourite coconut cream pie, has passed away. He never shared the recipe with anyone — not with his assistant, not even with his granddaughter — and now his pie shop is set to close. Carly and her friend Sam ask their viewers for coconut cream pie recipes, but none come close to Mr. Galini’s. Finally, they find the recipe cards inside Mr. Galini’s computer, allowing the shop to stay open and the recipe to be enjoyed by all.
While anyone can adapt a recipe to their own taste, it’s essential to know where the recipe started in order to understand how to adapt it. The same goes for folk and fairy tales: without knowing a story’s origins, we can neither share it in our own way nor truly preserve it. If the roots of a story — or a recipe — aren’t maintained, the entire tradition risks fading away.
In the introduction to Folktales Told around the World, Richard M. Dorson stressed the importance of providing background information on traditional tales so that they are better understood and appreciated by the general public:
“Our (folk tale) anthology should pay some tribute to its tale-tellers. To do this means that space must be allowed for more than just the tales. (…) A satisfying note can explain customs, values, and beliefs embodied in the tale, perhaps gloss allusions to historical events and personalities, say something about other forms in which the tale is told and the localities where it is most popular, consider reasons for its appeal, and mention literary versions if they exist as well as describe the technique of the narrator.”118
Following this, I have appended an author’s note at the end of each story in this series, providing details on the story’s sources, origins, and possible interpretations, along with a bibliography listing relevant sources and notable adaptations that have influenced my version or that I find particularly intriguing. I’ve aimed to make these notes accessible and informative for a general audience. In many cases, I’ve chosen not to detail the changes I’ve made to the stories, letting my retellings speak for themselves.
Many of the stories in this series have been with me my whole life, like old friends; others, such as “Catherine and her Fate” and “The Starry-Eyed Shepherd,” I discovered later, but they have quickly become just as dear to me, joining my ever-growing repertoire of tales to share. My only hope is that my versions of these tales will bring joy to others, and that they will resonate with you as much as they did with me.
One word of advice, though, before we begin: if there is a story you would like to tell in your own way — whether from this series or elsewhere — do it! Storytelling has the power to bring people together, to stimulate creativity, and to shape our view of the world. This series is part of this ongoing tradition, and I hope it inspires others to follow suit.
Well then, let us now start our journey into the land of fairy tales...
Selected Bibliography
All factual information in this essay is primarily sourced from the following books, websites, and one documentary. The footnotes include further secondary sources that may be of interest to those who wish to read more on the subject.
Anderson, Graham. Fairy Tales in the Ancient World. Routledge, 2000.
The Annotated Arabian Nights: Tales from 1001 Nights. Translated by Yasmine Seale, edited by Paulo Lemos Horta, Liveright Publishing Corporation, 2021.
Ashliman, D.L. Folk and Fairy Tales: A Handbook. Greenwood Press, 2004.
Ashliman, D.L. “Folklore and Mythology Electronic Texts.” sites.pitt.edu, https://sites.pitt.edu/~dash/folktexts.html. Accessed 1 November 2024.
Ashliman, D.L. A Guide to Folktales in the English Language. Greenwood Press, 1987.
Basile, Giambattista. The Tale of Tales. Translated and edited by Nancy L. Canepa, Wayne State University Press, 2007.
Davidson, Hilda Ellis and Anna Chaudhri, editors. A Companion to the Fairy Tale. D. S. Brewer, 2003.
“Fairy Tales.” Explained, season 3, episode 14, Vox, 15 Oct. 2021.
Gray, William, Joanna Gilar and Rose Williamson. The World Treasury of Fairy Tales & Folklore: A Family Heirloom of Stories to Inspire & Entertain. Wellfleet Press, 2016.
Grimm, Jacob and Wilhelm Grimm. The Original Folk and Fairy Tales of the Brothers Grimm: The Complete First Edition. Translated and edited by Jack Zipes. Princeton University Press, 2014.
Hallett, Martin and Barbara Karasek, editors. Folk & Fairy Tales. 5th ed., Broadview Press, 2018.
