LES CONTES DE NUTTHELO - MANDSDRAGT

Il la fait habiller en homme (perte d'identité de genre), ... DÉSHUMANISATION - Sandra: je dirais DÉFÉMINISATION

Elle souffre le martyre à chaque balade à cheval, ...

French Instagrammer and fairytale geek Nutthelo on the mandsdragt scene. She sees the prince's decision to put the Little Foundling in a suit as a way to make her lose her gender identity (she was far more feminine until then) and calls it dehumanisation. I would say it is rather defeminisation, loss of a feminine identity... Nuthelo agrees with Jacob Bøggild that the Prince is doing it to protect his own straight male sexuality from temptation...

 and I add that the character is a teen who is discovering her gender and sexuality. Maybe she is, like Brienne of Tarth and others, a cisgender teen tomboy? Both Brienne and the Little Foundling are in unrequited love with handsome young men (though the Prince loves the Convent Girl and Renly loves Loras, a boy). 

Also, even if the Victorian/Biedermeier era was far more patriarchal, the Little Foundling is, just like she explores her body and identity, exploring the land kingdom with all the freedom that her suit/mandsdragt allows her, through outdoor activities like horseback riding and mountaineering (even though those activities were masculine-coded back then). She is, like Queen Christina, Julie d'Aubigny, Eugénie Danglars... a New Woman before New Women existed, a Proto-New Woman.

But the Little Mermaid was an introverted girly-girl as a child, and the most spirited (dynamic, we world say tomboyish) back then, her spiritual predecessor, was one of her older siblings, the Third Sister (yaaaay! New Andersen character introduced!) who was the one who ventured deepest into the human realm until the Little Mermaid changed species, and also the first to come into contact with humans.

Illustrations by blog_mellow: in his version the Third Sister looks like Ariel, while the Little Mermaid/Foundling is platinum blonde. The setting is Biedermeier (as usual); when we reach the mandsdragt scene, I will analyse her outfit once more...

The Third Sister, as a teen, swam up a river that empties itself into the ocean (it was summer, she had to cool her face by plunging it time and again); she came across hilly riverbanks with palaces, manors, forests and vineyards (I headcanon this as the Loire Valley because 1) the Loire empties itself into the Atlantic; 2) the summer there is burning hot; 3) the landscape is the same, Renaissance châteaux and manors, forest, and vineyards), on the top of the riverbank hills).

In a little creek, the Third Sister came across some human children splashing around, and she played with them (neither party was afraid, both of them were curious), until the bark of their pet puppy drove her away at breakneck speed, back into the ocean. That, and the fresh water didn't agree with her marine system.

Andersen says that the Third Sister never forgot about her adventures, especially about the human kids who could swim so well without having tails (and who were as little afraid of her as she was afraid of them). It was a loud noise that drove her away, something unheard of underwater. I headcanon the Third Sister as being the Little Mermaid's favourite sibling and the one she most admired, the one whose adventures she listened the most to, the one who inspired her to collect thingamabobs from shipwrecks and, years later, to explore both her identity and the land kingdom through horseback riding and mountaineering in a bespoke man's suit (ignoring that her one true love did so in order to defeminise her and protect himself from temptation)...

"No male shall ever put on female's clothing; neither shall ever a female put on male's clothing, for both of these are Abominations unto the LORD." Deuteronomy 22:5.

This taboo is still held today by many patriarchal, conservative religions, especially evangelical cults like Jehovah's Witnesses or Remnant Bride. In some of these cults, women are not allowed to wear trousers in Church; in others, they're not allowed to wear trousers AT ALL (but in none of those cults can women SPEAK during the service because Saint Paul said so: Corinthians 14:34)....

And gays, lesbians, queers... have it even WORSE than straight women. Remnant Bride even claims that ladies' jeans were invented by SATAN... One of their worst rants against gender deviance is this essay on HYENAS, foul-smelling scavengers yet matriarchal and pseudo-hermaphroditic, that dynamic women like Mary Wollstonecraft and Schiller's sans-culottes were always compared to

The hyena essay (take this with a grain of salt - evangelical propaganda!):

https://www.remnantbride.com/hyena/spotted.htm

The Schiller fragment - Marianna Wertz translation:

Then wives into hyenas growing

Do make with horror jester’s art,

Still quiv’ring, panther’s teeth employing,

They rip apart the enemy’s heart.

Sir Terry Pratchett famously satirises at once war, the patriarchy, and homophobia in his most glorious Discworld novel, Monstrous Regiment, set in a Ruritanian land where nearly all the men have been either killed or imprisoned in a decades-long war, leading many brave women to join the army en travesti, even though they risk eternal damnation due to a sacred text full of arbitrary laws (including Deuteronomy 22:5, of course).

Donegild - the Temptress with a Twist

 Chaucer Analysis

Donegild - the Temptress with a Twist -

or - was the messenger innocent at heart?

The messenger in The Man of Law's Tale gets drunk in the court of the queen mother, and thereby falls victim to her plan to switch messages regarding the fate of the heroine of the story. She uses drunkenness in a way that is usually interpreted as an evil exploitation to do harm to the story's protagonist; however, we can see it as an attempt to save her country and son and religion from Custance's foreign influence. The unusual role of Donegild as a temptress using the messenger's fondness for alcohol to get him drunk and into her power plays with the traditional idea of evil women as temptresses, because she is not so much tempting the messenger as letting him lead himself into sin. Chaucer complicates the morality of The Man of Law's Tale by making the queen mother's actions understandable. By doing this, he challenges the reader to consider that even those who seem to do evil can have good reasons for it.

