Fairy Capsule Wardrobe

In all that literary and artistic excitement I forgot to share the only faerie photos I was actually able to snap, not that they are great, but you'll get the gist.

The idea of a capsule wardrobe is incredibly seductive, but I am not personally acquainted with anyone who has managed it.  I've seen it defined as anywhere from 6 to 20 pieces - per season - with 'reserves' - not counting....t-shirts? shoes? outerwear? exercise clothes? sleepwear? 3 pairs of jeans=1? 




There are endless lists of the 'must-have' pieces (trench coat, white blouse, etc), but they don't make a capsule wardrobe even though there are generally about 10 or 12 on the list.




When I select my colour of the month I come as close as I am ever likely to come of wearing only a limited number of clothes.  This last two years has been an awakening to how few clothes one actually needs, but for how long I could stay interested in that small sub-set, I'm not sure.




Advice on this subject is everywhere - not including women's magazines:

A 10-item wardrobe from Daily Connoisseur
The house burned down approach from Second Cherry
Of course, Gok has something to say on the subject
Even Wikipedia offers advice
And, from the woman who is blamed credited with initiating the idea, Susie Faux

However, I note that even a faery apparently needs nine pairs of shoes (crocheted thread with tiny pearls) and a dozen pixie hats.

Post Victorian or Contemporary Faerists

W.H. Auden (1907-1973) was born British, but later became an American citizen.  Bill's perception is that he ran away to the US in 1939 to escape WWII and that he was  consequently not held in very high esteem here in Britain.  His Wikipedia entry addresses the question of military service briefly, but I'm not sure what to think about it.  Never mind.  He was a brilliant poet and if you have ever seen the film Four Weddings and a Funeral, you're familiar with one of his most famous poems, Stop all the Clocks.   If you've never read it - as I had not until today - his other most famous poem certainly captures a sense of the time for which it is named, September 1, 1939.   In it I can read about his present, his past and his quiet patriotism.

So what has Auden to do with faeries?   He believed himself to be of Icelandic descent and was always fascinated with myths and sagas from that part of the world.  He was a student at Oxford and studied under J.R.R. Tolkien.  He later wrote a critique of the Lord of the Rings.  He has written at least one poem about fairies and is quoted as saying

“The way to read a fairy tale is to throw yourself in.”    

Even if you're not big on poetry - and I generally am not, but I could possibly make an exception in Auden's case - his quotes make for fascinating reading and really make me wish I'd known the man.

Right, now there are a few other names that cropped up at the museum exhibit who are quite modern, so much so that I couldn't find out a great deal about them. 

Charles Van Sandwyk (1966 - ) at least has a Wikipedia entry.  Born in South Africa, but now Canadian, he appears to be a well known illustrator author of children's books.  You can see some of his pictures here.

Sean Jefferson (?) simply has too ordinary a name for me to be sure, but perhaps there are not too many by that name who are artists of the faerie world.

Danuta Mayer (?) has a more Googleable name and her art is more affordable, but a little modern for my taste.  I will say it does seem a bit more wholesome and suitable for a child's room than some of the eerier work I've seen.

So now we come to the last of the names I wanted to share with you,

Brian Froud  and Alan Lee, both (1947-).  If you are familiar with the films The Dark Crystal or Labyrinth, these are part of Froud's 'conceptual work'.   As well as collaborating with Brian Froud, Alan Lee was behind the more recent Lord of the Rings films.   Froud has also done work with Terry Jones (1942-) of Monty Python fame.   Froud's official webpage links to a Faerieworld's website and an amazing trailer for an event that happened last summer involving Celtic music and the wearing of costumes, in some Mount Pisgah or other.  Personally, I think I'm happier just admiring the books and pictures.

Even a signed poster is very affordable (not that I need to own one, mind).   It is the ethereal nature of his work that really gets to me.  Having seen some of his actual paintings at the Sunderland museum, I'm not sure a poster would suffice.

