plague

Fairy tales still relevant

Jack Zipes gives the lecture Resurrecting Dead Fairy Tales on Facebook Feb. 17. (photo from MISCELLANEOUS Productions)

Some fairy tales are timeless in that they still have lessons to impart. For example, The Pied Piper, a story dating back to the Middle Ages, “is a tale of plague, greed, betrayal, conformity/confinement with allusions to child abuse,” explained Elaine Carol, co-founder and artistic director of MISCELLANEOUS Productions.

MISCELLANEOUS’s Plague project will have participating youth, along with professional artists, interpreting the Brothers Grimm’s The Pied Piper “from an intersectional, anti-racist, anti-oppression, queer feminist perspective.” In preparation, Carol told the Independent, “we have been reading our way through the mountain of brilliant writing by Jack Zipes, asking him many questions – even our film editor of Resurrecting Dead Fairy Tales is now reading two of his hundred or more published books.”

image - In Yussuf the Ostrich, political caricaturist Emery Kelen tells the story of a young ostrich who helps defeat the Nazis in northern Africa during the Second World War. — In Yussuf the Ostrich, political caricaturist Emery Kelen tells the story of a young ostrich who helps defeat the Nazis in northern Africa during the Second World War.

Zipes’ recorded Facebook Watch talk, Resurrecting Dead Fairy Tales, will be streamed Feb. 17, followed by a live Q&A with Zipes. Some of the lecture will be part of the documentary being created about the youth-centred theatre project, which will include various workshops and an eventual stage production at the Scotiabank Dance Centre in 2022.

“I have also been working with young professional artists Tiffany Yang, who was a youth in our Monsters production, national and international tours, and Julia Farry, our production assistant/outreach worker,” said Carol. “Tiffany has translated four indigenous Taiwanese folk tales that are stories of plague – mostly in coastal communities, including animal wonder tales of fantastical fishes and other fascinating narratives. Julia has translated three Japanese folk tales focusing on plagues. There are many plague stories that we still hope to collect, including the facts of disease spread by European settlers to the Indigenous people of Turtle Island, as research materials for our project-in-development.

“We are currently collecting these tales to bring to our youth cast after it is deemed safe to work with them in person,” Carol continued, “as we will be using theatre, hip hop/streetdance, contemporary dance, marimba and world music, urban music, performance art, etc., to co-create a new play. This play will be used as a vehicle for the youth to discuss their own experiences of living in a world pandemic.”

Zipes’ lecture was filmed in Minneapolis by MISCELLANEOUS Productions’ professionals. The professor emeritus of German and comparative literature at the University of Minnesota is an expert on folklore and fairy tales. He is a storyteller himself and the founder of the publishing house Little Mole and Honey Bear.

“My parents and grandmother always told me tales of different kinds,” Zipes told the Independent. “When I began studying for a PhD at Columbia University, I wrote my dissertation on ‘The Great Refusal: Studies of the German and American Romantics in the 19th Century.’ My interest in fairy tales grew as I realized that these imaginary tales hold more truth than the so-called realistic future. And I also was angered by Bruno Bettelheim’s book about fairy tales in which he imposed a Freudian interpretation on readers. Since then, I have been trying to reveal how relevant fairy tales are to our lives.”

image - One of the fairy tales Jack Zipes has resurrected is Keedle, The Great, first published in 1940 — One of the fairy tales Jack Zipes has resurrected is Keedle, The Great, first published in 1940.

The examples given in the lecture’s press release are from two books Zipes has translated and published: “For example, in Yussuf the Ostrich, well-known political caricaturist Emery Kelen tells the story of a young ostrich who helps defeat the Nazis in northern Africa during World War II. In Keedle, The Great, first published in 1940, Deirdre and William Conselman Jr. sought to give Americans hope that the world can overcome dictatorships. To the authors, the title character Keedle represented more than Hitler, but all dictators then and now.”

Zipes said, “I don’t think that my being Jewish accounts for my interest in fairy tales. My Jewishness makes me a bit meshuggah, and this is why I try to think out of the box and have developed a storytelling program for children without sanitizing the fairy tales. The best of folk and fairy tales have never been sanitized, and I use tales to tell so that children will be enabled to tell their own miraculous tales.”

“My Jewishness is complex,” said Carol, “because I am mixed-race Sephardic-Romani and Ashkenazi. One of one million reasons I love Jack Zipes and think his work is crucial is his lucid critique of the Disneyfication of fairy tales and folklore.”