 In the case of The Man of Law 's Tale, the temptation of a man to sin by a woman, especially since the messenger is far from a heroic figure, is a reversal of a typical plot for a saint's life. This clouds the moral nature of the tale by presenting a woman preying on a man for the purpose of protecting her family, country, and, most ironically, religion, as the narrator stresses that her country (Northumbria) is not Christian before Custance converts Allan to her faith. 

Donegild's role, by extension, may not be the role of the typical villainess. 

Donegild does not play the role of the traditional villainess when she admits the messenger into her court. Instead, she practices the medieval virtue of hospitality (which already existed before, as seen in Ancient Greek literature). Even though the messenger is in a hurry to deliver the good news, it is no crime to invite him to rest for a night and continue on his way in the morning. The messenger, too, does no wrong in accepting her hospitality. As the one of lower rank, it is fitting for him to accede to the queen's generous request that he stay the night. The temptation, therefore, is less distinctly evil than it is in a normal saint's life. It is by the messenger 's own moral failing that he drinks the wine to excess. 

The narrator chides the messenger for being drunk: "O messager, fulfild of drunkennesse, / Strong is thy breath, thy limbs falter ay, / and thou betrayest alle secretness" (II. 771-773). Because a messenger's job is to get his letters secretly and safely from one place to the next, his drunken inability to keep a secret constitutes his complete failure as a good messenger. There is moral weakness in the character, who falls to the drink without much encouragement, although it may be safely assumed that Donegild is providing the wine in "the kynges moodres court " (11. 786). By allowing himself to get so drunk that he can no longer fulfill his duties twice, the messenger fails his king. In medieval society, failure to serve his lord was one of the greatest crimes a vassal could commit. The queen mother Donegild, however, receives the far harsher rebuke. The narrator is at a loss for words to capture the evil she has wrought: "O Donegild, I ne have noon Engliissh digne / Unto thy malice and thy tirannye!" (II. 778-780). He curses her emotionally, using religious language: "Fy, feendlych spirit, for I dar wel telle, / Thogh thou heere walke, thy spirit is in helle!" (II. 783-784). By taking advantage of the man's drunkenness to suit her own evil ends, Donegild plays the role of the Evil One, who tempts mortals to their doom. The Man of Law distinctly associates her with Satan and the Serpent in Eden (Scheps 289). By this association as well as the role she plays, she seems to be the prime evil in the story. By taking advantage of the messenger's dull-witted drunkenness, she is committing the greatest evil. The narrator, however, is umeliable in this regard. He fails to take into account the saving virtues of Donegild. He describes her as a "spirit" (II. 783), which stresses the way the two cultures conflict and see one another as strange.

 The ambiguity of the story is demonstrated by the departure Donegild's actions take from the traditional role of the villainess. The queen mother takes on the role of temptation, but it is significant that she does not play an entirely active role in the corruption of the messenger. Had she chosen, as women in romances typically do, to seduce the messenger, she would have had a more direct hand in his sin. Also, she does not drug the ale and wine she gives him, which she could easily do. It would certainly not have been unusual for her to do so. Had she done either, her role as the temptress would have been more definite, and the sin would have clearly been on her head.

The Man of Law's Tale presents a complicated moral picture in which morality is purposefully ambiguous. Although the queen mother commits a sin that is cursed by the narrator, the reader is also encouraged to consider that the messenger's weakness was also to blame. Therefore, the way in which she exploits drunkenness in the tale for what she perceives as morally justifiable complicates the morality of the tale's progression.

.............

I am tempted to compare Iago's treatment of Cassio with Donegild's of the messenger... Like Donegild, Iago does not drug Cassio's drinks, although he could easily do. Like Donegild, Iago considers what he does to be morally right, ie stripping an educated but inexperienced officer of a promotion he does not deserve. And thus Iago is letting Cassio lead himself into failure and tragedy.

to It is no crime to invite Cassio to a few drinks before his guard shift, considering he will surely be both thirsty and tired... and, like the messenger, Cassio does what he does of his own free will; it is fitting for him that he accept Iago's request, and it is of his own moral failing that he gets intoxicated, but this also leads to his complete failure as an officer and to utter tragedy for the married couple that he serves (Othello and Desdemona vs. Allan and Custance). By allowing himself to get so drunk that he can no longer fulfill his duties, Cassio fails Othello, like the messenger fails Allan. And, even though the Man of Law has a happy ending and the Shakespearean drama a tragic ending, by the end of both, Cassio and his counterpart the messenger are both forgiven and redeemed once the truth comes to light.

ANDREA LYNN - TSQ-IV

 Her favourite Snow Queen character is the Robber Maiden (like so many others'!) but she says the Fourth Story subplot CAN STAND ON ITS OWN - Way to go, Andrea Lynn (she, like Theophannya, does fairytale retellings on social media?) She illustrates other parts of the novella, including the Fifth Story (with a badass Robber Maiden to boot) but no Fourth Story illustrations here...

There's this distant princess who is so clever and smart! She would only marry a man who could respect that she wanted a man who would speak when spoken to, and not just stand there and be grand and stupid, but interesting. 

So one day a (young) man shows up; of course, not to impress her, but just cuz he's heard how clever she is, and he wants to listen to her and hear her cleverness.

So she's like "This is my guy! This is what I want in a man!" and she marries him. I think that story is so great just on its own.

So ... takes Gerda there, thinking maybe Kai was this man that the princess married and she's like "if that's true and he's happy, then, great! I just want to find out!" 

Cuz apparently they're like teenagers now, they're no longer children! 

So they get there, they find out it's not Kai, but the princess is super generous and she's like "I respect what you're doing here, take my golden carriage; good luck on your journey!" 

So next she encounters this group of robbers that's led by a female robber and her daughter; the little robber girl is one of my favorite characters in this story. 

