The Adult Shadows in "The Sisters Grimm"

The Sisters Grimm is a series I devoured as a child. The dark world inside this nine book installment utterly engrossed me. Indeed, if a child was ever addicted to a series of books, I was hooked by the nose to this one. 

I remember spending late nights reading them, flipping pages in the otherwise silent house, blinking through tired eyes. Each time I'd get to the end the words to be continued would stare at me, blurry and inconclusive, leaving me hungry for more. 

Never before had I found a series that ended with such twists: with dark faces staring at one from the dark, leaving one at the climax with the epitome of a horrible betrayal, enough to make one's heart twist up inside. Sometimes strange monsters lured one into secret places, offering secrets of the plot. The desire to follow them into the next chapter and so the next book would be maddening.

But, everything is better when you are a child, after all, and so, for a long time, I was hesitant to return to this grim world I once so devoured, fearful that my adult mind would find too many faults within its pages. 

As an adult, it is often hard to be anything more than charmed by the emotions of a protagonist meant to appeal mainly to children.

I was afraid that meeting some of my favorite fictional characters in this adult form of mine would disillusion me. They would become shallow versions of themselves. I would see through their sorrow, neglect to fear or be disturbed by their ugly and heinous ways, and find the once glorious humour bland and childish.   

Little did I know that The Sisters Grimm is an adult's tale full of the vengeful, the cruel, the broken, the abused, and the murderous. The most colourful characters are the children. Puck alone can stand for this. But the most interesting personalities were undoubtedly the adults. There was Mr. Canis with his dark inner demon; Uncle Jake with his own personal addictions and grievances. Even Prince Charming, a character that is usually two dimensional, often utterely annoying, was complex and deeply complicated. 

This, of course, is all obscured by its imaginative story, fully stuffed with fairy tale characters, all beloved and hated in their own way. Still, hidden under its child protagonist's noses are themes of grief, addiction, anger, and intense mental illness, all seen by their innocent eyes, the depth of them always misunderstood, left in the shadows. 

 

The first character we meet that struggles with a dark secret is Mr. Canis, an old man with a monster living in his head. Throughout the series, we watch Mr. Canis suffer under this perpetrators strains as slowly the old man loses himself to the monster inside of him, the Big Bad Wolf. 

Eventually, Mr. Canis is cruelly locked up for his questionable criminality. Yet, while we know that Mr. Canis is not evil, we also know that he is a danger, and so, the issue is, to say the least, complicated. Sabrina, the stories protagonist, is kept up at night worrying about the possibility of what might happen should the Wolf be set free, knowing full well that, according to the popular fairy tale, the has Wolf has eaten someone's grandmother before.

In Mr. Canis' his big watery eyes we see a man in pain. But in the man's shadow the children catch glimpses of a corrupt past that even the love and support of the Grimm's cannot mend.

 

It is often in their descriptions that the narrator cues us into the fact that there is more going on than meets the eye. I remember vividly the way the narrator describes Mr. Canis to the reader: his constant weariness; his frail, weak form and his thin grey skin. More often than not, he retreats to his rooms under presumptions of a headache or a bad nights sleep. Of course, this is not what is really going on.

Yet, while other stories would cast this man into a vile role, perhaps the evil villain's main monstrosity or a cruel schoolmaster with a hidden mental illness, in The Sisters Grimm this is the face of the Grimm Sisters sole protector, a man with a dark past and deep bedded flaws, but a man who would give anything of himself to protect them. 

 

 

Throughout the tale, we see many characters turn to the Scarlet Hand, an evil conspiracy the master of which, for much of the series, remains a mystery. Yet few (if any) of these characters become a part of the conspiracy because they are simply evil. Often, it is much more complicated than that. Time and time again, this series breaks these traditional stories apart, splitting them open with sharp realities, taking fairy tale villains and redeeming them just as it uses once good characters for evil. 

 

So, it is not the story itself that is complicated, but the people.

Evil stepmothers, power greedy princes, even monstrous beings are, in the end, just people in pain. 

When we finally do learn who the master of the Scarlet Hand is it is not the shock that lingers.

I remember the surprise of it all, but in retrospect, I also realized the clues had been there all along. In the end, what made it so effective wasn't just the fact that I, and others who read the series along side me, didn't see it coming, but that we didn't even consider it. Not only did we totally miss the signs, we neglected even to recognize the character as capable of such deep driven pain, and so, the distraught core of their being is the real shock; that, and the total neglect and disregard to the character's suffering which no one, not even the reader, had seen. 

Thus, the twist and betrayal of the master's big reveal didn't sting nearly as hard the fact that I, the reader, had never thought that enough hurt could drive anyone, even the most beloved characters, to such evil intent. The real horrible truth is that we cannot really blame them. When the evil master tells their story, we cannot deny that they are right: we really didn't see their hurt. 

Ultimately, it is a revelation to break your heart. 