Heiner, Heidi Anne. “SurLaLune Fairy Tales.” surlalunefairytales.com, https://www.surlalunefairytales.com/index.html. Accessed 1 November 2024.
Jones, Christine A. and Jennifer Schacker, editors. Marvelous Transformations: An Anthology of Fairy Tales and Contemporary Critical Perspectives. Broadview Press, 2013.
Jones, Steven Swann. The Fairy Tale: The Magic Mirror of Imagination. Routledge, 2002.
Jubber, Nicholas. The Fairy-Tellers: A Journey into the Secret History of Fairy Tales. John Murray, 2022.
Opie, Iona and Peter. The Classic Fairy Tales. 1974. Oxford University Press, 1980.
Perrault, Charles. The Complete Fairy Tales. Translated and edited by Christopher Betts. Oxford University Press, 2009.
Philip, Neil. The Illustrated Book of Fairy Tales. DK Publishing, Inc., 1997.
Propp, Vladimir. Morphology of the Folktale. 2nd edition, translated by Laurence Scott, revised and edited by Louis A. Wagner, University of Texas Press, 1968.
Pullman, Philip. Grimm Tales: For Young and Old. Penguin Books, 2012.
Shah, Idries, editor. World Tales. 1979. ISF Publishing, 2017.
The Stories of Hans Christian Andersen. Translated and edited by Diana Crone Frank and Jeffrey Frank, Houghton Mifflin Company, 2003.
Straparola, Giovan Francesco. The Pleasant Nights. Translated by W. G. Waters, edited by Donald Beecher, 2 vols., University of Toronto Press, 2012.
Tatar, Maria, editor. The Annotated Brothers Grimm. W. W. Norton & Company, 2004.
Tatar, Maria, editor. The Annotated Classic Fairy Tales. W. W. Norton & Company, 2002.
Tatar, Maria, editor. The Classic Fairy Tales. 2nd ed., W. W. Norton & Company, 2017.
Teverson, Andrew. Fairy Tale. Routledge, 2013.
Thompson, Stith. The Folktale. 1946. University of California Press, 1977.
Tolkien, J.R.R. “On Fairy-Stories.” Tree and Leaf. 1938. Unwin Books, 1964.
Uther, Hans-Jörg. The Types of International Folktales: A Classification and Bibliography Based on the System of Antti Aarne and Stith Thompson. 3 vols., FF Communications No. 284–86, Academia Scientiarum Fennica, 2004. (Digitized editions of the ATU Tale Type System are available through open access at https://edition.fi/kalevalaseura/.)
Warner, Marina. Once Upon a Time: A short history of fairy tale. Oxford University Press, 2014.
Ziolkowski, Jan M. Fairy Tales from Before Fairy Tales: The Medieval Latin Past of Wonderful Lies. The University of Michigan, 2007.
Zipes, Jack, editor. The Golden Age of Folk and Fairy Tales: From the Brothers Grimm to Andrew Lang. Hackett Publishing Company, Inc., 2013.
Zipes, Jack, editor. The Great Fairy Tale Tradition: From Straparola and Basile to the Brothers Grimm. W. W. Norton & Company, 2001.
Zipes, Jack. When Dreams Come True: Classical Fairy Tales and Their Tradition. 2nd ed., Routledge, 2007.
The quotes are taken from the following works (listed in order of appearance): Epigraph in Das große Märchenbuch: Die hundert schönsten Märchen aus ganz Europa, edited by Christian Strich; ”The Magic of Fairy Tales” in The Annotated Brothers Grimm, edited by Maria Tatar; Epigraph in Coraline by Neil Gaiman; “Examples and Texts” in Folk and Fairy Tales: A Handbook by D.L. Ashliman.
DEFA is short for the Deutsche Film Aktiengesellschaft (German Film Public Company). For a full discussion on the studio’s history and influence, see “Marvelous Worlds: The Grimms’ Fairy Tales in GDR Children’s Films” by Bettina Kümmerling-Meibauer in Grimms’ Tales around the Globe: The Dynamics of Their International Reception, edited by Vanessa Joosen and Gillian Lathey.
