Losing it

I’ve been thinking about loss and fairy tales lately. It’s the prologue to most stories, shaping the hero’s or heroine’s current misfortune. Be they motherless, fatherless, or orphans loss is the beginning of a story in fairy tales. Disney has made this fact into a cliché. It’s been joked that Frozen didn’t become a true Disney movie until (spoiler alert) the parents are lost at sea. I almost think it’s pointless to warn you of the spoiler because as I mentioned before, it’s Disney’s hallmark.

So what can fairy tales tell us about loss? Is it the impetus that makes ordinary people into heroes? Do princesses (or would be princesses) jump at the chance to marry royal strangers because of “daddy issues”? Are feelings of abandonment just the push a boy needs to take on giants and consider thievery as a way of life? Maybe yes, but maybe nothing so blatant.

As a historian, I’m aware that these stories were written in a time when disease, war or poverty would likely tear apart families. But fairy tales don’t care about the mundane. They focus on the fantastical, spinning tales that take us out of the everyday. Wouldn’t you want to escape a reality in which becoming orphaned probably only meant a life of impoverishment and servitude? In the real world, Cinderella would have grown old and haggard at the beck and call of those three spiteful cats. Or she would have run away to the city and been forced into prostitution to survive.

Am I the only one who sees a face?

Am I the only one who sees a face?

But I’m not just a historian. I’m a person with whimsy who sees imprisoned souls in strangely shaped trees. All it takes is a too bright moon and I immediately start to spin a tale about a community of nightwalkers affected by its phases, collecting magical Moonshine. Not all the ideas become a full-fledged story, but more than a fair share get filed in my ideas folder. And one of the most basic things everyone wonders about is death and loss, so why isn’t it a prominent feature in fairy tales? Sleeping Beauty side-steps it with a sleeping spell meant to keep her in suspended animation for a century waiting for her “true love.” Snow White is barely cold in her glass coffin before Prince Charming comes along and dislodges the chunk of apple the dwarves were clearly too short to Heimlich. Red Riding Hood and her grandmother are swallowed whole by the Wolf only to be cut out of his belly by the Woodsman. Even the newest old story, Frozen, gives us a heroine who sacrifices her life and is rewarded by it being returned to her.

In my search for loss in fairy tales, I came across a story from my childhood. It falls under folklore and legend more than fairy tale, and is a popular story in Puerto Rico. It’s called La Leyenda de la Piedra del Perro, or The Legend of Dog Rock. Not far from El Morro in Old San Juan there’s a small beach with a long natural rock wall. At its tip is a rock formation that when looked at from the right angle resembles a sitting dog.

The story goes that a soldier, Enrique, from back when Puerto Rico was part of Spain, was stationed there, far from home and lonely for companionship. One day he finds an injured and emaciated puppy whom he nurses back to health with food and love. In return the dog never leaves his side and becomes his best friend. As is inevitable with all soldiers, Enrique is called to a battle which requires him to leave the dog behind. They part tearfully and as the boat carrying his human companion sails away, the dog (called Amigo) swims to the rock wall and sits there from sun up to sundown awaiting his return. There’s a brutal battle in which all hands, including Enrique, are lost. The dog overhears the news and rushes out to the wall waiting without respite. He stays so long and so still he turns to stone and remains there to this day.

I’m not sure what that story teaches us. On the one hand loss is something that can’t be gotten over and you can remain stuck in a moment of despair without moving on. Or it could mean that loss forces out the very nature of a being. For the dog, it was loyalty. It could be said that for the characters of popular fairy tales, it was a desire to be more or escape their current situation. In both cases, it led to profound change. Fairy tales teach us that no matter how mundane today might seem and yesterday was, tomorrow could be extraordinary–either good or ill. They teach us that loss is not the end of the story.

National Book Lovers’ Day

Today is a day to think about how books affect us.

I’m a writer so I’m sure it comes as no surprise that I’m also a reader. Avid is the word I would use and sometimes obsessive is another phrase I’d tack on to my literary addiction. If you’re reading this, I assume you’re a reader, too. As such I’m sure you can relate to what I’m going to share with you.

Working on rewrites with book 2 in my series has brought about ideas for books 3, 4, and 5. At first I was over the moon that I now know the beginning middle and end of this series that has lived in my mind for so long. It’s become a very real place, this world I’ve created with characters I’ve come to see as old friends. I have glimpses of this world in my mind’s eye when I’m not writing and I’m struck by such a powerful urge to get back to my notebook and keep writing. However, I’ve also started feeling anxious about what happens next.

When I read a really good book, I invest not just time but emotions in the story. The characters become part of my day to day life and I wonder what they’re doing and what will happen to them. The phrase THE END becomes bittersweet and I miss those people I invited in to my consciousness. The same will happen, one day, when I finish this series. Years from now I will write that same phrase on a page and mean it. For the longest time I didn’t understand this sensation when I read, but now as a writer I know exactly what to call it. It’s loss and for a period of time, sometimes a few days sometimes a week or two, I grieve. I grieve by not picking up a new story and think about the events over and over again. I remember the sad bits, the parts when I couldn’t put the book down because I needed to know where I was leaving these friends before going to sleep, and I smile privately at some inside joke or moment of tenderness that I was allowed to witness.

I almost fear this with my own books. I know what will happen in book 5, but it hasn’t been written yet. So I can tell myself I have time. But the story continues to tell itself to me in quick snatches and long dreams insisting on being finished.

Just with the books I read, one day I’ll start to feel restless and unaccountable uncomfortable with my surroundings. I’ll tell myself it’s the weather or that the day to day hectic rush is getting to me. But I’ll realize I’m just missing my outlet—I’ll need a story. Only this time I’ll itch for a pen and I’ll meet a whole new batch of friends that I create despite knowing I’ll miss them terribly at some future date when I type the words…


That’s being a book lover. Enjoy the holiday!