Shut Up, You're Only Getting Married

What is the deal with fathers in legends? Either they're criminally neglectful and allow their second wives to mistreat their daughters, or they're stiflingly protective and would rather kill a guy than let him say boo to his baby girl. It's as if the state of being the father of an attractive young woman triggers a chemical reaction that turns even the mildest of dads into psychotic serial killers.

You think I'm kidding? The father of the Twelve Dancing Princesses killed an unspecified number of princes before the soldier came along. Forgall sent Cuchulainn to fight a deadly warrior woman before he'd let him marry Emer. Ysbaddaden practically replicated the labors of Hercules to keep Culhwch from marrying Olwen (although to be fair, that was also to preserve Ysbaddaden's own life). And then there was the total nutjob who was so opposed to the idea of his daughter having a life of her own that he locked her on top of a glass mountain. They do say your kids drive you crazy, but that is just uncalled for.

Atalanta and Melanion, John Dickson Batten

And then there's Atalanta.

Full disclosure: this girl is My Girl. I wanted to be her when I grew up. I spent hours practicing my running, hoping one day to be as fast as her. She was a bow-shooting, speed-racing, take-no-prisoners badass, and I was dazzled from day one. But even I couldn't turn a blind eye to the engagement challenge that she, not her father, dreamed up. Beat her in a race or die? There's loading the dice, and then there's not even playing.

I always thought that that absurdly cruel challenge was a power play between Atalanta and her father. "You want to marry me off? Fine. But we'll do this my way, and even then you won't really be able to pretend you've got any say in my life." Dozens of poor saps, as infatuated as I was, got sent to their deaths for something that had absolutely nothing to do with them.

Atalanta's engagement challenge is doubly unique: 1) The potential bride gets input, and 2) her input creates the challenge. The other promised girls rarely get a word in edgewise about what they think of the unnumbered men who die for their sakes. Emer slips out of a marriage proposal while she's waiting for Cuchulainn, but only because Fiance Number Two decides not to be a jerk and steal Our Hero's girl. The Twelve Dancing Princesses certainly connive at their suitors' deaths, but their actions are never judged within the story, and they never comment on how they feel about dooming these men.

The Prince Enters the Briar Wood, Edward Burne-Jones

The worst-case scenario, as in so many other things, is poor Sleeping Beauty. No one ever asks her what she wants. She exists in limbo while men die in sight of her tower. None of it is her fault - unlike Atalanta, she has no say in whether or not anyone dies - but what a lot of baggage to wake up to. The knowledge that a century of death and pain went on while you slept, unaware and unable to help, must be devastating.

Culhwch at Ysbaddaden's Court, Ernest Wallcousins

And what about someone like Olwen, where the choice is between your father's life and your future? Culhwch kills Ysbaddaden at the end of the story without a second thought, neatly getting vengeance for a broken promise, fulfilling the gimmick of the plot, and securing his task-free life with his blissful bride. Except for the bit about how he just cut her father's head off. Have fun with that in marriage counseling. Would Olwen be happy with Culhwch, who after all is brave and stubborn enough to fulfill her father's insane challenges, or would she prefer to have her dad alive? Or was there someone else she'd rather have married? Or did she want to get married at all? No one ever asks.

The fulfillment of the challenge is always treated as the bride's answer: of course she'll marry the hero! He's jumped through all these hoops for her sake! It would be a total bitch move, not to mention anticlimactic, if she refused him! No one wonders what life would be like, married to a prince who happened by the castle on the right day, or to a guy who'd let her dad get flayed and beheaded, or to a girl who'd have sent you to die without regrets if you hadn't happened to toss her a few shiny apples. Sometimes the story goes out of its way to prove that there will be a happy ending: Olwen does in fact fall in love with Culhwch, Emer holds out for Cuchulainn, Atalanta and Hippomenes actually get busted by the gods for having too much sex. But what about the soldier, married to a Dancing Princess who wanted him dead? What about Sleeping Beauty and the prince from another century? What about all the rescued princesses who get handed over to whatever schlub pries them free from the dragon, or the wizard, or the sacrificial knife?

Brides are mute. No one's interested in what they have to say, unless they're a wild card like Atalanta, and the most even she can do is amend the engagement challenge rather than dispense with it completely. When brides try to have a say in their future, it's disregarded. The most Olwen can do to help Culhwch is to get him an audience with Ysbaddaden, at which the men do all the talking despite Olwen's presence; after that, she has to sit around and wait for outside factors to decide her fate. Sleeping Beauty's castle throws a wedding party about ten seconds after waking up. Spell or no spell, that is no way to treat a disoriented teenager in the grip of someone else's will (in this case, the goddamn fairy who was supposed to fix her life). We know it'll work out; we flipped to the end and saw "Happily Ever After." But the implications of the silencing of the women at the moment of crucial choice are terrifying. A fairytale bride's entire culture conspires jointly to shut her up at the very moment when her voice should be heard. And this is the happy ending.