Dreamweaver by Brian Froud

Froud has a number of illustrated books on offer and if I had a child on my Christmas list, I'd be tempted to give one:

Good Faeries, Bad Faeries

From the exhibit and from the 'look inside' option on Amazon, Froud gives a classification system of faeries (and of course I took notes).  His classifications don't always agree with Wikipedia, but I thought they were fun all the same.

Sylph - Flying faeries
Gnome - Earthy elves that live underground
Nymphs - Water faeries
Salamanders - Willo-the wisps (either Froud implies they are the same or my notes aren't legible)

The museum also made reference to 'Lady Angelica Cottington', the infamous faerie squaster'.   Investigation of this was initially quite confusing, given the - deliberate, I'm guessing - similarity to the name Cottingley.  The story also makes reference to the 'famous story' published in 1907 (not 1917) in a magazine.  So, Cottingley, but not at all.

Lady Cottington's Pressed Fairy Book was published in 2005 and there are newer versions published since.  This story is not that some young girls were photographed with faeries, but that this young lady decided to capture the faeries she saw in her album, sort of like pressed flowers, to prove to others that they existed.  The illustrations are quite cute, if you're not big into faerie rights activism or anything.  It does say that no actual faeries were harmed in the making of the book...

Amazon.co.uk's complete list of Brian Froud's books (many with the opportunity to look inside!) can be found here.  You'll either be relieved, disappointed, alarmed or indifferent to the fact that this concludes my series on faeries, but I'm not quite done with the Sunderland museum. 

Victorian Faerie History - Part II

I have Bill to thank for introducing me to the work of the Pre-Raphaelite artists.  I'm sure I'd some some of their paintings here and there, but I never identified them as a particular style and I didn't know anything about the specific artists.  I can't claim any particular expertise even now, though we did sit down and watch a television programme that explained what they were all about.

Basically they were rebels, turning away from the prescriptive style then taught at the English Academy of Art.   Their art initially shocked, as it was very realistic and natural.  They also broke many of the accepted rules about what characteristics were expected of a work, rules that do seem quite rigid now.   In any case, some of their paintings are incredibly beautiful.

The programme also discussed their personal lives, their models, their wives, other people's wives, their wives' sisters, sex partners and even unconsummated marriages.  It was all a big soap opera, which is moderately interesting, but I'd prefer to look at their paintings.

Dante Gabriel Rossetti (1828-1882) was a founder of the Pre-Raphaelite Brotherhood.  One of his main models was Jane Burden Morris, wife of William Morris - another member of that society.  Morris is perhaps most famous for his wallpaper designs and for providing the Mission Statement for Unclutterer's.  You know that one? 

Rather than try to explain about faeries and the Pre-Raphaelites, I shall leave you with this wonderful post by someone far more expert on the matter. 

Veronica Veronese by Dante Gabriel Rossetti

Lewis Carroll (1832-1898), AKA Charles Dodgson, of course wrote books such as Alice in Wonderland and Through the Looking Glass.  They belong to the genre called 'literary nonsense'!  I read both books as a child, but I can't say I cared much for them.  I found the complete unpredictability of Alice's stories to be rather upsetting; they didn't amuse me, they made me nervous.  I think I like order and predictability far too much to lose myself in nonsense (irrespective of what this blog leads you to believe).  Dodgson/Carroll hung out with the Pre-Raphaelites and whilst his Alice books aren't exactly faerie tales, they are certainly a form of fantasy.  You may or may not recall, I've written about this man before.

Now we come to a long list of illustrators and painters, some part of the Pre-Raphaelites, then they are associated with the Arts and Crafts movement, and then the Art Nouveau.   Actually, these links are even better - to the images of Arts and Crafts and of Art Nouveau. 

The following names from the Sunderland museum exhibit "The Truth about Faeries" are all people who were born in the Victorian era, though some of them are of quite contemporary fame, that is, Bill and Vivien have both heard of them.

