Anthology

Once Upon a Time: New Fairy Tales

Once Upon a Time: New Fairy Tales

Theodora Goss, Tanith Lee

Language: English

Pages: 384

ISBN: 1607014041

Format: PDF / Kindle (mobi) / ePub


  • Eighteen extraordinary authors devise all-new fairy tales: imaginative reinterpretations of the familiar, evocative new myths, speculations beyond the traditional realm of “once upon a time.” Often dark, occasionally humorous, always enthralling, these stories find a certain Puss in a near-future New York, an empress bargaining with a dragon, a princess turned into a raven, a king’s dancing daughters with powerful secrets, great heroism, terrible villainy, sparks of mischief, and a great deal more. Brilliant dreams and dazzling nightmares with meaning for today and tomorrow...

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are too heavy.” “I’ve cut you free.” He was calmer, now. He wiped his eyes. He blinked twice, hard, said, “Something is gone.” “I know,” she said, after too long; held out a hand. (She understands him, sometimes, more than he thinks. He might think he’s a coward for ever being there, for wanting to die there rather than go on. But she hadn’t known there would be a boat, when she jumped from the bridge; just that her feet were too heavy to carry her, and she was burning all over from grief.

toward the cliff face and vanished behind an outcropping. One by one, the wolves followed him, some stopping to give Ivan a brief sniff. Ivan followed them and realized the cliff was not sheer after all. Behind a protruding rock was a narrow opening, just large enough for a wolf. He crawled through it and emerged in a large cave. Scattered around the cave, wolves were sitting or lying in groups, speaking together in low voices. They looked up when he entered, but were too polite or uninterested

barn. The sparrows enter through a broken panel. The rusty hinges whine and creak as I pull the door open. The old hag lives on a bed of moldy hay, twigs, moss, newspaper, and woollen tufts. She squats rather than sits. Her irises are covered with a milky shroud. She wears layers of white, each stained and torn, like a demented virgin bride. A sparrow lands on her upturned hand. The hag brings it to her face and peers at it with opaque eyes, listening intently, as if to a song I can’t hear,

ravine. He skidded over an expanse of decaying leaves and pine needles. Snow-laden branches whipped Justus’s face and tangled in his hair, but every time his fingers closed on a clump of roots and leaves, his momentum ripped them free. Even after a stump knocked the wind out of him, Justus was most worried about being sliced by the hidden cutlass. He couldn’t untie it any more than he could slow his descent. The ground disappeared from beneath him. He caught a sickening flash of a rocky

lecture at a fairy tale conference I attended in which “Snow White” was described as a story about mother-daughter competition. My immediately reaction was, yes, but what if it isn’t? The voice of a young woman flitted through my mind, a young woman with a different interpretation. That is the beauty of fairy tales—they can be read in any number of ways, and the meanings that can be culled from them are as relevant now as they were when the stories were first written. For me, “Little Snow White”

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