They want to kill her but she's like "no, I want to keep her as my playmate!"

...

(No mention of the prince and princess going abroad on their honeymoon!)

The moral I get from it is that being a woman and being true to who you are, and gentleness and kindness and nurturing, those are all strong powerful things; and Gerda and all of these women are also strong in the traditional way too, because they're not like slaying dragons or whatever; but they're not giving up, they are journeying on, they are facing trial after trial, and the men in this story are ones who when they are redeemed respect that admire that see the beauty and awesomeness of that every woman in this story is interesting and cool. ... 

Am I saying this is a feminist story? Not necessarily; very unlikely that Hans Christian Andersen intended it to be that way, but it is an epic story all about women and so many of the aspects of what we consider to be femininity are shown to be good and something we should aspire to if I was a little little girl reading this I would see myself all over it and I would see lots of role models that I could relate to and aspire to be like I would see lots of different ways that being a woman is important interesting and good and just reading a story where everyone except for Kay and the troll (and the prince)... where it's so filled with women would just make me feel seen and I freaking love that a story about sisters and sisters love and women badassery

THEOPHANNYA - TSQ-IV (AND CINDERELLA)

 This retelling/summary said something of the Fourth Story I had overlooked - it's a gender-flipped Cinderella (but it's also a very close retelling of Shakespeare's Portia subplot, minus the trial at the end!)

... toute l'histoire de cette mystérieuse princesse. 

Il était une fois une princesse qui passait ses journées à se poser une question. "Mais pourquoi je me marie pas en fait ?" 

Le problème avec cette princesse, c'est qu'elle avait des critères bien précis et ne voulait pas d'un mari prétentieux, ennuyeux et solennel. 

Est-ce que c'est vraiment un problème ou est-ce que c'est juste le minimum ? 

Alors pour trouver sa moitié au plus vite, elle annonça que tous ceux qui souhaiteraient l'épouser seront autorisés à se rendre au château pour la rencontrer et celui qu'elle trouvera le plus intéressant deviendra son époux. 

Un peu Cendrillon va...

Et à la suite de cette annonce, des centaines de jeunes hommes se présentèrent au château pour tenter leur chance, mais la princesse les renvoya tous un par un... 

jusqu'au jour où un jeune homme arriva à pied au château et se présenta tout souriant devant elle. Il se démarqua rapidement des autres, car il était le seul à pas se soucier des codes et des apparences. 

La princesse tomba alors sous son charme et accepta d'épouser son prince.

"Pitié, fais-moi entrer au château." "Comment tu veux que je te fasse rentrer dans le château ?"

... qu'il existe un escalier caché qui mène directement à la chambre des époux. Oh bah comme de par hasard tiens... 

Sur le chemin jusqu'à la chambre, Gerda n'arrive pas à contenir sa joie ... en arrivant, elle réalise que le nouveau prince n'est pas son petit Kaï. 

Alors, elle se met à pleurer toutes les larmes de son corps devant le couple royal qui ne comprend rien à ce qui se passe et qui vient de se faire réveiller en plein milieu de la nuit par une mioche qui renifle super fort. 

Bon, heureusement, ils sont super sympas et proposent même à Gerda de rester avec eux au palais pour toujours. Proposition qu'elle décline évidemment ... 

Elle se remet donc en route sur la calèche que ses nouveaux amis lui ont offert. Et bé, petite calèche gratos tout ça. Vous remarquerez que toutes les personnes qui ont croisé la route de Guerda ont été super sympa et accueillante avec elle. C'est limite un peu de trop beau non ? Genre on se demande quand est-ce que ça va partir en vrille. 

Chapitre 7: La petite brigande (elle me fait peur) 

Après des heures de marche, Gerda arrive dans une forêt pas très rassurante et la pauvre n'a même pas le temps de descendre de la calèche qu'une bande de brigands surgit, tue son cocher et la kidnappe en plein milieu de la nuit. Ah bah voilà, je vous avais dit que c'était trop beau. Bon, j'en rigole mais c'est une dinguerie ce qui vient de se passer, hein? 

Gerda et les Brigands arrivent ensuite dans un château à moitié en ruine... 

...

(Chapitre final)

... Sur la route, il croise même la petite brigande, qui a rangé son couteau cette fois, et qui leur donne des petites nouvelles de toutes les personnes qui ont aidé Garda à retrouver Kaï parce que oui, elle aurait pas pu le faire toute seule. (NO MENTION OF THE PRINCE AND PRINCESS ON THEIR HONEYMOON SPECIFICALLY)

THEOPHANNYA - MANDSDRAGT / TLM OUTDOOR ACTIVITIES

 I was surprised by the fact that Theophannya mentions the activities the Little Foundling and her Prince engage in (horseback riding and mountaineering) but says NOTHING about her SUIT (mandsdragt). To me, that suit is as interesting as the outdoor activities (that were masculine-coded in the Biedermeier / earky Victorian era). At least she acknowledges that these activities are COOL. And the illustration Theophannya chooses for this scene is MORE THAN COOL with that seventeenth-century setting and the Little Foundling combining a feminine hairstyle with a doublet and breeches and lace collar like her love interest's reminds me of Julie d'Aubigny and Queen Christina! And her prince looks quite dashing in a feathered hat and doublet and breeches and lace collar, long locks but he's still a teen and too young for facial hair... Together they look like Christina and her cousin Charles!

Le temps passe et ils passent littéralement toute leur journée ensemble à monter à cheval, escalader et cetera. Mais vous imaginez bien que toutes ces activités, aussi cool qu'elles soit, font extrêmement souffrir ses nouveaux potons.