Arthur Hughes (1832-1915)  was a painter, illustrator and a member of the Brotherhood of the Pre-Raphaelites.  He illustrated many of George MacDonald's books. 

Ophelia by Arthur Hughes

Walter Crane (1845-1915) was a prolific illustrator of children's books, interested in the Pre-Raphaelites' work, but also the Arts and Crafts Movement and he is associated with British Art Nouveau.  Definitely a man after my own heart, then.    (Note to self:  some of his work is in the Manchester Museum - go see it!!!).

Book Cover by Walter Crane

E. Gertrude Thompson (1850-1929)  was a friend of Lewis Carroll and illustrated his first book, originally titled, The Nursery "Alice"

Jessie Macgregor (c. 1850s - 1919) was born into a family of painters and studied at the Schools of the Royal Academy in London.  Some of her paintings show a Pre-Raphaelite influence. 

In the Reign of Terror by Jessie MacGregor

Heywood Sumner (1853 - 1940) was an illustrator and naturalist,associated with the Arts and Craft Movement.  The detail of his work is breathtaking.

Illustration from A Guide to the New Forest by Haywood Sumner

Arthur Conan Doyle (1859-1930) of course gave us Sherlock Holmes and Dr. Watson.  What I hadn't realised was that he was an Edinburgh physician who basically had no patients and so had lots of time to write.  He was also interested in faeries and spiritualism - as many people were at the time.  This interest may have be due to the loss of a wife, a son, a brother, two nephews and two brothers-in-law, a toll that may have been difficult to accept.  He wrote a book, The Coming of the Fairies,  and was very much involved with the story of the Cottingley Fairies, about which more later.

Lawrence Housman (1865-1959) was an illustrator, writer and playwright, who turned more towards the latter occupations when his eyesight failed.  His illustrative style is considered to be Art Nouveau.  I'm enjoying writing about these people in part because I'm finding more amazingly beautiful weblogs, like this one.

From Jane Barlow's The End of Elfintown

Herbert Cole (1867 - 1930)  was another illustrator whose work included The Rubiyat of Omar Khayyam and The Memoirs of Sherlock Holmes.  I could have shown you a really sweet illustration  of The Three Bears, but I couldn't resist choosing this one instead, about "the fruitlessness of earthly vanities and the inevitability of death".  It's called 'The Critic'.  I think Bill's love of Terry Pratchett is perhaps rubbing off on me.

Arthur Racham (1867 - 1939) is apparently a well known illustrator and many bloggers have dribbled on about how much they love his work, much as I'm doing here.  One site mentioned how his illustrations were highly popular after the death of Queen Victoria, because they helped keep the scary modern world at bay.  I understand that perfectly.

Girl Beside a Stream, by Arthur Rackham

Edward L. Gardner (1870-1970), oddly enough, has no Wikipedia page, in spite of being involved in story of the The Cottingley Fairies, part of which he captured in his book, Fairies:  A Book of Real Fairies.  The bigger picture is a rather daft story about some photographs taken in 1917 by a couple of young girls which were subsequently taken up by none other than Arthur Conan Doyle and raised a certain amount of interest - and skepticism.   Although both Vivien and Bill were born long after this story took place, they were both aware of the event.

W. Heath Robinson (1872-1944) wanted to be a landscape painter, but then realised that book illustrating was much more lucrative.  He did a lot of cartoons, some of which look quite Art Deco to me, but the range of his talent was quite wide.

Estella Canziani (1887-1964) was not only an artist, but an interior decorator, a travel writer and a folklorist.  Wikipedia notes that she lived all her life at the family home at 3 Palace Green in the Kensington Palace Gardens, now known as 'billionaires' row'.  I can only guess that real estate values have changed significantly, as her mother was another artist and her father an Italian civil engineer. 

With the exception of this bookplate, I can't say I like her work that much.