 

 

I cannot think of any other children's story in which love interests are killed off and beloved side characters left to grieve them. I cannot think of any children's story in which, looking back, I see drunkenness in the eyes of a man once full of spirit; no where else do I look back and recognize between the lines of the narrative the mark of bitterness in the frail face of an old man who made too many mistakes in his youth.

I do not know of another tale where abused children are disguised as psychopathic villains only to be eventually redeemed and restored to childishness; or where close friends, often enough neglected, eventually turn on you; where good people sometimes do evil for fear of losing those they love. 

I implore you, parents, do not hide books like these away from your children. It would be foolish to think that they do not pick up on these things in the real world, that they do not see snippets of these adult shadows already. Since you cannot hide away the bad realities, please, do not try to refuse them their fictional echoes.

Let them see some snippet-trauma and some fragmented-grief in books like these. It is easier to digest when there is also some magic and wonder in it. 

 

Perhaps some day when they are older, they will return to books like these in their adult form and realize that they let them understand the world a little better: that seeing these things incorporated into a story woven out of fairy tales took away some of the shock of it later. Please, let us give it to them softly. 

Most importantly, let them see that bad people are also hurt people; let them see that wounded children don't always look like weak hurt things. More often, they look like bullies themselves.

 

The world would be a far better place if more people, children and adult alike, realized that there is always more to people than meets the eye. There is always more hurt in the shadows, and people do terrible things when they are not seen. In this real world, there is nothing worse than unseen suffering.

 

Sometimes the best thing you can do for someone is see them. I can truthfully say, The Sisters Grimm helped me learn how.

First, They Must Lose Their Parents

Why Kids Love Stories that Make Them Spook and Squirm

 

 Sabrina sees her parents in the mirror: The Fairy Tale Detectives.

 

I have often noticed that there is an uncanny pattern to be traced throughout the course of children's literature: the most popular children's tales are the dark ones. 

  

Even if they do frighten them, it really does seem that children like to read them. There is something about spooky stories that fascinates them. Stories like these are far darker than the fairy tale versions we'd like to imagine. Some adults even go so far as to forbid their children from reading them. Whether or not there is any real danger to stories about monsters and evil is yet to be proven. What is revealed here instead is that adults seem to fear these literary monstrosities more than their children. Evidently, these are not the books they'd have their child read for fear of what lies inside of them. Doubtlessly, in their mind children's books should be far lighter and fluffier than they are in reality. One might say this is a fairy tale version of the truth.

 

The irony in all this is, of course, that fairy tales have always been dark. Some of us have just forgotten.

 

 The Wolf Shows its Face: Little Red Riding Hood.

 

This phenomenon goes back to the wildly popular fairy tales once collected by the Brothers Grimm. Yet modern children's literature continues to follow in these dark footsteps. A Series of Unfortunate Events will not stop reminding us that it is a sinister and unhappy tale; Roald Dahl, the most popular children's author of all time, is full of the macabre and the disconcerting. But it doesn't end there. Stories like Neil Gaiman's Coraline are horrific enough to alarm adults. Gaiman himself claimed that it is the "strangest thing" he had ever written. He wrote that,

"It was a story, I learned when people began to read it, that children experienced as an adventure, but which gave adults nightmares."

 

An adult may puzzle over this. Indeed, a strange change comes over the mind of the practical adult when they find out that most children prefer tales about monsters and evil as opposed to books containing more comfortable and childlike ideas. I myself read these dark tales as a child, and I read them still, for they fascinate me to no end. Though the things that interest me about them now are not the things I liked about them as a child. Indeed, I never realized them then. I loved them because they were about adventure, because they thrilled me, and sometimes made me squirm. 

 

 

 The Jabberwocky: The Problem Child.

 

I believe it was in part these books that inspired in me a desire to free myself of my parents. It seems like a harsh or even humorous thing to say. Yet just how far a child dares go when they run away from home varies (it usually is a matter of blocks, but some are bolder than others). The steps halt and the tears come when a child runs to the extent of their desire to be parent-less and realizes that the big, frightful and altogether unfamiliar world is somewhere outside their door.

But, of course, this never happens to the children in the stories. Red Riding Hood does not turn around when she runs into the wolf, and despite what the rational adult would have her do, none can deny that at least Red Riding Hoods exertion into the deep dark woods and away from her mother made for a good story.

 

 The Deep Dark Wood: May Bird and the Ever After.

 

  Little Red Riding Hood meets the Wolf: Little Red Riding Hood.

 

It remains a rather obvious truth that even children's tales without monsters are usually about orphans, and, if they are not orphans, the protagonist's parents have been lost somehow. This tradition began with our first tales about children; classics like David Copperfield, Oliver Twist, Huckleberry Finn all feature children that are somehow parent-less, whether their parents are deceased or simply too incompetent to provide care. 

But, though the villain's face may change from one tale to another, as does the perpetrator that took their parents away, when it comes to children's stories, the adventure almost always begins the same way: First, the child must lose their parents, then the journey begins. 