TV Tropes - the Mad Matchmaker (yours truly)

 The Mad Matchmaker: This fan (in a fandom) is marked by an obsession with romantic relationships in a work that was never intended to be a romance. They're the kind of person who, instead of criticizing the tacked-on romantic subplot, criticize the alien invasion for getting in the way of the sideplot, and when called on it they refuse to take "It's not a soap opera" for an answer. They will pitch a fit - possibly even flounce from fandom - if their One True Pairing is jossed (this was a major pain in the keister with Jaime and Brienne in canon - I simply left GOT --but not entirely-- when Jaime was killed and Brienne survived and was made Lady Commander; my OTP could not even be Together in Death! Luckily all fics I write are AUs!!!). They may be a fanatical fan of one character or one pairing, or they may just have an uncontrollable desire to Pair the Spares - or just the entire goddamn cast with little logical reason. They take crack pairings seriously and will never shut up about it. Either way, there is no situation where romance is too frivolous, inappropriate, or downright creepy for them. Long story short: A fan of romance to the exclusion of all else in non-romantic works.

This is me when it comes to any romantic subplot: Jaimienne, Enjoltaire, the Prince and Princess in the Snow Queen, the Hendon Hall subplot (Miles and Hugh Hendon and Edith)... any romantic subplot is for me put front and centre. And then there's crack/crossover shipping like Elsabela or Courferre (or any other crack pairings of the non-Enjoltaire Amis)...

When it comes to queer pairings (Yukakira, Enjoltaire, Renloras, KunZoisite, Kurofai, Yukitouya, etc) I am a combination of Mad Matchmaker and Yaoi Fangirl. 

A female otaku who enjoys anime and manga featuring handsome men engaged in homoerotic relationships. The main difference between a Yaoi Fangirl and Guy-On-Guy Is Hot is that the former are interested in homoromantic/homoerotic fiction and/or fanfiction and/or Shipping, whereas the latter enjoy watching live gay men make out. You can pretty much assume that all yaoi fangirls think Guy-On-Guy Is Hot, but not all women who think Guy-On-Guy Is Hot are yaoi fangirls.

The Japanese term used for a yaoi fangirl is fujoshi, which is a reclaimed term based on a homophonic pun. (There are two characters that are pronounced "fu", with one meaning "respectable woman" and the other meaning "fermented or spoiled"; the usage of fujoshi here translates loosely to "rotten girl", i.e. a woman unfit or "spoiled" for marriage as a result of consuming fictional gay content.) The word is often misused to mean "female otaku," causing female otaku who are not fujoshi (and know the meaning of the word) to correct people everywhere. The male equivalent is called a fudanshi (loosely, "rotten man"), but oddly enough, a lot of fudanshis are straight or bi. 

Some Yaoi fans are likely to think that Het Is Ew and many of them tend to be guilty of Die for Our Ship and Ron the Death Eater as a result. They may also indulge in Ukefication. In series where Yaoi Fangirls are seen, at least one joke will be made that involves the Yaoi fangirl's dirty imagination and at least one of the male characters in-universe. This often goes hand in hand with said yaoi fangirl having a (usually rare for females) Nosebleed. 

Claire Bloom, Leaving a Doll’s House

 CLAIRE BLOOM

What I remember most from those early days is the sound of Mother’s voice as she read to me from Hans Christian Andersen’s “The Little Mermaid” and “The Snow Queen.” These emotionally-wrenching tales, to which I raptly listened and to which I was powerfully drawn, instilled in me a longing to be overwhelmed by romantic passion and led me in my teens and early twenties to attempt to emulate these self-sacrificing heroines, at least on the stage. 

The sound of Mother’s voice and the radiance of those long summer afternoons are fused in my childhood memory, creating a pleasurable sensation of warmth and comfort and safety. 

From: Claire Bloom, Leaving a Doll’s House

THE WASHERWOMAN'S HEN / TVÄTTERSKANS HÖNA

THE WASHERWOMAN'S HEN
Folktale -origins unknown, Catholic Europe-  
 
The oldest crones in this land still tell that a certain washerwoman, more humble than miserable but nevertheless very poor, did nothing but pray to the Heavens for a child, since both wise women and doctors had told her that she could never have any offspring. But still she never resigned herself to accept that she was barren.
One day, she was so desperate that, en tête-à-tête with the Virgin Mary, she asked Our Lady to at least give her a hen, whom she would know to love and treat as a daughter of her own.
Nine months later, she laid a chicken egg, which she, with all her love, hatched in her bosom. The chick grew within a matter of three days, and now it was a grown hen. The unfortunate washerwoman did not tarry in accepting how things were. At least she now had some company.
It was truly a beautiful hen, with a red plumage that shifted in colours like a flame, a majestic way of walking, and a cackle like the song of a primadonna soprano. Twelve years later, when the washerwoman already felt like the proud mother of a prized if not decent hen, her daughter began to increase in size, just like some maidens have growth spurts. At the same time, she began to do really strange things, like waltzing around her mother's ankles and singing: 

"Cocorococo, cocorococo,
leave me, Mum,
to wash the clothes!"