Dorothy P. Lathrop (1891 - 1980) was an American author and illustrator of children's books.   I can't say I recognise any of the titles of her books, written largely in the 1930s.  Her art looks fairly modern to me.

From Walter de la Mare's Book of Fairies

JRR Tolkien (1892-1973) of course wrote The Hobbit and Lord of the Rings.  He was a student at Oxford in the 1920s and later a professor there.  His biography on Wikipedia is both touching - he lost both of his parents by the age of 12 -and amusing, as he really does come across as a man dragged unwillingly from his time into the present.  He enjoyed the financial rewards of his writing and wished he'd retired earlier, but at the same time was not happy about becoming a cult figure in the counter-culture of the 1960s.  I think of him as an impressively erudite and imaginative man, but also a bit of an old fuddy-duddy as well.  What a hoot.

Cicely Mary Barker (1895-1973) was an English illustrator of children books best known for her 'flower faeries' or perhaps her alphabet fairies.  Vivien was pleased to see Barker's works on the wall, as she had enjoyed them as a child.  I must admit they look quite familiar to me, so she must have been published widely in the U.S. as well, though I don't recall having any of her books.    

She is said to have been influenced by the Pre-Raphaelite movement.

My mom taught me my numbers and letters by drawing a character around each form.  She added hats, shoes, moustaches, aprons, etc., to make them each a personality that would help me remember them.  I'd completely forgotten this until I was taking algebra in high school and was completely flummoxed by the idea of doing math with letters.   I just knew I was going to flunk the class and I guess all the worry made me dream about these early lessons.  Somehow after I'd had the dream about the number 8  (a nanny in a tightly tied apron) and the number 9 (a gunslinger with a Stetson and a gun on his hip), algebraic equations finally clicked in my brain and I really enjoyed them!

Tomorrow (eventually...these posts take a long time to write!) I'll finish this series with a few 'modern' artists, one of whom I suspect was the driving force behind the whole exhibit at the Sunderland museum.

Victorian Faerie History - Part I

I thought I'd just point out, for those who have never considered the matter, that 'the Victorians' were the people who lived during the reign of Queen Victoria (1837-1901).  Here in Britain, the scope of her Empire at the time was such that they tend to refer to the Victorian era as a world wide phenomenon.  Thinking back, I never heard much in US history referred to as 'Victorian', except perhaps when - was it the 1980s? - Victoria magazine became popular; I confess I was also a fan.  Be that as it may, if someone refers to 'Victorian', they are roughly talking about the 1800s - more often referred to as 'the Gilded Age' in the US. 

Anyhow, the Victorians were really in love with faeries.  I worked that out just from the sheer number of authors and illustrators who fell during this time period.  A little investigation comes up with a fairly obvious answer about why:  industrialisation.  Faeries are always in some way linked to nature and a lot of nature was being transformed into horrific industrial complexes.  Also linked to industrialisation is the growth of a wealthy middle class that had money for books. 

Finally, the way society viewed children and childhood began to change in Victorian times and there was not only an increased interest in the well-being of children but also a fascination with childhood itself.  Of course faerie stories are also linked with childhood.  I'm thinking a large number of gentlemen with money decided they never wanted to leave their childhood and faerie stories gave them a way to do this and make money - brilliant!  Of course child welfare was more for the middle classes, as working class children were still labouring in factories and fields under the 'Dickensian' (ie 'squalid and poverty stricken') conditions of the day.

Brothers Dalziel - George (1815-1902); Edward (1817-1905); Thomas (1823-1906); and John (?) were, I was excited to read, from Wooler, in Northumberland!  They were the 'pre-eminent engravers' of their time and worked extensively with Lewis Carroll and others of the Pre-Raphaelite Brotherhood.  (More about them later).

Engraved by the Brothers Dalziel

I know it's not a particularly sophisticated reaction, but one of the things I love about this engraving is that it makes me want to go out and buy some fine pointed markers with which to colour it in.  I got a Peter Max colouring poster for Christmas one year and I think it marked me for life.

