Queen Anait (Feminist Folktales 1.)

Today I start a new blog series: Feminist Folktales! It will be a collection of traditional stories from around the world that display motifs that reflect feminist values. I am not changing any of the stories, merely researching and compiling them, and posting them here as food for thought. You will find the list of posts here.

I wanted to kick off this series with a story that has been part of my repertoire for a long time, and is one of the first tales that come to my mind when I hear "feminist folktale."
Here we go.

Queen Anait

Origin: Armenia

The story

Illustration from
The Weave of Words

A prince named Vachagan goes hunting with his most loyal servant and his favorite dog. At noon, parched and exhausted, they stop at a spring by a village, and the prince asks for water from a local girl. When she hands him her jar, another girl, Anait, grabs it and pours out the water six times in a row before she lets the prince have a drink. When questioned by the annoyed Vachagan, she tells him that drinking ice cold water would have hurt his overheated body. The prince takes a liking to the clever girl, and once he returns home he announces that he wants her for his wife.
However, when the messengers arrive with the royal proposal, Anait refuses, telling them she will only marry a man who has a real trade. Vachagan decides to learn brocade weaving. After one year of hard work, he sends his own brocade to Anait with a new proposal, and this time she happily accepts.
In time, Vachagan and Anait become king and queen. The king decides to go traveling in plain clothes to see how things are going in the realm, and leaves Anait behind as regent. However, he is kidnapped by evil priests, and they only let him live because he knows a trade. They lock him in a dungeon and force him to weave. Vachagan weaves a piece of gold brocade, with a secret message only the queen can read. When the bandits try to sell her the cloth, she reads the message, calls her men to arms, and leads the way to breaking her husband and all the prisoners out of the dungeon. When they are freed, Vachagan notes that she'd saved him a long time ago, on the day she insisted he should have a trade.

What makes it a feminist folktale?

Queen Anait is an amazing female folktale character. She is clever, wise, and brave (and also beautiful, but this is not highlighted in the tale, even at first sight the prince is more impressed by her intelligence). Next to having a great deal of common sense, we also find out she is quite the adept weaver herself, and is teaching all the people in the village how to read and write. She does it so well that they all consider her their master tutor, and cover the rocks, trees, and walls with writing. She builds a community based on education and shared labor. Even her father respects her independence, and allows her to make her own decisions about marriage.
All through the course of the tale, Anait stands up for herself and for her decisions. First off, she doesn't let the prince hurt himself by drinking, even if he things she is crazy or mean for doing it. It is more important to her to do the right thing than what she appears like while doing it. In today's world where women are still judged for how well the behave (see "polite feminists" vs "angry feminists"), Anait is an excellent role model for not caring how 'feminine' one appears while getting important things done. Secondly, she declines a royal marriage proposal because she wants to stick to her principle of choosing a partner who has a trade of his own, and does not rely on wealth and rank. This is a serious privilege check for the prince - Anait questions what he would do if he did not inherit the crown. Third, when it comes to saving her husband and her people, she is the first one to take up arms and ride to the rescue, and no one questions her leadership.
While Anait is wise and determined, she is in no was cold or hard. She loves her husband, cares for him and others, and when he disappears, she is seriously worried, plagued by nightmares and anxiety. She keeps the realm in hand, but she is just as human as anyone else, nervous when her loved ones are in danger.

This folktale would not be nearly this awesome, however, if Anait had a husband who was not worthy of her. But he is. It is a lovely moment in the story when Vachagan sends her his golden brocade, and she sends one of her carpets in return. This shows them as equal partners, who make equal, independent, mutual decisions about whom they choose to share their life with. Vachagan is also a likable male character: he likes smart women (yay), and when Anait turns his proposal down, and checks his privilege, he does not get angry or frustrated. Instead, he gets right to work and is willing to learn new things, putting in a whole year to become worthy of her. He does not seek loopholes or shortcuts. Later on, he always listens to Anait, taking her advice in important matters, and when he gets into trouble, she is the first one he reaches out to, as someone who can understand his secret message as his closest confidante. They have a relationship based on mutual respect, open communication, and appreciation. Vachagan doesn't only do things because "she told him to" or "to make her happy" (or, in real life examples, "to make her stop nagging") - instead, he takes the time and the effort to understand - and appreciate - the reasons behind her words. Big, BIG difference, people.

Things to consider

I read a lot of versions of this story, but most of them were for Soviet folktale collections, so I am not entirely sure the "evil, greedy priests" were not common bandits originally...

Sources

One of the first known retellings of this tale came from Ghazaros Aghayan 19. century Armenian writer.