For extra weirdness, often the stated reason for an engagement challenge is to ensure that the prospective bride's husband is "worthy of her." If you care so much about your daughter's welfare and happiness, wouldn't it make more sense to ask her what she thinks?

Siblings Have Feelings Too

Fairy tales are very clear on sibling relations. The trick of it is hate, hate, and more hate, with a sprinkling of contempt from older to younger. Gender is immaterial; brothers murder each other for brides just as easily as sisters pitch each other into rivers. If the relationship isn't one of hatred, normally the siblings are just there so that Our Hero can be the youngest of three. The point is that a real Hero or Heroine can and must succeed on his/her own. Help earned through individual virtue is acceptable; the support of a loving family just gets in the way.

The problem is, I like my siblings. My sisters never tried to backstab me or steal my prince; my brothers would fight for my honor in a minute. Luckily, there are fairy tales where siblings get along. Not many, of course, but some of the most interesting, particularly in terms of what they say about sibling relationships.

Kate Crackernuts, Derek Collard

My personal favorite, from the day I first read it, is Kate Crackernuts. Kate and Anne are princesses and half-sisters. Anne is prettier; Kate's mother jealously magics a sheep head onto Anne's shoulders; hence drama, right? Wrong. Kate chooses this moment to remember that the story's got her name in the title and takes off with Anne, willingly abandoning crown, place, and her (albeit somewhat psychotic) mother's love to travel the world and find a cure for her sister. Her stepsister, which in any other story would be the excuse for her to send the poor girl to drudge among the ashes. Since she has the resourcefulness that often eludes the "fairest of them all" types, Kate manages to save a prince (with a handy brother for Anne) at the same time, and presumably winds up co-ruling two kingdoms.

This might be the best sibling relationship in any fairy tale ever. Devotion on both sides, complete commitment to happiness together, renouncement of anything that doesn't benefit them both - it's almost like Kate and Anne care about each other! The kiss-of-death word "stepsister" is maybe mentioned once in any version; it's immaterial. Anne puts her fate in Kate's hands without question, and Kate more than requites that trust. These girls are sisters, by blood and in their hearts, and woe to anyone who messes with that.

The Twelve Dancing Princesses, Ruth Sanderson

The Twelve Dancing Princesses hang together in the same way. It's less moving, because the Princesses are never differentiated as individual characters (at least, not in the traditional versions), but they show the same camaraderie. They never crack and spill the secret to an outsider, but among themselves they share it freely. Granted, their united front dooms unnumbered men to death; it's far easier to see Kate and Anne, who never hurt anyone, as paragons of sisterhood. But despite the darkness to their relationship, the Twelve Princesses present the most famous portrait of sisterly devotion in the fairy tale canon.

Hansel and Gretel, Greg (CreatureBox)

The most famous, period, obviously goes to Hansel and Gretel. Those adorable cherubs, armed only with their wits and their mutual affection, battle domestic and supernatural evil and even manage to rescue each other. Their dynamic is clear from the beginning: they're a team, and they will put themselves on the line for each other at the drop of a hat. In terms of familial support, they don't even need their appallingly cavalier father. They back each other up far more effectively than he ever does. The feminist in me finds it very appealing that although Hansel is the leader, the idea man, and the muscle all in one while Gretel sits down and cries, she more than steps up to the plate when it's her turn. More than any other fairy tale siblings, these two grow into themselves and their comradeship. In one sense, it's easy for them to stick together so completely: they're children, and the adult concerns that drive fairy tale siblings apart have yet to enter their lives. But they face truly adult dangers - abandonment, imprisonment, slavery, death, loss of love - and come out on top purely through the strength of their bond.

Sets of brothers present a different conundrum in fairy tales. Princes and poor boys alike are expected to seek their fortunes, while sisters generally have to compete for whatever single fortune comes their way. Sisters resort to lies, backstabbing, and occasionally murder, while brothers have the option of ignoring each other on their individual quests. Of course, if some upstart youngest brother has the gall to come back home with a magic wife and untold treasure, his older brothers jump instantly to the murder option.