Charles Kingsley (1819-1875) was the author of The Water Babies.   I've always heard of this story, but never read it (the link is to the book on Project Gutenburg).  According to Wikipedia, it is a moral story to do with Christian redemption.   Not surprising, as he was a priest in the Church of England.  On the other hand he was sympathetic to Charles Darwin's theories, which were quite shocking in their day.

Illustrated by Jessie Willcox Smith

Richard 'Dickie' Doyle (1824-1883) was an illustrator most well known for his work for Punch magazine, for which he designed the masthead and drew the first cover.   He signed his work with a little 'dickie bird' perched on top of his initials, RD.  This reminded me of the saying 'haven't heard a dickie bird' and as simple as the answer is, I never did know where the phrase originated.  Turns out it's Cockney rhyming slang ('haven't heard a word', rhymes with 'dickie bird'), which turns out is also Victorian in origin.

This illustration by Richard Dickie Doyle is of a fairy-ring.  For more information about fairy-rings, read here.  Another interesting thing about this man is that he had a nephew named Arthur Conan Doyle who was also a bit of a faerie-fancier it seems.


George MacDonald (1824-1905) was a Scottish author (poet, and Christian minister) who inspired and influenced many other writers, including W. H. Auden, J.R.R.  Tolkien, C. S. Lewis and even Mark Twain.   C. S.  Lewis' name doesn't appear on my list from the museum exhibit, but his book, The Chronicles of Narnia, is on my reading list for the near future.  George MacDonald's best known works are  fantasy novels:  Phantastes, The Princess and the Goblin, At the Back of the North Wind, and Lilith; and faerie stories including   "The Light Princess", "The Golden Key", and "The Wise Woman".

Sadly, I've never heard of him or any of his stories.  I guess Walt Disney wasn't impressed by his work?  MacDonald is quoted at the museum exhibit has having written: 

I write, not for children but for the child-like, whether they be of five, or fifty, or seventy-five.

Wikipedia attributes these words to Lewis Carroll, whom MacDonald also mentored.

Eleanor Vere Boyle (1825-1916) was an English artist and author, considered the most important female illustrator of the 1860s.  This is pretty impressive considering that her social position restricted her from exhibiting her work; when she did show it, she used her initials.  Her husband was a younger son of an earl, a rector, and later chaplain to Queen Victoria. 

Her Wikipedia entry provided me with several new - and challenging - vocabulary words.  Apparently, one of her books, an aid to meditation which combines poetry with her art, 'provides an example of the eschatological thrust of her work'.  That word made me think of Escher, but apparently eschatology is interested in the end of history, the destiny of humanity, the 'last four things:  death, judgement, heaven and hell.'  This faerie stuff wasn't taken up with people who took things lightly, it seems.

Also, EVB was interested in garden design and wrote several books on the subject, the last of which is titled The Peacock's Pleasaunce  which is a collection of belles-lettres.  A writer of belles-lettres is called bellatrist.  (I am resisting the temptation to ask if that isn't strange.).  So, a sentence please, using one of these new words...

Beauty and the Beast by E.V.B.

Right, I'm stopping here as it's time to get ready for the running club.  Tomorrow, I'm going to talk about the Pre-Raphaelites and tell you why I think they are fascinating!

The Truth about Faeries

Yes, we are still at the Sunderland Museum and Winter Gardens...

The main exhibit at the museum was called The Truth about Faeries.  It was in a large room, with some sort of fairyland hut for the kiddie-winkies to flap about in their faerie wings.  Vivien and I inspected every inch of the room except that particular part, having left our wings at home.  I was frustrated at not being able to take photos, because there were some beautiful things on display.  Instead I got out my notebook and scribbled five pages of names of authors and artists.  I've spent the last few days looking up those names on the Internet, trying to make sense of it all.   I'm not sure I've got there, but I'll share what I learned. 