One day that she was incessantly cackling this chant, the washerwoman gave her a dirty rag and threw it to her daughter, for the hen to leave her be in peace.
The hen caught the rag in her beak and took it as far from her mother's eyes as she could.
Then, she gave it a peck, and instantly from the rag sprouted a magnificent mansion, down whose staircase walked twelve damsels bearing dishes fit for a feast for the hen, which, of course, had become a damsel as fair and bright as the sun; one would dare to say a princess.
Thus it happened for several times, and once it came to pass by chance that the royals' eldest son was riding by en route to a fox hunt, beheld the hen and her rags, and was witness to the wonderful events that transpired afterwards. The prince was smitten with the princess and decided to make her his bride.
And thus, one day, he showed up at the washerwoman's door, and the following conversation ensued:
"Would you please sell me that hen, madame?"
"Not for all the gold in the world!" she replied.
"And how much is 'all the gold in the world'?"
"Let's say... five hundred sacks full."
"I shall give you five thousand," the Crown Prince replied.
"Then... who could refuse such an offer?" the washerwoman gave in.
And this was how the prince brought the hen to Court.
He was not that sure of what he was to do to succeed in marrying her, but at last he had an idea. One evening, the local lordship of the hen's home province hosted a grand ball at his castle. The prince tucked his "little" hen to sleep in her canopy bed and left for the dance, leaving her asleep. As soon as the door had been shut behind her, the hen pecked the rag, which she wore for a shawl, and instantly she was human and her handmaids appeared, dressing her in her very best ensemble to attend the same ball.
When the Crown Prince saw her arrive, and all eyes were upon her, he understood that right then was the time to put his strategy into action. He stormed back to the palace, upstairs into her bedchamber, and found her canopy bed full of fire-red feathers; then he took all these feathers to throw them into the fire, along with the rag. Once he was sure that there was not a single feather left and the rag had been burned as well, he went himself to bed and awaited the return of his fiancée from the ball.
When he heard her steps walking upstairs, he pretended he was asleep. She tiptoed into the bedchamber, not to wake her fiancé up, but her surprise was enormour when she saw that, in her sleeping place, there was neither magical rag nor even a single hen feather.
Right then, she felt two strong, youthful arms clasping her waist.
"And now, you shall marry me!" the elated prince startled her.
And of course so it came to be, and there was much rejoicing, especially for the washerwoman, who became one of the most illustrious ladies of the Court, and even governess to the royal children of that happy marriage.


************

TVÄTTERSKANS HÖNA
Folksaga -med ursprung i det katolska Europa-

De äldsta gummorna i det här landet berättar än om en viss tvätterska, mer ringa än eländig men utfattig trots allt, som gjorde inget annat än att be till himlen om ett barn, eftersom likaväl kloka gummor som legitimerade läkare hade sagt att hon aldrig skulle kunna välsignas med avkomma. Och trots det vägrade hon ständigt att acceptera att hon var steril.
En dag var hon så förtvivlad att hon, på tu man hand med jungfru Maria, bad Vår Fru om åtminstone en höna, som hon säkert skulle kunna älska och behandla som sin egen dotter.
Nio månader senare lade hon ett hönsägg, som hon med all sin kärlek ruvade vid sin barm. Kycklingen växte inom tre dagars lopp, och nu var den en fullvuxen höna. Den olyckliga tvätterskan tvekade inte att acceptera sin nya situation. Åtminstone hade hon nu fått sällskap.
Det var verkligen en underbar höna, med flammande röd fjäderskrud som skiftade färg liksom lågor, en majestätisk gång och ett kacklande som en primadonnas sång. Tolv år senare, när tvätterskan redan kände sig som mor till en prisbelönt om inte anständig höna, började dottern att växa mycket mer än vanligt, som mänskliga tonårstjejer gör, och samtidigt att göra något konstigt, att valsa runt mammas anklar och kackla:

Kuckeliku, kuckeliku,

får jag, mor,

tvätta kläderna nu?

En dag då hon oändligt hade kacklat så här, gav (eller snarare kastade) tvätterskan en smutsig trasmatta till din dotter, för att hönan skulle tvätta den och lämna henne ifred.

Hönan tog trasmattan i näbben och gick hemifrån, så långt bort från sin mamma som hon kunde. När hon var utanför byn, ute på landet, gav hon trasmattan en puss med näbben och trasmattan förvandlades till en magnifik herrgård, och nerför trappan kom ett dussin välklädda tjänarinnor, som dukade ett bord med en festmåltid åt den jättestora hönan, som nu var en ungmö lika ljus och vacker som solen: man kunde lika gärna säga en prinsessa.

Så hände det flera gånger, och en gång hände det att landets kronprins passerade förbi på väg till rävjakten, och han fick se hönan med trasmattan och hela den underbara förvandlingen, Kronprinsen blev kärlekskrank och bestämde sig att gifta sig med den skönheten.

Så en dag dök han upp på tvätterskans tröskel och resultatet blev följande samtal:

"Vill frun vara så hygglig att sälja mig den hönan?"

"Inte för allt guld i världen, ers höghet."

"Hur mycket är allt guld i världen, frun?"

"Jag vill säga... fem hundra säckar fulla?"

"Jag erbjuder frun fem tusen säckar..."

"Alltså... vem vågar vägra en sådan summa?" Tvätterskan gav sig.

Så tog kronprinsen med sig hönan till slottet. Han visste inte vad han skulle göra för att vinna hennes hjärta eller upphäva förtrollningen, men han hade åtminstone en aning. 

En dag bjöd greven i tvätterskans hemtrakt all adel i landet på en bal på sin borg. Prinsen nattade "sin lilla" höna i sin himmelsäng innan han åkte till balen med sin vagn, och lämnade henne sovande i sängen. Så fort som dörren hade stängts gav hönan en puss med näbben till sin trasmatta, som hon hade som sjal, och ett tu tre var hon människa igen och alla hennes tjänarinnor dök upp, och klädde henne i sin allra bästa ensemble så att hon skunde åka på bal. De skaffade också en vagn, och hon åkte till balen hos greven.

När kronprinsen såg henne dyka upp, och alla ögon var fokuserade på henne, förstod han att det var rätt tid att pröva den strategi han hade. Han stormade tillbaks till slottet och fann att hennes himmelsäng var full med eldröda fjädrar, som han tände eld på, och dessutom på trasmattan med. När han var säker att han hade bränt alla fjädrarna la han sig in sin egen himmelsäng och väntade på att "honan" skulle återvända hem från balen.