Resurrecting Dead Fairy Tales starts at 5pm on Feb. 17 and is intended for older youth and adult audiences. On the day and time, click here for link to watch.

Could the plague come back?

With his latest novel, We All Fall Down (Simon & Schuster, 2019), Vancouver writer and emergency-room physician Daniel Kalla covers both familiar and new territory. He once again postulates with scary enough realism what might happen if there were an outbreak of a deadly disease, but this time, it’s the plague – the same bacteria that caused the Black Death in the 14th century.

Kalla, who is head of emergency at St. Paul’s Hospital and a clinical associate professor at the University of British Columbia, will talk about his new book on April 17 at Incite: Riveting Crime Tales, presented by the Vancouver Writers Fest and Vancouver Public Library, in partnership with the Crime Writers of Canada. He will be joined by fellow Vancouverite Eve Lazarus, author of Murder by Milkshake: An Astonishing True Story of Adultery, Arsenic and a Charismatic Killer (Arsenal Pulp Press, 2018), about the murder of Esther Castellani by her husband Rene in 1965 in Vancouver, and Toronto-based Kim Moritsugu, whose latest book is The Showrunner (Dundurn, 2018), described as a “Hollywood-noir, darkly humourous suspense.”

We All Fall Down is set in Genoa, Italy. It alternates between current-day events – the site of an old monastery that has been demolished to make way for new condominiums seems to be ground zero for the reemergence of the plague – and the year 1348, when that monastery’s inhabitants are almost decimated by the Black Death, as is much of Europe. There is a link between the two outbreaks and North Atlantic Treaty Organization infectious diseases expert Alana Vaughn, called in from Belgium, is among those who must figure it out, along with a World Health Organization expert, Canadian epidemiologist Byron Menke, and Alana’s former lover, Dr. Nico Oliva, who sounded the alarm when a patient was brought into his hospital, coughing up blood and with a bubo (lump, swelling) in her armpit. The patient had been working on the construction site when she took ill and was dead soon thereafter.

The rapidity with which the plague takes a life drives the urgency to determine its sources and stop its spread. The most emotive chapters of We All Fall Down are short. Kalla briefly introduces readers to various people in the midst of tender or happy moments, who then suddenly feel chilled or choked by phlegm and blood. These scenes add meaning to the consistently provided death tolls, and personalize the suffering. Readers will empathize, and shiver.

As in his previous novels – Pandemic (Forge Books, 2005), about a fictional new flu, more deadly than SARS, and Resistance (Tor Books, 2006), about the outbreak of an antibiotic-resistant bacteria – the disease in We All Fall Down is deliberately being spread. Initially, Alana’s theory is that it is bioterrorism, but eventually the WHO-led team comes to another conclusion and the race is on to find the perpetrator.

In the mid-1300s, one-third to a half of the European population was killed within three years, a character in the novel notes – “The worst natural disaster in all of recorded history.” And the novel offers a glimpse into that horrific time via the diary of a barber-surgeon, Rafael Pasqua, who lost his wife to the plague. His story is graphic at times, and it is he who relates how Jews were attacked and persecuted, as the assumed cause of the devastation. Kalla juxtaposes this persecution and violence with that of Muslims in the modern-day instance of the outbreak, as it is first thought that Muslim terrorists might have developed the plague as a bioweapon. Despite hundreds of years of evolution, people’s fear and desperation still drive them to seek a scapegoat.

Less interesting in We All Fall Down are the romantic storylines: Alana and Nico dealing with their past relationship, Alana’s new relationship with Byron, and Rafael’s with Camilla, the daughter of a Jewish friend and fellow physician. At least the medieval love story adds some tension to the plot, as Jews become more and more at risk as the plague continues unabated. And, in truth, the relationships provide some respite from the death taking place all around the characters.

On the whole, We All Fall Down is a good read. Kalla, being an emergency physician who has researched and written about different pandemics, makes the possibility of the Great Plague resurfacing seem frighteningly possible. There are countless benefits of globalization, but it certainly makes containment of an epidemic that much harder. It is a sobering thought.

Incite events are free, but registration is required. To attend Riveting Crime Tales, which takes place in the Alice MacKay Room at the central branch of VPL downtown at 7:30 p.m. on April 17, fill out the form at writersfest.bc.ca/programs/incite/incite-form.

