Munsch's Paper Bag Princess: A Book Ahead of its Time

I first encountered author Robert Munsch and illustrator Michael Martchenko's wonderful children's book The Paper Bag Princess in its board book version last Christmas, when I gave it to my son after having been recommended it by friends. And it immediately blew me away, even in that abridged format (I have since read it in full too).

In a day and age when gender roles and social structures relating to them are continuously under examination and critique, and we struggle to find the balance between allowing our children to fall into the pre-ordained roles and to be different, it is refreshing to note that one of the more radical takes on this in terms of children's literature is a book first published in 1980 (i.e. 32 years ago). Granted that it is sad that the book is still needed, but social structures do not change over night. It is a slow process. But this book, now in its 69th printing, is a good starting point.

So, what is so fantastic about this little book then, you wonder? I will tell you. But before I do, I feel obliged to tell you that there will be spoilers ahead. If you want a chance to read this story in full with unspoiled eyes, stop reading this post now, find a copy of the book and return here once you have read it.

The Paper Bag Princess is the story of Elizabeth. She is "a beautiful princess" (nothing radical there), who is "to marry a prince named Ronald" (nothing radical there either). After this somewhat traditional opening, things take a turn off the regular path. A dragon appears, burning down the castle, Elizabeth's clothes and kidnapping Ronald. Having lost her prince and her clothes in this dramatic and unorthodox fashion (after all, traditionally we would of course have expected Ronald to don a knightly suit to save his fair princess' hand), Elizabeth does not sit around and mope; she dons an unburned paper bag as clothing and goes after the dragon.

Not surprisingly, she finds the dragon, but yet again, the story deviates from our traditional expectations where we would have expected Ronald to be the party leaping into action, because Elizabeth not only shows cunning and great intelligence in her dealing with the dragon (there are after all some male heroes who prefer brains to brawn too), but also a restraint from using violence. The dragon is vanquished without a single drop of blood (Elizabeth's or the dragon's) being shed, swords being drawn or any blow being struck (although, a lot of trees could be classified as collateral damage, I guess).

And so the prince is saved, and traditionally, this is where we would expect to get back on the marriage track. However, this is not a traditional story. Prince Ronald complains about Elizabeth's appearance – hello! a princess dressed in a paper bag is no princess – at which point Elizabeth, quite logically, sees him for the bum he really is. And seeing that, she makes the only sound choice at hand, i.e. she dumps him.

The closing line of the book – "They didn't get married after all." – is great, both in the context of the story and the literary tradition it simultaneously works in and against.

While I think it ought to be mandatory reading for all young girls, I certainly encourage all parents to share this gem of a book with their children. Perhaps first and foremost because it is a very good read and beautifully illustrated, but not less importantly because it forces us to look at traditional views of princes and princesses critically, and turns them upside-down. And that is plain healthy – for everyone. 

Cutting off Limbs to Gain Better Balance: On Gothenburg University's Decision to Cancel Italian

June has been a month full of weird waves at the Faculty of Arts at Gothenburg University. The Head of the Faculty and her upper management proposed to close down teaching in Old Church Slavonic, Ancient Greek, Russian and Italian, and move Chinese, Arabic and the non-fiction translator programme to other Departments and even other Faculties, in an attempt to cut down costs (which the upper regime of the University itself demands of the Faculty). It should be added that similar purges had already been performed (e.g. on Dutch and  Slavonic languages) and the sentiment that arose at the Department of Languages and Literatures  in response to this latest attack brought an old poem by German pastor Martin Niemöller to mind: 

First they came for the communists,

and I didn't speak out because I wasn't a communist. 

Then they came for the trade unionists,

and I didn't speak out because I wasn't a trade unionist. 

Then they came for the Jews,

and I didn't speak out because I wasn't a Jew. 

Then they came for me

and there was no one left to speak out for me.

While no lives hangs in the immediate balance in the current situation (at least not in the sense of literal executions hanging in the air), Niemöller's poem does seem appropriate in the sense that silent acceptance always seems be a dangerous path in matters like these.