I did think it was very sweet of Vivien when she, in all seriousness, politely asked me if I believed in faeries.  I actually had the impression that she was prepared to hear me say I did!  It's one of the ways in which I think most Brits are far more courteous than Americans; they generally allow you to have your own view, even if they don't agree at all.   I think that's really lovely and it's one of the nicer things about living here - I get to have my own opinion without having to join the debating society.


However, I had to admit that, no, I don't believe in faeries at all, but I do see why the idea is so attractive to children - and adults - and that the artistic attempts to represent faeries are incredibly beautiful.  She then stated that, being a scientist, she didn't believe in faeries either.  It was originally the pictures that I wanted to share, but as I looked up the names, I found a slightly different story emerged.  I don't think I can tell the story accurately, but perhaps some of this will interest you enough to do some more reading.   In order to present this information to you, I've put the names into chronological order (I definitely am a left-brained person, sadly.  I've always wished for more artistic gifts.)  I found some fun things, or at least they were fun to me!


Edmund Spenser (1552-1599) was an English poet in the time of Elizabeth I.  His most famous work is called The Faerie Queene, a celebration of the Tudors and specifically, Elizabeth.  I would call it long and tedious, but I did find one thing we all know that he wrote because we often use the phrase 'without rhyme or reason'.  It was about asking Elizabeth for payment long overdue: 

I was promis'd on a time,

To have a reason for my rhyme:

But from that time unto this season,

I had neither rhyme or reason.

He got his money!


Shakespeare (1564-1615).  Obviously, I don't need to tell you who this man was or that he wrote a brilliant play about faeries (I'm rather fond of the British spelling, you'll notice) called Midsummer Night's Dream.  If you want to read more about the faeries in this play, this link might interest you.   I can't stand Shakespeare as a rule.  I don't understand what I read or hear, but this play is an exception.  If you've not seen it, I would recommend the film with Michelle Pfeiffer.  I'm sure I've mentioned it before, but if you've not read Bill Bryson's book, Shakespeare: The World as a Stage,  you've missed a treat.

Alexander Pope (1688-1744) was another English poet.  He seems to have specialised in satire which made him somewhat unpopular at times.  His link to faeries isn't immediately obvious.  However, it appears that in his poem, The Rape of the Lock, he makes fun of a squabble between some aristocrats of his day, likening it to a war between the gods; somewhere I read that there is a 'continuum between mythology and fairy tales'.  In this poem he introduces the term, sylph.  Pope was apparently quoted as saying he thought woodland sprites and the like were perhaps dead socialites who didn't want to give up their earthly delights.  This last link gives a reasonable history of the mention of faeries, I believe.  However, they do seem to take their topic far more seriously than I.  Pope, by the way, was the man who gave us 'a little learning is a dangerous thing'...


Charles Perrault (1628-1703) was a French author who took tales from folk lore and created the new literary genre of fairy tales, with a book called the Tales of Mother Goose.    Interestingly, he was friends with a man, Philippe Quinault, who is said to have created the new genre of music, opera.  The Sunderland exhibit said that Perrault wrote
Mother Goose for the royal court.  Whilst he was influential in the court of Louis XIV and did write pieces for specific people earlier in his career, according to Wikipedia, the Mother Goose stories were written for his children after he lost his influential position.  It was lovely to be reminded of  "Little Red Riding Hood" (Le Petit Chaperon Rouge),  "Cinderella" (Cendrillon), Puss in Boots (Le Chat Botté) and   Bluebeard (La Barbe bleue).  Gretchen Rubin, author of The Happiness Project, says she loves reading - and re-reading - children's books.  After investigating all this faerie tale stuff, I'm thinking I need to renew my acquaintance with these stories as well!



"Sleeping Princess" by Viktor Vasnetsov;  Perrault also gave us this story.