Kathleen Ragan: Fearless girls, wise women, and beloved sisters (W.W. Norton & Co., 2000.)
Avril Pyman: The Golden Fleece: Tales from the Caucasus (Progress Publishers, 1971.)
Gerard Shelley: Folk tales of the peoples of the Soviet Union (Herbert Jenkins Ltd., 1945.)
Iakov Samsonovich Khatchatrianz: Armenian Folk Tales (Colonial House, 1946.)
David Kerdian: The golden bracelet (Holiday House, 1998.)
Robert D. San Souci: The weave words (Orchard Books, 1995.)
Lucretia Samson: Wise Anait and the woven words (Clean Slate Press, 2017.)
Irina Zheleznova: A mountain of gems: Fairy tales of the peoples of the Soviet land (Raduga Publishers, 1975.)
Susie Hoogasian Villa: 100 Armenian tales and their folkloristic relevance (Wayne State University Press, 1966.)
https://www.storiestogrowby.org/story/queen-anait/
There is a recent animated movie based on this story, you can watch it on YouTube. Anait was also featured in the Rejected Princesses series, you can find the page here.

Notes

This story belongs to the tale type ATU 888A* (The basket-weaver). You can read an arab version here. There are also many other versions, among them Russian, Jewish, Irish, and Moroccan.
Before Christianity, Anahit was an Armenian goddess, the Golden Mother, sometimes compared to the Greek Artemis.

The Badass Grandmas of Hungarian Folktales (a #FolkloreThursday special)

Tomorrow is International Women's Day. I have been working on a Feminist Hungarian Folktales collection, and the deeper I dug into out folklore archives, the more often I encountered old women who were smart, active, and all-around badass. I decided that I would like to highlight them in this year's post. So, without further ado:

BADASS GRANDMAS (AND AUNTIES) OF HUNGARIAN FOLKTALES

The ex-princess

In a folktale by a traditional teller from Rozsály, a young Scythian king makes a name for himself by rescuing a cursed princess. Her father had punished her because she fell in love with the wrong person; when the Scythian prince sets her free, she promises to repay his kindness one day. Time flies, the king has sons, the sons grow up, and set out to seek their fortune. On the way, an old woman joins them, not-so-subtly helping them along. She rescues them from bandits, and packs the bandit chief's head away in her purse. Later on, when a king promises his daughter to whoever can rid the woods of bandits, Granny pulls out the severed head, and demands the princess for one of the lads. The king is not too enthusiastic about the match, and orders his servants to toss the prince out of the highest tower at night... but luckily, the prince falls right into the arms of the old woman, who has been waiting around below the tower, with her back to the wall. To catch him. As the story progresses, she blinds an entire army, secures the match for one brother, and finds another princess for the other, until all is well in the end. Once a double wedding is celebrated, the cursed-princess-turned-badass-grandma turns into a dove, and flies away.

The salty witch

You know that story, right? "I love you like people love salt"? Well, in a Hungarian Roma variant the princess, exiled by her narcissistic father, ends up in the woods, and is found by an old woman everyone in the area is scared of. Granny states that the king is a real piece of work, and adopts the princess. Eventually, a young man joins them as a servant. One day, Granny decides it is time to teach the king a lesson, and takes the princess home to the palace, where they cook an unsalted feast together. The king, of course, learns his lesson about the importance of seasoning - and to drive the point home, Granny starts shaking salt out of a magic bag, filling up the room, yelling "Is that enough salt yet? Is that enough?" When the king begs for forgiveness, the old lady nods: "Good. And don't ever make me save your daughter from you again."
Word.

The dragon slayer

In another Roma folktale, an old man is imprisoned for a crime he didn't commit, and his wife is left alone. The old woman sets out to rescue her husband, walking through a forest everyone warns her not to enter - it belongs to a dragon. On the way, the old woman meets the dragon (it has 28 heads!). She offers it some milk, and manages to lull and hum and pet it to sleep. While the dragon is sleeping, she cuts off her long hair, and ties the beast up so thoroughly that when it wakes and struggles, it strangles itself. Once people in town hear what she's done, they let her husband go free.

The smart mother-in-law

This Transcarpathian story (included in my book) is a variant of Rumpelstiltskin that is much kinder, and all-around nicer, than the Grimm version. More importantly, it features a dowager queen, the king's mother, who is on her daughter-in-law's side from the first moment. To cover up the lie about spinning gold, day after day she stands in the door of the girl's room, spinning stories about why the gold is not ready. No one dares question her word, so she keeps winning time until the whole situation is resolved.

