How do I love thee, Provensen Book of Fairy Tales

(Tiny disclaimer: this is a subject which most likely won’t interest anyone other than myself, yet since it’s quite near and dear to my own heart, and since I write primarily for myself anyways, I’m going to give it the full attention I believe it deserves.)

Once upon a time, a little girl was given a gift by her stepmother. The stepmother was not evil, you see, but very gentle and kind, if only a little scatterbrained. The gift she gave to her little stepdaughter was an old storybook, very worn and with positively hideous illustrations, but nevertheless containing the most extraordinarily beautiful and magnificent tales. The book afforded the girl countless hours of delight, and she treasured the book among her most prized possessions. And so the years passed, and the little girl grew a little less little, and she visited the stories of the book a little less often, though she still cherished it. One fateful morning, her stepmother came to her with a very apologetic look on her face and regretfully informed her that she could no longer keep the beloved book. It had originally been given to the stepmother’s evil sister by their late father, and now the evil step-aunt demanded its return. The poor stepmother was too gentle and kind to object, and the little girl had no choice but to surrender the book forever, though it nearly broke her heart.

A few more years passed, as they inevitably do, and the little girl was now all grown up. So many other things filled her crowded head that she had all but forgotten about the lost book that she’d loved so long ago so well. Until one day when she was perusing an edition of Grimm’s Fairy Tales from her father’s collection of old books, and some little thing made her think of what she hadn’t thought of in years. And then, oh how she longed to see that book again, with all the wistful nostalgia of a homesick traveler. But how could she find it? Communication with the evil step-aunt was so not an option, but she didn’t even remember the book’s name, only vague fragments of the stories it contained. Fortunately for her, she was equipped with some mad research skills, and after about an hour of intensive searching on the web she finally and triumphantly discovered the name of the book: The Provensen Book of Fairy Tales. But what’s this? Out of print and widely unavailable? The girl was not afraid. She boldly availed herself of her trusty library card and within a few short days the book was back in her hands. And then, how it all came rushing back to her as if no time at all had passed. And she lived happily ever after (I hope). The End.

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I don’t care how old I get, I’ll always have plenty of room in my heart for good fairytales well told. Which is exactly what fills the Provensen Book of Fairy Tales, a delightful little out-of-print collection of fairytales both common and obscure recounted by a variety of authors. In fact, this book left such an impression on me in my childhood that even after it was long lost to me I retained enough affection and consideration for it that I was able and willing to track it down many years later, and that having finally found it I want to write about it here.

The Provensen Book of Fairy Tales contains what it refers to as “literary fairy tales” as opposed to “folk fairy tales”, explaining in the foreword that “The literary tale borrows shamelessly from the folk tale but gives it a new twist or dimension.” As such, these stories somehow manage to feel delightfully fresh and new, yet also old as the earth itself. Not to mention the fact that many of them are also expertly and ingeniously crafted works of literature. (Although I never did care much for the strange illustrations.) This collection contains several well-known works, such as Hans Christian Andersen’s “The Nightingale”, Oscar Wilde’s heartbreaking “The Happy Prince”, and a version of "Beauty and the Beast" by famous illustrator Arthur Rackham. Yet my personal favorites from among this collection (with the possible exception of “The Happy Prince”) are the more obscure stories taken from lesser-known anthologies. In particular:

“The Lost Half-Hour” by Henry Beston. In which a poor simpleton named Bobo volunteers to find the half-hour lost by the princess when she overslept one morning. His journey takes him around the world and eventually to the land of Father Time and his twelve sons. The hard-won lost half hour proves instrumental in rescuing his true love the kitchen maid upon his return. (Along the way, Bobo also finds a lost reputation, a lost temper, and a lost princess as well.)

“The Seven Simons” by Ruth Manning-Sanders. In which a ridiculously vain emperor sends seven brothers named Simon, who each have a special skill, to steal the only princess in the world beautiful and clever enough to be his bride. But as clever as the beautiful princess may be, is she any match for the seven Simons?

“The Prince and the Goose Girl” by Elinor Mordaunt. My all-time favorite, which is NOT to be confused with the Grimm tale of a similar name upon which the inexplicably popular Shannon Hale novel is based. In this story, a powerful prince rules his kingdom through fear and intimidation, and only a little goose girl (equally proud and stubborn, but infinitely more gentle) refuses to fear him. He falls in love with her, of course, but being proud and stubborn he goes about it all wrong. For herself, she insists she’ll never marry him unless he gets down on his knees and asks politely. Think that’s not too much to ask? You’ve clearly never met the prince.

These are only a few of the wonderful stories contained in this book. For anyone who has an appreciation for truly great fairy tales, I suggest you hunt down the Provensen collection as soon as feasibly possible; it will not disappoint. Now, I’ve just got to see to hooking my own copy because the library’ll probably be wanting theirs one of these days.