Skip to main content

Red Ridinghood

A major treat of parenting has been my rediscovery of folk tales and fairy tales. Not that I ever really forgot them. But now they are back in my life in a big, big way.

The gateway drug was James Marshall.

Late in his career, Marshall turned to retellings, "Goldilocks" and "Red Ridinghood" among them. Though Marshall stays fairly close to the original (or "pseudo-original") text, his pictures tell their own stories: a shoeless Prince lazily reading novels when he should be dating, a crazed Fairy Godmother sticking halfway out of the frame, a pig in suspenders and a banker hat. Everyone now calls Marshall a genius, and that's fair enough. You can see the joy in the retellings.

I've traveled farther afield, with "Rumpelstiltskin" and "The Ugly Duckling." The authors are titans in their own way: Paul Zelinsky and Jerry Pinkney. I think neither has Marshall's sense of humor; neither has Marshall's flair for language. But Zelinsky paints like he is Bruegel. And Pinkney's ravishing, emotional images of nature make me think of Turner.

I'm looking forward to receiving "Snow White in New York," which turns Snow White into a flapper, in the 1920s. After that, I have an eye on "Rapunzel" (Zelinsky), "Jack and the Beanstalk" (Kellogg), "Chicken Little" (Kellogg)....

American tall tales can't be far behind....

Happy reading to you this weekend.
Labels:

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

How to Host a Baby

-You have assumed responsibility for a mewling, puking ball of life, a yellow-lab pup. He will spit his half-digested kibble all over your shoes, all over your hard-cover edition of Jennifer Haigh's novel  Faith . He will eat your tables, your chairs, your "I {Heart] Montessori" magnet, placed too low on the fridge. When you try to watch Bette Davis in  Hush Hush Sweet Charlotte , on your TV, your dog will bark through the murder-prologue, for no apparent reason. He will whimper through Lena Dunham's  Girls , such that you have to rewind several times to catch every nuance of Andrew Rannells's ad-libbing--and, still, you'll have a nagging suspicion you've missed something. Your dog will poop on the kitchen floor, in the hallway, between the tiny bars of his crate. He'll announce his wakefulness at 5 AM, 2 AM, or while you and another human are mid-coitus. All this, and you get outside, and it's: "Don't let him pee on my tulips!" When...
3 comments
Read more

The Death of Bergoglio

  It's frustrating for me to hear Bergoglio described as "the less awful pope"--because awful is still awful. I think I get fixated on ideas of purity, which can be juvenile, but putting that aside, here are some things that Bergoglio could have done and did not. (I'm quoting from a survivor of sexual abuse at the hands of the Church.) He could levy the harshest penalty, excommunication, against a dozen or more of the most egregious abuse enabling church officials. (He's done this to no enablers, or predators for that matter.) He could insist that every diocese and religious order turn over every record they have about suspected and known abusers to law enforcement. Francis could order every prelate on the planet to post on his diocesan website the names of every proven, admitted and credibly accused child molesting cleric. (Imagine how much safer children would be if police, prosecutors, parents and the public knew the identities of these potentially dangerous me...
1 comment
Read more

Raymond Carver: "What's in Alaska?"

Outside, Mary held Jack's arm and walked with her head down. They moved slowly on the sidewalk. He listened to the scuffing sounds her shoes made. He heard the sharp and separate sound of a dog barking and above that a murmuring of very distant traffic.  She raised her head. "When we get home, Jack, I want to be fucked, talked to, diverted. Divert me, Jack. I need to be diverted tonight." She tightened her hold on his arm. He could feel the dampness in that shoe. He unlocked the door and flipped the light. "Come to bed," she said. "I'm coming," he said. He went to the kitchen and drank two glasses of water. He turned off the living-room light and felt his way along the wall into the bedroom. "Jack!" she yelled. "Jack!" "Jesus Christ, it's me!" he said. "I'm trying to get the light on." He found the lamp, and she sat up in bed. Her eyes were bright. He pulled the stem on the alarm and b...
1 comment
Read more