När han hörde hennes steg stiga uppför trappan låtsade han att sova, hon tippade på tå upp till sängen för att inte väcka sin fästman, men vilken överraskning när hon inte fann på sängen varken sin trasmatta eller den minsta lilla hönsfjädern.

Just då kände hon två starka, maskulina armar kring hennes midja.  

"Nu gifter du med mig!" utbrast kronprinsen.

Och så skedde det. Och det blev mycket firande, med stor pompa och ståt, speciellt för tvätterskan, som blev den finaste damen vid hovet och strax därpå även kungabarnens guvernant!

LA NIÑA QUE JUGABA A SER DIOS - DAN LUNGU

  

La niña que jugaba a ser Dios - Dan Lungu, traducción de Borja Mozo 

Esta novela es una conmovedora historia sobre la emigración en la Rumanía poscomunista. Con el fin de mejorar la comprometida situación económica de su familia, Letitia emprende un viaje a Italia en busca de trabajo, y deja en Rumanía a la pequeña Radita, su hija, quien sufre especialmente la separación de su madre. Lo que, en principio, iba a ser una solución provisional, comienza a alargarse en el tiempo y Radita se ve obligada a suplir esa ausencia con toda la fuerza de su imaginación, en un intento por comprender un entorno que no entiende. Letitia, por su parte, soporta las dificultades de su nueva vida, lejos de su familia, y centra en el trabajo todas sus energías, con la esperanza de un regreso próximo. A lo largo de la novela, madre e hija tomarán alternativamente la voz de la narración, se turnan sus puntos de vista, presentando así al lector la verdad de un fenómeno que ha marcado profundamente a la sociedad rumana poscomunista. Una historia emocionante y sorprendente, no exenta de humor, sobre la emigración y el desarraigo, y una lectura valiosa por cuanto que nos muestra una realidad con la que convivimos cada día y nos ayuda a entender mejor el desquiciado mundo que habitamos. La novela que publicó Amarillo, «La niña que jugaba a ser Dios», es una historia potente, emocionante y con un final que no deja indiferente. 

En Rumanía han quedado las dos hijas, Malina y Rădița, en una extraña situación. Malina vivirá con su padre, Vali, mientras que Rădița, la pequeña, queda al cargo de los abuelos maternos que aprovecharán la circunstancia para arreglar su casa. La narración discurre entre el día a día y la inocente visión de la realidad de Rădița, que pronto se obsesiona con la idea de planear una fuga para ver a su madre, y la dramática realidad de un entorno poblado de interesantes personajes cuyas vidas están marcadas por el interés de progresar en una sociedad poscomunista que tratan de dejar atrás. 

Por su parte, la culta y formada Letiția, criada de la familia Bosse para atender a la anciana Nonna, ve cómo el tiempo pasa y comienza a intuir, en el contacto con las durísimas experiencias de muchos rumanos en Roma y sus inmensas dificultades (fantástico el personaje de Laura, que ha sido compañera de colegio de Letiția, superviviente donde las haya), que no existe la emigración temporal. Que las familias que han quedado en Rumanía se instalan en el olvido y cada vez exigen más generando un bucle del que parece imposible salir. 

Nada sobra en esta novela por la que transitan numerosos personajes de una pequeña sociedad en la que las relaciones personales todavía son muy importantes y en las que los mayores viven en un deseado nuevo mundo sin poder olvidar completamente el antiguo a pesar de las dificultades, penurias e humillaciones que soportaron. Es el caso de Petru Cosoi, el abuelo de Rădița, que ha sido director de escuela, o del tío Miluta, profesor de matemáticas. 

Por cierto, que en una nota a la edición se alude precisamente a la conservación en el texto de “una expresión típicamente rumana, que denota la marcada dimensión rural del país. Se trata del uso de la palabra tío o tía (tío Mirón…, la tía Vinagre…) para referirse a personas mayores, que no necesariamente son los hermanos del padre o de la madre”. Algo nada sorprendente para los leoneses que han usado exactamente la misma expresión hasta mediados, y aun después, del siglo XX exactamente en el mismo contexto rural. Una curiosidad que vincula dos sociedades muy alejadas y aparentemente inconexas (salvo la lengua, claro está, dado que el rumano es, como la nuestra, neolatina).

‘La niña que jugaba a ser Dios’ (ya descubrirá el lector la razón del título), es, sin duda, una excelente obra en la que Dan Lungu ha sido capaz de presentar una realidad social que escuece, la tristeza del desarraigo que provoca la emigración y las consecuencias que genera en la sociedad, sin renunciar a la ironía y al humor. 

Se entremezcla la ingenuidad de una niña que sólo desea volver a ver a su madre. Ésta se ha marchado a Italia para encontrar trabajo y conseguir algo de dinero.

"Cuando (la niña) se hartó de repartir órdenes, se percató de que tenía las piernas dormidas. Se recostó de espaldas y fue rodando hacia el interior de la azotea hasta llegar al cartón, se dio la vuelta y por fin consiguió colocarse bocarriba. Mirar el cielo era el más peligroso de sus juegos secretos, pero le resultaba imposible renunciar a él. Y mirarlo desde lo alto de un bloque no tenía parangón: ni desde el jardín ni desde la rama de un árbol, ni siquiera desde el tejado de la leñera se veía tan despejado y sin límites. El peligro residía en que siempre olvidaba que tenía una abuela y debía regresar a casa. O peor aún: en que por mucho que fantaseara con historias de nubes o dejara simplemente volar su imaginación, siempre acababa acordándose de su nota en caligrafía y de todo lo demás".