In this case, however, the codes of silence have been broken and voices have spoken out loud and been heard (and with at the very least some effect) – I will link a number of relevant articles and documents in Swedish below, for anyone interested in some of the particulars. The Faculty Board held off on axing three of the endangered languages, but Italian became a seemingly inevitable casualty. The problem remains: one language down, three seemingly still do go in this round, and the idea of moving things to "other research environments" is maintained if not yet practically executed.

Now, the Humanities have long been in dire straits on a global level, as has been discussed by many thinkers (notably including Martha Nussbaum). In that sense, there is nothing new here. What is increasingly frightening, however, is the willingness, nay even eagerness, with which the Head of the Faculty and her cohorts go about trimming off sibling disciplines. Especially when these sibling disciplines are at the front and centre of what the Humanities are all about.

The prevailing image here is one of an entity devouring itself from within, rather than fighting external hostile conditions and debating for its own survival. The Faculty appears as a wounded giant, desperately hewing and hacking off limbs to gain better balance, while standing ever less firmly positioned on the ground.

The current affairs, not yet fully settled of course, seem to suggest a Faculty Management hostile towards language education and research. And yes, let us add further indication of this: the Faculty was recently offered to host a new Language Institute – and turned it down. It now looks like said institute will be established at the Faculty of Education instead, and I hope you will forgive a dystopian mind for thinking that whatever languages eventually remain at the Faculty of Arts may well be asked to move to the institute once it is up and running.

If that bleak vision actually holds true (and believe me when I say that I hope not), I wonder how long it will take for the Faculty of Arts to crumble. Because if any of the subjects within the Humanities can justify themselves somewhat more easily with regards to the general public, I would say that it would be the languages. And the need to chip away at the Humanities themselves will hardly go away with the loss of languages.

But, if you will pardon a paraphrase of Niemöller, the Head of the Faculty may find that when they come for her and hers, there are no languages left to speak out with.

Assorted links (in Swedish):

The assembled professors at the Department of Languages and Literature on the matter.

The response from the Head of the Faculty.

The Head of the Language Faculty in Uppsala weighs in. 

An interesting comment by Doctor of German and journalist, Magnus Pettersson Ängsal.

The Students' Union at Gothenburg University makes the students' voices heard. 

Psychologist Gabriela Koszyk's comment is worth reading.

The Faculty Board minutes, featuring the decision to cancel Italian and give at least a brief respite to the other languages.

The Musings of the Mad Swede: Year Three

And so we're here again. May 18. Exactly three years have passed since I wrote my first post here and officially opened Thus Spake the Mighty Wha-keem. It started with a bold mission statement and a weekly publishing schedule, which I'm proud to say I managed to uphold fairly well during the first year. In its second year, a change to a bi-weekly schedule was instituted and has just recently given way to a monthly one (without a specific publication day in the month or the week). For now. And I am still here, so I think that's worth a little anniversary festivity and contemplation.

Last year's anniversary musings were written in advance (thankfully), as I spent the actual day in the delivery room awaiting the arrival of my son, who firmly held out and refused to share his birthday with his father's blog (one has to recognise the integrity in that). The year that has followed has, for many obvious reasons, been an adventure unlike any other, but our focus here will be the 24 posts that have been written and published here since then (perhaps in spite of other adventures).

Reviewing those posts, I note that a few subjects stand out: There have been several posts on various aspects of writing; and also a few on comics (including a look at Jim Starlin's cosmic Marvel work, Swedish comics creator Mike Berg's Agent Marc Saunders and DC's revisiting the Watchmen universe). Reality also intruded harshly with the horrible massacre on the Norwegian island of Utøya, which resulted in a string of posts on topics like the death penalty and the mongrel nature of all culture. On a more positive note, my 100th post was celebrated in October (for the second time, obviously, but accurately this time around) and the 2011 edition of the Göteborg Book Fair was covered (as per tradition). I have also written about the splendour of Australian progressive rock band Aragon, and a host of other subjects, small and large.

All in all, and in spite of a slowed down publishing pace yet again, I don't think my blog accomplishments this past year have been too shabby.

I am still having fun, and I hope you are too, gentle reader.

I'll see you again next month.