William Blake (1757-1827) was a poet, painter and a printmaker (I think that's the same as an engraver, but I'm not certain).  I suspect he was also completely crackers, though he was undeniably creative and gifted.  He had visions all his life.   He seems to have been very religious, but he also believed in 'free love' and incorporated faeries - 'rulers of the vegetable world - into his 'idiosyncratic cosmology'.  I've always known the two lines of his famous poem: "Tyger!  Tyger! burning bright in the forests of the night!"  When I was a kid I thought it was fun to scare myself with this, but on the whole I find Blake as a person altogether too scary for fun.

Oberon, Titania and Puck with Fairies Dancing (1786, William Blake)

Sir Walter Scott (1771-1832), was a Scottish novelist whose name most people have heard.   I was sad to read in the Wikipedia entry that his popularity waned as Jane Austen's rose.  I remember from our visit to the Writers' Museum in Edinburgh that he died fairly broke.   Scott wrote about the 'fairies of popular superstition' in the Tale of Tamlane, part of his Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border.  I confess that I, too, would rather read Jane Austen.  It is a shame he died poor, but then he does have that glorious monument in Edinburgh!





Scott's monument is the pointed spire; Bill Bryson says it looks
like a gothic rocketship and I have to agree.

Brothers Grimm - Jacob (1785-1863) Wilhelm (1786-1859) were actually academics in the field of language and cultural research, not just a couple of creepy guys like I thought as a child.  They collected folklore and published the famous Grimm's Fairy Tales in 1812.  When I was given that book at about age 7-8, I read it front to back but never returned.  Some of the stories really frightened me!

In doing all this research, however, I enjoyed being reminded of the stories of  "Cinderella" (Aschenputtel), "The Frog Prince" (Der Froschkönig), "Hansel and Gretel" (Hänsel und Gretel), "Rapunzel", "Rumpelstiltskin"  (Rumpelstilzchen), "Sleeping Beauty" (Dornröschen), and "Snow White" (Schneewittchen).   The thing is, I do find them to all teach little girls to be helpless and wait for a man to come rescue her, or at least to  be sure to marry 'well'.  Also, beware older women, they are often evil witches (you bet we are!)

 
Hans Christian Andersen (1805-1875) is perhaps Denmark's most famous export, author of just classics as "The Steadfast Tin Soldier", "Thumbelina", "The Snow Queen", "The Little Match Girl", "The Ugly Duckling", "The Little Mermaid", "The Emperor's New Clothes", and "The Princess and the Pea".  I must admit to not having read the first one, but Bill remembers it.  However, I think the Princess and the Pea might be my all time favourite fairy tale.  Even more now that I see it acted out several times a week here in Britain. 


I have commented how I find the staff in Tynemouth shops to be quite snooty.  A business transaction can rarely just be about a paying client having an ordinary request fulfilled and then making payment.  The transaction has to be about the staff member - nearly always a woman.  My perception is that she will require me to acknowledge that she is actually far too important for this menial job, that she is my social superior and that I must somehow pay obeisance to this superiority before she will condescend to grant my humble request.   It may well be entirely my imagination, but I see Princesses complaining about Peas in their body language, their attitudes and their studied accents.  I think this 'desperately middle class' hauteur is one of the less attractive aspects of British culture.  I know that the key to dealing with this is simply to be even more arrogant than she and to somehow snub her as a simple shop assistant.  I've seen some horrific snobs talking down to the store clerk or waitress who serves them; it's no wonder service in Britain is appalling.  I'm a fairly demanding customer (it's an American trait, I'm afraid), but this snobbery business is too ugly for me to stomach.  I don't want an obsequious salesperson either, I just want to do a business transaction.

I found it amusing to read the commentary that Andersen himself felt nervous amongst the the 'serene, secure and cultivated Danish bourgeoisie' and saw himself as sensitive enough to feel a pea through twenty mattresses.  Given that I'm the one who remarks on the haughty salesclerks (it's part of the dictionary.com definition!), perhaps I am the princess, after all!