Folktales offer the comfort of old friends: a structure and storyline to ease the young reader through life’s greatest challenges.
In Nordic Tales (Chronicle Books, £16.99, 8+), beautifully compiled and illustrated by Ulla Thynll, the folktales are set in the far reaches of Scandinavia, but the themes explored are universal: fealty, friendship, not judging appearances. From the ornamental themed pattern of the inside cover and chapter pages, Thynll's soft watercolour illustrations lends a misty mythic mystery to the mountainous landscapes of the Northern regions.
The tales themselves are themed by the general nature of their hero’s adventures – transformation, wit, journey and are told in traditional form, excerpted from established sources in translation. The language is clear and formal, allowing the original structure of the folktale form to be appreciated as the reader moves through the stories.
This – and the small text – makes the book more suitable for reading aloud to older children; by a fireside, perhaps, where you can hope some kindly Mount-folk may visit you with benevolent gifts, as they once did to the gentleman Toller.
Traditional stories also offer rich potential for subversion, as Natasha Farrant shows in her linked collection of original fairytales, Eight Princesses and a Magic Mirror (Head of Zeus, €15.99, 8+). The book begins in a faraway place, when a powerful enchantress promises to help her goddaughter become an excellent princess. "What does that actually mean?" she muses. That she should be "pretty, tidy and kind to animals"?
Surely that was not enough. A magic mirror offers her a chance to observe a variety of different princesses, challenging the standards to which a princess is supposed to conform. These include book-loving Heloise, who realises the forest is a “glorious, living library”, and trains as a healer; Princess Leila, “Maker of Mischief”, whose adventurous defiances saves the queendom from ruin; and Ellen, who questions everything, especially why she must “not wear clothes to run in . . . or paddle on sunny days” or why she “may not have a boat, like all the other children?”
It is no surprise to anyone who knows her determination that Ellen should become Princess of the High Seas. It is through these “stubborn and proud and bossy” princesses that the Enchantress finds the most instructional lessons for her own royal charge. Eight Princesses and a Magic Mirror offers a terrific and inspirational conceit, set in a beautiful package designed and illustrated by Lydia Corry.
Michael Morpurgo finds contemporary resonance in the structure of one particular tale in his new book Boy Giant: Son of Gulliver (Harper Collins, €12.99, 10+), which is inspired by Jonathan Swift's 18th-century satire. The book is narrated by a young Afghan boy, who finds himself washed up on the shores of Lilliput, after his mother sends him off to a new life in England with rogue people-traffickers.
To the Lilliputians, the boy is a giant. To those who know him, however, his name is Tiny; a moniker that speaks both to his diminutive size as a human, as well as his status in the world as a refugee. Despite the comparative enormity of their visitor, the Lilliputians prove themselves to be models of generosity and kindness. “I could not help thinking what a difference this was from the other world I had left behind me,” Tiny observes, “from the world of suffering, and sadness, from the ruined town that had once been my home, from the family and friends I had lost, from the sprawling refugee camp where we had to live. How strange it was to be surrounded now by all this warmth and affection . . . how soon any barriers of language and culture, and indeed size, had broken down.”
Their openness is, of course, testament to all they learned from Gulliver, and Morpurgo skilfully weaves a summary of Swift’s book into the action. Tiny’s story has its own urgency, however, and a moral that is as vital to Swift’s time as to ours.
The classic detective story gets a modern twist in Lori and Max (Firefly, £6.99, 8+), the debut children's novel from Catherine O'Flynn. Lori is an aspiring detective, who looks to Miss Marple and Sherlock Holmes for inspiration. However, there is not much mystery in Class 6B beyond where the teacher, Miss Casey, goes to during her "Frequent Brief Disappearances" (the photocopier).
When the new girl at school, Max, goes missing, along with the class’s charity fund, Lori gets an opportunity to put her sleuthing skills to the test, and for one outsider to defend another. Flynn finds similarity in two very different characters, who brilliantly drawn in brief and fluid detail. Lori “is not a fan of trouble. Even for other people.” Max “prefers animals to people . . . For one thing, they are born with instinct. People only learn by making mistakes.”
Refreshingly, their unusual family backgrounds – orphaned Lori lives with her zany Gran, Max with her depressed mother and gambler father – are revealed as a backdrop to the girls’ emotional lives, rather than the centre of it. Both girls are survivors, but they are still just kids, immersing themselves in friendship and adventure when the opportunity presents itself.
Finally, Jarvis upends two classic nursery rhymes in Mary Had a Little Lamb and This Little Piggy (Walker Books, 1+, £6.99), adding extra verses to well-known toddler tunes, with bonus educational context too. In This Little Piggy, the porcine hero goes shopping, but Jarvis wonders what he did next? As more and more little piggies join in, Jarvis invites the reader to count them on their active adventures, as they hula-hoop, trampoline, and sail through their day.
In Mary Had a Little Lamb, the fleecy white sheep is just one of a colourful crew – a pink hippo, a red monkey, blue bears – who follow her everywhere. The bold palette and round shapes make these sturdy board books a hugely attractive introduction to the many modern possibilities of classic tales.
