Up until late 2024, I’d never imagined I would be writing fairy tales—not retellings, but an original collection. Fairy tales and high fantasy were a couple of my least favorite genres. I mean, I hated them. I’ve always loved magic and whimsy, but the fundamental values of obedience and tradition easily put a damper on my naturally curious and experimental spirit.
It was The School for Good and Evil book series that started me on my fairy-tale journey. Of course, in the beginning, I attempted to right all the wrongs with fanfiction. My understanding of fairy tales was that they were outdated stories long overdue for their own museum exhibit. I’d still argue that the Endless Woods should’ve been a realm of all stories, not just fairy tales, and that the Storian was the true villain, but this isn’t the post for that discussion.
Anyway, I ended up growing too curious about fairy tales. There had to be more than just the Brothers Grimm, right? How did they even start writing these tales? Wait, they collected them? From German peasants? No, from upper-middle-class French women? What!
Turned out, the history of fairy tales was a lot more hazy and complex than I’d been expecting. At the end of the day, they are stories—most with roots in folk tales—told by humans for humans.
Although Jack Zipes views fairy tales through a strict neo-Marxist lens, his books were exactly what I needed to process my initial hatred. That is why I recommend him to people who hate fairy tales. Seeing the sacred, elusive, be-all and end-all aura that surrounded them getting ripped apart until nothing but the sociocultural-political skeleton remained was cathartic. At the time, I could not be open to someone as lofty as Bruno Bettelheim, who approached the subject like a Freudian priest. I needed a hammer to shatter everything I thought I knew about fairy tales, for only then could I pick up and re-examine the pieces.
Fairy tales aren’t simply cautionary tales or tools of the patriarchy or whatever. I think Ruth B. Bottigheimer said it best:
Fairy tales, which speak in a language well understood in the modern world, remain relevant because they allude to deep hopes for material improvement, because they present illusions of happiness to come, and because they provide social paradigms that overlap nearly perfectly with daydreams of a better life.
To be clear, I don’t believe old tales necessarily have to be rewritten or modernized. I believe we should preserve them, understand the times in which they were written, and try to find little kernels of truth that are still relevant. Just because a tale is old doesn’t mean it has to be subverted or updated. It’s a product of its time and served a function, but that doesn’t always mean it’s totally irrelevant now.
For example, the wolf in “Little Red Riding Hood” is a predator, not a misunderstood soul who just went down the wrong path. He preys on the young and naive because that’s what predators do, and there will always be some type of predator in the real world. We don’t have to give him a tragic backstory to make him more sympathetic in the name of social justice. There is a difference between someone who fights their urges and seeks to recover, and someone who knows what they are doing is selfish and harmful, yet indulges their urges without guilt. The wolf represents the latter.
You could write about a wolf that battles with their dark impulses, but what would properly subvert the tale is a line drawn between systemic sympathy and personal accountability. It acknowledges the originally intended function while presenting a more nuanced perspective. Alternatively, you could try what The Company of Wolves did and give Red agency, turning her from a victim into a weapon against predation.
The problem with modern fairy tales isn’t that they’re subversive because “the West is falling.” The real problem is that too many writers are forcing them to wear trendy clothing, especially tales that have been adapted to death. Historical context and accuracy mean nothing. Stories outside the most visited European regions continue to be ignored. If you have to change the source material so drastically, why not just write an original story? It’s because no one would read it, isn’t it?
Sigh. The damage the American publishing industry has done to us writers…
Look, it isn’t impossible to find in the tales of old human experiences, desires, and challenges that parallel the modern social climate before confronting it fairy-tale style. Yet not enough writers seem to realize this, and thus we end up with another Princess Girlboss. Will someone ever adapt the queer tale “The Dog in the Sea?” Please, don’t make me do it. I’ll make it too weird. (Kidding.)
That surely begs the question, though: why don’t I retell lesser-known tales? Why did I choose to write new?
Well, retelling just isn’t my thing despite having enjoyed The Company of Wolves, Snow White: A Tale of Terror, and Ever After. I love the simplicity and dream-like logic of fairy tales, but rather than revisit the same tales, I wanted to create a new collection that marries the past, present, and future, as well as comforts the outcasts and misjudged. Stories that caution children and adults alike have a purpose, but we are in a time where we can afford to exercise more curiosity about the world, the universe, and ourselves. We mustn’t forget that hope is the heart of many fairy tales.
However, even in this age of instant information and media preservation, I’m not sure my stories will truly stand the test of time. The staying power of a story depends on factors beyond my control. A story has to have characters, themes, and motifs that resonate with a great number of people. Institutional backing and industry support (e.g., Disney) are also major players in shaping culture, but you need to be in the right place at the right time and, most importantly, know the right people. Personally, I have no interest in networking or marketing my work. I’d rather scream into the void than scream myself to the loony bin.
Regardless, I will be leaving a trail of stories behind that might or might not be read by a significant amount of readers. I’ve become much more at peace with the idea of writing “hidden gems.” I’m not here to change or save the world. I am not a knight or a banner-waving activist. I’m more of a lighthouse: alone yet not lonely, offering light to the lost and wandering, and I hope that shines through Tales from the Stars.