This book, which I devoured in a single evening due to its concise 135 pages, left me with a lingering sense of delightful peculiarity. It occupies a unique space, seemingly crafted for children yet punctuated with moments of startling violence, prompting me to ponder if it’s a fairy tale for adults disguised as a children’s story. Or perhaps something else entirely enchanting. At its heart is Halla, an unwanted princess, whisked away by her nanny to be raised by bears – bears transformed from the nanny herself. When Halla’s human nature clashes with the bears’ hibernation instincts, they ingeniously entrust her to a dragon’s care, part of his treasured hoard. Living in a dragon’s cave becomes Halla’s formative experience. She learns dragon customs, dragon folklore – where princesses are honored sacrifices and heroes are villains coveting dragon gold – and befriends mythical beings like mermaids and Valkyries. A pivotal, tragic event sets Halla on a solo journey where the “All Father” (clearly Odin) gifts her a piece of his cloak and the sage advice to Travel Light. This guidance propels her into adventures among human companions, to Constantinople, and beyond.
The book’s writing style, distinctly reminiscent of a bygone era (it was penned in 1952), evoked strong echoes of classic fairy tale collections, particularly Kathleen Adams & Frances Elizabeth Archinson’s “A Book of Princess Stories,” a childhood favorite of mine. Much like those timeless tales, this narrative embraces nonsensical events and casually violent episodes that may raise a modern reader’s eyebrows, questioning, “Is this really for children?” Fairy tales for contemporary children seldom mention brains being “smashed out” or describe a character looking “like a little village slut.” (That particular line certainly caused a double-take! Can one even say that anymore in children’s literature?)
Despite these darker undertones, the overall tone remains surprisingly light, even amidst sadness, achieving a near-humorous quality without resorting to overt jokes. Numerous lines resonated with me, especially those reflecting Halla’s dragon-influenced perspective on treasure. I particularly cherished this passage describing Halla’s attempts to understand a new city by consulting various animals: “But there were cranes and herons circling who had news of a kind, and sometimes beavers, though they were much too busy for light conversation, since logs of wood were their treasure and their plans all had to do with the getting of it.” This kind of phrasing, with its whimsical charm, is utterly delightful.
Another sentence that immediately captivated me, right from the book’s opening page, describes the nanny’s decisive action to rescue Halla from her stepmother: “So she turned herself into a black bear then and there and picked up the baby in her mouth, blanket and all, and growled her way out of the Bower at the back of the King’s hall, and padded out through the light spring snow that had melted already near the hall, and through the birch woods and the pine woods into the deep dark woods where the rest of the bears were waking up from their winter sleep.” Doesn’t that prose paint a picture you long to immerse yourself in?
While I adored the book’s initial chapters, immersed in the worlds of bears and dragons, I found the latter part, set amongst humans, slightly less engaging. Halla joins a small band of men journeying to see the Emperor, and honestly, they blurred together despite their distinct names. I secretly wished for them to vanish, allowing Halla to return to her conversations with dragons and bears. While she does still interact with horses and rats, it was the dragons I truly craved!
For a while, I entertained a fleeting concern that the narrative might veer into Christian allegory, reminiscent of Narnia, especially when Halla arrives in Constantinople – then the heart of the Roman Catholic Church. Conversations about true Christians versus others arose. However, Halla remains largely indifferent, her allegiance clearly lying with the All Father/Odin and her Valkyrie friend. This, coupled with the author’s background – her feminism and activism, and criticism of another work for lacking Christian emphasis – solidified my conviction that this book was definitively NOT intended as a Christian story. And thankfully so! I seek no allegorical life lessons; I desire DRAGONS, VALKYRIES, and BEARS, oh my!
In conclusion, this book proved to be a thoroughly enchanting little fable. It’s a perfect read for those who appreciate classic fairy tales and fables, or for fans of more contemporary works like Catherynne Valente’s Fairyland series. I am certainly eager to explore more of this author’s creations. This book exemplifies the joy of traveling light into another world, unburdened by modern expectations and ready to embrace the whimsical and sometimes wonderfully strange landscapes of traditional storytelling.