“Thumbelina” in Tales of Hans Christian Andersen, edited by Naomi Lewis
See “Fairy Tale Fiction: Fitzgerald to Updike” in Don’t Tell the Grown-ups: Subversive Children’s Literature by Alison Lurie, and “Jane Eyre and the Beast” by Katherine Langrish via steelthistles.blogspot.com.
“Double Vision: The Dream of Reason” in Once Upon a Time: A short history of fairy tale by Marina Warner
“Forms of the Folktale” in The Folktale by Stith Thompson
“Interview: Editor Chris Duffy on Fairy Tale Comics” by J. Caleb Mozzocco via goodcomicsforkids.slj.com
See Oranges and Lemons: Rhymes from Past Times by Karen Dolby.
“Definitions and Classifications” in Folk and Fairy Tales: A Handbook by D. L. Ashliman
“Forms of the Folktale” in The Folktale by Stith Thompson
“Abusing and Abandoning Children: “Hansel and Gretel,” “Tom Thumb,” “The Pied Piper,” “Donkey-Skin,” and “The Juniper Tree”” in The Enchanted Screen: The Unknown History of Fairy-Tale Films by Jack Zipes
“Research Basics” in Storytellers’ Research Guide: Folktales, myths and legends by Judy Sierra
“About the Tales” in Nursery Tales Around the World by Judy Sierra
“On Fairy-Stories” in Tree and Leaf by J.R.R. Tolkien
See the two variants of “The Three Little Pigs” in Cinderella in America: A Book of Folk and Fairy Tales, edited by William Bernard McCarthy, and “The Three Hares” in Best-Loved Folktales of the World, edited by Joanna Cole, respectively.
“Adapting Fairy-Tale Novels” in The Enchanted Screen: The Unknown History of Fairy-Tale Films by Jack Zipes
“Chapter 1” in The Adventures of Pinocchio by Carlo Collodi, translated by John Hooper and Anna Kraczyna
“The Rabbit Sends in a Little Bill” in Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland by Lewis Carroll
“Introduction” in The Wonderful Wizard of Oz by L. Frank Baum
“On Fairy-Stories” in Tree and Leaf by J.R.R. Tolkien
“Between Sacred Legend and Folktale: A Whale of a Story about a Tenth-Century Fisherman” from Fairy Tales from Before Fairy Tales: The Medieval Latin Past of Wonderful Lies by Jan M. Ziolkowski
“Notes to the Stories” in Celtic Fairy Tales and Legends by Rosalind Kerven
“Foreword” by Robert H. Hock in Fairy Tales: Traditional Stories Retold for Gay Men by Peter Cashorali
“Introduction” in A First Book of Fairy Tales by Mary Hoffman
See “Translation (Written Forms)” by Karen Seago in The Routledge Companion to Media and Fairy-Tale Cultures, edited by Pauline Greenhill, Jill Terry Rudy, Naomi Hamer, and Lauren Bosc, and “Definitions” in Fairy Tale by Andrew Teverson.
See, for instance, “Definitions and Classifications” in Folk and Fairy Tales: A Handbook by D. L. Ashliman, and “Prologue” in Once Upon a Time: A short history of fairy tale by Marina Warner.
“The Folklore Origin and the Definition of the Fairy Tale” in The Fairy Tale: The Magic Mirror of Imagination by Steven Swann Jones
“Introduction” in Folk and Fairy Tales: Fifth Edition by Martin Hallett and Barbara Karasek
“Introduction” in Favorite Folktales from Around the World by Jane Yolen
“Definitions” in Fairy Tale by Andrew Teverson
La Belle et la Bête (Beauty and the Beast), directors Jean Cocteau and René Clément
“On the Couch: House-Training the Id” in Once Upon a Time: A short history of fairy tale by Marina Warner
See Morphology of the Folktale by Vladimir Propp, 2nd edition, translated by Laurence Scott and revised and edited by Louis A. Wagner.