The demon hunter

Hungarian folklore features a type of demonic being known as a lidérc. Most often it appears as an ugly chicken with magical properties: It can bring you whatever you want, in great quantities, and it will make you rich - but the moment it gets bored, it takes your soul to hell. Owners of lidérc chicken have to continuously keep them busy, because their soul is on the line. In one story, a widow finds such a creature, but soon discovers that it is impossible to coexist with - when it is not piling things into the house, it keeps chirping "What? What? WHAT?" until it is given another task. Eventually, the wise old neighbor woman comes up with a solution for how to get rid of the demon (you have to give it an impossible task). Following the sage advice, the widow frees herself, and splits the spoils with her neighbor.

Bonus: The Virgin Mary

There is a Transylvanian folktale that is very similar to Bluebeard, but has a better ending. In this one, the heroine helps her sisters escape from the murderer's castle, and finds a new life for herself as well. However, her evil ex-husband eventually catches up to her, kidnaps her, and drags her back home by the hair. On the way, the scene is noticed by the Virgin Mary, who stops the man, and demands to know what is going on. When the man claims that he has the right to punish his runaway wife, the Virgin says "No, you don't. You are a devil, and you have no claim on any woman." And with that, she turns the man into stone, and escorts the woman back home.

Happy International Women's Day to all real life badass grandmas, aunties, godmothers, and other legendary elders!

So you wanna make blanket statements about fairy tales

Fairy- and folktales seem to make appearances in social media for one of two distinct reasons:

No. 1: "Young people are killing fairy tales!"

No. 2: "Fairy tales are killing young people!"

I already blogged in detail about the former, but thanks to an article shared by Maria Tatar on Twitter recently (as well as various other articles people keep sending my way) I think it is about time I blogged about the latter.

The article in question - "Should we be raising our kids on fairy tales?" - talks about classic fairy tales ("books") as something outdated, potentially harmful, and completely not of interest to modern children. The examples? Hansel and Gretel, Cinderella, and Sleeping Beauty. Another one  - "Five reasons to stop reading your children fairy tales now" - talks about how fairy tale heroines are passive, and always rescued by a man and marriage. The examples? Snow White, Sleeping Beauty, Cinderella, Beauty and the Beast. Yet another one - "'Sexist' Sleeping Beauty and all the other fairy tales that may need updating for a new generation" - suggest changes to... you called it: Cinderella, Sleeping Beauty, Snow White, Beauty and the Beast, and Little Red Riding Hood. 

Sensing a pattern yet?

Alright, then, let's note a few things about this issue.

1. "Folktales" and "fairy tales" are not the same
I feel like I am repeating myself, but here it is. Folktales belong to the oral tradition, they are transmitted in many versions across generations and across cultures, and they belong to the community. They also change over time. I already wrote about this.
Fairy tales are tales of magic (also often called wonder tales). They can be folktales, or literary tales (as in, written by an author, such as Hans Christian Andersen).
So, for the people in the back: Not all folktales are fairy tales, and not all fairy tales are folktales! I am repeating this because I have encountered professional storytellers who did not know the difference. Let's practice:
Little Mermaid: Fairy tale, but not folktale.
Clever Maid: Folktale, but not fairy tale.
Master Maid: Fairy tale AND also folktale.
Alice in Wonderland: Neither fairy tale nor folktale.

2. FIND MORE STORIES

So, you wanna make blanket statements about fairy tales.
READ MORE FAIRY TALES.
Read a couple of hundred, for starters. Then read a couple of thousand. Really, there are millions out there. Therefore, if you make grand claims about "women in fairy tales," you better bring examples beyond the 5 most popular Grimm stories.
Alternately: Preface your claims with "in the western fairy tale canon..." and then it will be clear that you are making them about a standard set of stories that most often get retold and adapted in western Europe and North America. You know. Like Snow White, Cinderella, and Beauty and the Beast. Don't just say Grimm. Unless you read all Grimm.
You'd be surprised how many clever, independent, strong women can be found in folktales and fairy tales around the world. They do exist. They might not be selected for collections, adaptations, or for storytelling performances, but they do exist. Check these books out for starters.

3. Stories have layers

The layer these articles focus on the most is the outer one - the actual, practical, literary take on a story, that deals with the representational aspect, such as the hero's gender. This layer is essential, and we need to pay attention to it. However symbolic we get, the children (and adults) we tell to will still notice what is there, and what is missing. I have been thanked before by a little girl for telling about a princess "who had black hair like me."
Then, there is the symbolic, psychological, archetypal, whatever you want to call it deeper layer. Or layers, rather, depending on what method of analysis you use, and who is listening to the story. The same tale can say vastly different things to different people. For example, when I see Beauty and the Beast, I think about trying to change someone who might not change (not one of my favorite tales). But someone else hearing the same story might think "don't judge by someone's looks." Both are equally valid. My interpretation is no reason why others should not hear the story.
The fun part is, the deeper meaning can work all the same, regardless of the representation you use. So why not make your repertoire more diverse? Especially when thinking about underrepresented themes and characters and identities, it is vital to know that we can teach the same values - kindness, courage, justice, hope - using a wide variety of symbols and characters. And we can even add new ones, because that is how the oral tradition works.