The Four Clever Brothers, Arthur Rackham

Or alternatively, they could help each other out. The Four Brothers each set out to seek their fortunes, making a promise to come back after four years and catch up. You'd think this would be instant danger for the most successful brother, but lo and behold, after four years they've each achieved great success in their chosen (and different) professions: one's a master thief, one's a great astronomer, one's a crack shot, and one's a tailor who can sew anything. When the inevitable princess gets inevitably kidnapped, they band together to rescue her, and each one proves indispensable to the quest. Of course, they can't all marry her, but she's a MacGuffin anyway; the brothers are all quite content with each getting a quarter of a kingdom to rule. The only time they quarrel is when they can't decide who should marry the princess. In dire straits, they all jump to each other's rescue without thinking twice about it, unlike the numerous jealous brothers who stage fake deaths as easily as they breathe.

Personally, I love that none of them really care that much about the princess. They're on this adventure for the sake of having a grand lark with each other. As rare as sibling devotion is in fairy tales, it's even rarer to see siblings actually having fun together. So often someone's got to be rescued, like Anne, or a debt owed, like Gretel saving Hansel, or control established, like the Eldest Dancing Princess laying the law down to her sisters. One way or another, one sibling usually has the upper hand, even in friendly relationships. The Four Brothers are complete equals, and nothing makes that clearer than the fact that none of them squeaks by the others to marry the princess.

The Cruel Sister, John Faed

What I don't love is how few of these stories there actually are. They're so outnumbered by stories of jealous brothers, sisters, and stepsisters that that's become the fairy tale norm, when in fact affection of this sort is a lot more interesting than blind hatred. The more popular stories are weirdly gendered, too: blood ties make no difference to brotherly hate, while stepsisters tend to perpetrate the worst crimes on each other. (The exception that proves the rule, of course, being the sisters of The Bonny Swans.) Only the brother-sister team of Hansel and Gretel is allowed to like each other without comment. What does that mean? Are men more prone to irrational jealousy than women? Are women afraid of being supplanted? What, precisely, is family worth in a fairy tale? Is it what you're born to, or what you make (or refuse to make) for yourself? If the point of fairy tales is individual success, how should we treat these siblings whose fate hinges on cooperation, friendship, and love, and who are made more than they are by the help and affection of their family?

I don't know the answers. I don't know if there are any universal answers, given the wide range of problems fairy tales address. But I am glad that there are many kinds of family represented in fairy tales, even if scantily.

Oh, princess, how they'll whisper your name...

Hands up if you knew Cassandra had a suitor. (Not counting Apollo, that is, or Ajax of Rapetown in the shire of Rapesly.) Two suitors, in fact. At least. Coroebus and Othronus, foreign princes who fought and died for Troy because they wanted to marry Cassandra.

Cassandra, Frederick Sandys

I wonder why so few Iliad adaptations mention that? What part of "feared and shunned prophesying madwoman" doesn't
scream dude magnet?

I like that Cassandra had suitors. It's a canon confirmation of how fascinating a character she's always been. We're not the only ones interested in a dead-on accurate and utterly ignored prophet. Even then, even among the people who stuffed their fingers in their ears, someone saw something in her that made them want to know more.

And in a serious way, too. It would be different if Coroebus came to Troy, saw a hot princess (Homer compares Cassandra to Aphrodite at one point), and decided she wasn't interesting enough to risk his life for. Instead, he made it all the way through the war fighting for Troy, only to die trying to defend Cassandra from Ajax of Locris.

Cassandra Dragged from Athena's Temple, Antoine Rivalz

Poor Othronus comes late and leaves early, arriving and dying in the Iliad. Homer takes the time to inform us that Othronus is there only so he can marry Cassandra, and that he would have married her even without a dowry.

We're not talking puppy love here. There was something about this woman. (Sure, at the beginning an alliance with Troy probably helped. But after ten years of war, with all its deprivations and losses, there was something else keeping them on that battlefield.)

So what is it about Cassandra that's so magnetic? Her own people don't like her, at least one god has a serious vendetta against her, and she cares very little for her own personal image, or she wouldn't be quite so prone to public screaming prophecies. I'm going to hazard a guess that whatever drew Coroebus and Othronus to her was not the prophetic gift that so enthralls modern readers. That particular blessing had very little value, either to Cassandra or to anyone who heard her. The benefit of hindsight makes it easier for us to appreciate Cassandra than it was for the Trojans.

Cassandra, Evelyn De Morgan

And she never stops fighting. In the face of scorn, ridicule, and disbelief, she never falters or betrays what she knows to be true. A Trojan, living day-to-day with an uncanny child prophet who grows more unhinged with each year, would not be kindly disposed toward her; an outsider, already prepared to like a rich and lovely princess, could easily be surprised and touched by her tenacity and her struggles. (Loyalty and courage being traits that ancient Greek society prized highly.)

But the repercussions of a lifetime of denial would have been very visible. Cassandra's a loner, a dreamer, a half-mad voice of reason at the mercy of unwanted powers.