 

 

Orphans: The Fairy Tale Detectives.

Alone in the World: The Wide Window.

 

By removing the children's guardian, they are cut loose into the world, sent adrift into trial and adversary, sometimes even into horror, all of which they will have to deal with on their own. Thus, Alice's mother does not seek her in the Looking Glass, Red Riding Hood goes into the woods alone, Coraline's parents do not crawl through the little door after her. 

Of course, no child would adamantly wish this fate upon themselves (I hope). Nevertheless, orphan-hood is romanticized, not so much because it is desired, but because it makes for a good story. If the child is parent-less, they must make their own way, find their own place. If there are monsters under their bed, there are no parents to check for them; they must take a peak themselves. If a scoundrel is after their fortune, they must outsmart him alone. If their house is being invaded by monsters, they must fight them off without adult aid. 

Thus, adventure becomes inevitable. 

Herein lies, I believe, the true appeal to the mind of a child. It lies between the motherless child and the monster, for it is here that the book reveals in full the idea that resonates so with the young mind that reads it: it reveals that the child can be capable, courageous, even heroic.

Inevitably, it was in books like these that I myself met many villains and faced many monsters. Yet, though I admit I was not always a particularly brave child, they never frightened me. Indeed, the only time these books kept me up at night was when I was busy reading them. 

Thinking back now, the only time the dark of my childhood bedroom ever scared me was when the book lay on my nightstand, still unfinished. It was then that the dark felt like the unknown pages of a still unread book, a book left stagnant amidst trial, still without an ending. It was questions like will May Bird ever make it back to the world of the living that kept me awake at night. 

 The Dark Unknown Pond: May Bird and the Ever After.

 

Ironically, my parents didn't let me finish that book, and I regret it still. I wonder sometimes how that book ends, for I never finished it. My parents forbidding was more frightening than the book itself, for it had not yet occurred to me that the ideas within a book could be dangerous, and the unknown sources of that danger scared me more than any book ever could.

At the end of the day, the truth is that any fear I might have felt was conquered when the children I was reading about conquered their monsters, be it the Other Mother, or the boogeyman.

 The Other Mother's Face: Coraline.

 

Much could be said about how adults and children experience horror differently. Even more could be written about how adults and children experience books differently. (I myself have written a great deal on this topic here on this blog.)

Yet perhaps the most fundamental question is this: What makes these creepy children's books so popular with kids? Why do kiddies like to squirm?

 

I believe, at its core, this question has a simple explanation.

 

Kids like books that are frightful because the world to them is frightful. Not only this, books like A Series of Unfortunate Events and Coraline put its child characters in the face of the frightful and yet they still feature them as heroes. Even when misfortune strikes or the monsters come knocking, these books suggest that the children stand a fighting chance. 

 

 Snatched: The Inside Story.

I have seen the following quotation attributed to many writers. But I know Gaiman was at least paraphrasing one of them (probably Chesterton) when he wrote that:

“Fairy tales are more than true: not because they tell us that dragons exist, but because they tell us that dragons can be beaten.”

 

The same is true for monsters, for Other-Mothers, and for sinister and selfish adults.

Every child will at one point face the real adversaries and true horrors around them (hopefully not to the same dramatic extent as these fictional children). 

But be it Gaiman, Chesterton, or Lewis to whom we attribute this idea, at one point or another, they all may have spoken truly when they said that there is a fundamental truth to fairy tales; not just because they teach that monsters (or dragons) can be beaten, but because they teach that the world is dark and full of evil. Brace yourself child, there are monsters out there, these tales say.

 

 The Tyrannical Editor: The Inside Story.

Yet, at the end of the day, that is not why I believe children read them. As much as monsters fascinate and entice the minds of children, the idea that truly captures their imagination is the image these books give them of themselves. This is their most important message: that, though the world is evil, they don't have to be. Thus, our child-heroes face cruelty and trial with courage, kindness, and a good heart.

As to why this scares the adult mind more than the child's... Well, the simple answer is this: The world is big and frightful, and there are monsters in it.

But perhaps it takes a child's imagination to believe and know that they could have what it takes to conquer it, or, at the least, not to let it conquer them.

      Into the Unknown World: The Bad Beginning.

If the world has you feeling anxious or even a bit frightened, I dare you to read a children's book. Revisit Narnia or Wonderland, crawl through the little door, run from the man with a uni-brow, unravel the conspiracy of the Scarlet Hand, rescue your kidnapped parents. If you're like me and you've read these books before, you already know what you'll find there. The unknown can no longer frighten you. 

Indeed, you will find that these books have something new to tell you, something that you probably never fully realized when you were a child: Nothing inspires bravery in such a fundamentally simple way as a book written for children.

As C.S. Lewis said,

“Since it is so likely that (children) will meet cruel enemies, let them at least have heard of brave knights and heroic courage. Otherwise you are making their destiny not brighter but darker.” 

~C.S. Lewis