4. Stories are told, not recited
Regardless of whether you tell tales or read them aloud, the emphasis is on communication. Discussing stories, adapting them, playing with them, or even developing them together with your audience makes sure that they are not misunderstood, or that things that don't exist in the same way anymore (like the arranged marriages of royalty) are presented in context. Throw a "back in those old days..." in your story. It works wonders.

5. This is not the Hunger Games
It does not have to be either or. We don't need to cut old fairy tales to make place for new ones. Our heads, our hearts, our repertoires, our bookshelves can definitely fit more. Just because I love stories about strong independent women, doesn't mean I don't enjoy hearing Sleeping Beauty or Cinderella, or that I want them eliminated from existence. I don't. In fact, I enjoy a good princess-rescuing as much as the next gal.
The key to a more equal story world is a small word: TOO.
Let there be male heroes too.
Let there be female heroes too.
Princesses can be rescued too.
Princes can be rescued too.
We can have fairy tale weddings too.
We can have happily ever afters without weddings too.
We can have story psychology and representation too.
We can have adventure too.
We can have love stories too.
We can have classic tales too.
We can have new folktales too.

And, most importantly: We need teachers, parents, librarians, and storytellers, who go out and gather all these tales for the next generation.
There is life beyond the fairy tale canon too.

(I'm not apologizing for the Disney gifs.)

Folklore Thursday: Farts, folktales, and feminism

Today is Folklore Thursday on social media! If you want to find out more, follow this link, or click on the #FolkloreThursday hashtag on Twitter! Hosted by @FolkloreThursday.

Today we talk about ancient tales about women farting.

This is not a joke, so much so that the folktale type I am talking about has its own number: ATU 1453**** (those are not four tiny farts, those are asterisks for a sub-type, thank you very much). It is commonly known as "The Flatulent Girl," but the type also has a fancy Latin name, Puella Pedens, which means the same, but sounds more scientific, because it's Latin.
This story exists in many traditions around the world, but in vastly different versions, and with vastly different morals. Some folklorists posit that it is of Eastern origin, because it exists in the Birbal tale cycle of India.
Whatever the case, it is worth talking about.

Here is the gist:

A man (or a party of men) arrives at a house to propose to a girl. While they are there, the girl lets out a fart, which absolutely scandalizes the guests, and they leave immediately. After this, the story can take two turns: One, "this is why women should never fart" - and Two, which is obviously why I am talking about this today.
In Option Two (several Hungarian versions), the mother is so embarrassed by her daughter's mistake that she bribes the men with a length of home-made linen to not tell anyone. When his daughter finds out that they are walking away with the linen that she made with hard work, she runs after them, takes it back, tells them off, and marches home. The "tells them off" part is especially entertaining, and it can take various forms, such as:

"You take your groom, I'll take my linen. And you can go find a house where nobody farts!"
or
"Guess what: I farted a lot more than this while I made an entire length of linen with my own hands!"
or
"I farted because my father's house has good food. Does yours?"

In one version, the men feel ashamed, admit that the girl is clever, and propose anyway. In another, the storyteller concludes "she had more brains than her mother." In the third, the "clever girl" never marries, but the story notes that she was unjustly judged for "one mistake."
All of these versions of the story have been collected from female storytellers, by the way.

While many versions of this tale type fall under your typical run-of-the-mill "women-policing" category, the ones mentioned above carry a very important feminist message: That there is a bias in people when they compare a woman's behavior (and bodily functions) to the worth of her work. "Real" women, according to society, don't fart, don't burp, don't sweat, don't grow hair, and bleed blue. Watching to make sure they adhere to these rules come before actually paying attention to what they are working on, what they are saying, or what their personality is like. It is so important that a girl's shoulders should be covered that she is sent home from an educational institution, placing "propriety" above knowledge (because clearly no one has seen a naked shoulder before). When women in the media are meticulously criticized for their looks and their etiquette instead of what they stand for, we have a problem.
Sure, accidentally having bodily functions in front of guests is not good etiquette - but neither does it make a woman unlovable, undesirable, or worthy of eternal damnation.

And it is definitely not worth losing a perfectly good length of linen.
(SCAdians, can I get an amen?)