“Definition and History of Fairy Tales” by Carl Lindahl in The Routledge Companion to Media and Fairy-Tale Cultures, edited by Pauline Greenhill, Jill Terry Rudy, Naomi Hamer, and Lauren Bosc
“Introduction: Enjoying the World’s Folktales” in Best-Loved Folktales of the World by Joanna Cole
“Fairy Tale versus Myth: Optimism versus Pessimism” in The Uses of Enchantment: The Meaning and Importance of Fairy Tales by Bruno Bettelheim
“Introduction” by C.M. Woodhouse in Animal Farm by George Orwell, Signet Classic edition
“The Emperor’s New Clothes” by Hans Christian Andersen in The Annotated Classic Fairy Tales, edited by Maria Tatar
“Introduction: The Struggle for Meaning” in The Uses of Enchantment: The Meaning and Importance of Fairy Tales by Bruno Bettelheim
“Introduction” in The Lion Storyteller Book of Animal Tales by Bob Hartman
“Introduction” in Grimm Tales: For Young and Old by Philip Pullman
“Author’s Note” in The Rumpelstiltskin Problem by Vivian Vande Velde
“Rumpelstiltskin” by Jacob and Wilhelm Grimm in The Annotated Classic Fairy Tales, edited by Maria Tatar
“The Nixie of the Pond” by David Holt in More Ready-to-Tell Tales From Around the World, edited by David Holt and Bill Mooney
“Introduction” in World Tales by Idries Shah
“Creativity and Tradition in the Fairy Tale” by Neil Philip in A Companion to the Fairy Tale, edited by Hilda Ellis Davidson and Anna Chaudhri
“On Fairy-Stories” in Tree and Leaf by J.R.R. Tolkien
“Introduction” in Angela Carter’s Book of Fairy Tales by Angela Carter
“On Fairy-Stories” in Tree and Leaf by J.R.R. Tolkien
See “Puss in Boots: Folktales of type 545B,” edited by D.L. Ashliman via sites.pitt.edu and The Enchanted Gazelle: An African Fairy Tale and also Puss in Boots by Saviour Pirotta.
See the following: “Brothers Turned into Birds: Folktales of Type 451,” edited by D.L. Ashliman via sites.pitt.edu; “The Eagles” in Polish Folk Tales by A.J. Glinski, translated by Maude Ashurst Biggs; “The Unknown Sister” in The Illustrated Book of Fairy Tales by Neil Philip.
See, for instance, The Vain Little Mouse by Eduard José and Janet Riehecky; I also consulted other non-English renditions of the story, such as Audiocuentos: La Ratita Presumida, published by Salvat, Fiabe Classiche: La topolina vanitosa, published by Mandadori, and “La Ratita Presumida” in 25 Cuentos Clásicos, published by Susaeta.
See “Martina Martínez and Pérez the Mouse” in Tales Our Abuelitas Told: A Hispanic Folktale Collection by Alma Flor Ada, and “Martina Martínez and Pérez the Mouse” in The Dragon Slayer: Folktales from Latin America by Jaime Hernandez.
“Two Homeric tales: The Cyclops and Ares and Aphrodite” in Fairytale in the Ancient World by Graham Anderson
See Beauty and the Beast: Classic Tales About Animal Brides and Grooms from Around the World, edited by Maria Tatar.
See Fairytale in the Ancient World by Graham Anderson, and Fairy Tales from Before Fairy Tales: The Medieval Latin Past of Wonderful Lies by Jan M. Ziolkowski.
“Definition and History of Fairy Tales” by Carl Lindahl in The Routledge Companion to Media and Fairy-Tale Cultures, edited by Pauline Greenhill, Jill Terry Rudy, Naomi Hamer, and Lauren Bosc
See “Panchatantra”, edited by D.L. Ashliman via sites.pitt.edu.
