Though I began the year with no particular plan for this blog (like the Magnetic Poetry of 2011 and the Legacy Writing of 2012), in going back over the past couple of weeks of entries, I see a theme emerging. Maybe I’ve been subliminally influenced by the My Ideal Bookshelf banner, because I seem to be featuring books or quoting writers a lot. It’s not a writing blog–lots of people do that better than I would–but it is a writer’s blog, so I guess it isn’t surprising that books and writers and quotes are what interest me most. Even more than dolls!
That being said, a couple of dolls I received at Christmas tie together both things: Little Dead Riding Wolf and Snow Bite.
I love the many versions of the Little Red Riding Hood story, though I don’t think that particular tale is part of Fifty Famous Fairy Tales. That was one of the books given to me by our minister when I was eleven. Somewhere along the way, I acquired the hilarious Politically Correct Bedtime Stories, which provides an entirely different view of what happened to Red in the forest that day. (Many people believed that the forest was a foreboding and dangerous place and never set foot in it. Red Riding Hood, however, was confident enough in her own budding sexuality that such obvious Freudian imagery did not intimidate her.)
Regarding Snow White, people are usually surprised that I’ve never watched Disney’s version. This fairy tale is included in the book from my childhood, but for some reason, it was never among my favorite fairy tales, so I guess that’s why the movie never beckoned to me. I did very much like last year’s Snow White and the Huntsman, but regardless of my enjoyment of many things Julia Roberts has done, Mirror Mirror was not one of them.
In Politically Correct Bedtime Stories, when Snow learns that she’s stumbled into an enclave of former miners who are now dedicated stewards of the earth…[who] live…in harmony with nature…[and] make ends meet [by]…conduct[ing] retreats for men who need to get in touch with their primitive masculine identities,” her response:
“So what does that involve…aside from drinking milk straight from the carton?”
As I pondered this, I realized it’s true. Throughout my life, the only people I ever saw drinking straight from a carton of anything were male. Even those little cartons of milk we used to get with our school lunches: The girls used straws.
Does milk still come in those tiny cartons, or is it all in boxes or plastic now?