The First Story

While we have no concrete evidence, it’s safe to assume that the first story told was a warning from one homo sapien to another.

“Hey, in a time before now, I went in that direction with a hunting party and something with teeth and claws ate half of them. Be careful.”

But we are a race of curious adventurers. We’d have to be considering we saw things like lobsters, potatoes and prickly pears and said, “Let’s eat it.” So, of course whoever heard that story went in that very direction and confronted the clawed, toothed animal wanting to know what it was and if he, or she, could have a better outcome. We don’t know the end of that story, but we’re here so more than one somebody survived and continued the race.

Then what about fairy tales? More than a few are warning stories—be careful in the woods, stranger danger—but just as many, if not more, are about behavior. Would Cinderella have gotten a fairy godmother assist if she’d been pill? Could Jack have gotten away with the golden goose and magic harp if he hadn’t done a good turn for a stranger and had a hungry mother at home?

Image by Gordon Johnson from Pixabay

Fairy tales warn and assure us that virtuous behavior will, eventually, be rewarded. It also gives hope to people in dire circumstances that anyone can change their fortunes (and maybe become royalty). It’s an idea that gives me comfort when the world isn’t friendly.

Forgotten Fairy Tales

Did you know that there's a story that may have inspired The Legend of Zelda? That it includes a precursor to the Sanderson Sisters (in my opinion)? Skelator? A furry, kind version of Smiegel? And best of all, a clairvoyant pig? Have you guessed the story?

Photo by Nitin Arya on Pexels.com

It's been years (decades?!) since I've seen The Black Cauldron and somehow none of the above occurred to me until I re-watched it as an adult. It's one of those rare Disney animated movies that didn't do well and has seemingly hidden away from view. I think when I saw it as a kid, I thought it was somehow related to The Sword in the Stone. I was an early lover of Swords & Sorcery (Willow anyone?) Needless to say, it had nothing to do with The Sword in the Stone, it was scarier than I was prepared for, and I erased it from my memory along with The Great Mouse Detective.

Here's some stuff I wish I'd known at the time:

It was based on a series by Lloyd Alexander that has 5 books!

The lead female role was a magical princess, not a scullery maid.

This movie was actually meant for teenagers.

Seeing it again made me wonder. While I will admit it is a seriously flawed movie--like what exactly is Gurgi? A dog? A raccoon? A Fluppy? (Points to anyone who gets that reference)--I can see how the books would have appealed to me. How many stories do we miss out on because it didn't find an audience? (Does anyone else remember The Halloween Tree? Here Come the Grump?)

Are there any stories that feel as though only you know about them because they've been forgotten?

Birth of the Coqui - HH story

We’re still in Hispanic Heritage Month and it felt appropriate that I continue my retelling of Latino fairy tales from my particular corner of Latin America, Puerto Rico.

Another story related to the coquí dates back to the time of the Tainos, the indigenous people of the Caribbean. Admittedly, I took a few liberties with the details, but the conclusion is the same.

There was a water goddess who fell in love with the son of a chief. To show her favor for him, she made sure that he always returned with ample catch when he went fishing. He, in turn, would thank and praise her each time. The goddess, not content to simply love him from afar, came to the chief’s son as a Taino woman. Despite taking human form, the man knew who the woman was, and they fell even deeper in love. But she couldn’t remain indefinitely. She promised to return the next evening with the rising of the moon.

Guabancex, the benign face of the goddess of water and winds

When the man returned, instead of finding the woman and goddess he loved, he was confronted by Juracán, the mercurial side of Guabancex, goddess of the weather. Perhaps Juracán, envious of the other goddess’s happiness or overcome with desire for the man, caused the skies to darken and blew down great winds to snatch the chief’s son. The water goddess tried to save her lover, but in vain. She called his name over and over again until her voice grew hoarse, but she never saw him again. In her grief she created a tiny frog that echoed her cries, calling to the man named Coquí.

Taino representation of the Coqui

Happy Hispanic Heritage Halves

In the US, September 15^th marks the beginning of Hispanic Heritage Month, which runs until October 15^th. Having half of one month and then another month makes for odd celebrations—it sneaks up on you and then leaves almost silently. Sometimes I don’t remember it’s Hispanic Heritage Month until I see a commercial wishing me a happy one.

I wondered at the choice. So, I did some research. It turns out it was originally a week for decades and then grew by 1989, which explains why as a kid I didn’t know about it and then suddenly I was eight and we were told we had a month to celebrate. I also learned it’s based on quite a few Latin American independence days, which is why it starts in the middle of September.

I’m hard pressed to relate this to fairy tales because of the lack of correlation. It’s always been difficult to find any original stories that haven’t been influenced by European ones. But there is one I found that I’ve always liked. It’s the legend of the Coquí, the frog of Puerto Rico.

Ignacio, the King of the Forest and a parrot, was disgusted by how lazy and complacent his subjects had become. To encourage them he challenged them to a race and that one of each species could represent them in the race. There would be no consequences for losing, but the winner would be given a surprise gift. The animals chose their strongest and fastest but didn’t take it too seriously. However, the tiny coquí, who had no voice, did. They trained a champion in the hopes it would outstrip the bigger, stronger animals.