See “Three Fussy Men” (Sanskrit variant of “The Princess and the Pea”) in The Ocean of Story: Fairy Tales from India by Caroline Ness.
See Shakespeare and the Folktale: An Anthology of Stories, edited by Charlotte Artese; for younger readers, see also Shakespeare’s Storybook: Folk Tales that Inspired the Bard by Patrick Ryan, which includes an extensive bibliography.
See Chaucer’s Decameron and the Origin of The Canterbury Tales by Frederick M. Biggs.
“Fairytales much older than previously thought, say researchers” by Alison Flood via theguardian.com
“Introduction” in The Classic Fairy Tales by Iona and Peter Opie
See The Arabian Nights by Wafa’ Tarnowska, and “The Prince and the Tortoise” by Ramona Fradon and Chris Duff in Fairy Tale Comics.
Part Four of The Fairy-Tellers: A Journey into the Secret History of Fairy Tales by Nicholas Jubber
“Reading the Grimms’ Children’s Stories and Household Tales: Origins and Cultural Effects of the Collection” in The Annotated Brothers Grimm by Maria Tatar
“Fairy Tales” from Explained, season 3, episode 14, creators Ezra Klein and Joe Posner
“Cinderella” in The Annotated Brothers Grimm by Maria Tatar
“The Ultimate Fairy Tale: Oral Transmission in a Literate World” by Ruth Bottigheimer in A Companion to the Fairy Tale, edited by Hilda Ellis Davidson and Anna Chaudhri
“Rewriting the Core: Transformations of the Fairy Tale in Contemporary Writing” by Tom Shippey in A Companion to the Fairy Tale, edited by Hilda Ellis Davidson and Anna Chaudhri
Quoted in Part Seven of The Fairy-Tellers: A Journey into the Secret History of Fairy Tales by Nicholas Jubber
“Introduction” in The Annotated Brothers Grimm by A.S. Byatt
“Hans Christian Andersen” in The Classic Fairy Tales: Second Edition, edited by Maria Tatar
“The consolidation of a genre: the Brothers Grimm to Hans Christian Andersen” in Fairy Tale by Andrew Teverson
“Introduction” in Fairy Tales of the Brothers Grimm by Neil Philip
“Scholarship and Approaches” in Folk and Fairy Tales: A Handbook by D.L. Ashliman
“In the Dock: Don’t Bet on the Prince” in Once Upon a Time: A short history of fairy tale by Marina Warner
“Voices on the Page: Tales, Tellers, & Translators” in Once Upon a Time: A short history of fairy tale by Marina Warner
“Fairy Tales from a Folkloric Perspective” by Alan Dundes, reprinted in Folk and Fairy Tales: Fifth Edition, edited by Martin Hallett and Barbara Karasek
“Why a New History of Fairy Tales?” in Fairy Tales: A New History by Ruth B. Bottigheimer
“Creativity and Tradition in the Fairy Tale” by Neil Philip in A Companion to the Fairy Tale, edited by Hilda Ellis Davidson and Anna Chaudhri
See Cinderella: Three Hundred and Forty-five Variants of Cinderella, Catskin, and Cap O’ Rushes, abstracted and tabulated by Marian Roalfe Cox.
“Life Divined from the Inside” in The Uses of Enchantment: The Meaning and Importance of Fairy Tales by Bruno Bettelheim
“On the Use and Abuse of Folk and Fairy Tales with Children: Bruno Bettelheim's Moralistic Magic Wand” in Breaking the Magic Spell: Radical Theories of Folk and Fairy Tales (Revised and Expanded Edition) by Jack Zipes
“Jack Zipes and the Many Subversions of the Fairytale,” interview by Richard Marshall via 3-16am.co.uk
See The Enchanted Screen: The Unknown History of Fairy-Tale Films by Jack Zipes.