About the Passover cover art

photo - Fae at Passover — Fae at Passover *(photo from Ramsay family)*

While based on the above photo of my niece Fae at a seder several years ago, the cover art is inspired by all my nieces and nephews: Hannah, 24, Zac, almost 22, Caleb, 17, Fae, 6, and Charlotte, 4. I may not get to as many family seders as I would like, with all of my immediate family living in Ontario, but this photo is just one of many that has adorned my fridge over the years I’ve lived “out here,” and there have been many visits, as well as Skype and phone calls, so I’ve been able to get to know the wonderful people they are, despite the physical distance, and am so proud to be one of their aunts. I am confident that they will contribute, each in their own way, to helping make this a world in which, eventually, everyone has the love and opportunities our family has had.

To create the cover illustration, I scanned a pencil sketch I made from looking at the photo. I emailed the scan to myself so that I could use the app Paper 53 on my iPad to do most of the “painting,” including nine of the 10 plagues. Jewish Independent production manager Josie Tonio McCarthy helped me symbolize the death of the firstborn sons in QuarkXPress – trust me, no letter d’s were harmed in the making of this cover! Josie also refreshed my memory of how to use some aspects of Photoshop, which is where I brought everything together, with the odd embellishment or two, or three.

With wishes from all of us here at the JI for a Pesach sameach.

From cardboard to folktales

Books can take you to the most captivating places. Not always happy places, but places worth exploring, places where the people, environment, challenges and culture are different. A place you can have adventures, learn from what has happened to others or just escape from your daily routine, all for the relatively low price of a book. Oh, and maybe a cardboard box.

The beautifully and creatively illustrated What to do with a Box (Creative Editions, 2016) features the rhythmic writing of Jane Yolen and the inspired art of Chris Sheban. The book is a tribute to the power of the imagination – a way to impart to the younger set that fun doesn’t necessarily need batteries. It’s also a reminder to parents that expensive toys aren’t at the root of what makes playtime enjoyable, and they may even be enticed to join their kids in a cardboard box adventure – if they’re invited to come along, that is.

The writing is simple, as it is for most picture books. That box, “can be a library, palace, or nook,” or a place you can “invite your dolls to come in for tea”; it can be a racecar, a ship, and so much more. And the art by Sheban looks as if he took Yolen’s advice: “You can paint a landscape with sun, sand and sky or crayon an egret that’s flying right by.” It is described as cardboardesque and, indeed, it looks as if he drew the illustrations on different types of boxes.

For slightly older readers (or listeners), Richard Unger has written and illustrated a more traditional story with Chagallesque art, Yitzi and the Giant Menorah (Penguin Random House, 2016). It is a picture book, but with a substantive amount of text on each page. It, too, is beautifully and creatively put together, with most of the text printed on a plain page that includes a black-and-white sketch that doesn’t overlap it in any way, making the reading easier. More importantly, it leaves most of the colorful, vibrant and expressive artwork on the opposite page free from writing. At the end of the book is the brief story of Chanukah.

While set on the eve of Chanukah in the shtetl of Chelm, this tale bears a similar message to What to do with a Box: money isn’t everything. It adds to that the lesson of gratitude.

In the story, the mayor of Lublin gives the people of the Chelm “the biggest menorah” Yitzi has ever seen and the villagers are so grateful, they want to thank the mayor in a way that matches the grandeur of his gift. This being Chelm, the solution doesn’t come easily but, after a few failed efforts, they succeed in a heartwarming way.

* * *

For young adult readers, the stories are much more serious in both subject matter and tone.

Eva Wiseman’s Another Me (Tundra Books, 2016) is set in the mid-1300s in Strasbourg, France. It starts with the main character’s death at the hands of the men poisoning the town’s water – an act the Jews were accused of committing not only in Strasbourg, but other cities in Europe, as well. It was thought that poisoned water was causing the plague and, since fewer Jews were dying, the rumors began that they were causing the illness. In reality, Jews were also dying, but in fewer numbers because Jewish law required much more handwashing than was customary in medieval times.

Wiseman also elaborates upon less tangible Jewish beliefs in Another Me. When Natan, 17, dies, his story doesn’t end. He becomes an ibbur – his soul enters the body of another man; in this instance, that of Hans the draper.

