thoughts based loosely upon

As mentioned in the entry immediately preceding this one, last night found certain ones among us sitting in a darkened room, slurping (or not slurping, as the case may be) apple wine, and watching the movie "Emma." It's a good movie. I listened to Jane Austen's original tale in audiobook form once a few years ago, and from this I know that the book is good, too.

(Even today the voice of the woman who read "Emma" aloud for librivox.org takes me back to a sunny afternoon one summer or fall,
sauntering down the walking path at a sandpit-turned-nature-preserve, where we used to meet Grandma sometimes ((or go by ourselves other times)) to walk, bike, fish, and otherwise enjoy generally pleasant times in one another's company. One time Grandma met us there and brought ice cream. I won a ribbon of some kind at the fair for the picture I took that day of Eli's little face inhaling a sticky meltwork of mint bon-bon off the top of a cone. He was almost cross-eyed with the effort of getting his mouth to open wider than human anatomy will allow. Anyway, one of these times at the park (not, I think, the ice cream time) I was in the middle of listening to "Emma," and I walked around and around the path with those white earbuds stuck in my ears, listening to that woman's strangely delicate voice lilt on about the heroine whom, supposedly, no one but Austen would much like. Fortunately, the authoress was well off the mark with that prediction.)

Still, in spite of the evidence, I'm not here to write about "Emma," nor yet about any number of sunny childhood recollections clearly associated therewith. Because tonight, in the absence of any parental presence in the home (they were out on a double date with another couple whose Mrs. also had a birthday this weekend - today, in fact), some of our younger members spent part of the evening watching "Tangled." This activity, in case your eyebrows were aroused by the previously mentioned parental absence, was perfectly lawful.

I remember seeing the trailer for this "Tangled" film some time ago, and thinking it looked peerlessly stupid. But (since I might as well admit that when I brought up the tuna melts that were all supper could say for itself, I neglected to come down again until the credits rolled) in spite of my best efforts, I couldn't help liking the little flick considerably better than I'd intended. That's not to say that it doesn't have its faults; but another thing I'm not here to do is to write a review of "Tangled," so enough of that already.

I merely want to observe that I rather like fairy tales. In all their silly weirdness, they hold peculiar potential as vehicles of truth-telling (though, certainly, I've read full many a tale that took absolutely no notice of this promising chance, and went charging down the uncharted paths of history with a perfectly empty cart rattling at its heels). Real-life fiction can tell the truth, too, of course; but sometimes I find that the very many similarities between such story-worlds and our own living one can be a bit distracting. I, for one, am tempted to draw altogether too many direct parallels into my own little sphere of difficulties, especially when it comes to the dividing off of all the world into couples. But that's another topic for another night.

The point striking us now between the shoulder blades is that, regardless, or (more likely) because, of their consummate impossibility, fairy tales and other similarly wide-eyed genres can be crafted into uniquely unfettered, delightful carriers of truth and beauty. All adult complications packed neatly away in a grave marked "Unnecessary," the tale itself can be as outrageous as the day - princesses are kidnapped by witches and grow magical hair a mile long, mirrors speak, princes turn into frogs and back again, and if the story calls for it young women can sleep for a thousand years and never age a day. In the best of their kind, these stories end with what is good being shown to be good, while what is evil lurches away on three legs, covered in warts and wailing miserably.

At least in my current state of being, "Emma" left me pleased, but a little troubled; "Tangled" had its issues, but it didn't perplex my heart in that curiously unproductive, backwards-glancing way. After brushing away some cobwebs, I was mostly struck by how admirable, indeed, are such things as chivalry, sacrifice, and redemption. Admittedly, it's a goofy, animated kids' movie produced in modern America; none of the chords struck very deep notes, and three minutes after leaving the room my mind was on to other things.

And yes, I know this probably makes me come off as some kind of anti-intellectual idiot who can't take the medicine in classic literature, and prefers to curl up in Disney's fluffy nest. I don't know ... maybe that really is what's behind it all.

This little diatribe, in case you can't tell, is meant for an especial plug neither for "Tangled" nor against "Emma." The contrast between the two just set me thinking, is all. Still, when you read or watch a good fairy story, this is worth considering: The story itself, however regrettably, will never play itself back out in your own life (no matter how much some of us like the idea of an elf or two really hiding out beneath the floorboards). But the principle is there, resplendent in its highly unlikely setting. Take it now, and see what you can do with it out here in the real world.