“The Utopian Function of Fairy Tales and Fantasy: Ernst Bloch the Marxist and J.R.R. Tolkien the Catholic” in Breaking the Magic Spell: Radical Theories of Folk and Fairy Tales (Revised and Expanded Edition) by Jack Zipes
“On the Use and Abuse of Folk and Fairy Tales with Children: Bruno Bettelheim's Moralistic Magic Wand” in Breaking the Magic Spell: Radical Theories of Folk and Fairy Tales (Revised and Expanded Edition) by Jack Zipes
“Acknowledgements” in Once Upon a Time: A short history of fairy tale by Marina Warner
“Introduction” in Fairy Tale by Andrew Teverson
“Making Peace with the Definition Beast” in Fairy Tales 101: An Accessible Introduction to Fairy Tales by Jeana Jorgensen
“Beauty and the Beast” by Jeanne-Marie Leprince de Beaumont in The Annotated Classic Fairy Tales, edited by Maria Tatar
“Introduction” in Favorite Folktales from Around the World by Jane Yolen
See “Copyright for Storytellers” in Storytellers’ Research Guide: Folktales, myths and legends by Judy Sierra.
“Preface” in The Lilac Fairy Book by Andrew Lang
In the case of “The Light Princess,” its connection to “Sleeping Beauty” is self-evident; in the case of the other tales, see “The Story of the Three Bears” in The Annotated Classic Fairy Tales, edited by Maria Tatar, and “Commentaries on the Tales” in Fairy Tales of Hans Christian Andersen (Barnes & Noble Books) by Jack Zipes.
See “Unfinished and Endless Stories,” edited by D.L. Ashliman via sites.pitt.edu.
”Where the Gruffalo roams” by Robert McCrum via theguardian.com
“Epilogue” in The Fairy-Tellers: A Journey into the Secret History of Fairy Tales by Nicholas Jubber
“Preface” in The Lilac Fairy Book by Andrew Lang
“Introduction” in The Macmillan Treasury of Nursery Stories by Mary Hoffman
“Sources” in The Troll with No Heart in His Body and Other Tales of Trolls from Norway by Lise Lunge-Larsen
“Once Upon a Time” in The Land of Stories: The Wishing Spell by Chris Colfer
“The Eye and the Ear” in Touch Magic: Fantasy, Faerie & Folklore in the Literature of Childhood (Expanded Edition) by Jane Yolen
“Introduction” in 100 Animated Feature Films (Revised Edition) by Andrew Osmond
“Illustration” in Folk and Fairy Tales: Fifth Edition by Martin Hallett and Barbara Karasek
“Fairy Tales” from Explained, season 3, episode 14, creators Ezra Klein and Joe Posner
“The Thematic Core of Fairy Tales” and “Notes” in The Fairy Tale: The Magic Mirror of Imagination by Steven Swann Jones
Quoted in “Fantasy, Recovery, Escape, and Consolation” in The Uses of Enchantment: The Meaning and Importance of Fairy Tales by Bruno Bettelheim.
“Introduction: White as Snow: Fairy Tales and Fantasy” by Terri Windling in Snow White, Blood Red, edited by Ellen Datlow and Terri Windling
See “Notes to Volumes I and II” in The Original Folk and Fairy Tales of the Brothers Grimm: The Complete First Edition, translated and edited by Jack Zipes.
“Toward a Theory of the Fairy Tale as Literary Genre” in Why Fairy Tales Stick: The Evolution and Relevance of a Genre by Jack Zipes
“Preface” by Jack Zipes in The Collected Sicilian Folk and Fairy Tales of Giuseppe Pitrè, Volume 1 and 2, translated and edited by Jack Zipes and Joseph Russo
“Modern Fairy Tales” by L. Frank Baum in The Wizard of Oz (Schocken Books Edition), edited by Michael Patrick Hearn
“On Three Ways of Writing for Children” in On Stories: And Other Essays on Literature by C.S. Lewis
“Introduction” in Italian Folktales by Italo Calvino, translated by George Martin
“Some notes on the stories” in Lord Fox and other Spine-Chilling Tales by Robert Nye
“Introduction: Choosing the World’s Folktales” by Richard M. Dorson in Folktales Told around the World, edited by Richard M. Dorson