Hans works for Wilhelm, with whose daughter, Elena, Natan has fallen in love. Natan has come to know all of these non-Jews from helping his father in the shmatte business. Wilhelm is one of the very few Strasbourgians who is not antisemitic. Hans is also a good person, though he is jealous of Elena’s affection for Natan. When Natan – to whom she’s attracted – becomes Hans – who she finds ugly – Elena struggles to see beyond the exterior.

While mostly told from Natan’s perspective, Wiseman also allows Elena to tell a substantial part of the story. It is sometimes hard as a reader to change gears, but the dual voices offer a deeper understanding of the situation of the Jews in the city (and beyond), and those who would help them. Being historical fiction, while Wiseman can play with magic, there is, sadly, no chance for a happy ending.

Magic – or, at least, ghosts – also informs the storytelling in Eugene Yelchin’s The Haunting of Falcon House (Henry Holt and Co., 2016).

Ostensibly, this book is a translation Yelchin has made from a bundle of decaying pages bound with twine that he came across as a schoolboy in Russia. He brought them with him when he immigrated to the United States, but let them sit for years. Apparently written and illustrated by “a young Russian nobleman, Prince Lev Lvov,” who was born in 1879, there were many pages missing or unreadable.

“I managed to establish a chronological order of the events and then divided them into chapters, matched the drawings to the chapters, and discarded those I could not match,” writes Yelchin in the translator’s note that begins the book. So “inwardly connected to the young prince” did Yelchin become, he writes, “I can’t be certain, but as I typed Prince Lev’s inner thoughts, I felt cool fingers firmly guiding mine across the keys.”

In the story, 12-year-old Lev’s hands are similarly guided by a mysterious force when he is drawing. Arriving at Falcon House from St. Petersburg to take his place as heir to his family’s estate, Lev – who bears a striking resemblance to his grandfather – dreams of being a hero and nobleman like his grandfather and preceding ancestors. But, with some mystical guidance from Falcon House’s resident ghost, Lev begins to understand that being nobility doesn’t necessarily mean being noble, and his family’s secrets, which are slowly revealed, make him rethink his aspirations.

The ghost, a scary aunt and the disturbing illustrations combine to good effect in The Haunting of Falcon House, even though the story takes a little too long to unfold. The detailed notes at the book’s end provide valuable historical context and add greatly to the reading experience.

Jane Yolen’s Briar Rose: A Novel of the Holocaust (Tor Teen, 2016) is also a retelling – an adaptation of Sleeping Beauty. And, it is a reissue, having originally been published almost 15 years ago in a series created by Terri Windling, which comprised novels by various authors that reinterpreted classic fairy tales.

In Yolen’s reimagining, Briar Rose (aka Sleeping Beauty) is Gemma, Rebecca’s grandmother. Unlike her cynical and competitive older sisters, Rebecca never tires of listening to Gemma’s version of the tale, which doesn’t quite match up with the traditional folktale. When Gemma dies, leaving behind a box containing a few documents and photos that don’t quite match up with what she has told her family about her history, Becca sets off to find the truth.

Her search – done in the days before Google – starts slowly, with the help of her editor, Stan, on whom she has a crush. It takes them from their hometown of Holyoke, Mass., to Oswego, N.Y., where refugees were sheltered at Fort Oswego: “Roosevelt made it a camp and, in August 1944, some 1,000 people were brought over and interned [there]. From Naples, Italy. Mostly Jews and about 100 Christians,” explains the reporter at the Palladium Times to Becca.

What she learns at Oswego leads her on a journey to Poland and to Chelmno. Of the more than 152,000 killed by gas (or shooting) at the Nazi extermination camp that was there, only seven Jewish men are known to have escaped. This allows Yolen to imagine that one woman survived the killing centre, which was established on an old estate in a forest clearing that had a schloss (castle, or manor house).

In Gemma’s cryptic telling of her survival, she is saved from the castle by a “prince,” who we find out was himself saved by partisans after his escape from Sachsenhausen concentration camp and then joined the resistance; in her story, briars take the place of barbed wire, the wicked fairy the Nazis. As Becca discovers the reality of her grandmother’s past and finds her own voice and identity through the journey, we also witness Poles’ difficulties in dealing with what took place during the Holocaust and we meet others – including Gemma’s prince – who are still trying to heal from the destruction the Nazis’ wrought.

Interweaving the “real” story with Gemma’s fairy tale is very effective at building the anticipation and, once Becca arrives in Poland, Briar Rose is a page-turner. One almost doesn’t realize how much they’re learning while they’re reading. Almost.