The day of the race, the biggest and strongest animals lined up next to the tiny coquí and sprinted forward leaving the frog behind. And yet, the coquí used his powerful legs to jump past the leaders and won. King Ignacio, true to his word, spread his wings and chanted over the tiny frogs and gave them a voice. They, in turn were able to respond with a special song, “COQUÍ, COQUÍ.” And it was a reminder those who are overlooked can make their voices heard.

A comforting thought when your month is really half of two cobbled together.

My Weird Obsession

Back when I hosted a monthly Meet An Indie Author Monday (MAIAM, I love a good palindrome), the first interview I posted was my own. And this was one of the questions:

Writers keep their eyes open for inspiration, which makes us notice a lot more than most. What random piece of everyday beauty do you love?

My answer was, in retrospect, was very subdued because I wanted to keep my responses short and pithy.

Doors. Doors have become so humdrum, so when I walk by a really gorgeous door I can't help but stop. An interesting handle, nice ironwork, a good heavy doorknocker. Sometimes I take a picture.

In truth, I LOVE doors—interesting doors, old doors, oddly-shaped doors, and doors that open with skeleton keys. I recently went on vacation to Switzerland and Bern is a door-lovers paradise!

As someone who writes about fairy tales, I think I’m in search of the door that will take me to another realm even knowing that fairies aren’t exactly known for their hospitality. There’s an allure to a door, a mystique. At least while it stays closed. It’s the embodiment of possibilities.

What mundane thing do you imbue with magical possibilities?

The Stories We Learn

In past posts I’ve mentioned my love of mythology. I knew more about Greek, Norse, Egyptian and Roman mythology than a child of eight should know. I loved the idea of goddesses and gods who were like us, but writ large. I didn’t know it then, but they were the original superheroes and arch villains. And I’m a sucker for a good origin story.  

          Which is why I found myself becoming dismayed while researching my next project. I want to daughter and any future generations to know our mythology—Taino mythology and yet finding information about it proved difficult. I was equal to the challenge of reading academic research in Spanish (being both a historian and a Spanish speaker) and sifting through websites for what was honest conjecture and what was wishful thinking (my superpower is research). And yet the more stories I learned and loved, the angrier I became. Why hadn’t I learned more about this in school? I grew up in New York City, which is fairly progressive and well-represented by Puerto Ricans. Shouldn’t the indigenous cultures of the Caribbean have been covered? My love of Greek myths had started in school, why hadn’t my love been expanded to include my mythology? Why wasn’t my culture considered as interesting and vital? Eight-year-old me wouldn’t have known the answer, but current me knows the answer is obvious.

          The stories we learn are important. It’s a recent idea that representation matters, but that’s an abstract idea. I’m reminded in little ways all the time that it’s more than an idea. It’s an ideal. And making sure the stories we learn include everyone is just as important as marches and rallies. Writers often say you should write the stories you want to see. I’ve always known I wanted to put Latinas at the forefront of my stories and I hope that one day a child of any background walks around with a big book of Taino myths and meets her new superheroes.

Three point cemi of the Tainos

Minding my Mythology, part II

Here’s the problem when mythology is collected from an interrupted culture: the stories are left partially incomplete. The Greeks thrived for centuries recording their mythology for posterity in a written language. It proliferated throughout the ancient world allowing it to become further etched in the culture. Even after the arrival of Christianity there were folk beliefs that remained.

The Tainos didn’t have a written language and relied primarily on oral tradition. As such their beliefs were dictated to one priest who came with his own biases while being the chronicler of a culture that would almost disappear. As such some of his writings have to be interpreted and have been, by men.

All this preamble is to explain that the following story from Taino mythology is based on the research I’ve done and inference based on the contradictions and gaps I’ve found.

Old Blood Mother

Much has been said about the Four Twins and especially the first among her quadruplets, Deminán Caracaracol. But what of the woman who brought them into being?

The gods tried many times to coax beings from the underwold that could inherit the Surface. Their attempts brough forth creatures that were ill-suited to the bright rays of the implacable Sun. And yet they knew one day men and women would populate the earth. It would require someone of great bravery and selflessness.

Her name was Itiba Cahubaba.  

Itiba Cahubaba wandered the world of the gods largely ignored by them. She, along with others of her kind, eked out an existence from the remnants left by their creators. How she became pregnant remained a mystery, but she sensed that pregnancy was important to her people.

Her stomach grew and grew although the rest of her became thin and weak. Despite this, she when to great lengths to protect her belly knowing she had to successfully give birth.

Finally, the day came when the pains assailed her. She worked hard, but she quickly grew too tired to continue. When others of her kind came, she made them promise that her child would be born, no matter the cost. They agreed and as she lay dying one of them used a stone axe to open her belly. To everyone’s shock, not one but four children were born.

Because of Itiba Cahubaba’s sacrifice her people came together ending their nomadic existence. Recognizing her willingness to give her life’s blood to further her race, they honored her as an ancestral spirit, the Old Blood Mother.