So it's a lot to read into three characters who barely rate a mention in the Iliad. But it's a hard question to answer, and one that few people have even tackled. And in my head, at least, it gives Cassandra a measure of the sympathy and kindness that her people couldn't find for her.

And now you know what a softy I really am.

For extra fun: this song, from which I took the title of the post, might as well have been written by one of Cassandra's suitors.

The Best Knight in the World

Hi, Round Table. Nice to see you here.

King Arthur and the Knights of the Round Table, Michel Gantelet

Just the sight of it makes me happy. The equality of it all! The enlightenment! The awareness that being the best is less important than doing your best... except actually, not at all.

Despite the ideals of the Round Table, the legends forget about all that in short order. The King Arthur stories are crammed with applicants for the job of Best Knight Ever. Either Camelot was full of inferiority complexes, or the Round Table wasn't doing its job of promoting equality.

We begin with our starter kit, the knights who rallied behind Arthur back when he was a teenage sprog with a talent for freeing stuck swords. (Spoiler alert: none of these guys are The Best Knight in the World.) This quarrelsome lot provides the need for a Round Table in the first place; they won't shut up until assured that they're all equal to each other. The question of who's best is finally moot when Guinevere brings the Table with her dowry.

Sir Gawain and the Green Knight, John Howe

Along comes Gawain. Young, brave, impulsive, and nephew to the king. Maybe not so much stronger than more experienced knights, but was anyone else volunteering to get his head cut off by the Green Knight, or to marry the queen of ugly so he could save his king's life? Didn't think so. When Gawain comes back from the Green Chapel, pretty much everyone agrees that he deserves an extra portion of respect and honor.

So... he's the best, right?

Hold your horses, ladies and gentlemen and especially ladies.

Sir Lancelot, Melissa A. Benson

Lancelot wants a word. Lancelot is
easily the strongest of the
bunch. He could unhorse every knight at court twice and still have time for breakfast. He comes prepackaged with his own hype - a king's son, raised by the Lady of the Lake, his coming foretold by Merlin - and unlike many a Next Big Thing, lives up to and beyond it. He's a strong, sensitive stud who's so famous that he has to ride incognito in tournaments so he won't win by default.

So... he's the best, right?

Yeah, right. The name Guinevere mean anything to you?

The Temptation of Sir Percival,
Arthur Hacker

Besides, eventually Percival shows up, full of youthful naivete (also known as purity) and more good intentions than even he knows what to do with. Percival's a magnet for quests that only The Best Knight Ever can achieve, and mostly he achieves them. He never falls prey to sinful love, remaining either virginal or true to his first love for his whole life. Not to mention that in early versions of the Grail Quest, Percival is the knight who accomplishes it.

So... he's the best, right?

Sir Galahad, George Frederic Watts

And then there's Galahad. The only impure thing ever to happen to Galahad was the whole "conceived out of wedlock" business. There's a reason that his name is synonymous with "perfect knight." He surpasses his father's strength, young as he is. Few knights on the Grail Quest didn't need their butts saved by Galahad's intervention. The Siege Perilous was created for him alone. He gets a reprise of Arthur's sword-in-the-stone miracle within minutes of his arrival at Camelot. And he achieves the Grail, while even Percival has to sit on his slightly less pure hands and watch.

So... he's the best, right?

Oh, who even knows anymore? It seems like every time a new knight pops up on the scene, he's hailed as Today's Best Knight. Tristan gets this treatment once he tears himself away from Isolde and comes to Camelot. Bors gets it out of nowhere when Malory has to explain why a knight we've barely met is worthy to see the Grail. Gareth gets it briefly, after defeating four knights and Linette's taunting. And King Arthur gets the reverse version, with his personal reputation as a fighter taking distant second place to his law-giving fame.

Jousting Knights, c. 1445

It's a strange conundrum that a company famous for their equality should be so hung up on superiority. Because they are. They ooh and aah over each New Best Knight. Galahad only has to sit down for Bors to turn into Mr. Ollivander and declare that they all expect great things from him. Anyone who manages to unhorse one of the Big Four practically has a party thrown in their honor.

Could it be that the knights are just glad to see a dominating presence proved human? Sure. Obviously those guys are part of the legend; Mordred wouldn't have had supporters without them. And maybe that's the point. Even at the height of its glory, Camelot is only human. The knights want one person to be better than another. No one wants to say that Kay is as good as Lancelot. What they want to say is that they're better than Kay. Or Lionel, or Bedivere, or whoever they want to surpass. On one hand, it's proactive goal-setting; on the other hand, it turns one of the greatest ideals of the story into a vessel for lip service. And given that Camelot falls through human failing, I like the idea that that failing was there all along.