The piece on the philology of folk tales that I linked to this morning reminded me of my reading of Norwegian fairy tales (called “eventyr,” which means “adventure,” more or less). A pair of Norwegians named Asbjørnsen and Moe, disciples of the Grimms, compiled the most famous collection. The familiar English translation is George Dasent’s East o’ the Sun and West o’ the Moon, but I don’t recommend it. It’s not a particularly good translation, and has a very Victorian flavor. This one is better.

My favorite eventyr is “The Twelve Wild Ducks,” which (in line with the interrelations of stories mentioned in that piece below) is clearly (to me at least) a cousin to “Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs.” This is especially apparent at the beginning. However, it’s far longer and more convoluted than the Grimms’ German tale that we all grew up with. It also bears interesting similarities to the classical story of Cupid and Psyche, which means Snow White and Psyche are related at only one remove. I find that intriguing.

Instead of running from a wicked stepmother, however, the princess (whose name here is Snow-White-Rose-Red, also the heroine of yet another tale in Grimm [or somewhere]) just wanders off and runs into—not dwarfs, but ducks, and not seven, but twelve. These ducks are actually her brothers, who have been enchanted by a wicked witch. This is where the Norwegian story and the German really part company, because the enchantment of the brothers is the central problem of this version. In order to free them, S-W-R-R has to carry out an impossible task (here’s the parallel to the Psyche story). She has to gather thistle down, spin it into thread, and weave the thread into shirts for her brothers. (She must also do this job without saying a word, always a useful element for plot-building.) Once they put on the shirts, the brothers will be un-enchanted.

However, just as she’s almost finished gathering the down, she encounters a handsome prince who, with the best intentions, “rescues” her, and takes her to his castle. There she continues working on the shirts, but also falls in love with the prince. This is another major departure from the Grimm version. Here the prince is not a rescuer, but a complication (though a romantic one).

I won’t spoil the climax for you. It’s gruesome enough to satisfy the most bloody-minded child, but good is rewarded and evil punished.

If you purchase the collection, you’ll also have the pleasure of seeing illustrations by the artists Erik Werenskjold and Theodore Kittelsen. Werenskjold was quite good, but Kittelsen was an absolute genius.