Sin embargo, la espera se alarga… Y a la niña se le comienzan a desdibujar las facciones de su madre, su voz, su olor…

"De su madre solo le quedaba la voz. Sus manos se habían esfumado. El frufrú de su vestido y el siseo del peine al pasar por su pelo frente al espejo habían enmudecido. Tampoco olía ya a nada, ni a perfume ni a buñuelos ni a pintaúñas. A nada de nada. Parecía que se la había tragado la tierra y solo permanecía su cara reflejada en una fotografía, aunque sus rasgos habían empezado a borrarse de tanto acariciarla. A veces soñaba que su rostro era un óvalo vacío, blanco, y ella escribía en el centro con letra muy elegante, la más elegante del mundo mundial: mamá."

****************** 

En enero de 2025 Amarillo Editora publica por primera vez en castellano una de sus obras más emblemáticas: La niña que jugaba a ser Dios. En ella el autor aborda el tema de la emigración -siempre de actualidad, como algo inherente al ser humano-, en este caso en la Rumanía postcomunista. Una madre se ve obligada a viajar fuera de Rumanía para buscar trabajo y deja a su hija Radita al cuidado de su familia. La adaptación de la madre a las nuevas circunstancias, así como la situación de la niña que se ha visto obligada a separarse de su madre, nutren esta emocionante historia, no exenta de ironía.

Vendo La niña que jugaba a ser Dios de Dan Lungu. Es una novela que cuenta la historia de Letitia, una madre rumana que se va a Italia en busca de trabajo y deja a su hija Radita en casa de los abuelos. La pequeña se siente sola al principio, pero empieza a usar su imaginación para lidiar con la separación. La historia va alternando entre las voces de madre e hija y habla de la emigración y lo que significa estar lejos de casa. Es un libro que mezcla emoción y humor. Lo tengo disponible para compra y lo envío sin problema.

 En La niña que jugaba a ser Dios me ocupé de los llamados huérfanos blancos, es decir, los niños que se quedaron solos en casa, al cuidado de sus abuelos o vecinos. Su experiencia fue a menudo traumática.

Los niños son personajes importantes de sus obras, como en La niña que jugaba a ser dios. ¿Qué le ofrece la infancia en un mundo real y literario convulso: esperanza o un retrato del desastre?

DAN LUNGU: La infancia es un mundo en sí mismo, absolutamente fascinante. Ver el cielo y el asfalto, los árboles, las personas y los animales a través de los ojos de un niño es un espectáculo en sí mismo, que no necesita ninguna historia ni desenlace, es pura alegría. Maravillarse junto con ellos y vivir sus miedos al abandono desde el interior de sus emociones es una de las experiencias más humanas y profundas. 

THE BANANIA MAN (BONHOMME BANANIA)

You mean, Bananaman? "Eric is Bananaman?"

THIS Bananaman?

No siree.

This guy is FRENCH and has a far darker story (if you thought Jean Mineur was dark, you OUGHT to read THIS post!)

For starters, I have been to France but NEVER LIVED there, so I got to learn about this guy from Karambolage (just like Jean Mineur!) 

Banania is an instant cocoa drink, Nesquik's main rival. The ingredients are all of them very tropical: chocolate powder, cane sugar, and the special ingredient: banana or plantain starch (hence the name!).

The mascot was originally this Afro-Caribbean girl, quite similar to Chiquita Banana...

 

But the World Wars changed that, and she was replaced by the Banania Man, a Senegalese soldier (Senegal was a French colony at the time):

Look at that innocent yet ominous smile, "half devil and half child" to quote Rudyard Kipling. And at that uniform: the red fez because he's a Muslim, French blue jacket, and puffy white trousers perfect for the bush, a tropical environment. Instead of saying "c'est bon" in Standard European French, he says "y a bon" in his own regional dialect.

Thousands of men like him were sent to the Western Front, a completely different world, along with TRAINLOADS of Banania powder for the whole French army's breakfast (and it got eaten by bugs and rats too, of course). The Senegalese men and those from other tropical colonies (like Afro-Caribbean and Vietnamese soldiers) were used as a human shield for the European French men and put on the frontlines to be massacres during the warm seasons, the rationale being that, hailing from tropical climates, they would not survive the European winter!

No one mourns these men from across the seas. Their names never appear on those memorials for those "slain for France," crowned by Gallic roosters. Yet their memory survives, for instance, in the form of the Banania Man. Although he is pretty racist, he has been reclaimed as a symbol by the Senegalese immigrants that live within the Hexagon (European France). Like Jean Mineur, he is scary to some people but reassuring to others, even to collectors of his merchandise!

Even ARSÈNE LUPIN had a Senegalese servant that went by "Y a bon," which was most likely a nickname - yes, he has become a literary character!

The modern-day iteration of the Banania Man has less racist features...

His lips have become far thinner and his skin a little fairer, and his smile far more charming, and the "y a bon" in regional accent is gone, but he's still black and still wears the trademark Islamic fez. I'm so glad this brand does not exist in Spain and I would rather take my chances with Nesquik!

After all, there's NOTHING racist about a brown rabbit!

************************

PS! SAY GOODBYE TO UNCLE BEN AND TO CHIQUITA BANANA!

The Banania Man and the Sarotti Moor are not the only politically incorrect mascots to have been rebranded.

Uncle Ben, a staple of my childhood summers in Sweden, is now also gone forever. Requiem for a reassuring bald black guy who always reminded me of Sam L. Jackson, the Mace Windu of my childhood. The brand is now the 100 percent Uncle-free Ben's Original!

And Chiquita Banana also got axed! 

Which makes me wonder: within half a century, will the Wizarding World and Middle-Earth also be sacrificed on the altar of the Politically Correct Gods? Will Dudley Dursley (pre-dementor's kiss) no longer be "the size and weight of a young killer whale," but simply "enormous" (like Augustus Gloop or Aunt Sponge)? Will hobbits nevermore smoke pipeweed? And what about the Haradrim? It would be sacrilege to alter all of that...

THE KITTEN AND THE FALLING LEAVES (WORDSWORTH)

 the kitten and the falling leaves - WORDSWORTH (Romanticism)

(Upon watching his toddler daughter Dora and her tabby kitten playing with the autumn leaves - yes, I know it's a bit ironic to post an autumn poem in springtime!)

That way look, my Infant, lo!
What a pretty baby-show!
See the kitten on the wall,
Sporting with the leaves that fall,
Withered leaves—-one—-two—-and three—-
From the lofty elder-tree!
Through the calm and frosty air
Of this morning bright and fair,
Eddying round and round they sink
Softly, slowly: one might think,
From the motions that are made,
Every little leaf conveyed
Sylph or Faery hither tending,—-
To this lower world descending,
Each invisible and mute,
In his wavering parachute.
—-But the Kitten, how she starts,
Crouches, stretches, paws, and darts!
First at one, and then its fellow
Just as light and just as yellow;
There are many now—-now one—-
Now they stop and there are none
What intenseness of desire
In her upward eye of fire!
With a tiger-leap half way
Now she meets the coming prey,
Lets it go as fast, and then
Has it in her power again:
Now she works with three or four,
Like a magic conjurer;
Quick as he in feats of art,
Far beyond in joy of heart.
Were her antics played in the eye
Of a thousand standers-by,
Clapping hands with shout and stare,
What would little Tabby care
For the plaudits of the crowd?
Over happy to be proud,
Over wealthy in the treasure
Of her own exceeding pleasure!
     'Tis a pretty baby-treat;
Nor, I deem, for me unmeet;
Here, for neither Babe nor me,
Other play-mate can I see.
Of the countless living things,
That with stir of feet and wings
(In the sun or under shade,
Upon bough or grassy blade)
And with busy revellings,
Chirp and song, and murmurings,
Made this orchard's narrow space,
And this vale so blithe a place;
Multitudes are swept away
Never more to breathe the day:
Some are sleeping; some in bands
Travelled into distant lands;
Others slunk to moor and wood,
Far from human neighborhood;
And, among the Kinds that keep
With us closer fellowship,
With us openly abide,
All have laid their mirth aside.
     Where is he that giddy Sprite,
Blue-cap, with his colors bright,
Who was blest as bird could be,
Feeding in the apple-tree;
Made such wanton spoil and rout,
Turning blossoms inside out;
Hung—-head pointing towards the ground—-
Fluttered, perched, into a round
Bound himself, and then unbound;
Lithest, gaudiest Harlequin!
Prettiest Tumbler ever seen!
Light of heart and light of limb;
What is now become of Him?
Lambs, that through the mountains went
Frisking, bleating merriment,
When the year was in its prime,
They are sobered by this time.
If you look to vale or hill,
If you listen, all is still,
Save a little neighboring rill,
That from out the rocky ground
Strikes a solitary sound.
Vainly glitter hill and plain,
And the air is calm in vain;
Vainly Morning spreads the lure
Of a sky serene and pure;
Creature none can she decoy
Into open sign of joy:
Is it that they have a fear
Of the dreary season near?
Or that other pleasures be
Sweeter even than gaiety ?
     Yet, whate'er enjoyments dwell
In the impenetrable cell
Of the silent heart which Nature
Furnishes to every creature;
Whatsoe'er we feel and know
Too sedate for outward show,
Such a light of gladness breaks,
Pretty Kitten! from thy freaks,—-
Spreads with such a living grace
O'er my little Dora's face;
Yes, the sight so stirs and charms
Thee, Baby, laughing in my arms,
That almost I could repine
That your transports are not mine,
That I do not wholly fare
E'en as ye do, thoughtless pair!
And I will have my careless season
Spite of melancholy reason,
Will walk through life in such a way
That, when time brings on decay,
Now and then I may possess
Hours of perfect gladsomeness.
—-Pleased by any random toy;
By a kitten's busy joy,
Or an infant's laughing eye
Sharing in the ecstasy;
I would fare like that or this,
Find my wisdom in my bliss;
Keep the sprightly soul awake,
And have faculties to take,
Even from things by sorrow wrought,
Matter for a jocund thought,
Spite of care, and spite of grief,
To gambol with Life's falling Leaf.

Analysis (ai): The poem depicts an infant and a kitten observing falling leaves, transforming a simple autumn scene into a meditation on joy, transience, and perception. The setting—an orchard in frosty morning light—anchors the imagery in the natural world, consistent with Romantic-era focus on rural landscapes and seasonal change (compare Andersen's tales).

Joy as Resistance: The kitten’s energetic play serves as a model of unselfconscious delight, unburdened by awareness of time or decay. This joy is not dismissed as childish but held up as an ideal the speaker aspires to reclaim, positioning spontaneous pleasure as a counterforce to adulthood's rational melancholy.

Less-Discussed Angle: Rather than reading the poem as a simple celebration of innocence, it can be seen as a subtle critique of adult consciousness: the speaker envies the kitten and infant not for purity, but for their incapacity for regret, suggesting emotional limitation as a condition of happiness.
Final Resolution: The speaker resolves not to transcend sorrow but to coexist with it, choosing to "gambol with Life's falling Leaf" despite care. This closing image reframes decline not as defeat but as a context for fleeting, valid joy—less a Romantic affirmation than a pragmatic embrace of impermanence.